The Best of Me - Nicholas Sparks [75]
She knew it was wrong. Her life didn’t allow for that kind of desire; society didn’t condone it, either. She could try to dismiss her feelings as temporary, a by-product of other factors in her life. But she knew that wasn’t true. Dawson wasn’t some stranger that she happened to rendezvous with; he was her first and only true love, the most enduring of all.
Frank would be crushed if he knew what she was thinking. And despite their troubles, she knew she loved Frank. Yet even if nothing happened—even if she went home today—she knew that Dawson would continue to haunt her. Although her marriage had been troubled for years, it wasn’t simply that she was seeking solace elsewhere. It was Dawson—and the us they created whenever they were together—that had made all of this both natural and inevitable. She couldn’t help thinking that the story between them was somehow unfinished; that both of them were waiting to write the ending.
After they passed through Bayboro, Dawson slowed the car. Coming up was the turn onto another highway, one that led south, to Oriental. Straight ahead lay Vandemere. Dawson would make the turn, but as they approached the intersection, she wanted to tell him to keep going. She didn’t want to wake tomorrow wondering if she’d ever see him again. The thought was terrifying, and yet somehow the words wouldn’t come.
There was no one else on the road. Water flowed from the macadam into shallow gullies on either side of the highway. When they reached the intersection, Dawson gently applied the brakes. Surprising her, he brought the car to a stop.
The wipers moved the water from side to side. Raindrops glittered in the reflection of the headlights. As the engine idled, Dawson turned toward her, his face in shadow.
“Your mom is probably expecting you.”
She could feel her heart beating, speeding up. “Yes.” She nodded, saying nothing more.
For a long moment, he simply stared at her, reading her, seeing all the hope and fear and desire in the eyes that held his own. Then, with a flicker of a smile, he faced the windshield, and ever so slowly the car began to roll forward, toward Vandemere, and neither one of them was willing or able to stop it.
There was no awkwardness at the door when they returned to the cottage. Amanda made for the kitchen as Dawson turned on the lamp. She refilled their glasses of wine, feeling both unsettled and secretly thrilled at exactly the same time.
In the living room, Dawson turned the radio dial until he found some old-time jazz, keeping the volume low. From the shelf above, he pulled down one of the old books and was thumbing through the yellowed pages when Amanda approached him with the wine. Returning the book to its spot on the shelf, he took the glass and followed her to the couch. He watched as she slipped off her shoes.
“It’s so quiet,” she said. Setting her glass on the end table, she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I understand why Tuck and Clara wanted to remain here.”
The dim light of the living room lent her features a mysterious cast, and Dawson cleared his throat. “Do you think you’ll ever come back here again?” he asked. “After this weekend, I mean?”
“I don’t know. If I knew it would stay like this, then yes. But I know it won’t, because nothing lasts forever. And part of me wants to remember it just like it was today, with the flowers in full bloom.”
“Not to mention a clean house.”
“That, too,” she agreed. She reached for her wine, swirling it in the glass. “Earlier, when the ashes were floating away, do you know what I was thinking about? I was thinking about the night we were on the dock watching the meteor shower. I don’t know why, but all of a sudden it was like I was there again. I could see us lying on the blanket, whispering to each other and listening to the crickets, that perfect, musical echo. And above us, the sky was just so… alive.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Dawson’s voice was gentle.
Her expression was melancholy. “Because that was the