The Best of Me - Nicholas Sparks [80]
He was cramped and cold, and the dry heaves started. Ted began to shake uncontrollably, unable to stay warm.
One o’clock and still nothing. At two, Abee finally came staggering up, barely able to stay upright. By then, even Ted knew they weren’t coming back that night, and the two of them staggered to the truck. He barely remembered the trip back to the property or the way he and Abee clung to each other as they stumbled up the drive. All he could really recall was the feeling of rage as he collapsed in bed, and after that everything went black.
14
When she woke on Sunday morning, it took Amanda a few seconds to recognize her surroundings before the evening came rushing back. Outside, she could hear birds singing while sunlight streamed through the small opening between the drapes. Cautiously, she rolled over and found the space beside her empty. She felt a stab of disappointment followed almost immediately by confusion.
Sitting up, she held the sheet against her as she peered toward the bathroom, wondering where Dawson was. Seeing that his clothes were gone, she swung her feet down, wrapped the sheet around her, and went to the bedroom door. Peeking around the corner, she caught sight of him sitting on the steps of the front porch. Turning around, she dressed hurriedly and stepped into the bathroom. She ran a quick brush through her hair and padded to the front door, knowing she needed to talk to him. Knowing he needed to talk to her.
Dawson turned when he heard the squeak of the door opening behind him. He smiled at her, the darkening stubble on his face adding a bit of roguishness to his appearance. “Hey, there,” he said and reached beside him. He held out a Styrofoam cup; another was cradled in his lap. “I figured you might need some coffee.”
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“The convenience store. Just down the road. As far as I can tell, it’s the only place in Vandemere that sells coffee. It’s probably not as good as what you had Friday morning, though.”
He watched her as she took the cup and sat beside him. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yes,” she said. “And you?”
“Not really.” He shrugged slightly before turning away, focusing on the flowers again. “The rain finally stopped,” he commented.
“I noticed.”
“I should probably wash the car when I get it back to Tuck’s,” he said. “I can call Morgan Tanner if you want me to.”
“I’ll call him,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll be talking, anyway.” Amanda knew the meaningless chatter was simply a way to avoid talking about the obvious. “You’re not okay, are you?”
His shoulders drooped, but he said nothing.
“You’re upset,” she whispered, feeling sick at heart.
“No,” he answered, surprising her. He slipped his arm around her. “Not at all. Why would I be upset?” He leaned over then, kissing her tenderly before slowly drawing back.
“Look,” she started, “about last night—”
“Do you know what I found?” he interrupted. “While I was sitting out here?”
She shook her head, mystified.
“I found a four-leaf clover,” he said. “By the steps here, just before you came out. Poking out of the ground in plain sight.” He presented her with the delicate green wisp, sandwiched in the folds of a piece of scrap paper. “It’s supposed to be lucky, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that this morning.”
Amanda heard something troubled in his voice, and she felt a flash of foreboding. “What are you talking about, Dawson?” she asked quietly.
“Luck,” he said. “Ghosts. Fate.”
His words did nothing to ease her confusion and she watched as he took another sip of coffee. He lowered the cup and stared into the distance. “I almost died,” he said finally. “I don’t know. I probably should have died. The fall alone should have killed me. Or the explosion. Hell, I probably should have died two days ago…”
He trailed off, lost in thought.
“You’re scaring me,” she finally said.
Dawson straightened, coming back to her. “There was a fire on the rig in the spring,” he began.