The Best of Me - Nicholas Sparks [87]
“We’re not that young anymore—”
“But we are,” Dawson insisted. “We still have the rest of our lives.”
“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Please… don’t ask me to go with you, because if you do, I’ll go. Please don’t ask me to tell Frank about us, because I’ll do that, too. Please don’t ask me to give up my responsibilities or break up my family.” She inhaled, gulping air like someone drowning. “I love you, and if you love me, too, then you just can’t ask me to do these things. Because I don’t trust myself enough to say no.”
When she finished, Dawson said nothing. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he knew there was truth in what she had said. Breaking up her family would change everything; it would change her, and though it scared him, he recalled Tuck’s letter. She might need more time, Tuck had said. Or perhaps it really was over and he was supposed to move on.
But that wasn’t possible. He thought about all the years he’d dreamed of seeing her again; he thought about the future they might never spend together. He didn’t want to give her time, he wanted her to choose him now. And yet he knew that she needed this from him, maybe more than anything she’d ever needed, and he exhaled, hoping that it might somehow make the words come easier.
“All right,” he finally whispered.
Amanda began to cry then. Wrestling with the emotions raging through him, Dawson stood. She did, too, and he pulled her close, feeling her collapse against him. As he breathed her in, images began to cycle through his mind—the sunlight striking her hair as she stepped from the garage when he first arrived at Tuck’s; her natural grace as she moved through the wildflowers at Vandemere; the still, hungry moment when their lips had first touched in the warmth of a cottage he’d never known existed. Now it was coming to an end, and it was like he was watching the last flicker of light wink out in the darkness of an endless tunnel.
They held each other on the porch for a long time. Amanda listened to the beating of his heart, sure that nothing would ever feel so right. She longed, impossibly, to start all over. She would do it right this time; she would stay with him, never abandoning him again. They were meant for each other, and they belonged together. There was still time for both of them. When she felt his hands in her hair, she almost said the words. But she couldn’t. Instead, all she could do was murmur, “I’m glad I got to see you again, Dawson Cole.”
Dawson could feel the smooth, almost luxurious, silkiness of her hair. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”
“Maybe,” she said. She swiped at a tear on her cheek. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll come to my senses and just show up in Louisiana one day. Me and the kids, I mean.”
He forced a smile, a desperate, futile hope leaping in his chest. “I’ll make dinner,” he said. “For everyone.”
But it was time for her to go. As they left the porch, Dawson reached for her hand and she took it, squeezing so tight it was almost painful.