The Best of Me - Nicholas Sparks [88]
Amanda clung to his hand. When they reached her car, he opened the door and turned toward her. He kissed her softly before trailing his lips down her cheek, chasing the pathway of her tears. He traced the line of her jaw, thinking about the words that Tuck had written. He would never move on, he understood with sudden clarity, despite what Tuck had asked of him. She was the only woman he’d ever love, the only woman he ever wanted to love.
In time, Amanda forced herself to take a step away from him. Then, slipping behind the wheel, she started the engine and closed the door before lowering the window. His eyes were bright with tears, mirroring her own. Reluctantly, she put the car in reverse. Dawson backed away, saying nothing, the ache he felt etched in her own anguished expression.
She turned the car around, pointing it in the direction of the road. The world had gone blurry through her tears. As she rounded the curve in the drive, she glanced into the rearview mirror and choked out a sob as Dawson grew smaller behind her. He hadn’t moved at all.
She cried harder as the car picked up speed. The trees pressed in all around her. She wanted to turn the car around and go back to him, to tell him that she had the courage to be the person she wanted to be. She whispered his name, and though there was no way he could have heard her, Dawson raised his arm, offering a final farewell.
Her mother was seated on the front porch when Amanda arrived. She was sipping a glass of iced tea while music played softly on the radio. Amanda passed her without a word, climbing the stairs to her room. Turning on the shower, she removed her clothes. She stood naked in front of the mirror, as drained and spent as an empty vessel.
The stinging spray of the shower felt like punishment, and when she at last stepped out, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a simple cotton blouse before packing the rest of her things in her suitcase. The clover went into a zippered compartment of her purse. As she usually did, she stripped the sheets from the bed and brought them to the laundry room. She put them into the washer, moving on autopilot.
Back in her room, the list of things to do continued. She reminded herself that the ice maker in the refrigerator back home needed to be fixed; she’d forgotten to arrange that before she’d left. She also needed to start planning the fund-raiser. She’d been putting that off for a while, but September would be here before she knew it. She needed a caterer, and it would probably be a good idea to start soliciting donations for the gift baskets. Lynn had to sign up for SAT prep classes, and she couldn’t remember whether they’d put the deposit down on Jared’s dorm room. Annette would be coming home later this week, and she’d probably want something special for dinner.
Making plans. Moving past the weekend, reentering her real life. Like the water in the shower washing Dawson’s scent from her skin, it felt like a kind of punishment.
But even when her mind finally began to slow, she understood that she still wasn’t ready to go downstairs. Instead, she sat on the bed as sunlight streamed gently through the room, and all at once she remembered the way Dawson had looked when he’d been standing in the drive. The image was clear, as vivid as if it were happening all over again, and despite herself—despite everything—she suddenly knew that she was making the wrong decision. She could still go to Dawson and they could find a way to make it work, no matter what the challenges might be. In time, her children would forgive her; in time, she would even forgive herself.
But even then she was paralyzed, unable to bring herself to move.
“I love you,” she whispered into the silent room, feeling her future being swept away like so