The Best of Me - Nicholas Sparks [96]
“I know.”
“And money can’t buy forgiveness.”
Dawson felt his shoulders sag. “I should go,” he said, turning to leave.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you probably should. But before you leave, there’s something else you should know.”
When he turned, she willed him to meet her eyes. “I know that what happened was an accident. I’ve always known that. And I know you’d do anything to change the past. Everything you’ve done since then makes that clear. And yes, I’ll admit that I was angry and frightened and lonely when you came to my house, but I never, ever believed there was anything malicious about your actions that night. It was just one of those awful, terrible things that happen sometimes, and when you came by, I took it out on you.” She let the words sink in, and when she went on, her voice was almost kind. “I’m fine now, and my kids are fine, too. We’ve survived. We’re okay.”
When Dawson turned away, she waited until he finally faced her again.
“I came here to tell you that you don’t need my forgiveness anymore,” she said, drawing out the words. “But I also know that’s not what any of this has ever been about. It’s never been about me, or my family. It’s about you. It’s always been about you. You’ve been clinging to a terrible mistake for too long, and if you were my son, I’d tell you that it was time you finally let this go. So let it go, Dawson,” she said. “Do that for me.”
She stared at him, making sure he understood her, then turned and walked away. Dawson remained frozen as her figure receded, winding through the sentinel gravestones until she eventually vanished from sight.
18
Amanda drove on autopilot, oblivious to the crawling weekend traffic. Families in minivans and SUVs, some towing boats, thronged the highway after spending the weekend at the beach.
As she drove, she couldn’t imagine going home and having to pretend that the past few days hadn’t happened. She understood that she could tell no one about them, yet, strangely, she felt no guilt about the weekend, either. If anything, she felt regret, and she found herself wishing that she had done things differently. Had she known from the beginning how their weekend would end, she would have stayed longer with Dawson on their first night together, and she wouldn’t have turned away when she’d suspected that he was going to kiss her. She would have seen him Friday night as well, no matter how many lies she had to tell her mother, and she would give anything to have spent all of Saturday wrapped in his arms. After all, had she given in to her feelings sooner, Saturday night might have had a different ending. Perhaps the barriers, the ones that came with her marriage vows, would have been overridden. And they almost were. As they’d danced in the living room, letting him make love to her was all she could think about; as they’d kissed, she’d known exactly what would happen. She wanted him, in the way they’d once been together.
She’d believed she could go through with it; she’d believed that once they reached the bedroom, she would be able to pretend that her life in Durham no longer existed, if only for a night. Even as he undressed her and carried her to the bed, she thought she could set aside the reality of her marriage. But as much as she wanted to be someone else that night, someone free of responsibilities and untenable promises, as much as she wanted Dawson, she knew she was about to cross a line from which there would be no return. Despite the urgency of his touch and the feel of his body against hers, she couldn’t give herself over to her feelings.
Dawson hadn’t become angry; instead, he held her against him, his fingers moving through her hair. He kissed her cheek and whispered assurances; that this wasn’t important, that nothing would ever change the way he felt about her.
They stayed that way until the sky began to lighten and exhaustion settled in; in the early predawn hours, she finally fell asleep, cradled