The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [67]
“Four.”
“Do you remember him like I remember mine?”
“Not really, not the way you do. I just remember images, really—him reading me stories or the feeling of his whiskers when he kissed me good night. I was always happy when he was around. Even now, not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could turn back the clock and change what happened.”
As soon as she said it, Taylor turned to her with a startled expression, knowing she’d hit it right on the head. In just a few words, she’d explained the very thing he’d tried to explain to Valerie and Lori. But even though they’d listened with compassion, they’d never really understood. They couldn’t. Neither of them had ever awakened with the terrible realization that they’d forgotten the sound of their father’s voice. Neither had cherished a single photograph as the only means of remembrance. Neither one of them felt the urge to tend to a small granite stone in the shade of a willow tree.
All he knew was that he’d finally heard someone else echo the things that he had known, and for the second time that evening he reached for her hand.
They held hands in silence, fingers loosely intertwined, each afraid that speaking would break the spell. Lazy clouds, silver in the moon, lay scattered in the sky. Standing close, Denise watched shadows play over his features, feeling slightly unstrung. On his jaw was a small scar she’d never noticed before; there was another just below his ring finger on the hand that was holding hers, a small burn, perhaps, that had healed long ago. If he was aware of her scrutiny, he gave no notice. Instead he simply stared out over the property.
The air had cooled slightly. A sea breeze had blown through earlier, leaving a stillness in its wake. Denise sipped her tea, listening as insects buzzed noisily around the porch light. An owl called from the darkness. Cicadas sang in the trees. The evening was coming to an end, she could feel that. It was almost over.
He finished his glass, the ice cubes clinking, then set it on the railing.
“I should probably go. I have an early day tomorrow.”
“I’m sure,” she said.
But he stood there for another minute without saying anything more. For some reason he kept remembering how she’d looked when she’d poured out her fears about her son: her defiant expression, the intense emotion as the words had flooded out. His mother had worried about him, too, but had it ever approached what Denise went through every day?
He knew it hadn’t been the same.
It moved him to see that her fears had only made her love grow stronger for her son. And to witness such unconditional love, so pure in the face of difficulties—it was natural to find beauty in that. Who wouldn’t? But there was more to it, wasn’t there? Something deeper, a commonality he’d never found in someone else.
Even now, not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could turn back the clock and change what happened.
How had she known?
Her ebony hair, made even darker by the evening, seemed to shroud her in mystery.
Taylor finally pushed back from the railing.
“You’re a good mother, Denise.” He was loath to release her delicate hand. “Even though it’s hard, even though it’s not what you expected, I can’t help but believe that everything happens for a reason. Kyle needed someone like you.”
She nodded.
With great reluctance he turned away from the railing, turned from the pines and oaks, turned from the feelings inside him. The floor of the porch creaked as Taylor moved to the steps, Denise beside him.
She looked up at him.
He almost kissed her then. In the soft yellow light of the porch her eyes seemed to glow with hidden intensity. Even so, he couldn’t tell if she really wanted that from him, and at the last second he held back. The evening had already been more memorable than any evening he’d spent in a long time; he didn’t want to spoil that.
Instead he took a small step backward, as if to give her more space.
“I had a wonderful time tonight,” he said.
“So did I,” she said.
He finally let go of her hand, felt longing as it slipped