True believer - Nicholas Sparks [85]
On the other hand, he didn’t want everything to end like this. He wanted to see Lexie, he needed to see her. A voice in his head warned him not to let his emotions govern his actions, and rationally, he couldn’t see how anything good could come of him traipsing off in search of her. Even if he found her, she’d probably ignore him or, worse, find it creepy. And in the meantime, Nate would probably have a stroke, Alvin would be stranded and furious, and his story and future career might just go down the tubes.
In the end, the decision was simple. Pulling his car into the spot in front of his cottage at Greenleaf, he nodded to himself. Putting it in those terms made his choice clear. After all, he hadn’t spent the last fifteen years using logic and science without learning something along the way.
Now, he thought to himself, all he had to do was pack.
Thirteen
Okay, she admitted, she was a coward.
It wasn’t the easiest thing for her to own up to the fact that she’d run away, but hey, she wasn’t exactly thinking clearly these past couple of days, and she could forgive herself for not being perfect. The truth was, if she had stayed around, things would have become even more complicated. It didn’t matter that she liked him and that he liked her; she woke up this morning knowing that she had to end things before they went too far, and when she pulled in the sandy driveway out front, she knew she’d done the right thing by coming here.
The place wasn’t much to look at. The old cottage was weathered and blended into the sea oats that surrounded it. The small, rectangular white-curtained windows were coated with salted mist, and the siding had streaks of gray, remnants from the fury of a dozen hurricanes. In some ways, she’d always considered the cottage a time capsule of sorts; most of the furniture was over twenty years old, the pipes groaned when she turned on the shower, and she had to light the stove burners with a match. But the memories of spending parts of her youth here never ceased to calm her, and after storing her bags and the groceries she’d picked up for the weekend, she’d opened the windows to air out the place. Then, grabbing a blanket, she settled into a rocker on the back porch, wanting nothing more than to watch the ocean. The steady roar of the waves was soothing, almost hypnotic, and when the sun broke through the clouds and beams of light stretched toward the water like individual fingers from above, she found herself holding her breath.
She did that every time she came here. The first time she’d seen the light breaking through this way was soon after her visit to the cemetery with Doris, when she was still a little girl, and she remembered thinking that her parents had found another way to make their presence known in her life. Like heaven-sent angels, she believed they were watching out for her, always present but never intervening, as if they felt that she would always make the right decisions.
For a long time, she’d needed to believe in such things, simply because she’d often felt alone. Her grandparents had been kind and wonderful, but as much as she loved them for their care and sacrifice, she’d never quite gotten used to the feeling of being different from her peers. Her friends’ parents played softball on the weekends and looked youthful even in the soft morning light of church, an observation that made her wonder what, if anything, she was missing.
She couldn’t talk to Doris about these things. Nor could she talk to Doris about the guilt she felt as a result. No matter how she phrased it, Doris’s feelings would have been hurt, and even as a young girl, she’d known that.
But still, that feeling of being different had left its mark.