Nights in Rodanthe

by Nicholas Sparks

  Paul, she suspected, already knew that about her. And somehow, spending time with him had given her the chance to realize it as well.

  But this weekend wasn't simply about recognizing the mistakes she'd made in the past. It also had to do with the future and how she would live from this point on. Her past was played out; there was nothing she could do about that, but the future was still up for grabs, and she didn't want to live the rest of her life feeling the way she had for the last three years.

  She shaved her legs and soaked in the tub for another few minutes, long enough for most of the suds to vanish and the water to start cooling. She dried off and--knowing that Jean wouldn't mind--reached for the lotion on the counter. She applied some to her legs and belly, then her breasts and arms, relishing the way it made her skin come to life.

  Wrapping the towel around her, she went to her suitcase. Force of habit made her reach for jeans and a sweater, but after pulling them out, she set them aside. If I'm serious about changing the way I'm going to live, she thought, I may as well start now.

  She hadn't brought much else with her, certainly nothing fancy, but she did have a pair of black pants and a white blouse that Amanda had bought her for Christmas. She'd brought those along in the vague hope that she might head out one evening, and though she wasn't going anywhere, it seemed as good a time as any to put them on.

  She dried her hair with a blow dryer and curled it. Makeup came next: mascara and a dusting of blush, lipstick she'd bought at Belk's a few months back but had seldom used. Leaning toward the mirror, she added a trace of eye shadow, just enough to accent the color of her eyes, as she'd done in the early years of her marriage.

  When she was ready, she tugged at the blouse until it hung just right, smiling at what she saw. It had been far too long since she'd last looked like this.

  She left the bedroom, and as she passed through the kitchen, she could smell the coffee. It was what she would normally drink on a day like this, especially since it was still the afternoon, but instead of pouring a cup, she retrieved the last bottle of wine in the refrigerator, then grabbed the corkscrew and a couple of glasses, feeling worldly, as if she were finally in control.

  Carrying it all to the sitting room, she saw that Paul had started the fire, and it had somehow changed the room, as if anticipating the way she was feeling. Paul's face was glowing in the flames, and though she was quiet, she knew he could sense her presence. He turned around to say something, but when he saw Adrienne, no words came out of his mouth. All he could do was stare at her.

  "Too much?" she finally asked.

  Paul shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "No... not at all. You look... beautiful."

  Adrienne gave a shy smile. "Thank you," she said. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, a voice from long ago.

  They continued to stare at each other until Adrienne finally lifted the bottle slightly. "Would you like some wine?" she asked. "I know you have coffee, but with the storm, I thought it might be nice."

  Paul cleared his throat. "That sounds great. Would you like me to open the bottle?"

  "Unless you like bits of cork in your wine, you'd better. I never did get the hang of those things."

  When Paul rose from his chair, she handed the corkscrew to him. He opened the bottle with a series of quick movements, and Adrienne held both glasses as he poured. He set the bottle on the table and took his glass as they sat in the rockers. She noticed they were closer together than they had been the day before.

  Adrienne took a sip of wine, then lowered the glass, pleased with everything: the way she looked and felt, the taste of the wine, the room itself. The flickering fire made shadows dance around them. Rain was sheeting itself against the walls.

  "This is lovely," she said. "I'm glad you made a fire."

  In the warming air, Paul caught a trace of the perfume she was wearing, and he shifted in his chair. "I was still cold after being outside," he said. "It seems to take a little longer every year for me to warm up."

  "Even with all that exercise? And here I thought you were holding back the ravages of time."

  He laughed softly. "I wish."

  "You seem to be doing okay."

  "You don't see me in the mornings."

  "But don't you run then?"

  "Before that, I mean. When I first get out of bed, I can barely move. I hobble like an old man. All that running has taken its toll over the years."

  As they moved their rockers back and forth, he could see the reflection of the fire flickering in her eyes.

  "Have you heard from your kids today?" he asked, trying not to stare at Adrienne too obviously.

  She nodded. "They called this morning while you were out. They're getting ready for their ski trip, but wanted to touch base before they go. They're heading to Snowshoe, West Virginia, this weekend. They've been looking forward to that for a couple of months now."

  "Sounds like they'll have fun."

  "Yeah, Jack's good for that. Whenever they go to visit, he always has fun things planned, as if life with him would be nothing but one big party." She paused. "But that's okay. He's missing out on a lot of things, too, and I wouldn't trade places with him. You can't get these years back."

  "I know," he murmured. "Believe me, I know."

  She winced. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that...."

  He shook his head. "It's okay. Even though you weren't talking about me, I know I've missed more than I can hope to recover. But at least I'm trying to do something about it now. I just hope it works out."

  "It will."

  "You think so?"

  "I know so. I think you're the kind of person who accomplishes just about everything you set out to do."

  "It's not that easy this time."

  "Why not?"

  "Mark and I aren't on very good terms these days. Actually, we're not on any terms. We haven't said more than a few words to each other in years."

  She looked at him, not sure what to say. "I didn't realize it was that long," she finally offered.

  "How would you? It's not something I'm proud to admit."

  "What are you going to say to him? At first, I mean?"

  "I have no idea." He looked at her. "Any suggestions? You seem to have a pretty good handle on the parent thing."

  "Not really. I guess I'd have to know what the problem is first."

  "It's a long story."

  "We've got all day if you want to talk about it."

  Paul took a drink, as if summoning his resolve. Then, over the next half hour, and to the accompaniment of the escalating wind and rain outside, he told her how he hadn't been around when Mark was growing up, about the argument in the restaurant, his inability to find the will to repair the rift between them. By the time he was finished, the fire was burning lower. Adrienne was quiet for a moment.

  "That's a tough one," she admitted.

  "I know."

  "But this isn't all your fault, you know. It takes two people to keep a feud going."

  "That's pretty philosophical."

  "It's still true, though."

  "What should I do?"

  "I guess I'd say not to push too hard. I think you probably need to get to know each other before you start working on the problems between you two."

  He smiled, thinking about her words. "You know, I hope your kids realize how smart their mother is."

  "They don't. But I'm still hopeful."

  He laughed, thinking her skin looked radiant in the gentle light. A log sparked, sending trails up the chimney. Paul added more wine to both their glasses.

  "How long are you planning to stay in Ecuador?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure yet. I guess that's up to Mark and how long he wants me there." He swirled his wine before looking at her. "But I'd say I'll be there at least a year. That's what I told the director, anyway."

  "And then you'll come back?"

  He shrugged. "Who knows. I suppose I could go anywhere. It's not like I have anything to return to in Raleig
h. To be honest, I haven't thought about what I'll do when I get back. Maybe I'll take up watching bed-and-breakfasts when the owners are out of town."

  She laughed. "I think you'd get pretty bored with that."

  "But I'd be good if a storm was coming."

  "True, but you'd have to learn to cook."

  "Good point." Paul glanced toward her, his face half in shadow. "Then maybe I'll just move to Rocky Mount and figure it out from there."

  At his words, Adrienne felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She shook her head and turned away.

  "Don't say that."

  "Say what?"

  "Things you don't mean."

  "What makes you think I don't mean it?"

  She wouldn't meet his eyes, nor would she answer, and in the stillness of the room, he could see her chest rising and falling with her breaths. He could see a shadow of fear cross her face but didn't know if it was because she wanted him to come and was afraid he wouldn't, or didn't want him to come and was afraid he would. He reached over, resting his hand on her arm. When he spoke again his voice was soft, as if trying to comfort a small child.

  "I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable," he said, "but this weekend... it's like something I didn't know existed. I mean, it's been a dream. You've been a dream."

  The warmth of his hand seemed to penetrate into her bones.

  "I've had a wonderful time, too," she said.

  "But you don't feel the same way."

  She looked at him. "Paul... I . ."

  "No, you don't have to say anything--"

  She didn't let him finish. "Yes, I do. You want an answer, and I'd like to give you one, okay?" She paused, composing her thoughts. "When Jack and I split up, it was more than just the ending of a marriage. It ended everything I'd hoped for in the future. And it ended who I was, too. I thought I wanted to move on, and I tried, but the world didn't seem all that interested in who I was anymore. Men in general weren't interested in me, and I guess I retreated into a shell. This weekend made me realize that about myself, and I'm still coming to terms with that."

  "I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me."

  "I'm not saying this because the answer is no. I would like to see you again. You're charming and intelligent, and the past two days have meant more to me than you probably realize. But moving to Rocky Mount? A year is a long time, and there's no telling who either of us will be then. Look how much you've changed in the last six months. Can you honestly tell me that you'll feel the same way about all this a year from now?"

  "Yes," he said, "I can."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  Outside, the wind was a steady gale, howling as it blasted against the house. The rain was hammering against the walls and roof; the old inn creaked under the incessant pressure.

  Paul set aside his glass of wine. Staring at Adrienne, he knew he'd never seen anyone more beautiful.

  "Because," he said, "you're the only reason I'd bother to come back at all."

  "Paul... don't..."

  She closed her eyes, and for a moment, Paul believed he was losing her. The realization scared him more than he'd imagined possible, and he felt the last of his resistance give way. He looked up at the ceiling, then down to the floor, then focused on Adrienne again. Leaving his chair, he moved to her side. With a finger, he turned her face toward him, knowing that he was in love with her, with everything about her.

  "Adrienne...," he whispered, and when Adrienne finally met his gaze, she recognized the emotion in his eyes.

  He couldn't say the words, but in a rush of intuitive feeling, she imagined she could hear them, and that was enough.

  Because it was then, as he held her in his unwavering gaze, that she knew she was in love with him as well.

  For a long moment, neither one of them seemed to know what to do, until Paul reached for her hand. With a sigh, Adrienne let him take it, leaning back in her chair as his thumb began to trace her skin.

  He smiled, waiting for a response, but Adrienne seemed content to remain quiet. He couldn't read her expression, yet it seemed to hint at everything he was feeling: hope and fear, confusion and acceptance, passion and reserve. But thinking she might need space, he let go of her hand and stood.

  "Let me put another log on the fire," he said. "It's getting low."

  She nodded, watching him through half-closed eyes as he squatted before the fire, the jeans stretching tight around his thighs.

  This couldn't be happening, she told herself. She was forty-five years old, for goodness' sake, not a teenager. She was mature enough to know that something like this couldn't be real. This was the product of the storm, the wine, the fact that they were alone. It was any combination of a thousand things, she told herself, but it wasn't love.

  And yet, as she watched Paul add another log and stare quietly into the fireplace, she knew with certainty that it was. The unmistakable look in his eyes, the tremor in his voice as he'd whispered her name... she knew his feelings were real. And so, she thought, were hers.

  But what did that mean? For him or her? Knowing that he loved her, as wonderful as it was, wasn't the only thing going on here. His look had spoken of desire as well, and that had frightened her, even more than knowing he loved her. Making love, she'd always believed, was more than simply a pleasurable act between two people. It encompassed all that a couple was supposed to share: trust and commitment, hopes and dreams, a promise to make it through whatever the future might bring. She'd never understood one-night stands or people who drifted from one bed to the next every couple of months. It relegated the act to something almost meaningless, no more special than a good-night kiss on the front steps.

  Even though they loved each other, she knew everything would change if she allowed herself to give in to her feelings. She would cross a boundary she'd erected in her mind, and there was no coming back from something like that. Making love to Paul would mean that they would share a bond for the rest of their lives, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that.

  Nor was she sure she would know what to do. Jack was not only the only man she'd ever been with; for eighteen years, he was the only man she'd wanted to be with. The possibility of sharing herself with another left her feeling anxious. Making love was a gentle dance of give-and-take, and the thought she might disappoint him was almost enough to keep her from letting this go any further.

  But she couldn't stop herself. Not anymore. Not with the way he'd looked at her, not with the way she felt about him.

  Her throat was dry and her legs felt shaky as she stood from her chair. Paul was still crouching in front of the fire. Moving close, she rested her hands in the soft area between his neck and shoulders. His muscles tightened for an instant, but as she heard him exhale, they relaxed. He turned, looking up at her, and it was then that she felt herself finally give in.

  It all felt right to her, he felt right, and as she stood behind him, she knew she would allow herself to go to the place she was meant to be.

  Lightning cut the sky outside. Wind and rain were joined as one, pounding against the walls. The room grew hotter as the flames began to leap up again.

  Paul stood and faced her. His expression was tender as he reached for her hand. She expected him to kiss her, but he didn't. Instead, he raised her hand and held it against his cheek, closing his eyes, as if wanting to remember her touch against him forever.

  Paul kissed the back of her hand before releasing it. Then, opening his eyes and tilting his head, he drew closer until she felt his lips brush against the side of her face in a series of butterfly-light kisses before finally meeting her lips.

  She leaned into him then as he wrapped his arms around her; she could feel her breasts pressed against his chest; she could feel the slight stubble on his face when he kissed her the second time.

  He ran his hands over her back, her arms, and she parted her lips, feeling the moisture of his tongue. He kissed her neck, her cheek, and as his hand moved around to her belly, his touch was electric. When h
e moved his hand to her breasts, her breath caught in her throat, and they kissed again and again, the world around them dissolving into something distant and unreal.

  It was over now, for both of them, and as they moved even closer, it was as if they were not only embracing each other, but holding all the painful memories at bay.

  He buried his hands in her hair, and she leaned her head against his chest, hearing his heart beating as quickly as hers.

  Then, when they were finally able to separate, she found herself reaching for his hand.

  She took a small step backward and with a gentle pull began leading him to his bedroom upstairs.

  Thirteen

  In the kitchen, Amanda stared at her mother.

  She hadn't spoken since Adrienne had started her story and had gone through two glasses of wine, the second a bit faster than the first. Neither of them was speaking now, and Adrienne could feel the anxious expectation of her daughter as she waited for what would come next.

  But Adrienne couldn't tell Amanda about that, nor did she need to. Amanda was a grown woman; she knew what it meant to make love to a man. She was also old enough to know that even though that was a wonderful part of their discovery of each other, it had been just that: a part of it. She loved Paul, and had he not meant so much to her, had the weekend been only physical in nature, there would have been nothing to remember other than a few pleasurable moments, special only because she had been alone so long. What they shared, however, were feelings that had been buried for far too long, feelings that were meant for just the two of them. And only them.

  Besides, Amanda was her daughter. Call it old-fashioned, but sharing the details would be inappropriate. Some could talk about such things, but Adrienne never understood how they could. The bedroom, she always thought, was a place of shared secrets.

  But even if she'd wanted to tell, she knew she wouldn't be able to find the words. How could she describe the sensation as he began to unbutton her blouse, or the shivers that traveled the length of her body when he traced his finger along her belly? Or how heated their skin felt as their bodies came together? Or the texture of his mouth where he kissed her and how she felt when she pressed her fingers hard into his skin? Or the sound of his breathing and hers and how their breaths quickened as they began to move as one?