The Rescue

by Nicholas Sparks

  Taylor didn't know, but then he never would. The answers had been buried with his father a long time ago.

  He could barely remember the weeks immediately after his father died. That time had blurred strangely into a series of fragmented memories: the funeral, staying with his grandparents in their home on the other side of town, suffocating nightmares when he tried to sleep. It was summer--school was out--and Taylor spent most of his time outside, trying to blot out what had happened. His mother wore black for two months, mourning the loss. Then, finally, the black was put away. They found a new place to live, something smaller, and even though nine-year-olds have little comprehension of death and how to deal with it, Taylor knew exactly what his mother was trying to tell him.

  It's just the two of us now. We've got to go on.

  After that fateful summer Taylor had drifted through school, earning decent but unspectacular grades, progressing steadily from one grade to the next. He was remarkably resilient, others would say, and in some ways they were right. With his mother's care and fortitude, his adolescent years were like those of most others who lived in this part of the country. He went camping and boating whenever he could; he played football, basketball, and baseball throughout his high school years. Yet in many ways he was considered a loner. Mitch was, and always had been, his only real friend, and in the summers they'd go hunting and fishing, just the two of them. They would vanish for a week at a time, sometimes traveling as far away as Georgia. Though Mitch was married now, they still did it whenever they could.

  Once he graduated, Taylor bypassed college in favor of work, hanging drywall and learning the carpentry business. He apprenticed with a man who was an alcoholic, a bitter man whose wife had left him, who cared more about the money he'd make than the quality of the work. After a violent confrontation that nearly came to blows, Taylor quit working for him and started taking classes to earn his contractor's license.

  He supported himself by working in the gypsum mine near Little Washington, a job that left him coughing almost every night, but by twenty-four he'd saved enough to start his own business. No project was too small, and he often underbid to build up his business and reputation. By twenty-eight he'd nearly gone bankrupt twice, but he stubbornly kept on going, eventually making it work. Over the past eight years he'd nurtured the business to the point where he made a decent living. Not anything grand--his house was small and his truck was six years old--but it was enough for him to lead the simple life he desired.

  A life that included volunteering for the fire department.

  His mother had tried strenuously to talk him out of it. It was the only instance in which he'd deliberately gone against her wishes.

  Of course, she wanted to be a grandmother as well, and she'd let that slip out every now and then. Taylor usually made light of the comment and tried to change the subject. He hadn't come close to marriage and doubted whether he ever would. It wasn't something he imagined himself doing, though in the past he'd dated two women fairly seriously. The first time was in his early twenties, when he'd started seeing Valerie. She was coming off a disastrous relationship when they'd met--her boyfriend had gotten another woman pregnant, and Taylor was the one she'd turned to in her time of need. She was two years older, smart, and they had gotten along well for a time. But Valerie wanted something more serious; Taylor had told her honestly that he might never be ready. It was a source of tension without easy answers. In time they simply drifted apart; eventually she moved away. The last he'd heard, she was married to a lawyer and living in Charlotte.

  Then there was Lori. Unlike Valerie, she was younger than Taylor and had moved to Edenton to work for the bank. She was a loan officer and worked long hours; she hadn't had the chance to make any friends when Taylor walked into the bank to apply for a mortgage. Taylor offered to introduce her around; she took him up on it. Soon they were dating. She had a childlike innocence that both charmed Taylor and aroused his protective interests, but eventually, she too wanted more than Taylor was willing to commit to. They broke up soon afterward. Now she was married to the mayor's son; she had three children and drove a minivan. He hadn't exchanged more than pleasantries with her since her engagement.

  By the time he was thirty, he'd dated most of the single women in Edenton; by the time he was thirty-six, there weren't that many left. Mitch's wife, Melissa, had tried to set him up on various dates, but those had fizzled as well. But then again, he hadn't really been looking, had he? Both Valerie and Lori claimed that there was something inside of him they were unable to reach, something about the way he viewed himself that neither of them could really understand. And though he knew they meant well, their attempts to talk to him about this distance of his didn't--or couldn't--change anything.

  When he was finished he stood, his knees cracking slightly and aching from the position he'd been kneeling in. Before he left he said a short prayer in memory of his father, and afterward he bent over to touch the headstone one more time.

  "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry."

  Mitch Johnson was leaning against Taylor's truck when he saw Taylor leaving the cemetery. In his hand he held two cans of beer secured by the plastic rings--the remains of the six-pack he'd started the night before--and he pulled one free and tossed it as Taylor drew near. Taylor caught it in midstride, surprised to see his friend, his thoughts still deep in the past.

  "I thought you were out of town for the wedding," Taylor said.

  "I was, but we got back last night."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I sort of figured that you'd need a beer about now," Mitch answered simply.

  Taller and thinner than Taylor, he was six two and weighed about 160 pounds. Most of his hair was gone--he'd started losing it in his early twenties--and he wore wire-rimmed glasses, giving him the appearance of an accountant or engineer. He actually worked at his father's hardware store and was regarded around town as a mechanical genius. He could repair everything from lawn mowers to bulldozers, and his fingers were permanently stained with grease. Unlike Taylor, he'd gone to college at East Carolina University, majored in business, and had met a psychology major from Rocky Mount named Melissa Kindle before moving back to Edenton. They'd been married twelve years and had four children, all boys. Taylor had been best man at the wedding and was godfather to their oldest son. Sometimes, from the way he talked about his family, Taylor suspected that Mitch loved Melissa more now than he had when they'd walked down the aisle.

  Mitch, like Taylor, was also a volunteer with the Edenton Fire Department. At Taylor's urging, the two of them had gone through the necessary training together and had joined at the same time. Though Mitch considered it more a duty than a calling, he was someone Taylor always wanted along when the call came in. Where Taylor tempted danger, Mitch exercised caution, and the two of them balanced each other out in difficult situations.

  "Am I that predictable?"

  "Hell, Taylor, I know you better than I know my own wife."

  Taylor rolled his eyes as he leaned against the truck. "How's Melissa doing?"

  "She's good. Her sister drove her crazy at the wedding, but she's back to normal now that she's home. Now it's just me and the kids who are driving her crazy." Mitch's tone softened imperceptibly. "So, how you holding up?"

  Taylor shrugged without meeting Mitch's eyes. "I'm all right."

  Mitch didn't press it, knowing that Taylor wouldn't say anything more. His father was one of the few things they never talked about. He cracked open his beer, and Taylor did the same before leaning against the truck next to him. Mitch pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  "I hear you had yourself a big night in the swamp while I was gone."

  "Yeah, we did."

  "Wish I could've been there."

  "We could have used you, that's for sure. It was one hell of a storm."

  "Yeah, but if I would have been there, there wouldn't have been all that drama. I would have
headed straight to those duck blinds, right off the bat. I couldn't believe it took you guys hours to figure that out."

  Taylor laughed under his breath before taking a drink of his beer and glancing over at Mitch.

  "Does Melissa still want you to give it up?"

  Mitch put the bandanna back in his pocket and nodded. "You know how it is with the kids and all. She just doesn't want anything to happen to me."

  "How do you feel about it?"

  It took a moment for him to answer. "I used to think that I'd do this forever, but I'm not so sure anymore."

  "So you're considering it?" Taylor asked.

  Mitch took a long pull from his beer before answering. "Yeah, I guess I am."

  "We need you," Taylor said seriously.

  Mitch laughed aloud. "You sound like an army recruiter when you say that."

  "It's true, though."

  Mitch shook his head. "No, it's not. We've got plenty of volunteers now, and there's a list of people who can replace me at a moment's notice."

  "They won't know what's going on."

  "Neither did we in the beginning." He paused, his fingers pressing against the can, thinking. "You know, it's not just Melissa--it's me, too. I've been at it for a long time, and I guess it just doesn't mean what it used to. I'm not like you--I don't feel the need to do it anymore. I sort of like being able to spend some time with the kids without having to go out at a moment's notice. I'd like to be able to have dinner with my wife knowing that I'm done for the day."

  "You sound like your mind's already made up."

  Mitch could hear the disappointment in Taylor's tone, and he took a second before nodding.

  "Well, actually, it is. I mean, I'll finish out the year, but that'll be it for me. I just wanted you to be the first to know."

  Taylor didn't respond. After a moment Mitch cocked his head, looking sheepishly at his friend. "But that's not why I came out here today. I came out to lend you some support, not to talk about that stuff."

  Taylor seemed lost in thought. "Like I said, I'm doing all right."

  "Do you wanna head somewhere and have a few beers?"

  "No. I gotta get back to work. We're finishing up at Skip Hudson's place."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, how 'bout dinner, then, next week? After we're back in the swing of things?"

  "Steaks on the grill?"

  "Of course," Mitch answered as if he'd never considered another option.

  "That I could do." Taylor eyed Mitch suspiciously. "Melissa's not bringing a friend again, is she?"

  Mitch laughed. "No. But I can tell her to rustle someone up if you want her to."

  "No thanks. After Claire, I don't think I trust her judgment anymore."

  "Aw, c'mon, Claire wasn't that bad."

  "You didn't spend all night listening to her jabber on and on. She was like one of those Energizer bunnies--she just couldn't sit quietly, even for a minute."

  "She was nervous."

  "She was a pain."

  "I'll tell Melissa you said that."

  "No, don't--"

  "I'm just kidding--you know I wouldn't do that. But how about Wednesday? You want to stop over then?"

  "That'd be great."

  "All right, then." Mitch nodded and pushed away from the truck as he fished the keys from his pocket. After crumpling his can, he tossed it into the back of Taylor's truck with a clank.

  "Thanks," Taylor said.

  "You're welcome."

  "I mean about you coming by today."

  "I knew what you were talking about."

  Chapter 11

  Sitting in the kitchen, Denise Holton decided that life was like manure.

  When used in a garden, manure was fertilizer. Effective and inexpensive, it provided nourishment to the soil and helped the garden become as beautiful as it could be. But outside of the garden--in a pasture, for instance--when stepped in inadvertently, manure was nothing more than crap.

  A week ago, once she and Kyle were reunited in the hospital, she definitely felt as if the manure were being used in her garden. In that moment nothing else but Kyle mattered, and when she saw that he was okay, everything was right in the world. Her life, so to speak, had been fertilized.

  But give it a week and suddenly everything seemed different. Reality in the aftermath of the accident had finally settled in, and fertilizer it wasn't. Denise was seated at the Formica table in her small kitchen, poring through the papers in front of her, doing her best to make sense of them. The hospital stay was covered by the insurance, but the deductible was not. Her car may have been old, but it was nonetheless reliable. Now it was totaled, and she'd had only liability insurance. Her boss, Ray, bless his heart, told her to take her time coming back, and eight days had gone by without her earning a penny. The regular bills--phone, electricity, water, gas--were due in less than a week. And to top it off, she was staring at the bill from the towing service, the people who'd been called to remove her vehicle from the side of the road.

  This week Denise's life was crap.

  It wouldn't be so bad, of course, if she were a millionaire. These problems would be nothing more than an inconvenience then. She could imagine some socialite explaining what a bother it was to have to deal with such things. But with a few hundred bucks in the bank, this wasn't a bother. It was a bona fide problem, and a big one at that.

  She could cover the regular bills with what was left in the checking account and still have enough for food if she was careful. Lots of cereal this month, that was for sure, and it was a good thing Ray let them eat for free at the diner. She could use her credit card for the hospital deductible--five hundred dollars. Luckily she'd called Rhonda--another waitress at Eights--and she'd agreed to help Denise get to and from work. That left the towing service, and fortunately they'd offered to clear the bill in exchange for the pink slip. Seventy-five dollars for the remains of her car and they'd call it even.

  The net result? An additional credit card bill every month and she'd have to start riding her bicycle for errands around town. Even worse, she'd be dependent on someone to drive her to and from the diner. For a gal with a college education, this wasn't much to brag about.

  Crap.

  If she'd had a bottle of wine, she'd have opened it. She could have used a little escapism right now. But, hey, she couldn't even afford that.

  Seventy-five bucks for her car.

  Even though it was fair, somehow it just didn't seem right. She wouldn't even see the money.

  After writing out the checks for her bills, she sealed the envelopes and used the last of her stamps. She'd have to swing by the post office to get some more, and she made a notation on the pad by the phone before remembering that "swinging by" had taken on a whole new meaning. If it wasn't so pathetic, she would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

  A bicycle. Lord have mercy.

  Trying to look on the bright side, she told herself that at least she'd get in shape. Within a few months she might even be a little thankful for the extra fitness. "Look at those legs," she imagined people saying, "why, they're just like steel. However did you get them?"

  "I ride my bike."

  This time she couldn't help but giggle. She was twenty-nine years old and she'd be telling people about her bike. Lord have mercy.

  Denise shook off the giggles, knowing they were simply a reaction to stress, and left the kitchen to check on Kyle. Sleeping soundly. After adjusting the covers and a quick kiss on his cheek, she headed outside and sat on the back porch, wondering yet again if she'd made the right decision to move here. Even though she knew that it was impossible, she found herself wishing she'd been able to stay in Atlanta. It would have been nice sometimes to have someone to talk to, someone she'd known for years. She supposed she could use the phone, but this month it wouldn't be possible, and there was no way she was going to call collect. Even though her friends probably wouldn't care, it wasn't something she was comfortable doing.
r />   Still, she wanted to talk to someone. But who?

  With the exception of Rhonda at the diner (who was twenty and single)--and Judy McAden--Denise didn't know anyone in town. It was one thing to lose her mother a few years back, it was a completely different situation to lose everyone she knew. Nor did it help to realize that it was her own fault. She'd chosen to move, she'd chosen to leave her job, she'd chosen to devote her life to her son. Living this way had a simplicity to it--as well as a necessity--but sometimes she couldn't help thinking that the other parts of her life were slipping by without her even knowing it.

  Her loneliness, though, couldn't simply be blamed on the move. In retrospect, she knew that even while she was in Atlanta, things had begun to change. Most of her friends were married now, a few had kids of their own. Some had stayed single. None, however, had anything in common with her anymore. Her married friends enjoyed spending time with other married couples, her single friends enjoyed the same life they had in college. She didn't fit into either world. Even those who had children--well, it was hard to hear how wonderful their kids were doing. And talking about Kyle? They were supportive, but they would never really understand what it was like.

  Then, of course, there was the whole man thing. Brett--good old Brett--was the last man she'd dated, and in reality it hadn't even been a date. A roll in the sack, perhaps, but not a date. What a roll, though, huh? Twenty minutes and boom--her whole life changed. What would her life be like now if it hadn't happened? True, Kyle wouldn't be here . . . but . . . But what? Maybe she'd be married, maybe she'd have a couple of kids, maybe she'd even have a house with a white picket fence around the yard. She'd drive a Volvo or minivan and spend every vacation at Disney World. It sounded good, it definitely sounded easier, but would her life be any better?