The Rescue

by Nicholas Sparks

  As she thought about it, Denise crossed her arms. Behind Taylor, in the yard, a bluejay called from the fencepost. Kyle looked up expectantly.

  "What is it?" she finally asked, giving in.

  "It's in the truck. Let me go get it." Taylor stepped backward, watching her carefully, realizing that her comment meant she was going to let him stay. Before she changed her mind, he motioned toward Kyle. "C'mon, you can help."

  As they walked back to the truck, Denise watched him, her emotions warring within her. Again, his explanations seemed reasonable, as they had for the past two weeks. Again, he was great with Kyle.

  So why didn't she believe him?

  After Kyle was asleep that night, Denise and Taylor sat together on the couch in the living room.

  "So how did you like your surprise?"

  "It was delicious. But you didn't have to fill my freezer."

  "Well, mine was already full."

  "Your mom might want some."

  Taylor shrugged. "Hers is full, too."

  "How often do you hunt?"

  "As much as I can."

  Before dinner, Taylor and Kyle had played catch in the yard; for dinner, Taylor had done the cooking, or rather part of it. Along with the venison, he'd brought some potato salad and baked beans from the supermarket. Now, relaxing for the first time, Denise felt better than she had for the past couple of weeks. The only light came from a small lamp in the corner, and a radio was playing softly in the background.

  "So when are you taking Kyle to his baseball game?"

  "I was thinking about Saturday, if that's okay. There's a game in Norfolk."

  "Oh, that's his birthday," she said, disappointed. "I was planning to throw a little party for him."

  "What time's the party?"

  "Probably around noon or so. I still have to work that night."

  "The game starts at seven. How about if I take Kyle with me while you're at work?"

  "But I kind of wanted to go, too."

  "Ah, let us have another boys night out. He'd enjoy it."

  "I know he would. You've already got him hooked on that game."

  "So is it all right if I bring him? I'd have him home in time to pick you up."

  She brought her hands to her lap. "All right, you win. But don't keep him too long if he gets tired."

  Taylor raised his hand. "Scouts' honor. I'll pick him up at five, and by the end of the night, he'll be eating hot dogs and peanuts and singing 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game.' "

  She nudged him in the ribs. "Yeah, sure."

  "Well, maybe you're right. But it won't be for lack of trying."

  Denise rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled like salt and wind.

  "You're a good guy, Taylor."

  "I try."

  "No, I'm serious. You've really made me feel special these last couple of months."

  "So have you."

  For a long moment, silence filled the living room like a living presence. She could feel Taylor's chest rising and falling with every breath. As wonderful as he'd been tonight, she couldn't escape the concerns that had been troubling her for the past two weeks.

  "Do you ever think about the future, Taylor?"

  He cleared his throat before answering.

  "Sure, sometimes. Usually it doesn't go much beyond the next meal, though."

  She took his hand in hers, weaving their fingers together.

  "Do you ever think about us? About where we're going with all this, I mean?"

  Taylor didn't respond, and Denise went on.

  "I've just been thinking that we've been seeing each other for a few months now, but sometimes I don't know where you stand on all this. I mean, these last couple of weeks . . . I don't know . . . sometimes it feels like you're pulling away. You've been working such long hours that we haven't had much time to spend together, and then when you didn't call . . ."

  She trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, knowing she'd already said these things before. She felt his body stiffen just a little as she heard his answer coming out in a hoarse whisper.

  "I care about you, Denise, if that's what you're asking."

  She blinked, keeping her eyes closed for a long moment before opening them again.

  "No, that's not it . . . or not all of it. I guess I just want to know if you're serious about us."

  He pulled her closer, running his hand through her hair.

  "Of course I'm serious. But like I said, my vision of the future doesn't extend all that far. I'm not the brightest guy you've ever met."

  He smiled at his own joke. Hinting wasn't going to suffice. Denise took a deep breath.

  "Well, when you think about the future, are Kyle and I in it?" she asked point-blank.

  It was quiet in the living room as she waited for his answer. Licking her lips, she realized her mouth had gone dry. Eventually she heard him sigh.

  "I can't predict the future, Denise. No one can. But like I said, I care about you and I care about Kyle. Isn't that enough for now?"

  Needless to say, it wasn't the answer she had hoped for, but she lifted her head from his shoulder and met his eyes.

  "Yeah," she lied. "That's enough for now."

  Later that night, after making love and falling asleep together, Denise woke and saw Taylor standing by the window, looking toward the trees but obviously thinking of something else. She watched him for a long time, before he finally crawled back into bed. As he tugged at the sheet, Denise turned toward him.

  "Are you okay?" she whispered.

  Taylor seemed surprised at the sound of her voice. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

  "No. I've been awake for a while now. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. I just couldn't sleep."

  "Are you worried about something?"

  "No."

  "Then why can't you sleep?"

  "I don't know."

  "Is it something I did?"

  He drew a long breath. "No. There's nothing wrong with you at all."

  With that, he cuddled against her, pulling her close.

  The following morning, Denise woke alone.

  This time Taylor wasn't sleeping on the couch. This time he didn't surprise her with breakfast. He'd slipped out unnoticed, and calls to his house went unanswered. For a while Denise debated stopping by his work site later in the day, but the memory of her last visit kept her from doing so.

  Instead she reviewed their evening, trying to get a better read on it. For every positive thing, there seemed to be something negative as well. Yes, he'd come by . . . but that may have been because his mother had said something to him. Yes, he'd been great with Kyle . . . but then he might be focusing on Kyle to avoid what was really bothering him. Yes, he'd told her he cared about her . . . but not enough to even think about the future? They'd made love . . . but he was gone first thing in the morning, without so much as a good-bye.

  Analysis, debate, dissection . . . she hated reducing their relationship to that. It seemed so eighties, so grounded in psychobabble, a bunch of words and actions that might or might not mean anything. No, scratch that. They did mean something, and that's exactly what the problem was.

  Yet, deep down, she realized that Taylor wasn't lying when he said he cared about her. If there was one thing that kept her going, that was it. But . . .

  So many buts these days.

  She shook her head, doing her best to put it all out of her mind, at least until she saw him again. He'd be by later to take her into work, and though she didn't think there'd be time to talk to him about her feelings again, she felt sure that she would know more as soon as she saw him. Hopefully he'd come by a little early.

  The rest of the morning and the afternoon passed slowly. Kyle was in one of his moods--not talking, grumpy, stubborn--and that didn't help her own mood, but it did keep her from focusing all day on Taylor.

  A little after five she thought she heard his truck on the road out front, but as soon as she stepped outside, she realized it wasn't Taylor. Disa
ppointed, she changed into her workclothes, made Kyle a grilled cheese sandwich, watched the news.

  Time continued to pass. Six o'clock now. Where was he?

  She turned off the television and tried unsuccessfully to get Kyle interested in a book. Then she got down on the floor and started playing with his Legos, but Kyle ignored her, focusing on his coloring book. When she tried to join him in that, he told her to go away. She sighed and decided it wasn't worth the effort.

  Instead she straightened up the kitchen, killing time. Not much to do there, so she folded a basket of laundry and put it away.

  Six-thirty and still no sign of him. Concern was giving way to a sinking sensation in her gut.

  He's coming, she told herself. Isn't he?

  Against her better judgment she dialed his number, but there was no answer. She went back into the kitchen, got a glass of water, then returned to the living room window. Looking out, she waited.

  And waited.

  Fifteen minutes to get there or she'd be late.

  Then ten.

  At five until seven she was holding her glass so hard that her knuckles had turned white. Loosening her grip, she felt the blood rush back into her fingers. Her lips were pressed together when seven o'clock rolled around and she called Ray, apologizing and telling him she'd be a little late.

  "We've got to go, Kyle," she said after hanging up the phone. "We're going to ride our bikes."

  "No," he said.

  "I'm not asking, Kyle, I'm telling you. Now move!"

  Hearing the tone of her voice, Kyle put down his colors and started toward her.

  Cursing, she went to the back porch to get her bike. Rolling it off the porch, she noticed it wasn't gliding smoothly, and she jerked it before finally learning what the problem was.

  A flat tire.

  "Oh, c'mon . . . not tonight," she said almost in disbelief. As if not trusting her eyes, she checked the tire with her finger, feeling it give as she applied only a little pressure.

  "Damnit," she said, kicking at the wheel. She let the bike fall onto a couple of cardboard boxes, then went into the kitchen again just as Kyle was coming out the door.

  "We're not taking our bikes," she said through gritted teeth. "Come inside."

  Kyle knew enough not to press her now and did as he was told. Denise went to the phone and tried Taylor again. Not in. She slammed the phone down, then thought of who else to call. Not Rhonda--she was already at the diner. But . . . Judy? She dialed her number and let it ring a dozen times before hanging up. Who else to call? Who else did she know? Really, only one other person. She opened the cupboard and found the phone book, then thumbed to the appropriate page. After punching in the right numbers, she breathed a sigh of relief as it was answered.

  "Melissa? Hi, it's Denise."

  "Oh, hey, how are you?"

  "Actually, I'm not too good right now. I hate to do this, but I'm really calling for a favor."

  "What can I do?"

  "I know it's really inconvenient, but is it possible for you to drive me into work tonight?"

  "Sure, when?"

  "Now? I know it's last minute and I'm sorry, but the tires on my bike are flat--"

  "Don't worry about it," Melissa interrupted. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

  "I'll owe you one."

  "No, you won't. It's not that big a deal. I just have to grab my purse and the keys."

  Denise hung up, then called Ray again, explaining with more apologies that she'd be there by seven-thirty. This time Ray laughed.

  "Don't worry about it, honey. You'll get here when you do. No rush--it's kind of quiet right now anyway."

  Again she breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly she noticed Kyle, watching her without saying a word.

  "Mommy's not mad at you, sweetheart. I'm sorry for yelling."

  She was, however, still angry at Taylor. Any relief she was feeling was counteracted by that. How could he?

  Gathering her things, she waited for Melissa to show up, then led Kyle out the door when Melissa's car rolled up the drive. Melissa rolled down the window as the car slowed to a stop.

  "Hey there. C'mon in, but excuse the mess. Kids are knee-deep in soccer these days."

  Denise buckled Kyle into the backseat and was shaking her head as she got in the front seat. Soon the car had made its way down the drive and had turned onto the main road.

  "So what happened?" Melissa asked. "You said your tire was flat?"

  "Yeah, but I didn't expect that I'd have to ride my bike in the first place. Taylor didn't show up."

  "And he said he would?"

  Her question made Denise hesitate before answering. Did she ask him? Did she still have to?

  "We didn't talk about it specifically," Denise admitted, "but he's been driving me all summer, so I just assumed he'd keep doing it."

  "Did he call?"

  "No."

  Melissa's eyes darted in Denise's direction. "I take it things have changed between you two," she said.

  Denise simply nodded. Melissa faced the road again and was quiet, leaving Denise alone with her thoughts.

  "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"

  "I've known Taylor a long time," Melissa answered carefully.

  "So what's going on with him?"

  Melissa sighed. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. I never have. But Taylor always seems to turn gun-shy whenever he starts getting serious with someone."

  "But . . . why? I mean, we get along so well, he's great with Kyle . . ."

  "I can't speak for Taylor, I really can't. Like I said, I don't really understand it."

  "If you had to guess, though?"

  Melissa hesitated. "It's not you, trust me. When we were at dinner, I wasn't kidding when I said that Taylor really cares about you. He does--more than I've seen him care about anyone. And Mitch says the same thing. But sometimes I think that Taylor doesn't feel that he deserves to be happy, so he sabotages every opportunity. I don't think he does it on purpose--I think it's more that he can't help himself."

  "That doesn't make sense."

  "Maybe not. But it's the way he is."

  Denise pondered that. Up ahead she saw the diner. As Ray had said, from the looks of the parking lot there weren't too many people inside. Closing her eyes, she balled her fists in frustration.

  "Again, the question is why?"

  Melissa didn't respond right away. She turned on the blinker and began to slow the van.

  "If you ask me . . . it's because of something that happened a long time ago."

  Melissa's tone made her meaning obvious.

  "His father?"

  Melissa nodded, then let the words out slowly. "He blames himself for his father's death."

  Denise felt her stomach dip, then roll. "What happened back then?"

  The van came to a stop. "You should probably talk to him about that."

  "I've tried. . . ."

  Melissa shook her head. "I know, Denise. We all have."

  Denise worked her shift, barely concentrating, but because it was slow, it didn't really matter. Rhonda, who would normally have driven her home, left early, leaving Ray as the only option to bring her and Kyle home. Though she was thankful Ray was willing to drive her, he usually spent an hour after closing cleaning up, so it meant a later night than usual. Resigning herself to that, Denise was doing her own closing work when the front door opened just before it was time to lock up.

  Taylor.

  He stepped inside, waved to Ray, but didn't make a move toward Denise.

  "Melissa called," he said, "and told me you might need a ride home."

  She was at a loss for words. Angry, hurt, confused . . . yet undeniably still in love. Though the last part seemed to be fading with each passing day.

  "Where were you earlier?"

  Taylor shifted from one foot to the other. "I was working," he finally answered. "I didn't know you needed a ride today."

  "You've been driving me for the last three months," sh
e said, trying to keep her composure.

  "But I was gone last week. You didn't ask me to drive you in last night, so I just figured Rhonda would bring you in. I didn't realize that I was supposed to be your personal chauffeur."

  Her eyes narrowed. "That's not fair, Taylor, and you know it."

  Taylor crossed his arms. "Hey, I didn't come here to get yelled at. I'm here in case you need a ride home. Do you want one or not?"

  Denise pursed her lips together. "No," she said simply.

  If Taylor was surprised, he didn't show it.

  "All right, then," he said. He turned to look at the walls, then the floor, then back to her. "I'm sorry about earlier, if that means anything."

  It does and it doesn't, Denise thought. But she didn't say anything. When Taylor realized she wasn't going to speak, he turned away, pulling the door open again.

  "Do you need a ride tomorrow?" he asked over his shoulder.

  Again she thought about it. "Will you be there?"

  He winced. "Yes," he answered softly. "I will."

  "Then, okay," she said.

  He nodded, then made his way out the door. Turning around, Denise saw Ray scrubbing the counter as if his life depended on it.

  "Ray?"

  "Yes, honey?" he answered, pretending that he hadn't been paying attention to what was going on.

  "Can I take tomorrow evening off?"

  He glanced up from the counter, looking at her as he probably would have looked at his own child.

  "I think you'd better," he answered honestly.

  Taylor came by thirty minutes before her shift was supposed to start and was surprised when she opened the door dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved blouse. It had been raining most of the day, and the temperature was in the sixties, too cool for shorts. Taylor, meanwhile, was clean and dry--it was obvious he'd changed before coming over.

  "C'mon in," she said.

  "Aren't you supposed to be dressed for work?"

  "I'm not working tonight," she said evenly.

  "You're not?"

  "No," she replied. Taylor followed her inside, curious.

  "Where's Kyle?"

  Denise sat. "Melissa said she'd watch him for a while."

  Taylor stopped, looking around uncertainly, and Denise patted the couch.

  "Sit down."

  Taylor did as she suggested. "So what's up?"

  "We've got to talk," she began.

  "About what?"

  She couldn't help but shake her head at that. "What's going on with you?"

  "Why? Is there something I don't know about?" he said, grinning nervously.

  "This isn't the time for jokes, Taylor. I took tonight off in the hopes that you'd help me understand what the problem is."