The Return

by Nicholas Sparks

  Years later, when my mom went off to college on a full scholarship, my grandfather told me that he and Rose enjoyed a second honeymoon, one that lasted until their very last day together. Every morning, he would head out early to pick Rose a bouquet of flowers; she would make breakfast, and the two of them would eat together on the back porch, while watching the mist rise slowly from the water. He would kiss her before heading off to work and again when he returned at the end of the day; they held hands as they took their evening walk, as though touch could somehow make up for the lost hours they’d spent apart.

  My grandfather found her on the kitchen floor on a Saturday, after he’d spent an afternoon building additional hives. He took her lifeless body in his arms and held her. He cried for more than an hour before finally calling the authorities. He was so destroyed that for the first time ever, my mom took a monthlong leave of absence from her practice and came down to stay with him. He spent part of the following year carving her headstone himself, and up until our last phone call, I knew he continued to visit her grave every single week.

  There was Rose and only Rose; he’d always sworn no one could ever replace her. There was no reason to doubt him and I never did. Toward the end, my grandfather was more than ninety years old, with arthritis and a dying truck; he led a simple life that included tending to honey bees and tinkering with the boat, all the while cherishing the memories of a wife that he could never forget.

  I turned all these things over in my mind while my thoughts circled back to my conversation with Jim. I tried to reconcile Jim’s comments with the grandfather I’d known but simply couldn’t do it. Despite what I’d been told, I knew with sudden certainty that my grandfather had never, nor would have ever, gone to South Carolina to visit a woman named Helen.

  * * *

  I continued upstream, motoring from one curve to the next, eventually reaching the public boat ramp in the Croatan National Forest. Interesting tidbit about the forest: It’s one of the few places in the world where you can find Venus flytraps and other carnivorous plants growing in the wild. My grandfather used to bring me out to search for them. Somehow, despite constant poaching, they’re still relatively common.

  The boat ramp was one of the reference points I’d overheard at the Trading Post. Supposedly, the eagles and alligators were a couple of curves farther upstream, but for all I knew, it might be zero or ten curves. The guy’s description had been a little vague, so I slowed the boat and scanned the trees on either side of the creek. The problem, I soon realized, was that I had no idea what I was supposed to look for.

  Technology, however, is a wonderful thing. Pulling out my phone, I did a quick internet search and was able to find images of bald eagles’ nests. To my eye, they looked like regular birds’ nests, only much larger, which made me feel foolish for not assuming that in the first place. In the end, I finally spotted it high in the branches of a cypress tree, a feat made even simpler by the fact that mama or papa eagle was sitting in the nest, while the mate perched in the limbs of a nearby tree.

  It wasn’t two bends in the river past the boat ramp, by the way, but four.

  I stopped the boat and scanned the banks for the alligators but had less luck there. I did note a cleared and muddy spot with some telltale burrows, however. Having lived in Florida, I’d seen them before. Unfortunately, no alligators were around, but alligators were territorial, which meant it was likely that they’d return.

  In the meantime, my gaze was drawn toward the bald eagles and I snapped some pics with my phone. With brown bodies and white heads, they looked just like the one on the Great Seal of the United States, my first sighting of them in the wild. It soon became rather boring, though. Aside from occasionally turning their heads, they didn’t move much, and after a while, they were no more exciting to watch than the trees. I wondered if there were eggs in the nest, but I soon noticed a pair of baby eaglets. Every now and then, one or both of the little ones would poke up their heads and I had the urge to tell someone about it. Reaching for my phone again, I typed out a quick message to Natalie.

  Do you have time to chat later?

  Again, I found myself watching the phone to see if she’d read it; to my surprise, her response came quickly:

  I’ll probably have some time around 8.

  I smiled, thinking that things with Natalie were getting interesting. It wasn’t exactly my grandfather and Rose, but definitely interesting.

  * * *

  There was still no word from the ambulance companies, but I figured that I’d give them until Monday before I contacted them again. Despite that, the rest of my afternoon was productive, if you consider taking a long nap after a leisurely boat ride productive.

  For dinner, I decided to eat at Morgan’s Tavern. Located downtown, it was my kind of place: wood floors, lots of rustic brick, high-beamed ceilings, and an extensive menu. It was bustling, so I ended up sitting at one of the tables in the bar, but the service was quick and the food was tasty. A good place to kill time until I called Natalie.

  Not wanting to be too punctual, I dialed seven minutes after the hour. Perhaps not wanting to appear too eager, Natalie answered on the fourth ring. Oh, the silly games people play…

  “Hey there,” I said. “How was work?”

  “Fine, but I’m glad I’m on days for the next few weeks. It’s hard for me to sleep when the sun is shining. My body just doesn’t like it.”

  “You should do a residency. Then you never have to sleep at all.”

  She giggled. “What’s going on?”

  “You’ll never guess where I went today,” I said.

  “You called because you want me to guess?”

  “No,” I said. “I went out on the creek today.”

  “On your grandfather’s boat?”

  “I prefer to think of it as a yacht.”

  “Ah,” she said, amusement in her voice. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I was hunting for alligators.”

  “Don’t tell me you found one.”

  “I didn’t, but I’m pretty sure I know where to find them. I was thinking we might try to find them on Saturday. We could take the boat out, maybe follow that up with dinner at my place. How does that sound?”

  A second of silence on the line. Then: “Won’t it be crowded on the water this weekend?”

  Your grandfather’s boat draws way too much interest from others, she didn’t have to add, and I’d prefer that no one else know I’m spending time with you.

  “Not where we’d be going. We’ll be heading up the creek, probably in late afternoon. It’s usually pretty quiet. And afterward, we’d eat at my place. I can grill a mean steak.”

  “I don’t eat red meat.”

  Natalie, I was beginning to learn, seldom offered a simple yes or no, but I was growing used to it. “I can grill seafood if you’d prefer,” I suggested. “Seafood’s okay, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how about coming by around four thirty? We’ll spend a couple of hours on the boat, head back, fire up the grill. Maybe open a bottle of wine. And I promise that even if we don’t find the alligators, you’ll see something pretty amazing.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise. What do you think?”

  “Four thirty?”

  “We could go earlier, but I wouldn’t go later or we’ll lose the daylight when we’re on the water.”

  In the silence that followed, I tried and failed to imagine her as she was speaking. Where was she? In her kitchen? The family room? Her bedroom? Finally, I heard her voice again. “All right,” she said, still sounding hesitant. “I guess I should drive to your place?”

  “If you’d rather, I could pick you up.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said.

  Because you don’t want me to know where you live? “Great,” I said, ignoring that internal query. “A couple of questions…are you okay with tuna?”

  “That’s fine.”

&n
bsp; “And my odds that you show are better than fifty-fifty this time?”

  “Ha ha,” she said. “I’ll be there at four thirty.”

  Maybe I was just imagining it, but I think there was a little part of her that was flattered by my persistence. “Good night, Trevor.”

  “Good night, Natalie.”

  * * *

  On Thursday, I heard from the first of the ambulance companies, who let me know that they hadn’t attended to or transported my grandfather.

  On Friday, I heard from the second one and struck pay dirt. After a brief conversation, I was emailed a scanned copy of the report.

  I read that my grandfather, Carl Haverson, had been picked up near mile marker 7 on Highway 123, and transported to Baptist Easley Hospital. Though light on details, the report showed that he was unconscious, with a thready pulse. Oxygen was administered en route, and he reached the hospital at 8:17 a.m.

  It wasn’t much information and told me little that I didn’t already know, other than the pickup location. A quick search on the internet, including Google Earth, showed a stretch of highway near a dilapidated strip mall, which didn’t add any helpful information, primarily because I had no idea of what exactly had led to the call in the first place. He could have been walking to his truck or already driving or heading into a restaurant. I didn’t know who’d called the ambulance, or even what near mile marker 7 actually meant. Perhaps the only way to find the answers to any of these questions was to go there and check it out.

  But noting the time of his arrival triggered an additional thought, one that I should have realized before. Easley was at least six hours away by car; in my grandfather’s truck, at his age, it might have taken him as long as nine hours to get there. Had he driven through the night? Try as I might, I couldn’t imagine that. He was, and always had been, an early riser. In my mind’s eye, I could visualize him getting into the truck early in the morning, after sleeping in a hotel or motel…

  Where, then, had he stayed the night? Near Easley? Farther east?

  Also, if he’d been found near the truck, I knew there was no way it would still be sitting alongside the highway, not after six months. So how was I going to find it?

  I wrestled with the questions on and off the rest of the day, without answers. What I did finally come to accept, however, was that a road trip to Easley was in my very near future. To understand what had happened to my grandfather, I knew I had no choice but to go there.

  Chapter 10

  Saturday felt like early summer, at least while I was out for my run. By the time I finished, I was able to wring the perspiration from my shirt before showering, which was kind of gross, but reminded me of the years I’d actually been an athlete, as opposed to a guy who was simply trying to keep his pants from nipping at the waist.

  After breakfast, I cleaned the house again, paying special attention to the kitchen and bathrooms, then hauled the small dining room table and chairs out to the back porch. I rearranged the rockers, slid the grill to a new spot, and rifled through the cabinets and closets for a tablecloth and candles, doing my best to create a subtly romantic ambiance.

  Getting the boat ready was more of a chore. While I didn’t care whether the recliners were ratty or moldy, I figured she might, and I had to run to the store to buy the cleanser I needed. After detouring to the grocery store, I then took the boat to the gas pumps at the Trading Post to fill the tank, but it took longer than expected due to the long line. Three different people whipped out their phones to take photographs of me while I was in the queue, being that I was so handsome and all. Then again, maybe they were more interested in the boat. Who knew?

  I set the table, added flowers from the front yard to the vase, put the bottles of wine in the refrigerator to chill, chopped vegetables, and tossed a salad. I loaded the cooler with ice, beer, soda, and bottles of water and ferried it to the boat, along with a snack platter. By that point, it was midafternoon; I tried and failed to remember the last time it had taken me so long to get ready for a date.

  I showered for the second time that day and considering the sultry temperature, my instincts told me that shorts and a T-shirt would be most appropriate for the boat. Instead, I opted for jeans, a blue button-up shirt, and Top-Siders. I rolled up my sleeves and hoped the breeze would keep me from sweating through my shirt.

  I should have listened to my instincts. Natalie showed up a few minutes later, stepping out of her car in jean shorts, sunglasses, sandals, and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, a casually sexy appearance that registered immediately. I swallowed hard.

  After collecting a medium-sized canvas bag from the passenger seat, she turned, stopping in her tracks when she saw me.

  “I thought you said we were going on the boat.”

  “We are,” I said. “This is my captain’s uniform.”

  “You’re going to get hot…”

  Yes, I am, I thought, already feeling the sun beating down on me. “I’ll be fine…”

  Approaching her car, I was unsure whether to lean in for a hug or stand in place like an idiot. I opted for the latter. She acted equally uncertain, which made me wonder whether she was as nervous as I. I doubted it, but it still made me feel better.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should bring anything,” she said, motioning to the car. “But I have a small cooler in the back seat with drinks.”

  “I put some in the boat already, but I’m happy to load what you brought just in case.”

  Opening the back door, I retrieved the cooler.

  “How’s your day been?” she asked as we walked toward the house.

  “Relaxing,” I lied. “You?”

  “Typical Saturday.”

  “Farmers’ market?”

  “Among other things.” She shrugged. “Do you really think we’ll find an alligator?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “But no guarantees.”

  “If we do, it’ll still be a first. That’s always kind of exciting.”

  “What’s in your bag?”

  “Clothes for later,” she said. “I didn’t want to get cold.”

  Frankly, I would have been happy if she stayed in the outfit she was wearing, but I kept quiet.

  I pushed the front door open. “Come on in. Feel free to leave your bag anywhere.”

  “How long do you think we’ll be on the boat?”

  “Hard to say. But we’ll definitely be back before dark.”

  She dug out some sunscreen from her bag while following me through the house and onto the back porch. When she saw all I’d done, she arched an eyebrow.

  “Wow,” she said. “You’ve been busy.”

  “My parents raised me to make a good impression.”

  “You already have,” she said, “or I wouldn’t have agreed to come.”

  For the first time in her presence, I was at a loss for words. I think she knew she’d thrown me because she laughed.

  “All right,” she went on. “Let’s get on the boat and find some alligators.”

  I led the way down to the dock, setting her cooler next to mine as we climbed on board. The boat rocked slightly under our shifting weights.

  “I’ve never been on a yacht before,” she cooed, picking up the thread of my earlier joke. “I hope it’s safe.”

  “Don’t worry. She’s seaworthy.” I hopped back on the dock briefly to untie the ropes, then rejoined her, asking, “Would you like a beer or glass of wine before we get going?”

  “A beer sounds good.”

  I reached into my cooler and pulled out a Yuengling. Twisting off the cap, I handed it to her. I opened a beer for myself as well, privately celebrating our first drink together.

  I held my bottle toward her. “Thank you for coming,” I said. “Cheers.”

  She tapped her bottle against mine before taking a small sip. “This is good,” she commented, inspecting the label.

  Wasting no time, I moved to the stern and started the engine with a pull of the cord. Back in the cockpit, I increased the thrott
le and inched away from the dock. I made my way toward the middle of the creek, grateful for the breeze. I could already feel a thin sheen of perspiration beginning to form, but Natalie seemed more than comfortable. She stood at the railing, watching the scenery with her hair fanning out behind her, gorgeous in the sunlight. I found myself admiring her legs before I turned my attention back to steering the boat. Crashing might mar the good impression I’d made earlier, what with the whole tablecloth-and-candles-on-the-porch thing.

  We puttered through one wide turn after the next. Housing on either side of the creek gave way to fishing camps dotting only one bank; and after that, nothing but wilderness. Meanwhile, despite my lack of depth perception, I expertly avoided various hazards and would have pointed out my boating mastery to her, but for the ubiquitous presence of neon-colored buoys alerting boaters to keep a safe distance.

  After slathering sunscreen on her arms and legs, Natalie joined me in the cockpit.

  “This is the first time I’ve gone up Brices Creek,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “How can you live here and never come up this way?”

  “No boat,” she said. “I mean, I’ve been on the Trent River and the Neuse River with friends, but we never came up this way.”

  “I thought you don’t go out much.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “Not lately, anyway.”

  Though I could have asked her why, I could tell she didn’t want me to. “If you’re hungry, there are some snacks on the table.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine for now. I can’t remember the last time I had a beer, so I’m kind of enjoying this.”

  She stared out at the slow-moving black water, clutching her cold bottle and basking in the sun.

  “How did you know where to find the alligators?” she asked.

  “I overheard some people talking when I had lunch at the Trading Post, so I decided to check it out.”

  “I’ve never eaten there.”