The Return

by Nicholas Sparks

  Halfway down the pier, the structure began to come into focus, bringing a smile to my face. Green Springs was the same as I remembered, the kind of place where kids actually played at their own risk. There were no safety rails or even steps from one level to the next; instead, a person had to scale a series of planks while avoiding popped nails. The owner replaced rotting planks and performed other repairs during the winter months, an ongoing construction project that made Green Springs seem perpetually unfinished.

  I finally reached the main structure and searched for Natalie without luck. Finally, I called her name softly in the darkness.

  “I’m up here,” she answered, her voice drifting down from above.

  It sounded like she was on the second level. When I climbed up to the upper reaches, I saw her sitting at the edge of the platform, her feet dangling. Like me, she was in jeans and wearing a windbreaker; I also clocked the wine bottle beside her.

  She turned, offering a smile. “You came,” she said, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “I was beginning to wonder whether you’d changed your mind.”

  “I had trouble finding it. It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

  As I took a seat on the edge beside her, Natalie reached for her cup and took a sip; I could smell the wine on her breath and noticed the bottle was nearly empty.

  “How was your trip?” she asked in a singsong voice.

  “It was fine,” I answered. “What are you doing out here?”

  She ignored my question. “Did you find your grandfather’s truck?”

  “Working on it,” I said. “I know who towed it but I haven’t spoken with him yet. How long have you been out here?”

  “I don’t know. Two hours, maybe? I don’t really know. What time is it?”

  “It’s almost ten.”

  “It’s getting late,” she declared. I watched as she gulped from her cup again. While she didn’t appear to be drunk, it was clear the bottle of wine had been full when she’d arrived and I felt the first flutter of nervousness. Something was going on, something I wasn’t sure I was going to like.

  “Shouldn’t you be heading home? To get some rest for tomorrow?”

  “I’m not working tomorrow,” she answered. “My shifts got moved because another deputy had to testify in court. So I have to work this weekend. Tonight is like my Saturday night.”

  “Ah,” I said.

  She offered me the cup. “Do you want some wine?”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  She nodded. “Okay then,” she said. “I guess I should have brought a Yuengling for you.”

  I didn’t respond. Instead, I examined her profile, hoping and failing to uncover clues as to why we were here.

  She finished her drink, then emptied the rest of the bottle into her cup.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “Did something happen today?”

  “No,” she said. “Nothing happened today. And no, I’m not okay.”

  “Is there something I can do?”

  She gave a bitter-sounding laugh but didn’t answer. Instead, she focused on her cup. “Did you know that until last weekend with you, I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in over six months? Now, this is the second time in a week. You must think I have a problem.”

  “You don’t have a problem, but I do think something’s bothering you.”

  “You could say that,” she said. “I used to think that I had things under control, but now I know I was just fooling myself.” Again, she laughed, but the sound was heartbreaking. “I’m probably not making any sense.”

  No, I thought, you’re not. But I understood emotional turmoil and from experience I knew that talking about it would help only if she was the one who did most of the talking. My role was simply to listen and to empathize, even if I didn’t fully understand what was going on.

  “Do you believe in God?” she finally asked me.

  “Most of the time,” I answered. “But not always.”

  I noticed a flicker of sadness in her expression.

  “I do,” she said. “I always have. Growing up, I went to church every Sunday and Wednesday nights. Good Baptist. I used to enjoy it, and I thought that I understood the way things were supposed to work. But as I grew older, I realized that I didn’t. I know that God created us with free will, but I’ve never understood why there’s so much suffering in the world. Why would God, who’s supposed to be all good and loving, allow innocent people to suffer? I remember searching for the explanation in the Bible, but it’s not in there. It’s the biggest question there is, but there’s no answer. And I see it all the time in my work. I see it everywhere. But…why?”

  “I don’t know. And I can’t say that I know much about the Bible, either. My favorite part of church was staring at the girls.”

  “Ha,” she snickered, clutching her cup with both hands. Then, in a subdued voice, “Do you know why I came out here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Because this was one of the last places I can remember being truly happy. I’d never heard of this place before I moved here, but I remember coming out here late in the summer. The water was perfect, and I spread out a towel to get some sun. And as I lay there, I thought about how wonderful everything was. My life was everything I wanted it to be, and I was just…absolutely content. I wanted to feel that way again, even for an instant.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Did you feel it?”

  “No,” she said. “That’s why I brought the wine. Because if I couldn’t feel happy, then I didn’t want to feel anything at all.”

  I didn’t like what she was saying, my worry for her growing more pervasive. Perhaps she sensed my concern, because she moved the bottle behind us, then scooted closer to me. Instinctively, I put my arm around her shoulder and neither of us said anything. Instead, we stared toward the river, watching as the celestial light made the water flicker hypnotically.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” she said, sighing. “Being out here at night?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I didn’t think it was allowed.”

  “It’s not. But I didn’t care.”

  “Obviously.”

  “You know what else I was thinking about while I was out here? Before you came?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I was thinking about the bees. And the alligators and the eagles and the dinner on the porch. I was happy then, too. Maybe not perfectly content, but…happy. For the first time in a long time, I kind of felt like myself again and while I was sitting out here, I realized how much I miss that. But…”

  She trailed off. When she didn’t finish her thought, I asked the obvious.

  “But what?”

  “I realized that I’m not supposed to be happy.”

  Her comment jolted me. “Why would you say that? Of course you are. Why would you think that?”

  Instead of answering, she took another swallow from her cup. “We should probably get going. Or at least, I should go. It’s getting late.”

  “Please don’t change the subject. Why wouldn’t you think you’re supposed to be happy?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Maybe I would, if I knew what you were talking about.”

  In the silence, I heard the soft sound of her breaths, could feel the subtle movement beneath my arm. “Sometimes, in life, you’re confronted with an impossible decision, with no happy ending, no matter what you choose. Like…imagine you’re married with three kids, and you’re rock climbing with your wife, and something goes wrong. You’re dangling from the cliff, with no rope; one hand is on the rock, and the other hand is holding your wife, and you’re getting weaker and you know that there’s no way you can save both your wife and yourself. So you either have to let go of your wife—and live with her death—or you both have to die and allow your children to be orphaned. In that situation, neither decision will make you happy. That sort of thing.”

  I thought about what she w
as trying hard not to say.

  “You’re talking about choosing between me and the other guy.”

  She nodded, her mouth a tight line. “But I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I last saw you, and I’m so tired and I’ve been drinking. It’s not the right time. I’m not ready.”

  “Okay,” I said, with difficulty. I loved her. I longed to talk about us, about our future. I wanted to convince her that she could be happy with me, that I’d do everything possible to show her she’d made the right decision by choosing me. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “But can you just sit here and hold me for a while?”

  I pulled her closer, and we sat in silence on that cool and dark spring evening. In the distance, I saw cars passing over the bridge; lights were glowing in the houses across the river. The air was growing moist, thickening, and I predicted there would be a heavy layer of fog in the morning, blurring the verdant landscape into a world of shadows.

  Natalie dumped the remainder of her wine into the water, barely making a splash; I focused on the heat of her skin and the way her body curved into mine. I thought back on our date, and the softness of her lips the first time we kissed. Closing my eyes, I knew that I loved her, no matter what.

  We would get past this, I told myself. It would be hard for her—perhaps even excruciating—but I was willing to give her the time and space that she needed. I knew that she loved me the same way that I loved her. It might take a while, but I felt she would reach the same conclusion, and that we would find a way to be together.

  And yet, as hard as I tried to convince myself of those things, I feared that I might be wrong about all of it.

  But I said nothing. Nor did she, and we sat together, on a night that should have belonged to us but somehow didn’t feel that way. Finally, I heard her exhale.

  “We should probably be going,” she said again. “I’ve got some errands to run first thing in the morning, since I won’t have time this weekend.”

  I nodded reluctantly. Rising, I offered my hand to help her up, then grabbed the wine bottle and cup. I walked to the spot where I’d climbed up, and while I was worried that the wine would make her unsteady, she climbed down easily. I followed, discarding the wine bottle and cup into the garbage can on the first level, and we started down the pier. As we walked, Natalie reached for my hand, and a wave of relief washed through me. I knew she’d made her decision and I felt suddenly lighter than I had all night.

  We walked across the lawn toward our cars. When we reached hers, I cleared my throat.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to drive.”

  “No,” she agreed, “it isn’t. I need to get my bag, but can you bring me home?”

  “I’d be happy to,” I said.

  She pulled her handbag from the passenger seat while I unlocked my car. Opening the door for her, I waited until she was settled, then rounded the car and slipped behind the wheel. Pulling out into the street, I turned to her.

  “Which way?”

  “Head back to the highway toward New Bern. I live in the Ghent area. Do you know where that is?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “Take the first exit after the bridge and turn right.”

  After only a few minutes, Natalie directed me to turn on Spencer Avenue. It was a pretty street, with mature trees and houses dating from the first half of the previous century. Natalie eventually had me pull into the driveway of a charming two-story home.

  Turning off the engine, I got out. Natalie did as well and together we made our way toward the front door.

  “So this is where you live, huh?”

  “For now,” she said. She began digging around in her purse.

  “Are you thinking of moving?”

  “Maybe,” she said, fishing out her keys. “I haven’t decided. It’s a little too big, and I might want something with a single story.”

  “Are you trying to find anything?”

  “Not yet,” she said.

  “Too many errands?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Let’s go with that.”

  By then, we were standing on her doorstep. I hesitated, trying to read her expression in the darkened doorway. “I’m glad you texted.”

  “Why? I was a hot mess tonight.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “Liar.”

  I grinned before leaning in to kiss her. She seemed reluctant but finally kissed me back and we separated. “I’m glad you’re in my life, Natalie. I hope you know that.”

  “I know.”

  Not wanting to sound desperate, I pretended not to notice that she hadn’t reciprocated my feeling. “Would you like me to pick you up in the morning so we could go get your car?”

  “No,” she answered. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ll have someone from work take care of it. It’s out of your way, and there’s another deputy who lives just down the street. It’s not a big deal.”

  Using her key, she unlocked the door, pushing it open a crack.

  “I know you’re working this weekend, but maybe we could get dinner tomorrow?”

  She seemed to search the quiet, leafy street before coming back to me. “I don’t think I can make it. After tonight, I’ll probably just stay in.”

  “All right,” I said, wanting to know the reason, but knowing enough not to ask. “No worries. We’ll try for next week, okay?”

  Her hand moved to the chain around her neck, which I knew to be a nervous response. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

  “I know you love me, Trevor, but do you care about me, too? I mean, really and truly care about me?”

  “Of course I care about you.”

  “Then if I asked you to do something, even if it was something that you didn’t want to do, would you do it? If it was the most important thing in the world to me?”

  I could see the naked plea in her expression. “Yes.”

  “Then, because you love me, and because you care for me, I want you to do something for me. I want you to promise me that you’ll do it.”

  “Sure, okay,” I answered, tension rising in me like floodwaters. “Anything,” I said. “I promise.”

  She smiled, sorrowful, before leaning toward me. We kissed a second time, her body tight against me. I felt her shoulders shudder and heard her fight to steady her breath before she finally pulled back. Her eyes were moist as she reached up, touching the scar on my face.

  “We need to stop,” she said. “I need to stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “This. You and me. All of it. We need to stop.”

  My stomach did a flip. “What are you saying?”

  She swiped at a tear, her eyes never leaving my own. It took a long time for her to get the words out.

  “Please never, ever try to contact me again.”

  Shock left me unable to speak, but she seemed to have expected it. With a sad smile, she stepped through the opening, closing the door behind her, leaving me wondering how my world had just come crashing down around me.

  Chapter 13

  Friday was spent in a daze, the weekend much the same. Though I forced myself to work out, I couldn’t manage much more. My stomach was in knots, the idea of food nausea-inducing, and while part of me longed to drink to oblivion, I was careful not to touch so much as a single beer. I didn’t study or clean the house or do laundry; instead, I took long walks in the afternoons, rehashing every moment that Natalie and I had spent together, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. Where I’d gone wrong.

  All signs pointed to the Other Guy, but I still couldn’t fully accept that. Less than a week had passed since we’d spent that unforgettable day and night together; even if she’d decided to rekindle that other relationship instead of making a go of it with me, why hadn’t she said anything? Why the flat request never to contact her a
gain? Was this some kind of game to her? While I granted that she played things close to the vest, she didn’t strike me as inherently manipulative. Part of me was certain that Natalie would come around. She’d call and blame her words on the fact that she’d been drinking; she’d admit that she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She’d apologize and we’d talk about what was really going on. We’d work things out, and sooner rather than later, everything would go back to normal.

  I carried my phone with me wherever I went, but my phone remained silent. Nor did I attempt to contact her. She’d asked me not to and I honored my promise, even as it simultaneously angered and confused me, even as my heart was breaking.

  Gradually, my appetite returned, but I didn’t sleep well. In my waking hours, I felt more on edge than I had in a long time, and I was thankful that I’d be speaking with Bowen on Monday. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I really needed his help.

  * * *

  “It’s clear that you’re upset,” Bowen said. “Anyone in your situation would feel the same.”

  I was in the kitchen, staring at Bowen on the computer screen. I had told him briefly about my trip to Easley before plunging into the events involving Natalie and me. I spoke in circles, repeated myself more than once, continually posing the same questions without really expecting an answer. On his end, Bowen waited for me to finally talk myself out before offering any response.

  “I’m more hurt and confused than anything,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “I just don’t understand what happened, Doc. She told me she loves me. What do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know that I can answer that question,” he said. “All I know for certain is that—according to you—she made her wishes known.”

  “Do you think it’s because of the other man?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Of course I do. Why else would you end a relationship with someone you loved?