The Return

by Nicholas Sparks

  There were no photographs, diaries, or journals, though on the wall in the kitchen, I noted a hanging calendar featuring picturesque Georgia sites, including Tallulah Gorge and Raven Cliff Falls, with her work schedule neatly outlined, and a few dates throughout the year marked in red marker. M’s birthday in June, R’s birthday in August, T and H’s birthday in October, and D’s birthday in December. The first initial of someone she knew, but nothing that would tell me anything more than that.

  But it made me wonder…

  Why, unless she was fond of or drawn to Georgia, would she have purchased this particular calendar? Or have a Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt separated from her other clothing?

  I rifled through the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen, then did the same in the bathroom. Again, the stark absence of belongings yielded few clues. I looked for a phone, hoping for an answering machine, but there was none.

  I have no idea how long I was in the house, and I gazed warily through the kitchen window in the direction of where I’d spotted the old man earlier. I didn’t want him to see me leaving, but luckily he hadn’t reappeared.

  I exited the front door quickly, hoping to make a clean getaway, but instantly registered the maroon car emblazoned with the word SHERIFF across the doors. I felt my stomach drop.

  A moment later, it dropped even further when I spotted Natalie emerging from the car, and for a long time, all I could do was stare at her.

  Chapter 16

  If I was stunned to see her, she seemed equally taken aback. When she finally stepped out from behind the open car door, I was reminded of how she looked the first time I’d ever met her. As I stood before her, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Trevor?” she ventured, closing the door.

  “Natalie,” I said, finding my voice.

  “What are you doing here? I got a call about a possible burglary in progress.”

  The old man. “You mean this?” I waved at Callie’s trailer. “I didn’t take anything.”

  “Did you just break into someone’s house? I saw you walking out.”

  “The door was unlocked.”

  “And you went inside?”

  “It’s good to see you, by the way.”

  “This is not a social call.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “I guess I should explain what I was doing.”

  Over her shoulder, I spotted the older man stepping out onto the porch. Part of me wanted to thank him for being so conscientious.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “The girl who lives here is named Callie. She’s in the hospital right now. So I came by to check on some things.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” She frowned. “What kind of things were you checking?”

  “I’m trying to help her and it was the only thing I could think to do.”

  “Are you being purposely evasive?”

  Behind her, the old man had climbed down from his porch and was inching closer, no doubt as curious as Natalie was.

  “Is there someplace we can speak in private?”

  For the first time, her gaze faltered.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. First, I need to understand what’s going on here.”

  Clearly she anticipated that in addition to explaining about Callie, I’d try to speak with her about the way we’d said goodbye. Which was exactly what I intended, if given the chance.

  “I’ve told you what I’m doing. There’s a girl in the hospital and she needs my help. I came here to do just that.”

  “How can you help her if she doesn’t know you’re here?”

  “Please,” I said. “I don’t want to speak in front of an audience.” I nodded at the neighbor, who now stood only several feet away.

  “Did you remove anything from the premises?”

  “No.”

  “Damage anything?”

  “No,” I insisted. “Feel free to go inside and check. The door’s unlocked.”

  “It’s still trespassing,” she pointed out.

  “I highly doubt that she’ll press charges.”

  “Is that so?”

  I moved closer, keeping my voice low. “She was the one who broke into my grandfather’s house. She also stole my grandmother’s social security number. And she’s very sick. Having to deal with a sheriff is probably the last thing she wants.”

  “You know I’m going to have to speak with her about this, don’t you?”

  “Good luck,” I said. “She may not speak to you at all.”

  “And why is that?”

  By then, the older man was nearly within hearing distance. Another neighbor, too, had appeared and was heading our way. When I saw a third door open and yet another woman emerge, I leaned in.

  “Please,” I pleaded. “It’s no one else’s business. I’m saying this for Callie’s sake, not mine.”

  “I can’t just let you walk away. People saw you trespassing.”

  “Then put me in your car. You can bring me to mine.”

  “Where’s yours?”

  “Up the road. You can’t miss it. I think the folks around here would be happier if I got in. Like I was in trouble.”

  “You are in trouble.”

  “I don’t think so.” When she didn’t respond, I turned toward her car, noting that all three neighbors had congregated a short distance away and were casting wary glances at me. “If you’d like, we can speak at the station.”

  I walked past her and slid into the back seat of the cruiser before Natalie could stop me. For a few seconds, she continued to stand outside the car before finally approaching the gathered neighbors. I watched as the old man began motioning toward me, clearly exercised. Natalie nodded, saying little as the man went on, and after a few minutes, she returned to the car and got in.

  As Natalie started the engine and pulled onto the main road, her eyes flashed to the rearview mirror. I could see her irritation at being put in a situation she clearly wished she could have avoided. “Which way to your vehicle?”

  “To the left,” I said. “A couple hundred yards.”

  “I should just bring you to the station.”

  “Then how would I get my SUV?”

  I heard her sigh. It took less than a minute for her to reach the spot where I’d parked. When I tried to get out, I realized that the door was locked. Natalie graciously stepped out and opened the door for me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I want the full story.”

  “I’m thirsty,” I said. “Let’s go to my house.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “It’s getting warm out here and it’s going to take a while.”

  “What’s the girl’s name again?”

  “Callie.”

  “I know that much,” she said. “What’s her last name?”

  “That’s what I was trying to find out.”

  * * *

  Natalie followed me back to the house and turned up the drive, eventually coming to a stop beside me. I got out of the car first but waited for her and we approached the house together. I remembered doing the same thing after we’d visited the beehives and I felt a sudden stab of loss. We had been drawn to each other and fallen in love, only to have her end it. What had I done wrong? Why hadn’t she given us a chance?

  I led the way inside to the kitchen, taking down two glasses from the cupboard and turning to her. “Tea or water?”

  Her eyes flickered to the porch, which looked different than it had the night of our dinner. “Homemade sweet tea?”

  “What else?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I filled our glasses, then added ice. Handing her a glass, I motioned at the porch.

  “Can’t you just tell me what’s going on without making an event out of it?” she demanded, clearly exasperated.

  “I just want to sit down,” I said. “Don’t make it into somet
hing that it isn’t.”

  On the back porch and thankful for the shade, I waited for her to join me. After a few beats, she reluctantly took her place in the other rocker. “Well?” she asked. “This better be good.”

  I related everything from the very beginning, finishing with the hospital and an attempt to locate Callie’s family by looking for clues in the trailer. Through it all, Natalie remained quiet but attentive.

  “You really think she might die?”

  “She will die,” I said. “Medicine and transfusions can help in the short run, but in her case, it will eventually be fatal. It’s actually the same disease that killed Eleanor Roosevelt.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “I didn’t want to get her in any trouble and for now, she has to remain in the hospital no matter what. Besides, if she won’t speak to the doctors, she probably won’t speak to the police, either.”

  She considered that. “Did you find any clues in the house?”

  “Not much,” I said. “Probably because of the fire, there wasn’t a lot there. I did find a Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt and a calendar with scenes of Georgia, though.”

  “Do you think that’s where she’s from?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “That’s not much.”

  “No,” I admitted. “It isn’t. And Georgia’s a big state. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  She squinted at me. “Why do you care so much?”

  “I’m not just handsome and rich. I’m also a good guy.”

  For the first time, Natalie cracked a wry smile. I remembered that smile and was struck by how much I’d missed it, how much I still wanted it to be part of my life. I think she knew what I was thinking because she turned away. Finally, she went on.

  “Do you want me to try to talk to her?”

  “I think it would make her clam up even more.”

  “I could try for fingerprints.”

  “Do you think that would help? If she’s never been arrested?”

  “Probably not.”

  “What should I do, then?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’ll start talking when she starts feeling worse.”

  “Maybe.” I hesitated before going on. “Can I ask you a question?”

  She seemed to sense what was coming. “Trevor…please don’t.”

  “I just want to know what happened between us. What did I do wrong?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I was scared,” she said in a low voice.

  “Of me?”

  “You. Me. Us.”

  “What was so frightening?”

  “All of it,” she said. Her gaze took in the creek, anguish etched in the lines of her face. “I loved every moment with you,” she admitted. “At the park, tending the beehives, our dinner in Beaufort. The boat ride and dinner here. Everything was…just the way I hoped it would be. It was perfect. But…”

  She trailed off.

  “But what?”

  “You’re leaving,” she said. “Soon, right?”

  “I told you that I didn’t have to move to Baltimore. I would have stayed. I can make other arrangements. It’s not a big deal.”

  “But it is a big deal. It’s your next career. It’s Johns Hopkins and you can’t put that on hold for me.”

  “You do realize I’m old enough to make my own decisions, right?”

  Wearily, she stood from her chair and walked to the railing. After a moment, I rose and joined her. Across the river, cypress trees stretched their whitewashed trunks from the ancient waters. Her profile was as lovely as ever. I waited for her to say something, anything, but she continued to avoid my gaze.

  “I know this is hard for you,” I said, “but if you put yourself in my situation, can you understand how baffling this feels to me?”

  “I do understand. And I know I’m not really answering your questions, but please know how heartbreaking that is to me.”

  As she spoke, I had the feeling that not only were we speaking entirely different languages, but that translation was impossible.

  “Did you even love me, Natalie?”

  “Yes,” she said, turning to look at me for the first time. Her voice was ragged. “I did. And I still do. Saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

  “If I meant so much to you, then why did it have to end?”

  “Because sometimes, that’s just the way things have to be.”

  I was about to respond when I heard the sound of a vehicle pulling onto the property and crackling over the gravel driveway. I heard a door slam, followed by a rapping at the door. I had no idea who it could be; other than Natalie, visitors to the house were practically nonexistent. I desperately wanted to continue the conversation with Natalie—or begin a conversation that I understood—but Natalie nodded toward the house.

  “Someone’s at the door,” she said.

  “I know. But…”

  “You should probably answer it. And I need to get back to work.”

  Though I could have asked if we could continue the conversation, I already knew what her answer would be and retreated into the house.

  At the door, I recognized the brown uniform of a UPS delivery driver. He was about my age, thin and wiry, and he handed me a medium-sized box. For a moment, I tried to recall if I’d ordered something, but came up empty. He held out an electronic clipboard, along with the attached pen.

  “Could you please sign for this?”

  I set the box down, scribbled my name, then closed the door behind me. On the return label, I saw the address of a law firm in South Carolina, and it all came rushing back.

  My grandfather’s things.

  I brought the box to the kitchen. Natalie came in from the porch as I placed it on the table. I hesitated, torn. I wanted to open the box immediately; I also longed to keep Natalie here, to continue to try to reach her and persuade her that she was making a mistake for both of us.

  “New pots and pans?”

  “No,” I said. Pulling out a penknife, I began to cut through the tape. “It’s from the lawyer for the tow truck guy. He had my grandfather’s things.”

  “After all this time?”

  “Lucky break,” I said.

  “I’ll let you get to it.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, could you wait? There might be something in here that I need help figuring out.”

  I flipped open the lids and removed some crumpled newspaper. On top was a baseball cap, one I recognized from many long-ago summers. It was worn and stained, but I greeted the sight of it like an old and beloved friend. I wondered whether he’d been wearing it when he’d had his stroke and it had fallen off, or whether it had been in the passenger seat beside him. I didn’t know; all I knew was that it was coming with me, wherever I ended up in life.

  I found his wallet next, bent and molded, the leather creased. Whatever cash had been in it had been taken, but I was far more interested in the photographs. There were a couple of Rose, a photo of me when I was a child, and a family portrait that my mother must have sent him when I was in high school. There was a photo of my mom and dad as well. In a ziplock baggie, I found his car registration, along with some pens and a pencil with bite marks in it, all of which were probably taken from the glove compartment. Beneath that was a small duffel bag, and I pulled it out. Inside were socks and underwear, pants and two shirts, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. Wherever he was going, he didn’t intend to stay long, but nothing I’d found got me any closer to knowing where that might be.

  The answer came at the bottom of the box, in the form of two highway maps that had been paper-clipped together. They were at least thirty years old, yellowed and thin, and when I unfolded them, I noticed routes highlighted in yellow. One r
oute led north toward Alexandria, where he’d gone for my parents’ funeral, but the route he’d traced avoided the interstate, following smaller, more rural highways.

  I could feel Natalie at my shoulder and watched as she traced the other highlighted route, leading west on other rural highways toward Charlotte, then across the border into South Carolina. Easley? Though it was impossible to know for sure, the highlighter ink looked fresh, more vivid than the other highlighted route on the map.

  The second map showed the states of South Carolina and Georgia. For an instant, I was afraid that my grandfather hadn’t marked it. But I quickly realized that he had. It picked up where the other map had left off. He’d circumvented Greenville—the detour kept him north of the city—but then caught the highway that led directly to Easley.

  And then kept going.

  Through South Carolina and into Georgia, where the route ended in a small town northeast of Atlanta, right on the edge of the Chattahoochee National Forest. From Easley, it wasn’t that far—I’d guess less than two hours, even at speeds my grandfather drove—and as I saw the name of the town, I felt crucial pieces of the puzzle begin to lock together.

  The name of the town was Helen.

  Chapter 17

  Even as I stared in shock, I felt my mind flashing back to the conversation with the old men on the porch at the Trading Post, and I thought about the ride I’d taken in the boat, when I knew in my heart that my grandfather wouldn’t have gone to visit a woman named Helen. It hadn’t made sense to me, because my grandfather had still been in love with the same woman he’d always loved, even though she had long since passed away.

  Natalie, too, was staring at the name. She was standing close to me, close enough to touch, and I remembered the night I’d taken her in my arms. She’d felt so perfect and I thought we were perfect together, but she wasn’t willing to tell me the truth of what was really going on with her. Now, as I caught the faint sounds of her exhales, I noticed she was studying the map in the same way I was. I sensed that pieces were beginning to fall into place for her as well, even if I was no closer to understanding how she felt about me.