The Return

by Nicholas Sparks

  In the elevator, I pressed the button for the third floor.

  “How do you want to do this?” she asked. “Do you want to look up the schools or should I?”

  “I can do that. As you pointed out, there can’t be too many.”

  “What time tomorrow?”

  “Breakfast at seven here at the hotel, and maybe hit the road by eight?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  By then, we’d reached the third floor and we stepped into the corridor. Our rooms were on the left, not too far down.

  “What are you doing for dinner tonight?” she asked as I unlocked my door.

  “I was thinking the Bodensee. ‘Authentic German cuisine.’ I saw a review when I was finding hotels. Seems pretty good.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had authentic German cuisine.”

  Was that a hint?

  “How about I get reservations at eight for the two of us? I’m pretty sure we can walk, so meet downstairs at a quarter till?”

  “Perfect.” She smiled. “See you then.”

  * * *

  In my room, after making the reservation, I took a quick nap, showered, and spent some time googling schools in the area on my phone. Through it all, I tried not to think about Natalie.

  I couldn’t do it. The heart wants what it wants.

  At a quarter till, she was waiting for me in the lobby looking as dazzling as ever in a red blouse, jeans, and pumps. As I approached, I wondered whether she’d been obsessing about me in the same way I had been about her, but as usual I couldn’t tell.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  “I was waiting on you.”

  The Bodensee was only a short walk away and the evening was pleasant, with a gentle breeze that carried the scent of conifers. We were the only ones on the sidewalk and I could hear her shoes tapping against the concrete, my own steps falling in unison with hers.

  “I have a question,” she finally asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What are you going to do if we actually find Callie’s family? What do you plan to tell them?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I guess that depends on what we learn.”

  “If she is a minor, I have a duty to inform law enforcement.”

  “Even if she was abused?”

  “Yes, but that’s where it might get complicated,” she said. “It’s also tricky if she ran away at seventeen or whatever, but is now technically an adult. Frankly, I’m not sure what my obligations would be in that situation.”

  “How about we cross that bridge when we get to it?”

  * * *

  The Bodensee, like the police station, looked more like a house than a commercial building, and I felt at home as soon as we arrived. The servers were dressed in Bavarian fashion in tight-waisted frocks, short-sleeved blouses, and colorful aprons; a bustling bar offered a variety of German beer. We were led to a table in the corner that seemed to promise a modicum of privacy in an otherwise crowded room. As we sat, I could hear faint strains of conversation drifting toward us.

  Natalie glanced around, taking in the environment, a smile on her face.

  “I can’t believe we’re in Georgia,” she said, coming back to me. “This place is amazing.”

  “It does have its charms.”

  We reached for our menus. The choices were more extensive than I imagined they would be, but given my lack of familiarity with German cuisine, I wasn’t sure how the dishes would taste, despite the descriptions.

  “Are you going with the Wiener schnitzel?”

  “Probably,” I said. “You?”

  “I’m not a very adventurous eater,” she confessed. “I think I’ll go with the grilled salmon.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  When the waitress came by, I ordered a lager; Natalie opted for a glass of wine and we told her our selections. Making conversation, Natalie asked her how long she’d lived in Helen.

  “Only two years,” she said. “My husband works for the parks department and he got transferred here.”

  “Is that typical, you think? Or did most of the residents grow up in the area?”

  “I’d guess it’s a bit of both. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  When she was gone, I leaned across the table. “What was that about?”

  “Just collecting information. Who knows? It might end up being helpful.”

  I put my napkin in my lap. “I want you to know that I appreciate you coming here with me and laying the groundwork with the police and the sheriff.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t have to work.”

  “I took a couple of vacation days.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I really need them anymore. It’s hard for me to go anywhere other than my parents’ beach house. As much as I enjoy spending time with them, I can only stay there so long before I start going crazy.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. That probably sounds selfish.”

  “Not at all.”

  “It is compared to you. Since you lost your parents, I mean.”

  “We all have our challenges, don’t we?”

  The waitress reappeared with our drinks and dropped them at our table. I took a drink of the lager and found it delicious.

  Natalie toyed with her glass, seemingly lost in thought, before finally realizing she’d gone quiet. “Sorry,” she said. “I sort of drifted off there.”

  “Care to share?”

  “I was thinking about life. It’s not important.”

  “I’d love to hear it.” When she still seemed hesitant, I added, “Really.”

  She took a sip of her wine. “During our first year of marriage, Mark and I visited Blowing Rock. We spent the weekend at a charming bed-and-breakfast, hiking and antiquing. I remember thinking the whole weekend that my life was exactly what I wanted it to be.”

  I studied her. “What are you going to do?”

  “About what? Mark?” When I nodded, she went on. “I’ll just keep taking it day by day.”

  “Is that fair to you?”

  She gave a half-hearted laugh, but I caught the sadness in it. “Tell me, Trevor. When is life ever fair?”

  * * *

  Our conversation drifted to easier topics as we tucked into our dinners. We mused about Callie, wondering again why she seemed intent on keeping her family secret, and caught up on almost everything I’d been doing since I’d last seen her. I told her about my decision not to sell my grandfather’s house and the repairs I wanted to do; I showed her some pics I’d snapped of my new apartment in Baltimore. I described my psychiatric residency program, but I didn’t mention the struggles I’d experienced after she’d broken things off. Bringing it up, I felt, would have only piled on useless guilt.

  After we finished our meals, neither of us was in the mood for dessert, so I paid the bill and we sauntered back into the evening air. It had cooled slightly but the stars were out in full, glowing in the ebony sky. The streets were quiet and empty; I could hear the hushed stirring of leaves in the trees, and it brought to mind the sound of a mother soothing her child to sleep.

  “I didn’t really answer your question,” Natalie said into the silence.

  “What question?”

  “When you asked if putting my life on hold was fair to me. I didn’t give you a real answer.”

  “I think I understood what you meant.”

  She smiled, looking almost sad. “I should have said that there are moments when it’s not so bad. When I’m with my family, there are times when I can actually forget about the reality of my situation. Like when one of them tells a super funny story and we’re all laughing, it’s easy to pretend I lead a normal life. Then, in the next minute, it all comes rushing back. The truth is that the reality is always there, even if it is temporarily cloaked…but then it emerges again and I suddenly feel like I shouldn’t be laughing or smiling because that feels wrong somehow. Because it seems like I don’t care about him. I spend to
o much time thinking that I’m not allowed to be happy, and that I shouldn’t even try to be happy. I know that sounds crazy, but I can’t help it.”

  “Do you think Mark would have wanted you to feel that way?”

  “No,” she said. “I know he wouldn’t. We even talked about things like this. Well, not about this situation exactly, but what we wanted if the other person were to die in a car accident or whatever. Pillow talk, you know? We played those silly hypothetical games—like if either of us died—and he always told me that he’d want me to move on, to find someone new and start a family. Of course, right after that, he’d add that I’d better not love the new guy as much as I loved him.”

  “At least he was honest,” I said with a smile.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He was. But I don’t know what any of it really means anymore. There’s a part of me that says I should spend as much time with Mark as I can, that I should quit my job and visit him every day. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone is sick, right? But the truth is that’s the last thing I want to do. Because every time I go, a little part of me dies inside. But then I feel guilty about feeling that way, so I steel myself and do what I’m supposed to do. Even though I know he wouldn’t have wanted that for me.”

  She seemed to be studying the pavement in front of us.

  “It’s so hard not knowing when, or even if, any of this will ever end. People in vegetative states can live decades. What do I do, knowing that? I know I still have time to have children, but do I have to give that up? And what about all the other little things that make life worthwhile? Like being held by someone who loves you, or even being kissed. Do I give those things up forever, too? Do I have to live in New Bern until either he or I die? Don’t get me wrong—I love New Bern. But there’s a part of me that sometimes imagines a different life—living in New York or Miami or Chicago or Los Angeles. I’ve lived in small North Carolina towns my entire life. Don’t I deserve the chance to make that choice for myself?”

  By then, we’d reached the hotel, but she paused outside the entrance.

  “You want to know what the worst part is? There’s no one I can talk to about this. No one really gets it. My parents are heartsick about all of it, so when I’m with them, I’m constantly reassuring them that I’m okay. His parents and I are on different wavelengths. My friends talk about work or their spouses or their kids, and I don’t even know what to do. It’s just…lonely. I know people sympathize and care about me, but I don’t think they can truly empathize since this is so entirely foreign to the way anyone imagines that their life will turn out. And…”

  I waited.

  “Do you know when people ask you what your dreams or goals are? Like in a year or three years or five years? I think about that sometimes, and I realize that not only do I not know, I don’t even know how to go about trying to find the answer. Because so much of it is out of my control and there’s nothing I can do.”

  I reached out, taking her hand. “I wish there was something I could say to make things easier for you.”

  “I know you do,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Just like I know that tomorrow will be just another day.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, we were each in our separate rooms. Natalie’s confession had left me feeling both sad for her and disappointed in myself. As empathetic as I imagined myself to be, it was—as she’d said—difficult for me to put myself in exactly her position or to fully imagine what her life was like on a daily basis. I understood it, I sympathized with it, I felt terrible for her, but when I was honest with myself, I knew that I couldn’t fully empathize. Everyone has inner lives to which no one else can be privy.

  Turning on the television, I settled on ESPN, not because I cared who won the latest baseball game or golf tournament, but because I was too tired to concentrate on anything that might have any kind of story or plot. I kicked off my shoes, took off my shirt, and lay back on the bed, alternately listening to the announcers and puzzling over Callie, while simultaneously reliving the last couple of days I’d spent with Natalie.

  I wondered whether I would ever meet anyone like her again. Even if I were to fall in love again, wouldn’t I consciously and subconsciously compare the new woman to the woman I loved right now?

  Here, in this moment, we were together, except that we weren’t. She was in the room next door, with a wall and an entire world between us. Could it be that she, like me, was dwelling on the impossible and wishing there were some world made just for the two of us?

  I didn’t know. All I knew for sure was that as exhausted as I felt, I wouldn’t have traded the last two days for anything.

  * * *

  I woke to the sound of someone knocking on my door.

  Squinting at the clock, I saw it was coming up on midnight; both the lamp and the television were on and I fumbled for the remote control, only half-aware of my surroundings.

  I turned off the television, wondering if I’d imagined it, when I heard a tentative knock. It was coupled with a voice I recognized.

  “Trevor? Are you awake?”

  I crawled out of bed and did a sleepy stagger across the room, thankful I had my pants on. Opening the door, I saw Natalie, still dressed in her dinner attire, her expression one of wary desperation, her eyes rimmed in red.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “No,” she said, “I’m not okay. Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I said, making room for Natalie as she entered. She paused in the middle of the room as though looking for a place to sit. I pulled out the desk chair for her and took a seat on the bed facing her.

  “I heard the television, so I figured you were still awake,” she said, taking in my still sleep-ridden state for the first time.

  “I am now,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  For a moment, she twisted her hands in her lap, her eyes framed in anguish. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  “Do you want to see if there’s someplace open in Helen?” I asked. “Maybe get a drink or some decaf?”

  “I don’t want to go out.” Then, looking up at me, hesitantly: “Can I sleep here? With you? I don’t want to have sex…” She closed her eyes, her voice tight. “But aside from you, I haven’t slept in bed with someone since Mark got sick, and I just want someone next to me tonight. I know it’s wrong and that I should go back to my room—”

  “Of course you can sleep here,” I interrupted.

  “Trevor…”

  “Come here.” I stood from the bed, and rising slowly, she went into my arms. I held her for a long time before we both got into the bed. As I reached for the lamp to turn it out, I hesitated.

  “Can I turn the light off, or do you want to talk some more?”

  “You can turn it out,” she murmured.

  I hit the switch and the room went dark. I rolled to face her, and saw only a vague shadow, but I caught the faintest whiff of perfume.

  “I’m glad it’s dark,” she whispered. “I look terrible.”

  “You’ve never been anything but beautiful.”

  I felt her hand on my chest, then as it brushed my cheek. “I do love you, Trevor Benson. I want you to know that.”

  “I know,” I said. “I love you, too.”

  “Will you hold me?”

  At her words, I drew my arms around her, letting her rest her head on my shoulder where I could feel the heat of her breath on my skin. As much as I longed to kiss her, I didn’t. More than anything, I wanted to ease the tiniest bit of her sadness and confusion, if only for a few hours.

  She relaxed into me, her body molding itself to mine, a position both new and familiar at exactly the same time. Eventually I heard her breaths begin to slow, and I realized that she was sleeping.

  But I stayed awake, knowing that this was the last time I would hold her this way. I wanted to savor the feeling, to make it last forever. I ached at the thought that I might never experience this particular b
liss again.

  Chapter 20

  I woke as the early-dawn light began to seep under the curtains. Natalie was still asleep, and I slipped from the bed, trying not to wake her.

  After pulling a clean shirt from my duffel bag, I put on my shoes and found my wallet, then crept from the room. The light from the hallway brightened the room momentarily as I opened the door, but Natalie didn’t stir. More sleep was exactly what she needed; I, on the other hand, needed coffee.

  Breakfast would be served in an alcove just off the lobby. It was still too early for the food to be laid out, but luckily there was plenty of coffee available. I filled a foam cup and took a seat at one of the empty tables, my mind filled with bittersweet thoughts of Natalie.

  I sipped my coffee, slowly coming back to life, and on a whim, pulled out my wallet and unfolded the note I’d written, transcribing my grandfather’s final words. Studying it once again, I was unable to escape the gnawing sensation that I was missing something important, something that had to do with Callie.

  Trevor…help care…and…if you can…collapsed…sick…like Rose…find family…go to hell…and run away…love you…you came…now go…please

  Rising from the table, I approached the front desk and asked if I could borrow a pen and pad of paper. Taking my seat again, I remembered the long pauses between words, and started with the assumption that he’d been trying to tell me something about Callie.

  The instruction to run away, in hindsight, was clearly meant to describe Callie, as in runaway. Find family made sense as well. Since he’d spent time with Callie, sick like Rose and collapsed were also relatively easy to understand, especially if he’d seen something concerning.

  But go to hell still made no sense. Neither did the word and before runaway. What if, however, the pauses were out of place? I whispered the phrases, sounding it out. Instead of go to hell…and run away, how about: