The Return

by Nicholas Sparks

  I wanted to tell her that layoffs happen and that anyone can get cancer; I wanted to explain that in stressful situations, arguments are far more likely. But Callie wasn’t ready to hear any of those things just yet, because blaming herself allowed her to feel some control over all of it.

  “So you decided to run away.”

  “I had to. I went to the bus station and caught the first one that was leaving. I went to Charlotte first, then Raleigh, and after that, I caught a ride with a man who was heading toward the coast. I ended up in New Bern.”

  “Where you slept in my grandfather’s barn and he found you.”

  “I didn’t have any money and I was so tired and dirty by then,” she said, sounding impossibly old for her age. “I hadn’t showered in days. He found me the following morning.”

  “My guess is he probably offered you breakfast.”

  For the first time since I’d been in the room, she cracked the weariest of smiles. “He did. He didn’t seem angry at all. He just asked who I was and I accidentally told him my real name, but then Callie popped in my head, so I told him it was my middle name and asked that he call me that instead. So, he said, ‘Okay, Callie, I’ll bet you’re hungry. Let’s get you some grub and get your clothes cleaned up.’ He didn’t ask me a lot of questions. Mostly he talked about the bees.”

  “That sounds like him.”

  “When I finished eating, he asked me where I was going. I didn’t know, so he told me he’d get clean sheets on the bed in the guest room and that I could stay until I figured it out. It was almost like he’d expected me to show up. I can remember that one morning, after he’d given me breakfast, he asked me to help him with the bees. He put me in one of the suits but he wouldn’t wear one himself. He told me they were his friends and they trusted him. I thought he should have said it the other way around—that he trusted them, but he didn’t. I still think that’s kind of funny, don’t you?”

  I smiled. “I do. But he used to say the same thing to me.”

  She nodded. “Anyway, after a couple of weeks, he told me about the Trading Post. When I said that I’d never worked in a store before, he said it wouldn’t matter. So we got in his truck and he walked in with me, and pretty much convinced Claude to give me a job. Then, after I’d saved a little bit, he kicked in some more money so I could move into the trailer. Helped me move in, too, not that I had a whole lot to move. But he had some extra furniture, just like Claude did later after the trailer burned down.”

  She’d told me a lot that I hadn’t known, though none of it surprised me.

  “Did he really give you my grandmother’s social security number?”

  After a moment, she shook her head. “No. I found the card in a box under the bed the first night I was there. I’m sorry for taking it, but I didn’t know what else to do. I knew my parents might find me if I used mine.”

  “How did you learn that?”

  “TV,” she said with a shrug. “Movies. That was also the reason I didn’t bring my phone, and rode the bus, and changed my name.”

  “Pretty smart,” I said with a touch of admiration.

  “It worked,” she said. “Until you figured it out.”

  “Can I ask a couple more questions?”

  “Why not?” She seemed resigned. “You’ll probably find out everything anyway.”

  “Why did you pick the name Callie?”

  “Because I’m originally from California.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I was born in San Diego. My dad was in the Navy.”

  Another detail I didn’t know, but one that probably wasn’t important.

  “How did my grandfather know you were sick?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m not even sure I was sick then. Or maybe I was. I don’t know. Anyway, I fainted when I was helping him harvest the honey. When I came to, he told me I’d scared him practically to death. He tried to get me to go to a doctor, but I wouldn’t. I thought they would ask too many questions. Which turned out to be right, you know.”

  I raised an eyebrow, thinking she was savvier than I’d imagined. I doubted I would have been able to do everything she’d done at her age. With all of that, however, only a couple of obvious questions remained.

  “I’m assuming that after your family sold the house, your dad found a job in Helen, right?”

  “I ran away before they actually moved, but that was the plan. My dad got a job as a hotel manager up there.”

  I wondered if it was the same hotel where I’d stayed; I wondered if it was the same man who’d handed me the pen earlier in the morning. “How did my grandfather know your family was in Helen?”

  “One night, I was really homesick. Heather and Tammy are twins and it was their birthday, and I was crying because I missed them. Somehow, I think I mentioned that I wished I were with them in Helen now. I didn’t think he’d even heard me or knew what I was saying, but I guess he did.” Her eyes shifted off to the side, and I knew she had more to say. I brought my hands together, listening as she sighed.

  “I really liked your grampa,” she offered. “He always watched out for me, you know? Like he truly cared about me, even though he had no reason to. When he died, I was so upset. It kind of felt like I lost the one person in this town who I really trusted. I went to the funeral, you know.”

  “You did? I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “I stood in the back,” she said. “But after everyone left, I stayed around. I told him thank you, and I said I’d watch out for the bees for him.”

  I smiled. “I know he cared about you, too.”

  When she stayed silent, I finally reached into my pocket. I pulled out my phone and set it on the bed beside her. Callie stared at it without reaching for it.

  “What do you think about calling your parents?” I said.

  “Do I have to?” she asked in a small voice.

  “No. I’m not going to make you do that. But it’s either you speak to them on the phone, or the police are going to show up at their door, which might be frightening for them.”

  “And the police will tell them for sure? Even if I don’t want them to?”

  “Yes.”

  “In other words, I don’t have a choice.”

  “Of course you have a choice. But even if you don’t call them, they’ll show up here. You’re going to see them whether you want to or not.”

  She picked at one of her fingernails. “What if they still hate me?”

  “I don’t think they ever hated you. I think they were just struggling with grief, like you were. People do that in different ways.”

  “Will you stay here with me? So they can speak to you if they need to? Or if I need you to talk to them because they start yelling or going crazy? And maybe be here tomorrow, too?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  She chewed her lip. “Do you think you could do me another favor, too?” She touched her matted hair subconsciously. “Could you pick up some things for me from the drugstore? I look like hell.”

  “What do you need?”

  “You know…makeup. A hairbrush, some cleanser, and lotion for my hands.” She stared at her cracked cuticles in disgust.

  I nodded, making notes on my phone as she rattled off a list of products. “Anything else?”

  “No,” she said. “I guess I should call, huh?”

  “Probably. But I want you to know something first.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  Chapter 21

  I stayed with Callie as she made the call. Naturally, her parents were both shocked and elated to hear from their daughter. After gasps of disbelief and joyful sobs, they had a barrage of questions, many of which Callie promised to answer more fully when they arrived. But when Callie handed the phone to me, their initial relief was gutted by fear as I explained who I was and walked them through Callie’s diagnosis and prognosis. I promised them that Callie’s doctors would fill them in on all of her treatment options when they
reached New Bern, and that it was imperative that they come as soon as possible in order for Callie to explore all of her medical alternatives.

  I also updated Chief Robertson by phone, letting him know he could contact the GBI and Decatur police with the news that Callie had been located and had already contacted her parents. At the end of the call, he asked that I keep him apprised of Callie’s condition, and—with Callie’s permission—I promised to do so.

  For the rest of the afternoon I continued to sit with her, listening as she spontaneously lapsed into memories of her life before Roger had died, sharing details of an ordinary teenage existence. It was as if the dam imposed by the past year’s isolation and secrecy had suddenly burst, releasing a flood of nostalgia for the life she had been grieving all this time. From her regional volleyball tournaments to the habits of her Labrador retriever, the names of her favorite high school teachers and the boy she’d briefly dated, the particulars of her personal life tumbled out randomly over the next several hours, painting a picture almost startling in its normalcy. I found myself marveling at the courage and independence she’d developed since running away, as nothing in the placid, relatively tame existence she described could have prepared her for the hardships she would face as a runaway.

  I was with her when Dr. Nobles came by during rounds and watched silently as Callie finally related the truth about herself. Avoiding the doctor’s gaze and twisting a section of her bedsheet into a tight corkscrew, she apologized for lying. When she finished, Dr. Nobles squeezed Callie’s hand.

  “Let’s just try to get you better, okay?” she said.

  I knew Callie’s family was planning to drive through the night and would be at the hospital first thing in the morning. Callie made me promise again to be there, and I assured her that I would stay as long as she needed. As darkness fell over the parking lot outside her window, I asked her whether she wanted me to stay on until visiting hours were over. She shook her head.

  “I’m tired,” she said, slumping back against her pillows. “I’ll be all right now.” Somehow, I believed her.

  By the time I got home, I was utterly spent. I called Natalie but the call went to voicemail. I kept the message short, letting her know that Callie’s family would arrive in the morning in case she wanted to meet them, and that I’d already spoken to Robertson. After that, I collapsed on top of my bed and didn’t wake until the following morning.

  * * *

  On my way to the hospital the next day, I stopped at the drugstore. With the help of one of the employees, I spent a small fortune on beauty products, a hairbrush, and a hand mirror. Handing the bag to Callie, I could see the strain on her face. I watched as she picked ceaselessly at her hair, the skin on her forearms, the bedsheets.

  “How did you sleep?” I asked, taking a seat next to her bed.

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I felt like I stared at the ceiling all night.”

  “It’s a big day. For everyone.”

  “What do I do if they’re angry, and start yelling?”

  “If I have to, I’ll mediate, okay? If things get out of hand, I mean. But they were happy to hear from you yesterday, right? I don’t think they’ll yell at you.”

  “Even if they’re happy I’m alive…” She paused to swallow, her face wooden. “Deep down, they still blame me for killing Roger.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I stayed quiet. In the silence, Callie rifled through the bag with her good hand, inspecting the items I’d purchased.

  “Do you need me to hold the hand mirror?”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” I said, reaching for the mirror. When Callie saw herself in the reflection, she winced.

  “I look horrible.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said. “You’re a very pretty girl, Callie.”

  She grimaced as she ran the brush through her hair, then started applying the makeup. Though I doubted her grooming would matter to her family, it seemed to make Callie feel better about herself, and that was all that mattered.

  She seemed to know what she was doing, and in the end I was surprised by her transformation. When she was satisfied, she put the items back in the bag and set it on the bedside table.

  “How do I look?” she asked, skeptical.

  “Beautiful. And now, you actually do look nineteen.”

  She frowned. “I’m so pale…”

  “You’re too critical.”

  She gazed toward the window. “I’m not worried about my mom or my sisters,” she said. “But I’m a little afraid of how my dad will react.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t tell you this, but even before Roger died, we weren’t getting along very well. He’s really quiet and usually doesn’t show a lot of emotion, until he gets angry. And he was angry a lot even before Roger died. He didn’t like the people I hung around with, he thought I could be doing better in school, he didn’t like what I wore. Half the time, I was grounded. I hated that.”

  “Most teens would.”

  “I’m not sure I want to go back,” she confessed, dread coloring her voice. “What if things are just as bad as before?”

  “I think,” I said, “your best bet is to just take things one step at a time. You don’t need to make that decision right now.”

  “Do you think they’ll be mad at me? For running away and not calling?”

  Because I didn’t want to lie to her, I nodded. “Yes. Part of them will be angry. But another part will be excited to see you. Still another part will be worried because you’re sick. I think they’re going to be feeling a lot of different things all at once. My hunch is that they’ll feel kind of overwhelmed, which is something to bear in mind when you talk to them. But the more important question right now is, How are you feeling?”

  She weighed her response. “I’m excited to see them, but at the same time, I’m scared.”

  “I’d be scared, too,” I said. “That’s normal.”

  “I just want…”

  She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. I could see in her expression what she wanted, for it was the same thing every child wanted. She wanted to be loved by her parents. Accepted. Forgiven.

  “There’s something else you might want to consider,” I added after a moment.

  “What’s that?”

  “If you want your parents to forgive you, then you’re also going to have to forgive yourself.”

  “How?” she demanded. “After what I did?”

  “Forgiveness doesn’t mean you forget, or you stop wishing that you can change the past. Mainly it means that you accept the idea that you’re not perfect, because no one is perfect. And terrible things can happen to anyone.”

  She lowered her gaze, and in the silence I could see her struggling with the idea. It would take time—and probably a lot of counseling—for her to get there, but it was a journey she was going to have to take in order to heal and move on with her life. I didn’t continue to press the issue, though; right now, she had more immediate challenges to face.

  To keep her from dwelling on the obvious, I moved the conversation to easier ground. I shared instead my impressions of Helen and pulled up some photos on my phone so she could more easily visualize the town; I suggested that if she got the chance, she should try the Wiener schnitzel at the Bodensee. And for the first time, I told her about Natalie, not everything, but enough for her to know how much she meant to me.

  During a pause in the conversation, I heard voices rising from down the corridor; I heard the name Karen Johnson and the sound of footsteps approaching. I stood and moved my chair back to the other side of the room and caught sight of Callie. Her eyes were frantic.

  “I’m scared,” she said, panic in her tone. “They’re going to hate me.”

  “They never hated you,” I soothed. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I don’t even know what to say—”

  “It’ll come to you. But a word of advice? Tell them the truth about ev
erything.”

  “They don’t want the truth.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “But it’s the best you can do.”

  I was standing as one of the nurses led Callie’s family into the room, where they suddenly came to a stop, as if unable to process what they were seeing. Louise was in front, flanked by Tammy and Heather; I felt four sets of eyes skim over me before they focused on the girl who’d run away from home more than a year earlier. As they grappled with their surging emotions, I noticed how much Callie resembled her mother, Louise. They had the same color hair and eyes, the same petite frame and pale skin. I doubted whether she was much older than I. Curtis, too, looked to be in his thirties, but he was taller and wider than I’d expected, with a rough beard and dark hollows under his eyes. He looked at me quizzically, as though wondering whether I was someone official whom he needed to address, but I shook my head.

  Callie’s voice was soft. “Hi, Mommy.”

  The words were enough to break the spell, and Louise suddenly rushed toward the bed, tears already flooding her eyes. Heather and Tammy were close behind, emitting a collective wail of excitement. They were fraternal twins, not identical, and didn’t resemble each other in the slightest. Like overjoyed puppies, they practically climbed into Callie’s bed as they leaned in to hug and paw at Callie. From where I was standing, I could hear Louise repeating I can’t believe it and We’ve been so worried over and over as she stroked Callie’s hair and gripped her daughter’s hands, tears running unchecked down her face. Curtis, meanwhile, remained unmoving, as though paralyzed.

  Finally, I heard Callie’s voice again. “Hi, Daddy,” she said, from beneath a swarm of arms. Curtis finally gave a small nod and approached the bed. The girls moved aside, making room for their father and turning to him expectantly. Hesitating, he leaned forward.

  Callie sat up straighter and put her good arm around his neck.