The Best of Me (10 page)

“What’s going on?”

“I was trying to find some things to go with the steak, but other than this,” she said, holding up the can, “there’s not much.”

“What are our choices?” he asked as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

“Aside from the beans, he has grits, a bottle of spaghetti sauce, pancake flour, a half-empty box of penne pasta, and Cheerios. In the fridge, he has butter and condiments. Oh, and the sweet tea, of course.”

He shook off the excess water. “Cheerios is a possibility.”

“I think I’ll go with the pasta,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And shouldn’t you be outside grilling the steaks?”

“I suppose,” he answered, and she had to suppress a smile. From the corner of her eye, she watched him pick up the platter and leave, the door behind him closing with a gentle click.

The sky was a deep, velvety purple and the stars were already ablaze. Beyond Dawson’s figure, the creek was a black ribbon and
the treetops were beginning to glow silver with the slowly rising moon.

She filled a pan with water, tossed in a little salt, and turned on the burner; from the fridge she retrieved the butter. When the water boiled, she added the pasta and spent the next few minutes searching for the strainer before finally locating it in the back of the cabinet near the stove.

When the pasta was ready, she drained it and put it back into the pan, along with butter, garlic powder, and a dash of salt and pepper. Quickly, she heated up the can of beans, finishing just as Dawson came back in carrying the platter.

“It smells great,” he said, not bothering to hide his surprise.

“Butter and garlic,” she nodded. “Works every time. How are the steaks?”

“One’s medium rare, the other’s medium. I’m good with either, but I wasn’t sure how you wanted yours. I can always put one back on the grill for a few more minutes.”

“Medium is fine,” she agreed.

Dawson set the platter on the table and riffled through the cabinets and drawers, pulling out plates, glasses, and utensils. She caught sight of two wine glasses in the open cupboard and was reminded of what Tuck had said on her last visit.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked.

“Only if you join me.”

She nodded, then opened the cabinet that Tuck had pointed out, revealing two bottles. She picked out the cabernet and opened it while Dawson finished setting the table. After pouring them each a glass, she handed one to him.

“There’s a bottle of steak sauce in the fridge, if you want some,” she said.

Dawson found the sauce while Amanda poured the pasta into one bowl and the beans into another. They arrived at the table at the same time, and as they surveyed the intimate dinner setting, she noticed the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he stood
beside her. Breaking the moment, Dawson reached for the bottle of wine on the counter, and she shook her head before sliding into her seat.

Amanda took a sip of wine, the flavor lingering at the back of her throat. After they served themselves, Dawson hesitated, staring at his plate.

“Is it okay?” She frowned.

The sound of her voice brought him back to her. “I was just trying to remember the last time I had a meal like this.”

“Steak?” she asked, slicing into the meat and spearing a first bite.

“Everything.” He shrugged. “On the rig, I eat in the cafeteria with a bunch of guys, and at home it’s just me, and I usually end up doing something simple.”

“What about when you go out? There are lots of great places to eat in New Orleans.”

“I hardly ever get to the city.”

“Even on a date?” she quizzed between bites.

“I don’t really date,” he said.

“Ever?”

He began to cut his steak. “No.”

“Why not?”

He could feel her studying him as she took a sip, waiting. Dawson shifted in his seat.

“It’s better that way,” he answered.

Her fork paused in midair. “It’s not because of me, is it?”

He kept his voice steady. “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he said.

“Surely you’re not suggesting…,” she began.

When Dawson said nothing, she tried again. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you—that you haven’t dated anyone since we broke up?”

Again Dawson remained silent, and she put her fork down. She could hear a trace of belligerence creeping into her tone.
“You’re saying that I’m the cause of this… this life you’ve chosen to lead?”

“Again, I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re making it sound like I’m the reason you’re alone. That it’s… that it’s somehow
my fault
. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“I didn’t say it to hurt you. I just meant—”

“I know exactly what you meant,” Amanda snapped. “And you know what? I loved you back then as much as you loved me, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t meant to be and it ended. But I didn’t end. And you didn’t end, either.” She put her palms on the table. “Do you really think I want to leave here thinking that you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone? Because of
me
?”

He stared at her. “I never asked for your pity.”

“Then why would you say something like that?”

“I didn’t say much of anything,” he said. “I didn’t even answer the question. You read into it what you wanted to.”

“So I was wrong?”

Instead of answering, he reached for his knife. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that if you don’t want to know the answer to a question, don’t ask?”

Despite the fact that he’d deflected her question back at her—he’d always been able to do that—she couldn’t help herself. “Well, even so, it’s not my fault. If you want to ruin your life, go ahead. Who am I to stop you?”

Surprising her, Dawson laughed. “It’s good to know you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Trust me. I’ve changed.”

“Not much. You’re still willing to tell me exactly how you think, no matter what it is. Even if you’re of the opinion that I’m ruining my life.”

“You obviously need someone to tell you.”

“Then how about I try to ease your mind, okay? I haven’t changed, either. I’m alone now because I’ve always been alone. Before you knew me, I did everything I could to keep my crazy family at a distance. When I came here, Tuck sometimes went days without talking to me, and after you left, I went up to Caledonia Correctional. When I got out, no one in the town wanted me around, so I left. I eventually ended up working for months of the year on a rig out in the ocean, not exactly a place conducive to relationships—I see that firsthand. Yes, there are some couples who can survive that kind of regular separation, but there’s a fair share of broken hearts, too. It just seems easier this way, and besides, I’m used to it.”

She evaluated his answer. “Do you want to know whether I think you’re telling the entire truth?”

“Not really.”

Despite herself, she laughed. “Can I ask you another question, then? You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not talk about it.”

“You can ask whatever you’d like,” he said, taking a bite of steak.

“What happened on the night of the accident? I heard bits and pieces from my mom, but I never got the whole story and I didn’t know what to believe.”

Dawson chewed in silence before answering. “There’s not much to tell,” he finally said. “Tuck had ordered a set of tires for an Impala he was restoring, but for whatever reason, they ended up being delivered to a shop over in New Bern. He asked if I’d go pick them up, and I did. It had rained a little, and by the time I was getting back to town it was already dark.”

He paused, trying yet again to make sense of the impossible. “There was an oncoming car and the guy was speeding. Or woman. I never did find out. Anyway, whoever it was crossed over the centerline just as I was closing in, and I jerked the wheel to make room. Next thing I knew, he was flying past me and the
truck was halfway off the road. I saw Dr. Bonner, but…” The images were still clear, the images were
always
clear, an unchanging nightmare. “It was like the whole thing was happening in slow motion. I slammed on the brakes and kept turning the wheel, but the roads and grass were slick, and then…”

He trailed off. In the silence, Amanda touched his arm. “It was an accident,” she whispered.

Dawson said nothing, but when he shuffled his feet, Amanda asked the obvious. “Why did you go to jail? If you weren’t drinking or speeding?”

When he shrugged, she realized she already knew the answer. It was as clear as the spelling of his last name.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words sounding inadequate.

“I know. But don’t feel sorry for me,” he said. “Feel sorry for Dr. Bonner’s family. Because of me, he never came home. Because of me, his kids grew up without a father. Because of me, his wife still lives alone.”

“You don’t know that,” she countered. “Maybe she remarried.”

“She didn’t,” he said. Before she could ask how he knew this, he started in on his plate again. “But what about you?” Dawson asked abruptly, as if stowing their previous conversation away and slamming the lid shut, making her regret she’d brought it up. “Catch me up on what you’ve been doing since we last saw each other.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

He reached for the bottle of wine and poured more for both of them. “How about you start with college?”

Amanda capitulated, filling him in on her life, initially in broad strokes. Dawson listened intently, asking questions as she talked, probing for more detail. The words began to come easily. She told him about her roommates, about her classes and the professors who had most inspired her. She admitted that the year she spent teaching was nothing like she expected, if only because she could barely grasp the idea that she was no longer
a student. She talked about meeting Frank, though saying his name made her feel strangely guilty, and she didn’t mention him again. She told Dawson a little about her friends and some of the places she’d traveled over the years, but mainly she talked about her kids, describing their personalities and challenges and trying not to boast too much about their accomplishments.

Occasionally, when she’d finished a thought, she’d ask Dawson about his life on the rig, or what his days at home were like, but usually he’d steer the conversation back to her. He seemed genuinely interested in her life, and she found that it felt oddly natural to ramble on, almost like they were picking up the thread of a long-interrupted conversation.

Afterward, she tried to recall the last time she and Frank had talked like this, even when they were out alone. These days, Frank would drink and do most of the talking; when they discussed the kids, it was always about how they were doing in school or any problems they might be having and how best to solve them. Their conversations were efficient and purpose-driven, and he seldom asked about her day or her interests. Part of that, she knew, was endemic to any long marriage; there was little new to talk about. But somehow she felt that her connection with Dawson had always been different, and it made her wonder whether life would have taken its toll eventually on their relationship, too. She didn’t want to think so, but how was she to know for sure?

They talked on into the night, the stars blurring through the kitchen window. The breeze picked up, moving through the leaves on the trees like rolling ocean waves. The wine bottle was empty and Amanda was feeling warm and relaxed. Dawson brought the dishes to the sink and they stood next to each other as Dawson washed while she dried. Every now and then, she’d catch him studying her as he passed her one of the dishes, and though in many ways a lifetime had elapsed in the years they had been apart, she had the uncanny feeling that they’d never lost contact at all.

When they finished in the kitchen, Dawson motioned toward the back door. “Do you still have a few minutes?”

Amanda glanced at her watch, and though she knew she probably should go, she found herself saying, “Okay. Just a few.”

Dawson held the door open and she slipped past him, descending the creaking wooden steps. The moon had finally crested, lending the landscape a strange and exotic beauty. Silvery dew blanketed the ground cover, dampening the open toes of her shoes, and the smell of pine was heavy in the air. They walked side by side, the sound of their footfalls lost among the song of crickets and the whispering of the leaves.