The Best of Me (17 page)

Amanda paled. “But we arrived yesterday.”

“I know. He’d asked that I try to take care of it before you arrived.”

“He didn’t want us there?”

“He didn’t want anyone there.”

“Why not?”

“All I can say is that he was specific in his instructions. But if I were to guess, I think he was under the impression that having to make any of the arrangements might have been upsetting to you.” He lifted a page from the file and held it up. “He said—and I’m quoting him here—’ain’t no reason my death should be a burden to ‘em.’ ” Tanner removed his reading glasses and leaned back in his chair, trying to gauge their reactions.

“In other words, there’s no funeral?” Amanda asked.

“Not in the traditional sense, no.”

Amanda turned toward Dawson and back to Tanner again. “Then why did he want us to come?”

“He asked that I contact you in the hope that you would do something else for him, something more important than the cremation. Essentially, he wanted the two of you to scatter his ashes at a place he said was very special to him, a place apparently neither of you has ever visited.”

It took Amanda only a moment to figure it out. “His cottage at Vandemere?”

Tanner nodded. “That’s it. Tomorrow would be ideal, at whatever time you choose. Of course, if you’re uncomfortable with the idea, I’ll have it taken care of. I have to go up there anyway.”

“No, tomorrow’s fine,” Amanda said.

Tanner lifted a slip of paper. “Here’s the address, and I took the liberty of printing directions as well. It’s a bit off the beaten path, as you might suspect. And there’s one other thing: He asked that I give you these,” he said, removing three sealed envelopes from the file. “You’ll notice that two have your names on them. He
asked that you read the unmarked one aloud first, sometime prior to the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” Amanda repeated.

“The scattering of the ashes, I meant,” he said, handing over the directions and the envelopes. “And of course, feel free to add anything either of you might want to say.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking them. The envelopes felt oddly heavy, weighted with mystery. “But what about the other two?”

“I assume you’re to read those afterward.”

“You assume?”

“Tuck wasn’t specific about that, other than to say that after you’ve read the first letter, you’ll know when to open the other two.”

Amanda took the envelopes and slipped them in her purse, trying to digest everything Tanner had told them. Dawson seemed equally perplexed.

Tanner perused the file again. “Any questions?”

“Did he give specifics on where at Vandemere he wanted the ashes scattered?”

“No,” Tanner answered.

“How will we know, since we’ve never been there?”

“That’s the same question I asked him, but he seemed sure that you would understand what to do.”

“Did he have a particular hour of day in mind?”

“Again, he left that up to you. However, he was adamant in his desire that it remain a private ceremony. He asked me to make sure, for instance, that no information be given to the newspaper regarding his death, not even an obituary. I got the sense that he didn’t want anyone, aside from the three of us, to know that he’d even died. And I followed his wishes, to the greatest extent possible. Of course, word inevitably leaked out despite my best attempts, but I want you to know that I’ve done all that I could.”

“Did he say why?”

“No,” Tanner answered. “Nor did I ask. By that time, I’d figured
out that unless he volunteered it, he probably wasn’t going to tell me.” He looked at Amanda and Dawson, waiting to see if they had further questions. When they stayed quiet, he flipped the top page in the folder. “Moving on to the subject of his estate, you both know that Tuck had no surviving family. While I understand that your grief may make this feel like an inopportune time to discuss his will, he did ask that I let you know what he intended to do while you were both here. Would that be all right?” When they nodded, he went on. “Tuck’s assets weren’t insubstantial. He owned quite a bit of land, in addition to having funds in several accounts. I’m still working through the numbers, but what you should know is this: He asked that you help yourselves to any of his personal property that you may desire, even if it’s only a single item. He simply asked that if there was disagreement about anything, the two of you work it out while you’re here. I’ll be handling the probate over the next few months, but essentially, the remainder of his estate will be sold, with the proceeds to benefit the Pediatric Cancer Center at Duke University Hospital.” Tanner smiled at Amanda. “He thought you’d want to know that.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She could feel Dawson’s quiet alertness beside her. “It’s so generous of him.” She hesitated, more affected than she wanted to admit. “He—I guess he knew what it would mean to me.”

Tanner nodded before sorting through the pages and finally set them aside. “I think that’s it, unless you can think of anything.”

There was nothing else, and after their good-byes Amanda rose while Dawson lifted the walnut box from the desk. Tanner stood but made no motion to follow them out. Amanda accompanied Dawson to the door, noticing the frown forming on his face. Before they reached the door, he paused and turned around.

“Mr. Tanner?”

“Yes?”

“You said something I’m curious about.”

“Oh?”

“You said that tomorrow would be ideal. I assume you meant tomorrow as opposed to today.”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me why?”

Tanner moved the file to the corner of his desk. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can’t.”

“What was that about?” Amanda asked.

They were walking toward her car, which was still parked outside the coffee shop. Instead of answering, Dawson put his hand in his pocket.

“What are you doing for lunch?” he asked.

“You’re not going to answer my question?”

“I’m not sure what to say. Tanner didn’t give me an answer.”

“But why did you ask the question in the first place?”

“Because I’m a curious person,” he said. “I’ve always been curious about everything.”

She crossed the street. “No,” she finally said, “I don’t agree. If anything, you lived your life with an almost stoic acceptance of the way things are. But I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re trying to change the subject.”

He didn’t bother to deny it. Instead, he shifted the box beneath his arm. “You didn’t answer my question, either.”

“What question?”

“I asked what you were doing for lunch. Because if you’re free, I know a great place.”

She hesitated, thinking about small-town gossip, but as usual Dawson was able to read her.

“Trust me,” he said. “I know just where to go.”

Half an hour later, they were back at Tuck’s, sitting near the creek on a blanket that Amanda had retrieved from Tuck’s closet. On the way over, Dawson had picked up sandwiches from Brantlee’s Village Restaurant, along with some bottles of water.

“How did you know?” she asked, reverting to their old shorthand. With Dawson, she was reminded of what it was like to have her thoughts divined before she uttered them. When they were young, a momentary glimpse or the subtlest of gestures had often been enough to signal a world of thought and emotion.

“Your mom and everyone she knows still live in town. You’re married, and I’m someone from your past. It wasn’t too hard to figure out that it might not be a good idea for us to be seen spending the afternoon together.”

She was glad he understood, but as he pulled two sandwiches from the bag, she nonetheless felt a quiver of guilt. She told herself that they were simply having lunch, but that wasn’t the full truth, and she knew it.

Dawson didn’t seem to notice. “Turkey or chicken salad?” he asked, holding both of them out to her.

“Either,” she said. Then changing her mind, she said, “Chicken salad.”

He passed the sandwich to her, along with a bottle of water. She surveyed her surroundings, relishing the quiet. Thin, hazy clouds drifted overhead, and near the house she saw a pair of squirrels chase each other up the trunk of an oak tree shrouded in Spanish moss. A turtle sunned itself on a log on the far side of the creek. It was the environment she had grown up in, and yet it had come to feel strangely foreign, a radically different world from the one she lived in now.

“What did you think about the meeting?” he asked.

“Tanner seems like a decent man.”

“What about the letters Tuck wrote? Any ideas?”

“After what I heard this morning? Not a clue.”

Dawson nodded as he unwrapped his sandwich and she did the same. “The Pediatric Cancer Center, huh?”

She nodded, thinking automatically of Bea. “I told you I volunteered at Duke University Hospital. I also do some fund-raising for them.”

“Yes, but you didn’t mention where at the hospital you worked,” Dawson replied, his sandwich unwrapped but still untouched. She heard the question in his voice and knew that he was waiting. Amanda absently twisted the cap on her bottle of water.

“Frank and I had another child, a baby girl, three years after Lynn was born.” She paused, gathering her strength, but knowing that, somehow, saying the words to Dawson wouldn’t feel awkward or painful the way it so often did with others.

“She was diagnosed with a brain tumor when she was eighteen months old. It was inoperable, and despite the efforts of an incredible team of doctors and staff at the Pediatric Cancer Center, she died six months later.” She looked out over the ancient creek, feeling the familiar, deep-seated ache, a sadness she knew would never go away.

Dawson reached over and squeezed her hand. “What was her name?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Bea,” she said.

For a long time, neither said anything, the only sounds the burbling of the creek and the leaves rustling overhead. Amanda didn’t feel that she needed to say more, nor did Dawson expect her to. She knew he understood exactly how she was feeling, and she had the sense that he felt an ache as well, if only because he couldn’t help her.

After lunch, they gathered the remains of their picnic along with the blanket and started back toward the house. Dawson followed Amanda inside, watching as she vanished around the corner to
put the blanket away. There was something guarded about her, as if she were afraid of having crossed an unspoken line. After retrieving glasses from a cupboard in the kitchen, he poured some sweet tea. When she came back to the kitchen, he offered her one.