The Best of Me (30 page)
They reached Oriental a little before noon and drove past the marina; a few minutes later, they were turning up the drive. She vaguely noticed that Dawson had grown tense, his eyes scanning the trees lining the drive as he leaned over the wheel. Cautious, even. His cousins, she thought suddenly, and as the car began to slow, Dawson’s expression suddenly took on a look of disbelief.
Following his gaze, Amanda turned toward the house. The house and garage appeared exactly the same; their cars were still parked in the same spot. But when Amanda saw what Dawson had noticed already, she found that she felt almost nothing. She’d known all along that it would come down to this.
Dawson slowed the car to a stop and she turned toward him, flashing a brief smile, trying to reassure him that she could handle it.
“She left three messages.” Amanda gave a helpless shrug. Dawson nodded, recognizing that she needed to confront this alone. With a deep breath, Amanda opened the door and stepped out, not at all surprised that her mom looked as though she’d taken time to dress for the occasion.
D
awson watched as Amanda made straight for the house, allowing her mother to follow if she wished. Evelyn didn’t seem to know what to do. She obviously hadn’t been to Tuck’s place before; it wasn’t an ideal destination for anyone in a cream pantsuit and pearls, especially after a rainstorm. Hesitating, she looked toward Dawson. She stared at him, her face impassive, as if reacting to his presence were somehow beneath her.
She finally turned and followed her daughter to the porch. By then Amanda was already seated in one of the rocking chairs. Dawson put the car back into gear and slowly drove it toward the garage.
He climbed out and leaned against the workbench. From where he was standing, he could no longer see Amanda, nor could he imagine what she would say to her mother. As he looked around Tuck’s garage, something pricked Dawson’s memory, something that Morgan Tanner had said while he and Amanda had been in his office. He’d said that both Dawson and Amanda would know when to read the letter he’d written each of them, and all at once he knew that Tuck had meant for him to read it now. Tuck probably foresaw how things would play out.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the envelope. Unfolding it, he ran his finger over his name. It was the same
shaky scrawl he’d noticed in the letter he and Amanda had read together. Turning the envelope over, he pried it open. Unlike the previous letter, this one was only a single page, front and back. In the quiet of the garage that Dawson once called home, he focused on the words and began to read.
Dawson,
I’m not exactly sure how to start this letter, other than to tell you that over the years, I’ve come to know Amanda pretty well. I’d like to think she hasn’t changed since I first laid eyes on her, but I can’t honestly say for sure. Back then, you two kept pretty much to yourselves, and like a lot of young folk you both went still whenever I came around. Had no problem with that, by the way. Did the same thing with Clara. Don’t know if her daddy heard me talk until after we were married, but that’s another story.
My point is, I don’t really know who she was, but I know who she is now, and let’s just say I know why you never got over her. She’s got a lot of goodness inside her, that one. Lots of love, lots of patience, smart as a whip, and she’s just about the prettiest thing that ever walked the streets of this town, that’s for sure. But it’s her kindness I think I like best because I’ve been around long enough to know how rare something like that really is.
I’m probably not telling you anything you don’t already know, but over the last few years, I’ve come think of her as something like a daughter. That means I have to talk to you like maybe her daddy would have, because daddies ain’t worth much if they don’t worry just a little. Especially about her. Because more than anything else, you should understand that Amanda’s hurting, and I think she’s been hurting for a while now. I saw it when she first came to see me, and I guess I hoped it was a phase, but the more she came to visit, the worse she seemed to be feeling. Every now and then, I’d wake up and see her poking
around the garage, and I began to understand that you were part of the reason she was feeling the way she was. She was haunted by the past, haunted by you. But trust me when I say that memories are funny things. Sometimes they’re real, but other times they change into what we want them to be, and in her own way, I think Amanda was trying to figure out what the past really meant to her. That’s the reason I set up the weekend like I did. I had a hunch that seeing you again was the only way she was going to find her way out of the darkness, whatever that might mean.But like I said, she’s hurting, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people in pain don’t always see things as clearly as they should. She’s at the point in her life where she has to make some decisions, and that’s where you come in. Both of you need to figure out what happens next, but keep in mind that she might need more time than you do. She might even change her mind once or twice. But once it’s finally decided, both of you need to accept the decision. And if it somehow doesn’t work out between you, then you’ve got to understand that you can’t look back anymore. It’ll destroy you in the end, and destroy her as well. Neither one of you can keep living with regret, because it drains the life right out of you, and the very idea is enough to break my heart. After all, if I’ve come to think of Amanda as my daughter, I’ve come to think of you as my son. And if I had a single dying wish, it would be to know that both of you, my two children, are somehow going to be all right.
Tuck
Amanda watched her mom test the decaying floorboards of the porch, as though fearing she might fall through. She hesitated again at the rocker, trying to decide whether it was actually necessary to sit down.
Amanda felt a familiar weariness as her mother lowered herself carefully into the chair. She perched in such a way as to touch as little of it as possible.
Once settled, her mother turned to regard her, seemingly content to wait for Amanda to speak first, but Amanda stayed quiet. She knew there was nothing she could say that would make this conversation easier, and she deliberately faced away, watching the play of sunlight as it filtered through the canopy.
Finally, her mother rolled her eyes. “Really, Amanda. Stop acting like a child. I’m not your enemy. I’m your mother.”
“I know what you’re going to say.” Amanda’s voice was flat.
“That may very well be the case, but even so, one of the responsibilities of being a parent is to make sure your children know when they’re making mistakes.”
“Is that what you think this is?” Amanda’s narrowed gaze snapped back to her mother.
“What would you call it? You’re a married woman.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
“You’re certainly not acting like it,” she said. “You’re not the first woman in the world who’s been unhappy in her marriage. Nor are you the first to act on that unhappiness. The difference with you is that you continue to think that it’s someone else’s fault.”
“What are you talking about?” Amanda could feel her hands tightening around the arms of her rocker.
“You blame people, Amanda.” Her mother sniffed. “You blame me, you blame Frank, and after Bea, you even blamed God. You look anywhere besides the mirror for the cause of the problems in your life. Instead, you walk around feeling like a martyr. ‘Poor little Amanda struggling against all odds in a hard and cruel world.’ The truth is, the world isn’t easy for any of us. It never has been, and it never will be. But if you were honest with yourself, you’d understand that you’re not entirely innocent in all this, either.”
Amanda clenched her teeth. “And here I was, hoping that you
were capable of even the tiniest flicker of empathy or understanding. I guess I was wrong.”
“Is that what you really think?” Evelyn asked, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her clothing. “Tell me then—what should I be saying to you? Should I hold your hand and ask how you’re feeling? Should I lie to you and tell you that everything is going to be just fine? That there aren’t going to be any consequences, even if you somehow manage to keep Dawson a secret?” She paused. “There are always consequences, Amanda. You’re old enough to know that. Do you really need me to remind you?”
Amanda willed herself to keep her voice steady. “You’re missing my point.”
“And you’re missing mine. You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“I know you, Mom.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. In your words I’m incapable of even a flicker of sympathy or understanding.” She touched the small diamond stud in her earlobe. “Of course, that begs the question as to why I covered for you last night.”
“What?”
“When Frank called. The first time, I acted like I suspected nothing at all while he rambled on about some golf thing he planned to do tomorrow with a friend named Roger. And then later, when he called back a second time, I told him that you were already asleep, even when I knew exactly what you were up to. I knew you were with Dawson, and by dinner, I knew that you weren’t coming back.”
“How could you know that?” Amanda demanded, trying to mask her shock.
“Have you never noticed how small Oriental is? There are only so many places to stay in town. On my first call, I spoke to Alice Russell at the bed-and-breakfast. We had a pleasant conversation, by the way. She told me that Dawson had checked out, but simply knowing that he was in town was enough for me to figure
out what was going on. I suppose that’s why I’m here, instead of waiting for you at the house. I thought we could just skip the lying and denying altogether. I thought it would make our conversation a bit easier for you.”
Amanda felt almost dizzy. “Thank you,” she mumbled. “For not telling Frank.”
“It’s not my place to tell Frank anything, or to say anything that would add more trouble to your marriage. What you tell Frank is your own business. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened at all.”
Amanda swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. “Then why are you here?”
Her mother sighed. “Because you’re my daughter. You may not want to talk to me, but I do expect you to listen.” Amanda caught the whiff of disappointment in her mom’s tone. “I have no desire to hear the tawdry details of what went on last night, or hear how awful I was for not accepting Dawson in the first place. Nor do I want to discuss your problems with Frank. What I’d like to do instead is to give you some advice. As your mother. Despite what you might think sometimes, you are my daughter and I care about you. The question is, are you willing to listen?”
“Yes.” Amanda’s voice was barely audible. “What should I do?”
Her mother’s face lost all its stiff artifice and her voice was surprisingly soft. “It’s really very simple,” she said. “Don’t take my advice.”
Amanda waited for more but her mother remained quiet, adding nothing to her comment. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Are you telling me to leave Frank?” she finally whispered.
“No.”
“Then I should try to work things out with him?”
“I didn’t say that, either.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t read so much into it.” Her mother rose, straightening her jacket. She moved toward the steps.
Amanda blinked, trying to grasp what was happening. “Wait… you’re leaving? You didn’t say anything.”