The Best of Me (31 page)

Her mom turned. “On the contrary. I said everything that matters.”

“Don’t take your advice?”

“Exactly,” her mom said. “Don’t take my advice. Or anyone’s advice. Trust yourself. For good or for bad, happy or unhappy, it’s your life, and what you do with it has always been entirely up to you.” She placed one polished leather pump on the creaky first step, her face becoming masklike again. “Now, I suppose I’ll see you later? When you come home to get your things?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll put out some finger sandwiches and fruit.” With that, she continued down the steps. At her car, she noticed Dawson standing in the garage and she studied him briefly before turning away. Once behind the wheel, she started the engine, and then, all at once, she was gone.

Putting the letter aside, Dawson left the garage and focused his gaze on Amanda. She was staring out at the forest, more composed than he’d imagined she would be, but he was unable to read anything more from her expression.

As he walked toward Amanda on the porch, she offered a weak smile before turning away. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he felt the stirrings of fear.

He took a seat in the rocker and leaned forward, clasping his hands together and sitting in silence.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?” she finally asked.

“I figured you’d get around to telling me sooner or later,” he said. “If you wanted to talk about it, I mean.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“No,” he said.

“Yes, I am. My mother, on the other hand…” She tugged at
her earlobe, buying time. “If I ever tell you that I think I have my mom figured out, remind me of what happened today, okay?”

He nodded. “Will do.”

Amanda drew a long, slow breath, and when she finally spoke, her voice sounded strangely distant. “When she was walking up to the porch, I knew exactly how our conversation was going to unfold,” she said. “She was going to demand to know what I was doing and tell me what a terrible mistake I was making. Next to come would be the lecture about expectations and responsibility, and then I’d cut her off, telling her that she didn’t understand a thing about me. I was going to tell her that I’ve loved you all my life and that Frank didn’t make me happy anymore. That I wanted to be with you.” She turned toward him, pleading for him to understand. “I could hear myself saying the words, but then…” Dawson watched her expression close in on itself. “She has this way of making me question everything.”

“You mean about us,” he said, the knot of fear growing tighter.

“I mean about me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “But yes, I’m also talking about us. Because I did want to say those things to her. I wanted to say them more than anything, because they’re true.” She shook her head, as if trying to clear her mind of the remnants of a dream. “But as my mom started talking, my real life came flooding back, and all of a sudden I could hear myself saying something different. It was like there were two radios tuned to different stations, each one playing an alternate version. In the other version I heard myself saying that I didn’t want Frank to know about any of this. And that I have children waiting for me back home. And that no matter what I said or how I tried to explain it to them, there would still be something inherently selfish about all of this.”

When she paused, Dawson watched as she absently twirled her wedding band.

“Annette is still a little girl,” she went on. “I can’t imagine leaving her, and at the same time I can’t imagine taking her away from her father, either. How could I explain something like this
to her? So that she would understand? And what about Jared and Lynn? They’re almost adults, but would it be any easier on them? To know that I broke up the family so I could be with you? Like I was trying to relive my youth?” Her voice was anguished. “I love my kids, and it would break my heart to see their disappointment whenever they looked at me.”

“They love you,” Dawson said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I know. But I don’t want to put them in that position,” she said, picking at some flaking paint on the rocker. “I don’t want them to hate me or be disappointed in me. And Frank…” She drew an unsteady breath. “Yes, he has problems, and yes, I struggle with my feelings toward him all the time. But he’s not a bad man and I know that part of me will always care for him. Sometimes, I feel like I’m the reason he’s able to function as well as he still does. But he’s not the kind of man who would be able to wrap his mind around the idea that I’d left him for someone else. Believe me when I tell you that he wouldn’t be able to recover from something like that. It would just… destroy him, and what then? Would he drink even more than he already does? Or sink into some deep depression that he couldn’t escape? I don’t know if I can do that to him.” Her shoulders drooped. “And then, of course, there’s you.”

Dawson sensed what was coming next.

“This weekend was wonderful, but it isn’t real life. It was more like a honeymoon, and after a while the excitement will wear off. We can tell ourselves it won’t happen, we can make all the promises we want, but it’s inevitable, and after that you’ll never look at me the way you do now. I won’t be the woman you dream about, or the girl you used to love. And you won’t be my long-lost love, my one true thing anymore, either. You’ll be someone my kids despise because you ruined the family, and you’ll see me for who I really am. In a few years, I’ll simply be a woman pushing fifty with three kids who might or might not hate her, and who might
end up hating herself because of all this. And in the end, you’ll end up hating her, too.”

“That’s not true.” Dawson’s voice was unwavering.

Amanda did her best to act brave. “But it is,” she said. “Honeymoons always come to an end.”

He reached for her then, his hand coming to rest on her thigh. “Being together isn’t about a honeymoon. It’s about the real you and me. I want to wake up with you beside me in the mornings, I want to spend my evenings looking at you across the dinner table. I want to share every mundane detail of my day with you and hear every detail of yours. I want to laugh with you and fall asleep with you in my arms. Because you aren’t just someone I loved back then. You were my best friend, my best self, and I can’t imagine giving that up again.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You might not understand, but I gave you the best of me, and after you left, nothing was ever the same.” Dawson could feel the dampness in his palms. “I know you’re afraid, and I’m afraid, too. But if we let this go, if we pretend none of this ever happened, then I’m not sure we’ll ever get another chance.” He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “We’re still young. We still have time to make this right.”

“We’re not that young anymore—”

“But we are,” Dawson insisted. “We still have the rest of our lives.”

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Please… don’t ask me to go with you, because if you do, I’ll go. Please don’t ask me to tell Frank about us, because I’ll do that, too. Please don’t ask me to give up my responsibilities or break up my family.” She inhaled, gulping air like someone drowning. “I love you, and if you love me, too, then you just can’t ask me to do these things. Because I don’t trust myself enough to say no.”

When she finished, Dawson said nothing. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he knew there was truth in what she had said. Breaking up her family would change everything; it would change her, and though it scared him, he recalled Tuck’s letter. She might need more time, Tuck had said. Or perhaps it really was over and he was supposed to move on.

But that wasn’t possible. He thought about all the years he’d dreamed of seeing her again; he thought about the future they might never spend together. He didn’t want to give her time, he wanted her to choose him now. And yet he knew that she needed this from him, maybe more than anything she’d ever needed, and he exhaled, hoping that it might somehow make the words come easier.

“All right,” he finally whispered.

Amanda began to cry then. Wrestling with the emotions raging through him, Dawson stood. She did, too, and he pulled her close, feeling her collapse against him. As he breathed her in, images began to cycle through his mind—the sunlight striking her hair as she stepped from the garage when he first arrived at Tuck’s; her natural grace as she moved through the wildflowers at Vandemere; the still, hungry moment when their lips had first touched in the warmth of a cottage he’d never known existed. Now it was coming to an end, and it was like he was watching the last flicker of light wink out in the darkness of an endless tunnel.

They held each other on the porch for a long time. Amanda listened to the beating of his heart, sure that nothing would ever feel so right. She longed, impossibly, to start all over. She would do it right this time; she would stay with him, never abandoning him again. They were meant for each other, and they belonged together.
There was still time for both of them.
When she felt his hands in her hair, she almost said the words. But she couldn’t. Instead, all she could do was murmur, “I’m glad I got to see you again, Dawson Cole.”

Dawson could feel the smooth, almost luxurious, silkiness of her hair. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”

“Maybe,” she said. She swiped at a tear on her cheek. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll come to my senses and just show up in Louisiana one day. Me and the kids, I mean.”

He forced a smile, a desperate, futile hope leaping in his chest. “I’ll make dinner,” he said. “For everyone.”

But it was time for her to go. As they left the porch, Dawson reached for her hand and she took it, squeezing so tight it was almost painful. They retrieved her things from the Stingray before slowly walking to her car. Dawson’s senses felt acutely heightened—the morning sun pricked the back of his neck, the breeze was feathery light, and the leaves were rustling, but none of it seemed real. All he knew was that everything was coming to an end.

Amanda clung to his hand. When they reached her car, he opened the door and turned toward her. He kissed her softly before trailing his lips down her cheek, chasing the pathway of her tears. He traced the line of her jaw, thinking about the words that Tuck had written. He would never move on, he understood with sudden clarity, despite what Tuck had asked of him. She was the only woman he’d ever love, the only woman he ever wanted to love.

In time, Amanda forced herself to take a step away from him. Then, slipping behind the wheel, she started the engine and closed the door before lowering the window. His eyes were bright with tears, mirroring her own. Reluctantly, she put the car in reverse. Dawson backed away, saying nothing, the ache he felt etched in her own anguished expression.

She turned the car around, pointing it in the direction of the road. The world had gone blurry through her tears. As she rounded the curve in the drive, she glanced into the rearview mirror and choked out a sob as Dawson grew smaller behind her. He hadn’t moved at all.

She cried harder as the car picked up speed. The trees pressed
in all around her. She wanted to turn the car around and go back to him, to tell him that she had the courage to be the person she wanted to be. She whispered his name, and though there was no way he could have heard her, Dawson raised his arm, offering a final farewell.

Her mother was seated on the front porch when Amanda arrived. She was sipping a glass of iced tea while music played softly on the radio. Amanda passed her without a word, climbing the stairs to her room. Turning on the shower, she removed her clothes. She stood naked in front of the mirror, as drained and spent as an empty vessel.