The Best of Me (15 page)

He grabbed his keys from the counter and she turned.

“You goin’ out?”

“Don’t be buttin’ into my business,” he said. When she turned around, he patted the baby’s head before making for the bedroom. He removed the Glock he kept beneath the pillow and tucked it into his waistband, feeling excited, feeling like all was right in the world.

It was time to take care of things once and for all.

W
hen Dawson returned from his run, several other guests were sipping coffee in the parlor, reading free copies of
USA Today
. He could smell the aroma of bacon and eggs wafting from the kitchen as he climbed the stairs to his room. After showering, he threw on a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt before going down to breakfast.

By the time he got to the table, most of the others had already eaten, so Dawson ate alone. Despite the run, he wasn’t very hungry, but the owner—a woman in her sixties named Alice Russell, who’d moved to Oriental to retire eight years ago—filled his plate, and he had the sense she’d be disappointed if he didn’t eat everything. She had a grandmotherly look about her, right down to the apron and plaid housedress.

While he ate, Alice explained that, like so many others, she and her husband had retired to Oriental for the sailing. Her husband had grown bored, though, and they’d ended up buying the business a few years back. Surprisingly, she addressed him as “Mr. Cole” without any sign of recognition, even after he’d mentioned that he’d grown up in town. She was clearly still an outsider here.

His family was around, though. He’d seen Abee at the
convenience store, and as soon as he’d rounded the corner he’d ducked between some houses and made his way back to the bed-and-breakfast, avoiding the main road whenever possible. The last thing he wanted was any trouble with his family, especially Ted and Abee, but he had the disquieting feeling that things weren’t quite settled.

Still, there was something he needed to do. After he finished eating, he picked up the flower bouquet he’d ordered while still in Louisiana and had sent to the bed-and-breakfast, then got in his rental car. As he drove, he kept his eyes on the rearview mirror, making sure that no one was watching him. At the cemetery, he wound his way through the familiar headstones to Dr. David Bonner’s grave.

As he’d hoped, the cemetery was deserted. He laid the flowers at the base of the headstone and said a short prayer for the family. He stayed for only a few minutes before driving back to the bed-and-breakfast. Getting out of the car, he looked up. Blue skies stretched to the horizon, and it was already growing warm. Thinking the morning was too beautiful to waste, he decided to walk.

The sun glared off the waters of the Neuse and he slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Crossing the street, he surveyed the neighborhood. Even though the shops were open, the sidewalks were largely empty, and he found himself wondering how they were able to stay in business.

Eyeing his watch, he saw he still had half an hour until his appointment. Up ahead, he spied the coffee shop he’d passed earlier on his run, and though he didn’t want more coffee, he decided he could use a bottle of water. Feeling a breeze pick up as he set his sights on the coffee shop, he saw the door swing open. He watched as someone stepped out, and almost immediately he began to smile.

Amanda stood at the counter of the Bean, adding cream and sugar to a cup of Ethiopian coffee. The Bean, once a small home that overlooked the harbor, offered about twenty different kinds of coffee along with delicious pastries, and Amanda always enjoyed coming here when she visited Oriental. Along with Irvin’s, it was a place where locals congregated to catch up on whatever was happening in town. Behind her, she could hear the murmurs of conversation. Although the morning rush had long since passed, the cafe was more crowded than she’d expected. The twenty-something-year-old behind the counter hadn’t stopped moving since Amanda had walked in.

She desperately needed coffee. The exchange with her mom this morning had left her feeling listless. Earlier, while she’d been in the shower, she’d briefly considered returning to the kitchen to attempt a real conversation. By the time she’d toweled off, though, she’d changed her mind. While she had always hoped that her mother would evolve into the sympathetic, supportive mother she had often longed for, it was easier to imagine the shocked, disappointed expression her mom would flash when she heard Dawson’s name. After that, the tirade would commence, no doubt a repeat of the outraged, condescending lectures she had delivered when Amanda was a teenager. Her mother, after all, was a woman of old-fashioned values. Decisions were good or bad, choices were right or wrong, and certain lines were not to be crossed. There were nonnegotiable codes of conduct, especially regarding family. Amanda had always known the rules; she’d always known what her mom believed. Her mother stressed responsibility, she believed in consequences, and she had little tolerance for whining. Amanda knew that wasn’t always a bad thing; she’d adopted a bit of the same philosophy with her own kids, and she knew they were better for it.

The difference was that her mother had always seemed so sure about everything. She had always been confident about who she was and the choices she’d made, as though life were a song and
all she had to do was march in rhythm to it, knowing that everything would work out as planned. Her mother, Amanda often thought, had no regrets at all.

But Amanda wasn’t like that. Nor could she ever forget how brutal her mother’s reaction to Bea’s illness and eventual death had been. She’d expressed her sympathy, of course, and stayed to take care of Jared and Lynn during many of their frequent visits to the Pediatric Cancer Center at Duke; she’d even cooked a meal or two for them in the weeks after the funeral. But Amanda could never quite grasp her mother’s stoic acceptance of the situation, nor could she stomach the lecture she’d delivered three months after Bea died, about how Amanda needed to “get back on her horse” and “stop feeling sorry” for herself. As if losing Bea were nothing more than a bad breakup with a boyfriend. She still felt a surge of anger every time she thought about it, and she sometimes wondered whether her mom was capable of any sort of compassion.

She exhaled, trying to remind herself that her mother’s world was different from hers. Her mom had never gone to college, her mom had never lived anywhere but Oriental, and maybe that had something to do with it. She accepted things because there was nothing else to compare them to. And her own family had been anything but loving, from what little her mother had shared about her own upbringing. But who knew? All she knew for sure was that confiding in her mom would lead to more trouble than it was worth, and right now, she wasn’t ready for that.

As she was putting the lid on her coffee, Amanda’s cell phone rang. Seeing that it was Lynn, she stepped out onto the small porch as she answered, and they spent the next few minutes chatting. Afterward, Amanda called Jared on his cell phone, waking him and listening to his drowsy mumbles. Before hanging up, he said he was looking forward to seeing her on Sunday. She wished she could call Annette as well but consoled herself
with the knowledge that she was almost certainly having a great time at camp.

After some hesitation, she also called Frank at the office. She hadn’t had a chance earlier that morning, despite what she’d told her mom. As usual, she had to wait until he had a free minute between patients.

“Hey, there,” he greeted her when he came on the line. As they talked, she deduced that he didn’t remember calling the house last night. Nonetheless, he sounded glad to hear her voice. He asked about her mom, and Amanda told him that they were going to have dinner later; he told her that he had plans to go golfing on Sunday morning with his friend Roger and that they might watch the Braves game afterward at the country club. Experience told her that those activities would inevitably involve heavy drinking, but she tried to suppress her surge of anger, knowing that challenging him wouldn’t do any good. Frank asked about the funeral and what else she planned to do in town. Though Amanda answered the questions honestly—she didn’t know much yet—she could feel herself avoiding Dawson’s name. Frank didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but by the time they finished their conversation, Amanda felt a distinct and uncomfortable frisson of guilt. Alongside her anger, it was enough to leave her feeling unusually unsettled.

Dawson waited in the shade of a magnolia tree until Amanda slipped the phone back into her purse. He thought he saw something troubled in her expression, but as she straightened the strap on her shoulder she became unreadable again.

Like him, she was wearing jeans, and as he started toward her he noticed the way her turquoise blouse deepened the color of her eyes. Lost in thought, she started when she recognized him.

“Hey,” she said, breaking into a smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Dawson stepped onto the porch, watching as she ran a hand over her neat ponytail. “I wanted to grab some water before our meeting.”

“No coffee?” Amanda gestured behind her. “It’s the best in town.”

“I had some at breakfast.”

“Did you go to Irvin’s? Tuck used to swear by the place.”

“No. I just ate at the place where I’m staying. Breakfast comes with the room and all, and Alice had everything ready.”

“Alice?”

“Just some swimsuit supermodel who happens to own the place. No reason for you to be jealous.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure. How was your morning?”

“Good. Went for a nice run and had a chance to take in the changes around here.”

“And?”

“It’s like stepping into a time warp. I feel like Michael J. Fox in
Back to the Future
.”

“It’s one of Oriental’s charms. When you’re here, it’s easy to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist and that all your problems will simply float away.”

“You sound like a commercial for the Chamber of Commerce.”

“That’s one of
my
charms.”

“Among many others, I’m sure.”

As he said it, she was struck again by the intensity of his gaze. She wasn’t used to being scrutinized this way—on the contrary, she often felt virtually invisible as she went through the well-worn circuit of her daily routines. Before she could dwell on her self-consciousness, he nodded at the door. “I’m going to get that bottle of water, if that’s okay.”

He went inside, and from her vantage point Amanda noted the way the pretty twenty-something cashier tried not to stare
at him as he walked toward the refrigerator case. When Dawson neared the back of the store, the clerk checked her appearance in the mirror behind the counter, then greeted him with a friendly smile at the register. Amanda turned away quickly, before he caught her watching.