I nodded.
“I thought so.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve loved her since I was twelve years old. And gradually, she fell in love with me, too.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” he said, “it wasn’t the same. I know she loves me, but she’s never loved me the way she loved you. She never had that burning passion for me, but we were making a good life together. She was so happy when we started the ranch . . . and it just made me feel so good that I could do something like that for her. Then I got sick, but she’s always here, caring for me the same way I’d care for her if it was happening to her.” He stopped then, struggling to find the right words, and I could see the anguish in his expression.
“Yesterday, when you came in, I saw the way she was looking at you, and I knew that she still loved you. More than that, I know she always will. It breaks my heart, but you know what? I’m still in love with her, and to me that means that I want nothing more than for her to be happy in life. I want that more than anything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.”
My throat was so dry that I could barely speak. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying don’t forget Savannah if anything happens to me. And promise that you’ll always treasure her the same way I do.”
“Tim . . .”
“Don’t say anything, John.” He raised a hand, either to stop me or in farewell. “Just remember what I said, okay?”
When he turned away, I knew our conversation was over.
I stood then and walked quietly out of the room, shutting the door behind me.
Outside the hospital, I squinted in the harsh morning sunlight. I could hear birds chirping in the trees, but even though I searched for them, they remained hidden from me.
The parking lot was half full. Here and there, I could see people walking to the entrance or back to their cars. All looked as weary as I felt, as if the optimism they showed to loved ones in the hospital vanished the moment they were alone. I knew that miracles were always possible no matter how sick a person might be, and that women in the maternity ward were feeling joy as they held their newborns in their arms, but I sensed that, like me, most of the hospital visitors were barely holding it together.
I sat on the bench out front, wondering why I’d come and wishing that I hadn’t. I replayed my conversation with Tim over and over, and the image of his anguish made me close my eyes. For the first time in years, my love for Savannah felt somehow . . . wrong. Love should bring joy, it should grant a person peace, but here and now, it was bringing only pain. To Tim, to Savannah, even to me. I hadn’t come to tempt Savannah or ruin her marriage . . . or had I? I wasn’t sure I was quite as noble as I thought I was, and the realization left me feeling as empty as a rusted paint can.
I removed the photograph of Savannah from my wallet. It was creased and worn. As I stared at her face, I found myself wondering what the coming year would bring. I didn’t know whether Tim would live or die, and I didn’t want to think about it. I knew that no matter what happened, the relationship between Savannah and me would never be what it once was. We’d met at a carefree time, a moment full of promise; in its place now were the harsh lessons of the real world.
I rubbed my temples, struck by the thought that Tim knew what had almost happened between Savannah and me last night, that maybe he’d even expected it. His words made that clear, as did his request that I promise to love her with the devotion he felt. I knew exactly what he was suggesting that I do if he died, but somehow his permission made me feel even worse.
I finally stood and began the slow walk to my car. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go, other than that I needed to get as far away from the hospital as I could. I needed to leave Lenoir, if only to give myself a chance to think. I dug my hands into my pockets and fished out my keys.
It was only when I got close to my car that I realized Savannah’s truck was parked next to mine. Savannah was sitting in the front seat, and when she saw me coming, she opened the door and got out. She waited for me, smoothing her blouse as I drew near.
I stopped a few feet away.
“John,” she said, “you left without saying good-bye last night.”
“I know.”
She nodded slightly. We both understood the reason.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t,” she said. “I went by the motel and they told me you’d checked out. When I came here, I saw your car and decided to wait for you. Did you see Tim?”
“Yeah. He’s doing better. He thinks he’ll be getting out of the hospital later today.”