The Best of Me(21)

“I don’t think it was in the cards.”

She eyed him over the rim of her glass. “Still playing the field, huh?”

“I keep pretty much to myself these days.”

She leaned against the counter, unsure what to read into his response. “Where do you live now?”

“Louisiana. In a parish just outside New Orleans.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s okay. I’d forgotten until I came back here how much it looks like home. There are more pines here and more Spanish moss there, but other than that I’m not real sure I could tell the difference.”

“Except for the alligators.”

“Yeah. Except for that.” He offered a faint smile. “Your turn. Where’s home these days?”

“Durham. I stayed there after I got married.”

“And you come back a few times a year to see your mom?”

She nodded. “When my dad was alive, they used to visit us because of the kids. But after my dad died, it got harder. My mom never liked to drive, so now I have to come here.” She took a sip before nodding toward the table. “Do you mind if I sit? My feet are killing me.”

“Feel free. I’ll stand for a bit, though. I’ve been stuck on an airplane all day.”

She picked up her glass and started toward the table, feeling his eyes on her.

“What do you do in Louisiana?” she asked, sliding into her seat.

“I’m a derrick hand on an oil rig, which basically means that I assist the driller. I help guide the drill pipe in and out of the elevator, I make sure all the connections are proper, I keep on the pumps to make sure they’re running right. I know that probably doesn’t make much sense since you’ve probably never been on a rig, but it’s kind of hard to explain without actually showing you.”

“That’s a long way from fixing cars.”

“It’s less different than you think. Essentially, I work with engines and machines. And I still work with cars, too, in my spare time anyway. The fastback runs like new.”

“You still have it?”

He grinned. “I like that car.”

“No,” she challenged, “you love that car. I used to have to drag you away from it whenever I came by. And half the time, I didn’t succeed. I’m surprised you don’t carry a picture of it in your wallet.”

“I do.”

“Really?”

“I was kidding.”

She laughed, the same free-spirited laugh from long ago. “How long have you been working on rigs?”

“Fourteen years. I started as a roustabout, worked up to roughneck, and here I am, a derrick hand.”

“Roustabout to roughneck to derrick hand?”

“What can I say? We speak our own language out there on the ocean.” He absently picked at one of the grooves etched into the ancient countertop. “And what about you? Do you work? You used to talk about becoming a teacher.”

She took a sip, nodding. “I taught for a year, but then I had Jared, my oldest son, and I wanted to stay at home with him. After that Lynn was born and then… we had a few years when a lot happened, including my dad passing away, a really tough time.” She paused, conscious of how much she was leaving out, knowing it wasn’t the time or place to talk about Bea. She straightened up, keeping her voice steady. “A couple of years after that, Annette came along, and by then there was no reason for me to go back to work. But I’ve spent a lot of time over the past ten years volunteering at Duke University Hospital. I also do some fund-raising luncheons for them. It’s hard sometimes, but it makes me feel like I’m making a little bit of difference.”

“How old are your kids?”

She ticked them off on her fingers. “Jared turns nineteen in August and just finished his first year of college, Lynn is seventeen and starting her senior year. Annette, my nine-year-old, just finished third grade. She’s a sweet and happy-go-lucky little girl. Jared and Lynn, on the other hand, are at the age when they think they know everything and I, of course, know absolutely nothing.”

“In other words, you’re saying they’re kind of like we were?”

She thought about it, her expression almost wistful. “Maybe.”

Dawson fell silent, staring out the window, and she followed his gaze. The creek had turned the color of iron and the slow-moving water reflected the darkening skies. The old oak tree near the bank hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been here, but the dock had rotted away, leaving only the pilings.

“A lot of memories there, Amanda,” he observed, his voice soft.

Maybe it was the way he sounded when he said it, but she felt something click inside at his words, like a key turning in a distant lock.