The Best of Me(22)

“I know,” she said at last. She paused, wrapping her arms around herself, and for a while the hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the kitchen. The overhead light cast a yellowish glow on the walls, projecting their profiles in abstract shadows. “How long are you planning on staying?” she finally asked.

“I have a flight out early Monday morning. You?”

“Not long. I told Frank I’d be back on Sunday. If my mom had her way, though, she would rather I had stayed in Durham all weekend. She told me it wasn’t a good idea to come to the funeral.”

“Why?”

“Because she didn’t like Tuck.”

“You mean she didn’t like me.”

“She never knew you,” Amanda said. “She never gave you a chance. She always had ideas about the way I was supposed to live my life. What I might want never seemed to matter. Even though I’m an adult, she still tries to tell me what to do. She hasn’t changed a bit.” She rubbed at the moisture on the jelly jar. “A few years ago, I made the mistake of telling her that I’d dropped in on Tuck, and you would have thought that I’d just committed a crime. She kept haranguing me, asking why I visited him, wanting to know what we talked about, all the while scolding me like I was still a child. So after that, I just stopped telling her about it. Instead, I’d tell her I was going shopping, or that I wanted to have lunch with my friend Martha at the beach. Martha and I were roommates in college and she lives in Salter Path, but even though we talk, I haven’t actually seen her in years. I don’t want to deal with my mother’s prying questions, so I just lie to her.”

Dawson swirled his tea, thinking about what she’d said, watching as the drink finally went still again. “As I was driving here, I couldn’t help thinking about my father, and how for him it was always about control. I’m not saying your mom is anything like him, but maybe it’s just her way of trying to keep you from making a mistake.”

“Are you saying it was a mistake to visit Tuck?”

“Not for Tuck,” he said. “But for you? It depends on what you hoped to find here, and only you can answer that.”

She felt a flash of defensiveness, but before she could respond the feeling gave way as she recognized the pattern they’d shared so long ago. One would say something that challenged the other, often leading to an argument, and she realized how much she’d missed that. Not because they fought, but because of the trust it implied and the forgiveness that inevitably followed. Because, in the end, they’d always forgiven each other.

Part of her suspected that he’d been testing her, but she let the comment pass. Instead, surprising herself, she leaned forward over the table, the next words coming almost automatically.

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“I don’t have any plans. Why?”

“There are some steaks in the fridge if you want to eat here.”

“What about your mom?”

“I’ll call and tell her that I got a late start.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”

He scratched a thumb against the glass, saying nothing as he studied her. “Okay.” He nodded. “Steaks it is. Assuming they’re not spoiled.”

“They were delivered Monday,” she said, remembering what Tuck had told her. “The grill’s out back if you want to get it started.”

A moment later he was out the door; his presence, however, continued to linger, even as she fished her cell phone from her purse.





5




When the coals were ready, Dawson went back inside to retrieve the steaks from Amanda, who’d already buttered and seasoned them. Pushing open the door, he saw her staring into the cupboard while absently holding a can of pork and beans.

“What’s going on?”

“I was trying to find some things to go with the steak, but other than this,” she said, holding up the can, “there’s not much.”

“What are our choices?” he asked as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

“Aside from the beans, he has grits, a bottle of spaghetti sauce, pancake flour, a half-empty box of penne pasta, and Cheerios. In the fridge, he has butter and condiments. Oh, and the sweet tea, of course.”

He shook off the excess water. “Cheerios is a possibility.”

“I think I’ll go with the pasta,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And shouldn’t you be outside grilling the steaks?”

“I suppose,” he answered, and she had to suppress a smile. From the corner of her eye, she watched him pick up the platter and leave, the door behind him closing with a gentle click.