Nicholas Sparks - Dear John

“I would have been more surprised if it hadn’t happened.”

“That’s what I don’t like about college, by the way. It’s like a lot of people don’t believe these years really count, so you’re allowed to experiment with… whatever. There’s such a casual view about things like sex and drinking and even drugs. I know that sounds really old-fashioned, but I just don’t get it. Maybe that’s why I didn’t want to go sit by the fire like everyone else. To be honest, I’m kind of disappointed in those two people I heard about, and I don’t want to sit there trying to pretend that I’m not. I know I shouldn’t judge, and I’m sure they’re good people since they’re here to help, but still, what was the point? Shouldn’t you save things like that for someone you love? So that it really means something?”

I knew she didn’t want answers, nor did I offer any.

“Who told you about that couple?” I asked instead.

“Tim. I think he was disappointed, too, but what’s he going to do? Kick them out?”

We had gone a good way down the beach, and we turned around. In the distance, I could see the circle of figures silhouetted by the fire. The mist smelled of salt, and ghost crabs scattered to their holes as we approached.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was out of line there.”

“About what?”

“For being so… upset about it. I shouldn’t pass judgment. It’s not my place.”

“Everyone judges,” I said. “It’s human nature.”

“I know. But… I’m not perfect, either. In the end, it’s only God’s judgment that matters, and I’ve learned enough to know that no one can presume to know the will of God.”

I smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“The way you talk reminds me of our chaplain. He says the same thing.”

We strolled down the beach, and as we neared the house, we moved away from the water’s edge, into the softer sand. Our feet slipped with every step, and I could feel Savannah tighten her grip on my hand. I wondered whether she would let go when we got close to the fire, and I was disappointed when she did.

“Hey,” Tim called out, his voice friendly. “You’re back.”

Randy was there, too, and he wore his usual sulky expression. Frankly, I was getting a bit tired of his resentment. Brad stood behind Susan, who was leaning into his chest. Susan seemed undecided about whether to pretend to be happy, so she could learn the details from Savannah, or to be upset for Randy’s benefit. The others, obviously indifferent, went back to their conversations. Tim stood and made his way toward us.

“How was dinner?”

“It was great,” Savannah said. “I got a taste of local culture. We went to the Shrimp Shack.”

“Sounds like fun,” he commented.

I strained to detect any undercurrent of jealousy but found none. Tim motioned over his shoulder and went on. “Do you two want to join us? We’re just winding down, getting ready for tomorrow.”

“Actually, I’m a bit sleepy. I was just going to walk John to his car, and after that I’ll turn in. What time do we need to be up?”

“Six. We’ll have breakfast and be at the site tomorrow by seven-thirty. Don’t forget your sunscreen. We’ll be out in the sun all day.”

“I’ll remember. You should remind everyone else.”

“I have,” he said. “And I’ll do it again tomorrow. But you just wait—some folks won’t listen and they’ll get fried.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.

“All right.” He turned his attention to me. “I’m glad you came by today.”

“Me too,” I said.

“And listen, if you find yourself bored in the next couple of weeks, we could always use an extra hand.”

I laughed. “I knew it was coming.”

“I am who I am,” he said, holding out his hand. “But either way, I hope to see you again.”

We shook hands. Tim went back to his seat, and Savannah nodded toward the house. We made our way toward the dune, stopped to put our sandals back on, then followed the wooden pathway, through the sea grass, and around the house. A minute later, we were at the car. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out her expression.

“I had a good time tonight,” she said. “And today.”

I swallowed. “When can I see you again?”

It was a simple question, expected even, but I was surprised to hear the desire in my tone. I hadn’t even kissed her yet.

“I suppose,” she said, “that depends on you. You know where I am.”

“How about tomorrow night?” I blurted out. “I know of another place that has a band, and it’s a lot of fun.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about the night after? Would that be okay? It’s just that the first day at the site is always… exciting and tiring at the same time. We have a big group dinner, and I really shouldn’t miss it.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, thinking it wasn’t fine at all.

She must have heard something in my voice. “Like Tim said, you’re welcome to come by if you’d like.”

“No, that’s okay. Tuesday night’s fine.”

We continued to stand there, one of those awkward moments I’ll probably never get used to, but she turned away before I could attempt a kiss. Normally, I would have plunged ahead just to see what happened; I may not have been open about my feelings, but I was impulsive and quick to action. With Savannah, I felt oddly paralyzed. She didn’t appear to be in any hurry, either.

A car passed by, breaking the spell. She took a step toward the house, then stopped and put her hand on my arm. In an innocent gesture, she kissed me on the cheek. It was almost sisterly, but her lips were soft and the scent of her engulfed me, lingering even after she pulled back.

“I really did have a good time,” she murmured. “I don’t think I’ll forget about today for a long, long time.”

I felt her hand leave my arm, and then in a whisper she vanished, retreating up the stairs of the house.

At home later that night, I found myself tossing and turning in bed, reliving the events of the day. Finally I sat up, wishing I had told her how much our day had meant to me. Outside my window, I saw a shooting star cross the sky in a brilliant streak of white. I wanted to believe it was an omen, though of what, I wasn’t sure. Instead, all I could do was replay Savannah’s gentle kiss on my cheek for the hundredth time and wonder how I could be falling for a girl that I’d met only the day before.

Mornin’, Dad,” I said, staggering into the kitchen. I squinted in the bright morning light and saw my dad standing in front of the stove. The smell of bacon filled the air.

“Oh… hi, John.”

I plopped myself on the chair, still trying to wake up. “Yeah, I know I’m up early, but I wanted to catch you before you headed off to work.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay. Let me just get a bit more food going.”

He seemed almost excited, despite this wrinkle in the routine. It was times like these that let me know he was glad I was home.

“Is there any coffee?” I asked.

“It’s in the pot,” he said.

I poured myself a cup and wandered to the table. The newspaper lay as it had arrived. My dad always read it over breakfast, and I knew enough not to touch it. He had always been funny about being the first to read it, and he always read it in exactly the same order.

I expected my dad to ask how the evening had gone with Savannah, but instead he said nothing, preferring to concentrate on his cooking. Noting the clock, I knew Savannah would be leaving for the site in a few minutes, and I wondered whether she was thinking about me as much as I was thinking about her. In the rush of what was no doubt a chaotic morning for her, I doubted she was. The realization made me ache unexpectedly.

“What did you do last night?” I finally asked, trying to get my mind off Savannah. He kept on cooking as if he hadn’t heard me. “Dad?” I said.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“How’d it go last night?”

“How’d what go?”

“Your night. Anything exciting happen?”

“No,” he said, “nothing.” He smiled at me before turning a couple of slices in the pan. I could hear the sizzling intensify.

“I had a great time,” I volunteered. “Savannah’s really something. We actually went to church together yesterday.”

Somehow I thought he’d ask more about it, and I’ll admit that I wanted him to. I imagined that we might have a real conversation, the kind that other fathers might have with their sons, that he might laugh and maybe crack a joke or two. Instead, he turned on another burner. He sprayed a small frying pan with oil and poured in the egg batter.

“Would you mind putting some bread in the toaster?” he asked.

I sighed. “No,” I said, already knowing that we’d eat in silence. “No problem at all.”

I spent the rest of the day surfing, or rather, trying to surf. The ocean had calmed overnight, and the small swells were nothing to get excited about. Making matters worse, they broke nearer to shore than they had the day before, so even if I did find a few worth riding, the experience didn’t last long before the waves petered out. In the past, I might have gone to Oak Island or even driven up to Atlantic Beach, where I could catch a ride out to Shackleford Banks in the hope that I’d find something better. Today, I just wasn’t in the mood.

Instead, I surfed where I had the previous two days. The house was a little way down the beach, and it looked almost uninhabited. The back door was closed, the towels were gone, and no one passed by the window or stepped out on the deck. I wondered when everyone would be getting back. Probably around four or five o’clock, and I had already made the decision that I’d be long gone by then. There was no reason to be here in the first place, and the last thing I wanted Savannah to think was that I was some kind of stalker.

I left around three and swung by Leroy’s. The bar was darker and dingier than I remembered, and I hated the place as soon as I walked in the door. I had always thought of it as a pro bar, as in professional alcoholics bar, and I saw the proof as lonely men sat hovering over glasses of Tennessee’s finest, hoping for refuge from life’s problems. Leroy was there, and he recognized me when I walked in. When I took a seat at the bar, he automatically brought a glass to the beer tap and began filling it.

“Long time no see,” he commented. “You keeping out of trouble?”

“Trying,” I grunted. I glanced around the bar as he slid the glass in front of me. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said, motioning over my shoulder.

“Good. It’s all for you. You gonna eat anything?”

“No. This is fine, thanks.”

He wiped the counter in front of me, then flipped the rag over his shoulder and moved away to take someone else’s order. A moment later, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Johnny! What’re you doing here?”

I turned and saw one of the many friends I had come to despise. That’s the way it was here. I hated everything about the place, including my friends, and I realized that I always had. I had no idea why I’d come, or even why I’d ever made this a regular hangout, other than the fact that it was here and I had no place else to go.

“Hey, Toby,” I said.

Tall and scrawny, Toby took a seat beside me, and when he turned to face me, I saw that his eyes were already glassy. He smelled as if he hadn’t showered in days, and his shirt was stained. “You still playing Rambo?” he asked, his words slurred. “You look like you’ve been working out.”

“Yeah,” I said, not wanting to go into it. “What are you doing these days?”

“Hanging out, mainly. For the last couple of weeks, anyway. I was working at Quick Stop until a couple of weeks ago, but the owner was a real ass.”

“Still living at home?”

“Of course,” he said, sounding almost proud of the fact. He tipped the bottle and took a long drink, then focused on my arms. “You look good. You been working out?” he asked again.

“A little,” I said, knowing he didn’t remember he’d already asked.

“You’re big.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Toby took another drink.

“Hey, there’s a party tonight at Mandy’s,” he said. “You remember Mandy, right?”

Yeah, I remembered. A girl from my past who lasted less than a weekend. Toby was still going on.

“Her parents are up in New York or someplace like that, and it should be a real banger. We’re just having a little pre-party to get us in the proper mood. You want to join us?”