Nights in Rodanthe

Adrienne stood without moving, watching her daughter, then finally opened her arms. Instinctively Amanda rose, trying and failing to stop her tears, and mother and daughter stood in the kitchen, holding each other for a long, long time.

Eighteen

The air had chilled slightly, and Adrienne had lit a few candles around the kitchen to warm and light the space. Sitting at the table, she had put Mark's letter back in the box with the note and the photograph. Amanda watched her soberly, her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she said quietly. "For everything. For losing Paul, for having to live through that alone. I can't imagine what it must have been like to keep all of that inside."

"Neither can I," Adrienne said. "There's no way I could have made it without help."

Amanda shook her head. "But you did," she whispered.

"No," Adrienne said. "I survived, but I didn't do it alone."

Amanda looked puzzled. Adrienne offered her a melancholy smile.

"Grampa," she finally said. "My daddy. That's who I cried with. And I cried with him every day for weeks. Without him, I don't know what I would have done."

"But..." Amanda trailed off, and Adrienne went on for her.

"But he couldn't say anything?" Adrienne paused. "He didn't have to. He listened, and that was what I needed. Besides, I knew there wasn't anything he could have said that would have made the pain go away, even if he could speak." She lifted her gaze. "You know that as well as I do."

Amanda pressed her lips together. "I wish you'd told me," she said. "Before now, I mean."

"Because of Brent?"

Amanda nodded.

"I know you do, but you weren't ready to hear it until now. You needed time to work through your grief in your own way, on your own terms."

For a long moment, Amanda said nothing.

"It isn't fair. You and Paul, me and Brent," she whispered.

"No, it isn't."

"How were you able to go on after losing him like that?"

Adrienne smiled wistfully. "I took things one day at a time. Isn't that what they tell you to do? I know it sounds trite, but I used to wake up in the mornings and tell myself that I only had to be strong for one day. Just one day. I did that over and over."

"You make it sound so simple," Amanda whispered.

"It wasn't. It was the hardest time I ever went through."

"Even more than when Daddy left?"

"That was hard, too, but this was different." Adrienne flashed a quick smile. "You were the one who told me that, remember?"

Amanda looked away. Yes, she thought, I do. "I wish I'd had the chance to meet him."

"You would have liked him. In time, I mean. Back then, you might not have. You were still hoping that your dad and I would get back together."

Amanda's hand went reflexively to the wedding band she still wore, and she twisted it around her finger, her face a mask.

"You've lost a lot in your life."

"Yes, I have."

"But you seem so happy now."

"I am."

"How can you be?"

Adrienne brought her hands together. "When I think of losing Paul or the years that might have been, of course it makes me sad. It did then, and it still does now. But you have to understand something else, too: As hard as it was, as terrible and unfair as the way things turned out, I wouldn't have traded the few days I spent with him for anything."

She paused, making sure her daughter understood that. "In Mark's letter, he said that I saved Paul from himself. But if Mark had asked me, I would have said that we'd saved each other, or that he'd saved me. Had I never met him, I doubt I ever would have forgiven Jack, and I wouldn't have been the mother or grandmother I am now. Because of him, I came back to Rocky Mount knowing that I was going to be okay, that things would work out, that no matter what, I'd make it. And the year we spent writing each other gave me the strength I needed when I finally learned what had happened to him. Yes, I was devastated by losing him, but if somehow I could go back in time--this time knowing what would happen in advance--I still would have wanted him to go because of his son. He needed to make things right with Mark. His son needed him--had always needed him. And it wasn't too late."

Amanda looked away, knowing she was talking about Max and Greg as well.

"That's why I told you this story from the beginning," Adrienne went on. "Not just because I'd been through what you're living through now, but because I wanted you to understand how important his relationship with his son was. And what it meant for Mark to know that. Those are wounds that are difficult to heal, and I don't want you to have any more wounds than you already have now."

Adrienne reached across the table and took her daughter's hand. "I know you're still hurting about Brent, and there's nothing I can do to help you with that. But if Brent were here, he would tell you to concentrate on your kids, not on his death. He would want you to remember the good moments, not the bad ones. And above all, he would want to know that you're going to be okay, too."

"I know all that--"

Adrienne cut her off with a gentle squeeze, not letting her finish. "You're stronger than you think you are," she went on, "but only if you want to be."

"It's not that easy."

"Of course it isn't, but you have to understand that I'm not talking about your emotions. Those you can't control. You're still going to cry, you're still going to have moments when you don't feel you can go on. But you have to act as if you can. At a time like this, actions are just about the only things you can control." She paused. "Your children need you, Amanda. I don't think there's ever been a time when they needed you more. But lately, you haven't been there for them. I know you're hurting, and I hurt for you, but you're a mom now, and you can't keep going like this. Brent wouldn't have wanted it, and your children are paying the price."

As Adrienne finished, Amanda seemed to be studying the table. But then, almost as if moving in slow motion, she raised her head and looked up.

As much as she wished otherwise, Adrienne had no idea what Amanda was thinking.

Dan was folding the last of the towels in the basket while watching ESPN when Amanda returned home. The clothes had been sorted into piles on the coffee table. Dan automatically reached for the remote to turn down the volume.

"I was wondering when you were going to make it back," he said.

"Oh, hey," Amanda said, looking around. "Where are the boys?"

Dan motioned with his head as he added a green towel to the stack. "They just got into bed a few minutes ago. They're probably still awake if you want to say good night."

"Where are your kids?"

"I dropped them off with Kira on our way home. Just to let you know, Max dripped some pizza sauce on his Scooby-Doo shirt. I guess it's one of his favorites, because he got pretty upset about it. I've got it soaking in the sink now, but I couldn't find the stain remover."

Amanda nodded. "I'll get some this weekend. I've got to go shopping anyway. I'm out of other things, too."

Dan looked at his sister. "If you make a list, Kira could pick up what you need. I know she's going to the store."

"Thanks for the offer, but it's time I start doing that for myself again."

"Okay..." He smiled uncertainly. For a moment, neither he nor his sister said anything.

"Thanks for taking the boys out," Amanda said finally.

Dan shrugged. "No big deal. We were going out anyway, and I figured they might enjoy it."

Amanda's voice was earnest. "No. I mean, thank you for all the times you've done that lately. Not just tonight. You and Matt have been great since... since I lost Brent, and I don't know if I've let you know how much I appreciate that."

Dan looked away at the mention of Brent's name. He reached for the empty laundry basket.

"What are uncles for, right?" He shifted from one foot to the other, holding the basket in front of him. "Would you like me to swing by for the boys again tomorrow? I was thinking of going on a bike r

ide with the kids."

Amanda shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

Dan looked at her, his expression dubious. Amanda didn't seem to notice. She slipped off her jacket and set it on the chair along with her purse. "I talked to Mom for quite a while tonight."

"Oh? How'd it go?"

"You wouldn't believe half of it if I told you."

"What did she say?"

"You had to be there. But I learned something about her tonight."

Dan cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

"She's tougher than she looks," Amanda said.

Dan laughed. "Yeah... sure, she's tough all right. She cries when the goldfish die."

"That may be true, but in a lot of ways, I wish I could be as strong as she is."

"I'll bet."

When Dan saw his sister's serious expression, he suddenly realized no punch line was coming. His brow furrowed.

"Wait," he said. "Our mom?"

Dan left a few minutes later, and despite his attempts to find out what their mother had told Amanda, she had refused to tell him. She understood the reasons for her mother's silence, both in the past and in the years since, and knew her mother would tell Dan when or if she had reason to do so.

Amanda locked the door behind Dan and looked around the living room. In addition to folding the clothes, he'd straightened up; she remembered that before she'd left, there were videos strewn near the television, a pile of empty cups on the end table, a year's worth of magazines stacked haphazardly on the desk by the door.

Dan had taken care of everything. Again.

Amanda turned out the lights, thinking of Brent, thinking of the last eight months, thinking of her children. Greg and Max shared a bedroom at one end of the hall; the master bedroom was at the opposite end. Lately the distance had seemed too far to travel at the end of the day. Before Brent had passed away, she'd helped the boys say their prayers and read to them from small books with colorful drawings before pulling up the covers to their chins.

Tonight, her brother had done that for her. Last night, no one had done it at all.

Amanda headed upstairs. The house was dark, the upper hallway shadowed and black. At the top of the steps, she heard the broken whispers of her sons. She went down the corridor and paused in the doorway of their room, peeking in.

They slept in twin beds, their comforters decorated with dinosaurs and race cars; toys were scattered between the beds. A night-light glowed from the outlet near the closet, and in the silence, she saw again how much both boys resembled their father.

They'd stopped moving. Knowing she was watching them, they wanted her to think they were asleep, as if finding security by hiding from their mother.

The floor squeaked beneath her weight. Max seemed to be holding his breath. Greg peeked at her, then snapped his eyelids shut as Amanda sat beside him. Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek and ran a gentle hand through his hair.

"Hey," she whispered. "Are you sleeping?"

"Yes," he said.

Amanda smiled. "Do you want to sleep with Mommy tonight? In the big bed?" she whispered.

It seemed to take a moment before Greg understood what she'd said. "With you?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," he said, and Amanda kissed him again, watching as he sat up. She moved to Max's bed. His hair glittered gold in the light from the window, looking like Christmas tinsel.

"Hey, sweetie."

Max swallowed, his eyes closed. "Can I come, too?"

"If you want to."

"Okay," he said.

Amanda smiled as they got up, but when they started toward the door, Amanda pulled them back, embracing them both. They smelled like little boys: dirt and sweet grass, innocence itself.

"How about if tomorrow we go to the park, and later we

can get some ice cream," she said.

"Can we fly our kites?" Max asked.

Amanda squeezed them tighter, closing her eyes.

"All day long. And the next day, too, if you want to."

Nineteen

It was past midnight now, and in her room, Adrienne held the conch as she sat on the bed. Dan had called an hour earlier, full of news about Amanda.

"She told me she was going to take the boys out tomorrow, just the three of them. That they needed to spend some time with their mom." He paused. "I don't know what you said, but I guess whatever it was worked."

"I'm glad."

"So what did you say to her? She was, you know, kind of circumspect about it."

"The same thing I've been saying all along. The same thing you and Matt have been saying."

"Then why did she listen to you this time?"

"I guess," Adrienne said, drawing out the words, "because she finally wanted to."

Later, after she'd hung up the phone, Adrienne read the letters from Paul, just as she'd known she would. Though his words were hard to see through her tears, her own words were even harder to read. She'd read those countless times, too, the ones she had written to Paul in the year they'd been apart. Her own letters had been in the second stack, the stack that Mark Flanner had brought with him when he'd come to her house two months after Paul had been buried in Ecuador.

Amanda had forgotten to ask about Mark's visit before she'd gone, and Adrienne hadn't reminded her. In time, Amanda might bring it up again, but even now, Adrienne wasn't sure how much she would say. This was the one part of the story she'd kept entirely to herself over the years, locked away, like the letters. Even her father didn't know what Paul had done.

In the pale glow of the streetlight shining through her window, Adrienne rose from the bed and took a jacket and scarf from the closet, then walked downstairs. She unlocked the back door and stepped outside.

Stars were blazing like tiny sparkles on a magician's cape, and the air was moist and cold. In the yard, she could see blackened pools, reflecting the ebony above. Lights shone from neighbors' windows, and though she knew it was just her imagination, she could almost smell salt in the air, as if sea mist were rolling over the neighborhood yards.

Mark had come to the house on a February morning; his arm was still in a sling, but she'd barely noticed it. Instead, she found herself staring at him, unable to turn away. He looked, she thought, exactly like his father. When he offered the saddest of smiles as she opened the door, Adrienne took a small step backward, trying hard to hold back the tears.

They sat at the table, two coffee cups between them, and Mark removed the letters from the bag he'd brought with him.

"He saved them," he said. "I didn't know what else to do with them, except to bring them to you."

Adrienne nodded as she took them.

"Thank you for your letter," she said. "I know how hard it must have been for you to write it."

"You're welcome," he said, and for a long time, he was silent. Then, of course, he told her why he'd come.

Now, on the porch, Adrienne smiled as she thought about what Paul had done for her. She remembered going to visit her father in the nursing home after Mark had left, the place her father would never have to leave. As Mark had explained as he'd sat at the table, Paul had already made arrangements for her father to be taken care of there until the end of his days--a gift he had hoped to surprise her with. When she began to protest, Mark made it clear that it would have broken his heart to know that she wouldn't accept it.

"Please," he finally said, "it's what my dad wanted."

In the years that followed, she would cherish Paul's final gesture, just as she cherished every memory of the few days they spent together. Paul still meant everything to her, would always mean everything to her, and in the chilly air of a late winter evening, Adrienne knew she would always feel that way.

She'd already lived through more years than she had remaining, but it hadn't seemed that long. Entire years had slipped from her memory, washed away like sandy footprints near the water's edge. With the exception of the time she'd spent with Paul Flanner, she sometimes believed that she h

ad passed through life with no more awareness than that of a small child on a long car ride, staring out the window as the scenery rolled past.

She had fallen in love with a stranger in the course of a weekend, and she would never fall in love again. The desire to love again had ended on a mountain pass in Ecuador. Paul had died for his son, and in that moment, part of her had died as well.

She wasn't bitter, though. In the same situation, she knew she would have tried to save her own child as well. Yes, Paul was gone, but he had left her with so much. She'd found love and joy, she'd found a strength she never knew she had, and nothing could ever take those things away.

But all of it was over now, all except the memories, and she'd constructed those with infinite care. They were as real to her as the scene she was staring at now, and blinking back the tears that had started falling in the empty darkness of her bedroom, she raised her chin. Staring into the sky, she breathed deeply, listening to the distant and imagined echo of waves as they broke along the shore on a stormy night in Rodanthe.