The Best of Me

"You're giving me too much credit."

"Really? You mean you would have let them hurt me?"

He didn't have to answer. She could tell by his expression that she was right.

"They were always afraid of you, you know. Even Ted. Because they knew you as well as I did."

"You were afraid of me?"

"That's not what I meant," she said. "I knew you loved me and that you'd do anything for me. And that was one of the reasons it hurt so much when you ended it, Dawson. Because I knew even then how rare that kind of love is. Only the luckiest people get to experience it at all."

For a moment Dawson seemed unable to speak. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

"So am I," she said, not bothering to hide the old sadness. "I was one of the lucky ones, remember?"

After reaching Morgan Tanner's office, Dawson and Amanda sat in the small reception area replete with scuffed pine floors, end tables stacked with outdated magazines, and fraying upholstered chairs. The receptionist, who looked old enough to have been drawing social security for years, was reading a paperback novel. Then again, there wasn't much else for her to do. In the ten minutes they waited, the phone never rang.

Finally, the door swung open, revealing an elderly man with a shock of white hair, gray caterpillars for eyebrows, and a rumpled suit. He waved them into his office. "Amanda Ridley and Dawson Cole, I presume?" He shook their hands. "I'm Morgan Tanner, and I'd like to express my sympathies to both of you. I know this must be hard."

"Thank you," Amanda said. Dawson simply nodded.

Tanner ushered them to a pair high-backed leather chairs. "Please sit down. This shouldn't take long."

Tanner's office was nothing like the reception area, with mahogany shelving neatly stacked with hundreds of law books and a window that overlooked the street. The desk, an ornate antique with detailed molding on the corners, was topped with what appeared to be a Tiffany lamp. A walnut box sat in the center of the desk, which faced the leather armchairs.

"I want to apologize for being late. I was tied up on the phone, taking care of some last-minute details." He kept talking as he shuffled around the desk. "I suppose you're wondering why all the secrecy about the arrangements, but that was the way Tuck wanted it. He was rather insistent and had his own ideas about things." He inspected them from beneath his bushy eyebrows. "But I suppose you two already know that."

Amanda stole a look at Dawson as Tanner took his seat and reached for the file in front of him. "I also appreciate that both of you were able to make it. After listening to him talk about you, I know that Tuck would have appreciated it as well. I'm sure you both have questions, so let me go ahead and get started." He shot them a quick smile, revealing surprisingly even and white teeth. "As you know, Tuck's body was discovered on Tuesday morning by Rex Yarborough."

"Who?" Amanda asked.

"The mailman. It turns out that he'd made it a point to check in on Tuck fairly regularly. When he knocked at the door, no one answered. The door was unlocked, though, and when he went in, he found Tuck in his bed. He called the sheriff, and the determination was made that no foul play was involved. That was when the sheriff called me."

"Why did he call you?" Dawson asked.

"Because Tuck had asked him to. He'd made it known to the sheriff's department that I was his executor and should be contacted as soon as possible after he passed."

"You make it sound like he knew he was dying."

"I think he had a sense that it was coming," Tanner said. "Tuck Hostetler was an old man, and he wasn't afraid to confront the realities of his advancing age." He shook his head. "I just hope I can be as organized and resolute when my time approaches."

Amanda and Dawson exchanged glances but said nothing.

"I urged him to let you both know about his final wishes and plans, but he wanted to keep them secret for some reason. I still can't explain it." Tanner sounded almost paternal. "He also made it obvious that he cared deeply about you two."

Dawson sat forward. "I know it isn't important, but how did you two know each other?"

Tanner nodded, as if he'd expected the question. "I met Tuck eighteen years ago, when I brought in a classic Mustang for him to restore. At the time, I was a partner at a large firm in Raleigh. I was a lobbyist, if you want to know the truth. Did a lot of work with agriculture. But to make a long story short, I stayed down here for a few days to monitor the progress. I only knew of Tuck by reputation and I didn't quite trust him with my car. Anyway, we kind of got to know each other, and I realized I liked the pace of life around here. A few weeks later, when I finally came back to pick up my car, he didn't charge me near what I thought he would, and I was amazed at his work. Fast-forward fifteen years. I was feeling burned out and I decided on a whim to move down here and retire. Only it didn't quite take. After a year or so, I opened a small practice. Not much, just wills mainly and a real estate closing now and then. I don't need to work, but it gives me something to do. And my wife couldn't be happier that I'm out of the house for a few hours a week. Anyway, I happened to see Tuck at Irvin's one morning and told him that if he ever needed anything, I'd be around. And then, last February, surprising no one more than me, he took me up on the offer."

"Why you and not--"

"Another attorney in town?" Tanner asked, finishing for him. "I got the impression that he wanted an attorney who didn't have deep roots in this town. He didn't put much faith in attorney-client privilege, even when I assured him it was absolute. Is there anything more I can add that I didn't cover?"

When Amanda shook her head, he pulled the file closer to him and slipped on a pair of reading glasses. "Then let's get started. Tuck left instructions on how he wanted me to handle things as his executor. You should know those wishes included the fact that he didn't want a traditional funeral. Instead, he asked that, after his death, I arrange for cremation, and per his wishes as to the timing, Tuck Hostetler was cremated yesterday." He motioned toward the box on his desk, leaving no doubt that it held Tuck's ashes.

Amanda paled. "But we arrived yesterday."

"I know. He'd asked that I try to take care of it before you arrived."

"He didn't want us there?"

"He didn't want anyone there."

"Why not?"

"All I can say is that he was specific in his instructions. But if I were to guess, I think he was under the impression that having to make any of the arrangements might have been upsetting to you." He lifted a page from the file and held it up. "He said--and I'm quoting him here--'ain't no reason my death should be a burden to 'em.' " Tanner removed his reading glasses and leaned back in his chair, trying to gauge their reactions.

"In other words, there's no funeral?" Amanda asked.

"Not in the traditional sense, no."

Amanda turned toward Dawson and back to Tanner again. "Then why did he want us to come?"

"He asked that I contact you in the hope that you would do something else for him, something more important than the cremation. Essentially, he wanted the two of you to scatter his ashes at a place he said was very special to him, a place apparently neither of you has ever visited."

It took Amanda only a moment to figure it out. "His cottage at Vandemere?"

Tanner nodded. "That's it. Tomorrow would be ideal, at whatever time you choose. Of course, if you're uncomfortable with the idea, I'll have it taken care of. I have to go up there anyway."

"No, tomorrow's fine," Amanda said.

Tanner lifted a slip of paper. "Here's the address, and I took the liberty of printing directions as well. It's a bit off the beaten path, as you might suspect. And there's one other thing: He asked that I give you these," he said, removing three sealed envelopes from the file. "You'll notice that two have your names on them. He asked that you read the unmarked one aloud first, sometime prior to the ceremony."

"Ceremony?" Amanda repeated.

"The scattering of the ashes, I meant," he said, handing over the directions and the envelop

es. "And of course, feel free to add anything either of you might want to say."

"Thank you," she said, taking them. The envelopes felt oddly heavy, weighted with mystery. "But what about the other two?"

"I assume you're to read those afterward."

"You assume?"

"Tuck wasn't specific about that, other than to say that after you've read the first letter, you'll know when to open the other two."

Amanda took the envelopes and slipped them in her purse, trying to digest everything Tanner had told them. Dawson seemed equally perplexed.

Tanner perused the file again. "Any questions?"

"Did he give specifics on where at Vandemere he wanted the ashes scattered?"

"No," Tanner answered.

"How will we know, since we've never been there?"

"That's the same question I asked him, but he seemed sure that you would understand what to do."

"Did he have a particular hour of day in mind?"

"Again, he left that up to you. However, he was adamant in his desire that it remain a private ceremony. He asked me to make sure, for instance, that no information be given to the newspaper regarding his death, not even an obituary. I got the sense that he didn't want anyone, aside from the three of us, to know that he'd even died. And I followed his wishes, to the greatest extent possible. Of course, word inevitably leaked out despite my best attempts, but I want you to know that I've done all that I could."

"Did he say why?"

"No," Tanner answered. "Nor did I ask. By that time, I'd figured out that unless he volunteered it, he probably wasn't going to tell me." He looked at Amanda and Dawson, waiting to see if they had further questions. When they stayed quiet, he flipped the top page in the folder. "Moving on to the subject of his estate, you both know that Tuck had no surviving family. While I understand that your grief may make this feel like an inopportune time to discuss his will, he did ask that I let you know what he intended to do while you were both here. Would that be all right?" When they nodded, he went on. "Tuck's assets weren't insubstantial. He owned quite a bit of land, in addition to having funds in several accounts. I'm still working through the numbers, but what you should know is this: He asked that you help yourselves to any of his personal property that you may desire, even if it's only a single item. He simply asked that if there was disagreement about anything, the two of you work it out while you're here. I'll be handling the probate over the next few months, but essentially, the remainder of his estate will be sold, with the proceeds to benefit the Pediatric Cancer Center at Duke University Hospital." Tanner smiled at Amanda. "He thought you'd want to know that."

"I don't know what to say." She could feel Dawson's quiet alertness beside her. "It's so generous of him." She hesitated, more affected than she wanted to admit. "He--I guess he knew what it would mean to me."

Tanner nodded before sorting through the pages and finally set them aside. "I think that's it, unless you can think of anything."

There was nothing else, and after their good-byes Amanda rose while Dawson lifted the walnut box from the desk. Tanner stood but made no motion to follow them out. Amanda accompanied Dawson to the door, noticing the frown forming on his face. Before they reached the door, he paused and turned around.

"Mr. Tanner?"

"Yes?"

"You said something I'm curious about."

"Oh?"

"You said that tomorrow would be ideal. I assume you meant tomorrow as opposed to today."

"Yes."

"Can you tell me why?"

Tanner moved the file to the corner of his desk. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I can't."

"What was that about?" Amanda asked.

They were walking toward her car, which was still parked outside the coffee shop. Instead of answering, Dawson put his hand in his pocket.

"What are you doing for lunch?" he asked.

"You're not going to answer my question?"

"I'm not sure what to say. Tanner didn't give me an answer."

"But why did you ask the question in the first place?"

"Because I'm a curious person," he said. "I've always been curious about everything."

She crossed the street. "No," she finally said, "I don't agree. If anything, you lived your life with an almost stoic acceptance of the way things are. But I know exactly what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"You're trying to change the subject."

He didn't bother to deny it. Instead, he shifted the box beneath his arm. "You didn't answer my question, either."

"What question?"

"I asked what you were doing for lunch. Because if you're free, I know a great place."

She hesitated, thinking about small-town gossip, but as usual Dawson was able to read her.

"Trust me," he said. "I know just where to go."

Half an hour later, they were back at Tuck's, sitting near the creek on a blanket that Amanda had retrieved from Tuck's closet. On the way over, Dawson had picked up sandwiches from Brantlee's Village Restaurant, along with some bottles of water.

"How did you know?" she asked, reverting to their old shorthand. With Dawson, she was reminded of what it was like to have her thoughts divined before she uttered them. When they were young, a momentary glimpse or the subtlest of gestures had often been enough to signal a world of thought and emotion.

"Your mom and everyone she knows still live in town. You're married, and I'm someone from your past. It wasn't too hard to figure out that it might not be a good idea for us to be seen spending the afternoon together."

She was glad he understood, but as he pulled two sandwiches from the bag, she nonetheless felt a quiver of guilt. She told herself that they were simply having lunch, but that wasn't the full truth, and she knew it.

Dawson didn't seem to notice. "Turkey or chicken salad?" he asked, holding both of them out to her.

"Either," she said. Then changing her mind, she said, "Chicken salad."

He passed the sandwich to her, along with a bottle of water. She surveyed her surroundings, relishing the quiet. Thin, hazy clouds drifted overhead, and near the house she saw a pair of squirrels chase each other up the trunk of an oak tree shrouded in Spanish moss. A turtle sunned itself on a log on the far side of the creek. It was the environment she had grown up in, and yet it had come to feel strangely foreign, a radically different world from the one she lived in now.

"What did you think about the meeting?" he asked.

"Tanner seems like a decent man."

"What about the letters Tuck wrote? Any ideas?"

"After what I heard this morning? Not a clue."

Dawson nodded as he unwrapped his sandwich and she did the same. "The Pediatric Cancer Center, huh?"

She nodded, thinking automatically of Bea. "I told you I volunteered at Duke University Hospital. I also do some fund-raising for them."

"Yes, but you didn't mention where at the hospital you worked," Dawson replied, his sandwich unwrapped but still untouched. She heard the question in his voice and knew that he was waiting. Amanda absently twisted the cap on her bottle of water.

"Frank and I had another child, a baby girl, three years after Lynn was born." She paused, gathering her strength, but knowing that, somehow, saying the words to Dawson wouldn't feel awkward or painful the way it so often did with others.

"She was diagnosed with a brain tumor when she was eighteen months old. It was inoperable, and despite the efforts of an incredible team of doctors and staff at the Pediatric Cancer Center, she died six months later." She looked out over the ancient creek, feeling the familiar, deep-seated ache, a sadness she knew would never go away.

Dawson reached over and squeezed her hand. "What was her name?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Bea," she said.

For a long time, neither said anything, the only sounds the burbling of the creek and the leaves rustling overhead. Amanda didn't feel that she needed to say more, nor did Dawson expect her to. She knew he understoo

d exactly how she was feeling, and she had the sense that he felt an ache as well, if only because he couldn't help her.

After lunch, they gathered the remains of their picnic along with the blanket and started back toward the house. Dawson followed Amanda inside, watching as she vanished around the corner to put the blanket away. There was something guarded about her, as if she were afraid of having crossed an unspoken line. After retrieving glasses from a cupboard in the kitchen, he poured some sweet tea. When she came back to the kitchen, he offered her one.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, taking the glass. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry if I upset you."

"You didn't," she said. "It's just that talking about Bea is still hard for me sometimes. And it's been an... unexpected weekend so far."

"For me, too," he agreed. He leaned back against the counter. "How do you want to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Go through the house. To see if there's anything you want."

Amanda exhaled, hoping her jumpiness wasn't obvious. "I don't know. It feels wrong to me somehow."

"It shouldn't. He wanted us to remember him."

"I'll remember him no matter what."

"Then how about this? He wants to be more than just a memory. He wants us to have a piece of him and this place, too."

She took a sip, knowing he was probably right. But the idea of rooting through his things to find a keepsake right now just felt like too much. "Let's hold off for a bit. Would that be all right?"

"It's fine. Whenever you're ready. You want to sit outside for a while?"

She nodded and followed him out to the back porch, where they seated themselves in Tuck's old rockers. Dawson rested his glass on his thigh. "I imagine that Tuck and Clara used to do this quite a bit," he commented. "Just sit outside and watch the world go by," he said.

"Probably."

He turned toward her. "I'm glad you came to visit him. I hated the thought that he was always all alone out here."

She could feel the moisture from the sweating glass as she held it. "You know he used to see Clara, right? After she was gone."