Nights in Rodanthe (8 page)

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. I think I could use one, too.”

“Thank you. Just let me put my jacket in my room and clean up, and I’ll be right back down.”

He smiled at her before he left the kitchen, and Adrienne felt herself exhale, unaware she’d been holding her breath. In his
absence, she ground a handful of fresh beans, changed the filter, and started the coffee. She retrieved the silver pot, poured
the contents down the sink, and rinsed it out. As she worked, she could hear him moving in the room above her.

Though she’d known in advance that he would be the only guest this weekend, she hadn’t realized how strange it would seem
to be alone in the house with him. Or alone, period. Sure, the kids had their own activities and she had a little time to
herself now and then, but it was never for long. They could pop back in at any moment. Besides, they were
family.
It wasn’t quite the same as the situation she was in now, and she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was living someone
else’s life, one in which she wasn’t exactly sure of the rules.

She made a cup of coffee for herself and poured the rest into the silver pot. She was putting the pot back on the tray in
the sitting room when she heard him coming down the stairs.

“Just in time,” she said. “Coffee’s ready. Would you like me to get the fire going?”

As Paul entered the sitting room, she caught a trace of cologne. He reached around her for a cup.

“No, that’s okay. I’m comfortable. Maybe later.”

She nodded and took a small step backward. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“I thought you said you wanted a cup.”

“I already poured one. I left it on the counter.”

He looked up. “You’re not going to join me?”

There was something expectant in the way he asked, as if he really wanted her to stay.

She hesitated. Jean was good at making small talk with strangers, but she never had been. At the same time, she was flattered
by his offer, though she wasn’t sure why.

“I suppose I could,” she finally said. “Just let me get my cup.”

By the time she’d returned, Paul was sitting in one of the two glider rockers near the fireplace. With black-and-white photographs
along the wall that depicted life in the Outer Banks during the 1920s and a long shelf of thumbed-through books, this had
always been her favorite room in the Inn. There were two windows along the far wall that looked to the ocean. A small stack
of cordwood was piled near the fireplace along with a container of kindling, as if promising a cozy evening with family.

Paul was holding his cup of coffee in his lap, rocking back and forth, taking in the view. The wind was making the sand blow,
and the fog was rolling in, giving the world outside an illusion of dusk. Adrienne sat in the chair next to his and for a
moment watched the scene in silence, trying not to feel nervous.

Paul turned toward her. “Do you think the storm’s going to blow us away tomorrow?” he asked.

Adrienne ran her hand through her hair. “I doubt it. This place has been here for sixty years, and it hasn’t blown away yet.”

“Have you ever been here during a nor’easter? A big one, I mean, like the one they’re expecting?”

“No. But Jean has, so it can’t be too bad. But then again, she’s from here, so maybe she’s used to it.”

As she answered, Paul found himself evaluating her. Younger by a few years than he was, with light brown hair cut just above
the shoulder blades and curled slightly. She wasn’t thin, but she wasn’t heavy, either; to him, her figure was inviting in
a way that defied the unrealistic standards of television or magazines. She had a slight bump on her nose, crow’s-feet around
her eyes, and her skin had reached that soft point in between youth and age, before gravity began to take its toll.

“And you said she’s a friend?”

“We met in college years ago. Jean was one of my roommates, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. This used to be her grandparents’
house, but her parents converted it to an inn. After you made arrangements with her to stay, she called me, since she had
an out-of-town wedding to attend.”

“But you don’t live here?”

“No, I live in Rocky Mount. Have you ever been there?”

“Many times. I used to pass through on trips to Greenville.”

At his answer, Adrienne wondered again about the address he’d listed on the registration form. She took a sip of coffee and
lowered the cup to her lap.

“I know it’s none of my business,” she said, “but can I ask what you’re doing here? You don’t have to answer if you don’t
want—I’m just curious.”

Paul shifted in his chair. “I’m here to talk to someone.”

“That’s a long way to drive to have a conversation.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. He wanted to meet in person.”

His voice sounded tight and remote, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. In the silence, Adrienne could hear the whipping
of the flag out front.

Paul set his coffee on the table between them.

“What do you do?” he finally asked, his voice warming again. “Besides watching bed-and-breakfasts for friends?”

“I work in the public library.”

“You do?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I guess I am. I expected you to say something different.”

“Like what?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. Just not that. You don’t look old enough to be a librarian. Where I live, they’re all in their
sixties.”

She smiled. “It’s only part-time. I have three kids, so I do the mom thing, too.”

“How old are they?”

“Eighteen, seventeen, and fifteen.”

“Do they keep you busy?”

“No, not really. As long as I’m up by five and don’t go to bed until midnight, it’s not too bad.”

He chuckled under his breath, and Adrienne felt herself beginning to relax. “How about you? Do you have children?”

“Just one. A son.” For a moment his eyes dropped, but he came back to her again. “He’s a doctor in Ecuador.”

“He lives there?”

“For the time being. He’s volunteering his services for a couple of years at a clinic near Esmeraldas.”

“You must be proud of him.”

“I am.” He paused. “But to be honest, he must have gotten that from my wife. Or rather, my ex-wife. It was more her doing
than mine.”

Adrienne smiled. “That’s nice to hear.”

“What?”

“That you still appreciate her good qualities. Even though you’re divorced, I mean. I don’t hear a lot of people saying those
things after they split up. Usually, when people talk about their exes, all they bring up are the things that went wrong or
the bad things the other person did.”

Paul wondered if she was speaking from personal experience, guessing that she was.

“Tell me about your kids, Adrienne. What do they like to do?”

Adrienne took another sip of her coffee, thinking how odd it was to hear him saying her name.

“My kids? Oh, well, let’s see… Matt was the starting quarterback on the football team, and now he’s playing guard on the basketball
team. Amanda loves drama, and she just won the lead to play Maria in
West Side Story.
And Dan… well, right now, Dan is playing basketball, too, but next year, he thinks he might go out for wrestling instead.
The coach has been begging him to try out since he saw him at sports camp last summer.”

Paul raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“What can I say? It was all their mother’s doing,” she quipped.

“Why does that not surprise me?”

She smiled. “Of course, those are just their good parts. Had I told you about their mood swings or their attitudes, or let
you see their messy rooms, you’d probably think I was doing a terrible job raising them.”

Paul smiled. “I doubt it. What I’d think is that you were raising teenagers.”

“In other words, you’re telling me that your son, the conscientious doctor, went through all this, too, so I shouldn’t lose
hope?”

“I’m sure he did.”

“You don’t know for sure, though?”

“Not really.” He paused. “I wasn’t around as much as I should have been. There was a time in my life when I used to work too
much.”

She could tell it was a difficult admission for him, and she wondered why he’d said it. Before she could dwell on it, the
phone rang and they both turned at the sound.

“Excuse me,” she said, rising from her seat. “I have to get that.”

Paul watched her walk away, noticing again how attractive she was. In spite of the direction his medical practice had taken
in later years, he’d always remained less interested in appearance than those things a person couldn’t see: kindness and integrity,
humor and sensibility. Adrienne, he was sure, had all those traits, but he got the feeling that they’d been unappreciated
for a long time, maybe even by her.

He could tell that she had been nervous when she first sat down, and he found that oddly endearing. Too often, especially
in his line of work, people seemed intent on trying to impress, making sure they said the right things, showcasing those things
they did well. Others rambled on, as if they viewed conversation as a one-way street, and nothing was more boring than a blowhard.
None of those traits seemed to apply to Adrienne.

And, he had to admit, it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t know him. During the past few months, he’d alternated between
spending time alone or fending off questions as to whether or not he was feeling okay. More than once, colleagues had recommended
the name of a good therapist and confided that the person had helped them. Paul had grown tired of explaining that he knew
what he was doing and that he was sure of his decision. And he was even more tired of the looks of concern they offered in
response.

But there was something about Adrienne that made him feel she would understand what he was going through. He couldn’t explain
why he felt that way or why it mattered. But either way, he was sure of it.

A
few minutes later, Paul put his empty cup on the tray, then carried the tray to the kitchen.

Adrienne was still on the phone when he got there, her back toward him. She was leaning against the counter, one leg crossed
over the other, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. From her tone, he could tell she was finishing up, and he set
the tray on the counter.

“Yes, I got your note… uh-huh… yes, he’s already checked in….”

There was a long pause as she listened, and when she spoke again, Paul heard her voice drop. “It’s been on the news all day….
From what I hear, it’s supposed to be big…. Oh, okay… under the house?… Yeah, I suppose I can do that… I mean, how hard can
it be, right?… You’re welcome…. Enjoy the wedding…. Good-bye.”

Paul was putting his cup in the sink when she turned around.

“You didn’t have to bring that in,” she said.

“I know, but I was coming this way anyway. I wanted to find out what we were having for dinner.”

“Are you getting hungry?”

Paul turned on the faucet. “A little. But we can wait if you’d rather.”

“No, I’m getting hungry, too.” Then, seeing what he was about to do, she added: “Here, let me do that. You’re the guest.”

Paul moved aside for her as Adrienne joined him near the sink. She rinsed the cups and pot as she spoke.

“Your choices tonight are chicken, steak, or pasta with a cream sauce. I can make whichever one you want, but just realize
that what you don’t eat today, you’ll probably eat tomorrow. I can’t guarantee we’ll find a store open this weekend.”

“Anything’s fine. You pick.”

“Chicken? It’s already thawed.”

“Sure.”

“And I was thinking of having potatoes and green beans on the side.”

“Sounds great.”

She dried her hands with a paper towel, then reached for the apron that was slung over the handle of the oven. Slipping it
over her sweater, she went on.

“Are you interested in salad, too?”

“If you’re having one. But if not, that’s okay, too.”

She smiled. “Boy, you weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t picky.”

“My motto is that as long as I don’t have to cook it, I’ll eat just about anything.”

“You don’t like to cook?”

“Never really had to. Martha—my ex—was always trying out new recipes. And since she left, I’ve pretty much been eating out
every night.”

“Well, try not to hold me to restaurant standards. I can cook, but I’m not a chef. As a general rule, my sons are more interested
in quantity, not originality.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’d be glad to give you a hand, though.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the offer. “Only if you want to. If you’d rather relax upstairs or read, I can let you know
when it’s ready.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t bring anything to read, and if I lie down now, I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

She hesitated, considering his offer before finally motioning toward the door on the far side of the kitchen. “Well… thanks.
You can start by peeling the potatoes. They’re in the pantry right over there, second shelf, next to the rice.”

Paul headed for the pantry. As she opened the refrigerator to get the chicken out, she watched him from the corner of her
eye, thinking it was both nice—and a little disconcerting—to know that he’d be helping her in the kitchen. There was an implied
familiarity to it that left her slightly off balance.