Nights in Rodanthe (6 page)

She hated herself for that, but what could she do?

She didn’t want this life; she’d neither asked for it nor expected it. Nor, she thought, did she deserve it. She’d played
by the book, she’d followed the rules. For eighteen years, she’d been faithful. She’d overlooked those times when he drank
too much, she brought him coffee when he had to work late, and she never said a word when he went golfing on the weekends
instead of spending time with the kids.

Was it just the sex he was after? Sure, Linda was both younger and prettier, but was it really that important to him that
he’d throw away everything else in his life? Didn’t the kids mean anything? Didn’t she? Didn’t the eighteen years together?
And anyway, it wasn’t as if she’d lost interest—in the last couple of years whenever they’d made love, she’d been the one
to initiate it. If the urge was so strong, why hadn’t he done something about it?

Or was it, she wondered, that he found her boring? Granted, because they’d been married so long, there weren’t a lot of new
stories to tell. Over the years, most had been recycled in slightly different versions, and both had reached the point where
they knew the endings in advance, after only a few words. Instead, they did what she thought most couples did: She’d ask how
work had gone, he’d ask about the kids, and they’d talk about the latest antics of one family member or another or what was
happening around town. There were times that even she wished there were something more interesting to talk about, but didn’t
he understand that in a few years the same thing was going to happen with Linda?

It wasn’t fair. Even her friends had said as much, and she assumed that meant they were on her side. And maybe they were,
but they had a funny way of showing it, she thought. A month ago, she’d gone to a Christmas party hosted by a couple she’d
known for years, and who should happen to be there but Jack and Linda. It was life in a small southern town—people forgave
things like that—but Adrienne couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

Beyond the hurt and betrayal, she was lonely. She hadn’t been on a date since the day Jack had moved out. Rocky Mount wasn’t
exactly a hotbed of unmarried men in their forties, and those who were single weren’t necessarily the kind of man she wanted
anyway. Most of them had baggage, and she didn’t think she could tote around any more than she was already carrying. In the
beginning, she told herself to be selective, and when she thought she was ready to enter the world of dating again, she mentally
outlined a set of traits she was looking for. She wanted someone intelligent and kind and attractive, but more than that,
she wanted someone who accepted the fact that she was raising three teenagers. It might be a problem, she suspected, but since
her kids were pretty self-sufficient, she didn’t think it was the type of hurdle that would discourage most men.

Boy, was she ever wrong.

In the last three years, she hadn’t been asked out at all, and lately she’d come to believe that she never would. Good old
Jack could have his fun, good old Jack could read the morning paper with someone new, but for her, it just wasn’t in the cards.

And then, of course, there were the financial worries.

Jack had given her the house and paid the court-ordered support on time, but it was just enough to make ends meet. Despite
the fact that Jack earned a good living while they were married, they hadn’t saved as they should have. Like so many couples,
they’d spent years caught up in the endless cycle of spending most of what they’d earned. They had new cars and took nice
vacations; when big-screen televisions first hit the market, they were the first family in the neighborhood to have one in
their home. She’d always believed that Jack was taking care of the future since he was the one who handled the bills. It turned
out that he wasn’t, and she’d had to take a part-time job at the local library. Though she wasn’t so worried about her or
the children, she was scared for her father.

A year after the divorce, her father had had a stroke, then three more in rapid succession. Now he needed around-the-clock
care. The nursing home she’d found for him was excellent, but as an only child, she bore the responsibility of paying for
it. She had enough left over from the settlement to cover another year, but after that, she didn’t know what she would do.
She was already spending everything she earned at the part-time job she’d taken at the library. When Jean had first asked
if Adrienne would mind watching the Inn while she was out of town, she had suspected that Adrienne was struggling financially
and had left far more money than was necessary for the groceries. The note she’d left had told Adrienne to keep the remainder
as payment for her help. Adrienne appreciated that, but charity from friends hurt her pride.

Money, though, was only part of her worries about her father. She sometimes felt he was the only person who was always on
her side, and she needed her father, especially now. Spending time with him was an escape of sorts for her, and she dreaded
the thought that their hours together might end because of something she did or didn’t do.

What would become of him? What would become of her?

Adrienne shook her head, forcing those questions away. She didn’t want to think about any of this, especially now. Jean had
said it would be slow—only one reservation was in the books—and she’d hoped that coming here would clear her mind. She wanted
to walk the beach or read a couple of novels that had been sitting on her bedstand for months; she wanted to put her feet
up and watch the porpoises playing in the waves. She had hoped to find relief, but as she stood on the porch at the sea-worn
Inn at Rodanthe awaiting the oncoming storm, she felt the world bearing down hard. She was middle-aged and alone, overworked
and soft around the middle. Her kids were struggling, her father was sick, and she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to keep going.

That was when she started to cry, and minutes later, when she heard footsteps on the porch, she turned her head and saw Paul
Flanner for the first time.

Paul had seen people cry before, thousands of times, he would guess, but it had usually been within the sterile confines of
a hospital waiting room, when he was fresh from an operation and still wearing scrubs. For him, the scrubs had served as a
type of shield against the personal and emotional nature of his work. Never once had he cried with those he’d spoken with,
nor could he remember any of the faces of those who had once looked to him for answers. It wasn’t something that he was proud
to admit, but it was the person he had once been.

But at this moment, as he looked into the red-rimmed eyes of the woman on the porch, he felt like an intruder on unfamiliar
ground. His first instinct was to throw up the old defenses. Yet there was something about the way she looked that made doing
so impossible. It might have been the setting or the fact that she was alone; either way, the surge of empathy was a foreign
sensation, one that caught him completely off guard.

Not having expected him to arrive until later, Adrienne tried to overcome her embarrassment at being caught in such a state.
Forcing a smile, she dabbed at her tears, trying to pretend the wind had caused them to moisten.

As she turned to face him, however, she couldn’t help but stare.

It was his eyes, she thought, that did it. They were light blue, so light they seemed almost translucent, but there was an
intensity in them that she’d never seen before in anyone else.

He knows me,
she suddenly thought.
Or could know me if I gave him a chance.

As quickly as those thoughts came, she dismissed them, thinking them ridiculous. No, she decided, there was nothing unusual
about the man standing before her. He was simply the guest Jean had told her about, and since she hadn’t been at the desk,
he’d come looking for her; that was all. As a result, she found herself evaluating him in the way strangers often do.

Though he wasn’t as tall as Jack had been, maybe five ten or so, he was lean and fit, like someone who exercised daily. The
sweater he was wearing was expensive and didn’t match his faded jeans, but somehow he made it look as if it did. His face
was angular, marked by lines in his forehead that spoke of years of forced concentration. His gray hair was trimmed short,
and there were patches of white near his ears; she guessed he was in his fifties, but couldn’t pin it down any more than that.

Just then, Paul seemed to realize he was staring at her and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I didn’t mean to
interrupt.” He motioned over his shoulder. “I’ll wait for you inside. Take your time.”

Adrienne shook her head, trying to put him at ease. “It’s okay. I was planning on coming in anyway.”

When she looked at him, she caught his eyes a second time. They were softer now, laced with a hint of memory, as though he
were thinking of something sad but trying to hide it. She reached for her coffee cup, using it as an excuse to turn away.

When Paul held open the door, she nodded for him to go ahead. As he walked ahead of her through the kitchen toward the reception
area, Adrienne caught herself eyeing his athletic physique, and she flushed slightly, wondering what on earth had gotten into
her. Chiding herself, she moved behind the desk. She checked the name in the reservation book and glanced up.

“Paul Flanner, right? You’re staying five nights, and checking out Tuesday morning?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “Is it possible to get a room with a view of the ocean?”

Adrienne pulled out the registration form. “Sure. Actually, you could have any of the rooms upstairs. You’re the only guest
scheduled this weekend.”

“Which would you recommend?”

“They’re all nice, but if I were you, I’d take the blue room.”

“The blue room?”

“It’s got the darkest curtains. If you sleep in the yellow or white rooms, you’ll be up at the crack of dawn. The shutters
don’t help all that much, and the sun comes up pretty early. The windows in those rooms face east.” Adrienne slid the form
toward him and set the pen beside it. “Could you sign here?”

“Sure.”

Adrienne watched as Paul scrawled his name, thinking as he signed that his hands matched his face. The bones of his knuckles
were prominent, like those of an older man, but his movements were precise and measured. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring,
she saw—not that it mattered.

Paul set aside the pen and she reached for the form, making sure he’d filled it out correctly. His address was listed in care
of an attorney in Raleigh. From the pegboard off to the side, she retrieved a room key, hesitated, then selected two more.

“Okay, we’re all set here,” she said. “You ready to see your room?”

“Please.”

Paul stepped back as she made her way around the desk, toward the stairs. He grabbed his duffel bags, then started after her.
When she reached the steps, she paused, letting him catch up. She motioned toward the sitting room.

“I have coffee and some cookies right over there. I made the pot an hour ago, so it should still be fresh for a while.”

“I saw it when I came in. Thank you.”

At the top of the steps, Adrienne turned, her hand still resting on the balustrade. There were four rooms upstairs: one near
the front of the house and three that faced the ocean. On the doors Paul saw nameplates, not numbers: Bodie, Hatteras, and
Cape Lookout, and he recognized them as the names of lighthouses along the Outer Banks.

“You can take your pick,” Adrienne said. “I brought all three keys in case you like another one better.”

Paul looked from one room to the next. “Which one’s the blue room?”

“Oh, that’s just what I call it: Jean calls it the Bodie Suite.”

“Jean?”

“She’s the owner. I’m just watching the place while she’s gone.”

The straps of the duffel bags were pinching his neck, and Paul shifted them as Adrienne unlocked the door. She held the door
open for him, feeling the duffel bag bump against her as he wedged by.

Paul glanced around. The room was just about what he’d imagined it would be: simple and clean, but with more character than
a typical beachfront motel room. There was a four-poster bed centered beneath the window, with an end table beside it. On
the ceiling, a fan was whirring slowly, just enough to move the air. In the far corner, near a large painting of the Bodie
lighthouse, there was a doorway that Paul assumed led to the bathroom. Along the near wall stood a worn-looking chest of drawers
that looked as if it had been in the room since the Inn had been built.

With the exception of the furniture, pretty much everything was tinted various shades of blue: The throw rug on the floor
was the color of robin’s eggs, the comforter and curtains were navy, the lamp on the end table was somewhere in between and
shiny, like the paint on a new car. Though the chest of drawers and the end table were eggshell, they’d been decorated with
scenes of the ocean beneath summer skies. Even the phone was blue, which gave it the appearance of a toy.