Dear John - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,35

dad, and there was no miracle. Once he’d shown her the coins and told her everything about them and how they’d been collected, his comments grew further and further apart. He began to repeat himself and realized it, causing him to retreat and grow even quieter. In time, Savannah must have sensed his growing discomfort, for she gestured to the coins atop the desk.

“Thank you, Mr. Tyree. I feel like I’ve really learned something.”

My dad smiled, obviously drained, and I took it as my cue to stand.

“Yeah, that was great. But we should probably be going,” I said.

“Oh . . . okay.”

“It was wonderful meeting you.”

When my dad nodded again, Savannah leaned in and gave him a hug.

“Let’s do this again sometime,” she whispered, and though my dad hugged her back, it reminded me of the lifeless hugs I’d received as a child. I wondered if she felt as awkward as he obviously did.

In the car, Savannah seemed lost in thought. I would have asked about her impressions of my father but wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. I know my dad and I didn’t have the best relationship, but she was right when she’d said he was the only family I had and had raised me. I could complain about him, but the last thing I wanted to hear was someone else doing it, too.

Still, I didn’t think she would say anything negative, simply because it wasn’t in her nature, and when she turned to me, she was smiling.

“Thanks for bringing me by to meet him,” she said. “He’s got such a . . . warm heart.”

I’d never heard anyone describe him that way, but I liked it.

“I’m glad you liked him.”

“I did,” she said, sounding sincere. “He’s . . . gentle.” She glanced at me. “But I think I understand why you got in so much trouble when you were younger. He didn’t strike me as the kind of father who would lay down the law.”

“He didn’t,” I agreed.

She shot me a playful scowl. “And mean old you took advantage.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”

She shook her head. “You should have known better.”

“I was just a kid.”

“Ah, the old youth excuse. You know that doesn’t hold water, don’t you? I never took advantage of my parents.”

“Yes, the perfect child. I think you mentioned that.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, of course not.”

She continued to stare at me. “I think you are,” she finally decided.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

She thought about my answer. “Well, maybe I deserved that. But just so you know, I wasn’t perfect.”

“No?”

“Of course not. I remember quite plainly, for instance, that in fourth grade I got a B on a test.”

I feigned shock. “No! Don’t tell me that!”

“It’s true.”

“How did you ever recover?”

“How do you think?” She shrugged. “I told myself it would never happen again.”

I didn’t doubt it. “Are you hungry yet?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

She drew up her hair in a sloppy ponytail, then let it go. “How about a big, juicy cheeseburger?”

As soon as she said it, I found myself wondering if Savannah was too good to be true.

Seven

I must admit that you bring me to eat at the most interesting places,” Savannah said, glancing over her shoulder. In the distance beyond the dune, we could see a long line of customers snaking away from Joe’s Burger Stand in the middle of a gravel parking lot.

“It’s the best in town,” I said, taking a bite of my enormous burger.

Savannah sat close to me in the sand, facing the water. The burgers were fantastic, nice and thick, and though the French fries were a bit too greasy, they hit the spot. As she ate, Savannah stared at the sea, and in the waning light I found myself thinking that she seemed even more at home here than I did.

I thought again about the way she’d talked to my father. About the way she talked to everyone, for that matter, including me. She had the rare ability to be exactly what people needed when she was with them and yet still remain true to herself. I couldn’t think of anyone who remotely resembled her in appearance or personality, and I wondered again why she’d taken a liking to me. We were as different as two people could be. She was a mountain girl, gifted and sweet, raised by attentive parents, with a desire to help those in need; I was a tattooed army grunt, hard around

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