The Notebook - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,56

and the luckiest man alive, and I keep on feeling that way for a long time across the table.

By the time the candles have burned down a third, I am ready to break the silence. I say, “I love you deeply, and I hope you know that.”

“Of course I do,” she says breathlessly. “I’ve always loved you, Noah.”

Noah, I hear again. Noah. The word echoes in my head. Noah . . . Noah. She knows, I think to myself, she knows who I am. . . .

She knows. . . .

Such a tiny thing, this knowledge, but for me it is a gift from God, and I feel our lifetime together, holding her, loving her, and being with her through the best years of my life.

She murmurs, “Noah . . . my sweet Noah . . .” And I, who could not accept the doctor’s words, have triumphed again, at least for a moment. I give up the pretense of mystery, and I kiss her hand and bring it to my cheek and whisper in her ear. I say:

“You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Oh . . . Noah,” she says with tears in her eyes, “I love you, too.”

If only it would end like this, I would be a happy man.

But it won’t. Of this I’m sure, for as time slips by, I begin to see the signs of concern in her face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, and her answer comes softly.

“I’m so afraid. I’m afraid of forgetting you again. It isn’t fair ...I just can’t bear to give this up.”

Her voice breaks as she finishes, but I don’t know what to say. I know the evening is coming to an end, and there is nothing I can do to stop the inevitable. In this I am a failure. I finally tell her:

“I’ll never leave you. What we have is forever.” She knows this is all I can do, for neither of us wants empty promises. But I can tell by the way she is looking at me that once again she wishes there were more.

The crickets serenade us, and we begin to pick at our dinner. Neither one of us is hungry, but I lead by example and she follows me. She takes small bites and chews a long time, but I am glad to see her eat. She has lost too much weight in the past three months.

After dinner, I become afraid despite myself. I know I should be joyous, for this reunion is the proof that love can still be ours, but I know the bell has tolled this evening. The sun has long since set and the thief is about to come, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. So I stare at her and wait and live a lifetime in these last remaining moments.

Nothing.

The clock ticks.

Nothing.

I take her in my arms and we hold each other. Nothing.

I feel her tremble and I whisper in her ear. Nothing.

I tell her for the last time this evening that I love her.

And the thief comes.

It always amazes me how quickly it happens. Even now, after all this time. For as she holds me, she begins to blink rapidly and shake her head. Then, turning toward the corner of the room, she stares for a long time, concern etched on her face.

No! my mind screams. Not yet! Not now ...not when we’re so close! Not tonight! Any night but tonight. . . . Please! The words are inside me. I can’t take it again! It isn’t fair . . . it isn’t fair....

But once again, it is to no avail.

“Those people,” she finally says, pointing, “are staring at me. Please make them stop.”

The gnomes.

A pit rises in my stomach, hard and full. My breathing stops for a moment, then starts again, this time shallower. My mouth goes dry, and I feel my heart pounding. It is over, I know, and I am right. The sundowning has come. This, the evening confusion associated with Alzheimer’s disease that affects my wife, is the hardest part of all. For when it comes, she is gone, and sometimes I wonder whether she and I will ever love again.

“There’s no one there, Allie,” I say, trying to fend off the inevitable. She doesn’t believe me.

“They’re staring at me.”

“No,” I whisper while shaking my head.

“You can’t see them?”

“No,” I say, and she thinks for a moment.

“Well, they’re right there,” she says, pushing me away, “and they’re staring at