A Walk to Remember - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,44

Dobbs Spaight was buried, but it still afforded my father some bragging rights in the halls of Congress, and whenever he walked around the garden, I could see him dreaming about the legacy he wanted to leave. In a way it made me sad, because no matter what he did, he’d never top old Richard Dobbs Spaight. Historical events like signing the Constitution come along only once every few hundred years, and no matter how you sliced it, debating farm subsidies for tobacco farmers or talking about the “Red influence” was never going to cut it. Even someone like me knew that.

The house was in the National Historic Register—still is, I suppose—and though Jamie had been there once before, she was still kind of awed when she walked inside. My mother and father were both dressed very nicely, as was I, and my mother kissed Jamie hello on the cheek. My mother, I couldn’t help but think as I watched her do it, had scored before I did.

We had a nice dinner, fairly formal with four courses, though it wasn’t stuffy or anything like that. My parents and Jamie carried on the most marvelous conversation—think Miss Garber here—and though I tried to inject my own brand of humor, it didn’t really go over too well, at least as far as my parents were concerned. Jamie, however, would laugh, and I took that as a good sign.

After dinner I invited Jamie to walk around the garden, even though it was winter and nothing was in bloom. After putting on our coats, we stepped outside into the chilled winter air. I could see our breaths coming out in little puffs.

“Your parents are wonderful people,” she said to me. I guess she hadn’t taken Hegbert’s sermons to heart.

“They’re nice,” I responded, “in their own way. My mom’s especially sweet.” I said this not only because it was true, but also because it was the same thing that kids said about Jamie. I hoped she would get the hint.

She stopped to look at the rosebushes. They looked like gnarled sticks, and I didn’t see what her interest was in them.

“Is it true about your grandfather?” she asked me. “The stories that people tell?”

I guess she didn’t get my hint.

“Yes,” I said, trying not to show my disappointment.

“That’s sad,” she said simply. “There’s more to life than money.”

“I know.”

She looked at me. “Do you?”

I didn’t meet her eyes as I answered. Don’t ask me why.

“I know that what my grandfather did was wrong.”

“But you don’t want to give it back, do you?”

“I’ve never really thought about it, to tell you the truth.”

“Would you, though?”

I didn’t answer right away, and Jamie turned from me. She was staring at the rosebushes with their gnarled sticks again, and I suddenly realized that she’d wanted me to say yes. It’s what she would have done without thinking twice about it.

“Why do you do things like that?” I blurted out before I could stop myself, blood rushing into my cheeks. “Making me feel guilty, I mean. I wasn’t the one who did it. I just happened to be born into this family.”

She reached out and touched a branch. “That doesn’t mean you can’t undo it,” she said gently, “when you get the opportunity.”

Her point was clear, even to me, and deep down I knew she was right. But that decision, if it ever came, was a long way off. To my way of thinking, I had more important things on my mind. I changed the subject back to something I could relate to better.

“Does your father like me?” I asked. I wanted to know if Hegbert would allow me to see her again.

It took a moment for her to answer.

“My father,” she said slowly, “worries about me.”

“Don’t all parents?” I asked.

She looked at her feet, then off to the side again before turning back to me.

“I think that with him, it’s different from most. But my father does like you, and he knows that it makes me happy to see you. That’s why he let me come over to your house for dinner tonight.”

“I’m glad he did,” I said, meaning it.

“So am I.”

We looked at each other under the light of a waxing crescent moon, and I almost kissed her right then, but she turned away a moment too soon and said something that sort of threw me.

“My father worries about you, too, Landon.”

The way she said it—it was soft and sad at the same time—let me know that it