The Wedding - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,23

a new awkwardness in the marriage, an awkwardness that had to do not with an empty nest, but with the type of couple we’d become. Yet neither of us spoke about it. It was as if we both believed that speaking the words aloud would somehow make them permanent, and I think both of us were afraid of what might happen as a result.

This, I might add, is also the reason we’ve never been to counseling. Call it old-fashioned, but I’ve never been comfortable with the thought of discussing our problems with others, and Jane is the same way. Besides, I already know what a counselor would say. No, the children leaving didn’t cause the problem, the counselor would say, nor did Jane’s increased free time. They were simply catalysts that brought existing problems into sharper focus.

What, then, had led us to this point?

Though it pains me to say, I suppose our real problem has been one of innocent neglect—mostly mine, if I’m perfectly honest. In addition to frequently placing my career above the needs of my family, I’ve always taken the stability of our marriage for granted. As I saw it, ours was a relationship without major problems, and Lord knows I was never the type to run around doing the little things that men like Noah did for their wives. When I thought about it—which, truthfully, wasn’t often—I reassured myself that Jane had always known what kind of man I was, and that would always be enough.

But love, I’ve come to understand, is more than three words mumbled before bedtime. Love is sustained by action, a pattern of devotion in the things we do for each other every day.

Now, as I stared at the picture, all I could think was that thirty years of innocent neglect had made my love seem like a lie, and it seemed that the bill had finally come due. We were married in name only. We hadn’t made love in nearly half a year, and the few kisses we shared had little meaning for either of us. I was dying on the inside, aching for all that we’d lost, and as I stared at our wedding photograph, I hated myself for allowing it to happen.

Chapter Five

Despite the heat, I spent the rest of the afternoon pulling weeds, and afterward I showered before heading off to the grocery store. It was, after all, Saturday—my day to cook—and I had decided to try my hand at a new recipe that called for side dishes of bow-tie pasta and vegetables. Though I knew this would probably be enough for both of us, I decided at the last minute to make appetizers and a Caesar salad as well.

By five o’clock, I was in the kitchen; by five-thirty, the appetizers were well under way. I had prepared mushrooms stuffed with sausage and cream cheese, and they were warming in the oven next to the bread I’d picked up at the bakery. I’d just finished setting the table and was opening a bottle of Merlot when I heard Jane come in the front door.

“Hello?” she called out.

“I’m in the dining room,” I said.

When she rounded the corner, I was struck by how radiant she looked. While my thinning hair is speckled with gray, hers is still as dark and full as the day I married her. She had tucked a few strands behind her ear, and around her neck I saw the small diamond pendant I’d purchased in the first few years of our marriage. As preoccupied as I might have been at times during our marriage, I can honestly say that I have never grown inured to her beauty.

“Wow,” she said. “It smells great in here. What’s for dinner?”

“Veal marsala,” I announced, reaching to pour her a glass of wine. I crossed the room and handed it to her. As I studied her face, I noticed that the anxiety of the night before had been replaced with a look of excitement that I hadn’t seen for quite some time. I could already tell that things had gone well for her and Anna, and though I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, I felt myself exhale in relief.

“You’re not going to believe what happened today,” she gushed. “Even when I tell you, you’re not going to believe it.”

Taking a sip of wine, she grasped my arm to steady herself as she slid one foot and then the other out of her shoe. I felt the warmth of her