The Wedding - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,40

can write. . . .” She shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m just scared about losing you. I didn’t mean to upset you. . . .”

“Why?” she asked. “Because I’m a special person? Because I mean a great deal to you?”

I nodded. “Yes, of course you do. And you are special.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad to know you, too.”

With that, understanding finally dawned on me. While I meant my own words as a compliment, Jane had interpreted them differently, and the thought that I had hurt her made my throat suddenly go dry.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it sounded. You are very special to me, but . . . you see, the thing is . . .”

My tongue felt as if it were twisted, and my stammering finally elicited a sigh from Jane. Knowing I was running out of time, I cleared my throat and tried to tell her what was in my heart.

“What I meant to say was that I think I love you,” I whispered.

She was quiet, but I knew she’d heard me when her mouth finally began to curl into a slight smile.

“Well,” she said, “do you or don’t you?”

I swallowed. “I do,” I said. Then, wanting to be perfectly clear, I added, “Love you, I mean.”

For the first time in our conversation, she laughed, amused by how hard I’d made it. Then, raising her eyebrows, she finally smiled. “Why, Wilson,” she said, drawing out the words in exaggerated southern fashion, “I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Surprising me, she suddenly got up from her chair and sat in my lap. She slipped an arm around me and kissed me gently. Beyond her, the rest of the world was out of focus, and in the waning light, as if disembodied, I heard my own words coming back to me.

“I do, too,” she said. “Love you, I mean.”

I was remembering this story when Jane’s voice broke in.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked.

She stared at me from across the table. Dinner was casual tonight; we had filled our plates in the kitchen, and I hadn’t bothered to light a candle.

“Do you ever think about the night you came to visit me at Duke?” I asked. “When we finally got to go to Harper’s?”

“That was after you got the job in New Bern, right? And you said you wanted to celebrate?”

I nodded. “You wore a strapless black dress. . . .”

“You remember that?”

“Like it was yesterday,” I said. “We hadn’t seen each other in about a month, and I remember watching from my window as you got out of the car.”

Jane looked faintly pleased. I went on. “I can even remember what I was thinking when I saw you.”

“You can?”

“I was thinking that the year we’d been dating was the happiest year I’d ever had.”

Her gaze dropped to her plate, then met mine again, almost shyly. Buoyed by the memory, I plunged on.

“Do you remember what I got you? For Christmas?”

It was a moment before she answered. “Earrings,” she said, her hands traveling absently to her earlobes. “You bought me diamond earrings. I knew they were expensive, and I remember being shocked that you’d splurged that way.”

“How do you know they were expensive?”

“You told me.”

“I did?” This I didn’t remember.

“Once or twice,” she said, smirking. For a moment we ate in silence. Between mouthfuls, I studied the curve of her jawline and the way the late evening sunlight played across her face.

“It doesn’t seem like thirty years have passed, does it?” I said.

A shadow of that old familiar sadness flitted across her face.

“No,” she said, “I can’t believe Anna’s actually old enough to get married. I don’t know where the time goes.”

“What would you have changed?” I asked. “If you could?”

“In my life, you mean?” She looked away. “I don’t know. I guess I would have tried to enjoy it more while it was happening.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Do you really?” Jane looked genuinely surprised.

I nodded. “Of course.”

Jane seemed to recover. “It’s just—please don’t take this the wrong way, Wilson, but you usually don’t wallow in the past. I mean, you’re so practical about things. You have so few regrets. . . .” She trailed off.

“And you do?” I asked softly.

She studied her hands for a moment. “No, not really.”

I almost reached for her hand then, but she changed the subject, saying brightly, “We went to see Noah today. After