The Wedding - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,60

thrown to it; instead it simply watched me. Strange. When I tossed another piece, the swan glanced at it before swinging its head back in my direction.

“Eat,” I said, “I’ve got things to do.”

Beneath the surface, I could see the swan’s feet moving slowly, just enough to keep it in place.

“C’mon,” I urged under my breath, “you ate for me before.”

I threw a third piece into the water, less than a few inches from where the swan floated. I heard the gentle tap as it hit the water. Again, the swan made no move toward it.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.

Behind me, I heard the sprinklers come on, spurting air and water in a steady rhythm. I glanced over my shoulder toward Noah’s room, but the window only reflected the sun’s glare. Wondering what else to do, I threw a fourth piece of bread without luck.

“He asked me to come here,” I said.

The swan straightened its neck and ruffled its wings. I suddenly realized that I was doing the same thing that provoked concern about Noah: talking to the swan and pretending it could understand me.

Pretending it was Allie?

Of course not, I thought, pushing the voice away. People talked to dogs and cats, they talked to plants, they sometimes screamed at sporting events on the television. Jane and Kate shouldn’t be so concerned, I decided. Noah spent hours here every day; if anything, they should worry if he didn’t talk to the swan.

Then again, talking was one thing. Believing it was Allie was another. And Noah truly believed it.

The pieces of bread that I’d thrown were gone now. Waterlogged, they’d dissolved and sunk beneath the surface, but still the swan continued to watch me. I threw yet another piece, and when the swan made no move toward it, I glanced around to make sure that no one else was watching. Why not? I finally decided, and with that, I leaned forward.

“He’s doing fine,” I said. “I saw him yesterday and talked to the doctor this morning. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

The swan seemed to contemplate my words, and a moment later, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as the swan began to eat.

At the hospital, I thought I’d entered the wrong room.

In all my years with Noah, I’d never seen him watch television. Though he had one in his home, it had been primarily for the children when they were young, and by the time I came into their lives, it was seldom turned on. Instead, most evenings were spent on the porch, where stories were told. Sometimes the family sang as Noah played guitar; other times they simply talked over the hum of crickets and cicadas. On cooler evenings, Noah would light a fire and the family would do the same things in the living room. On other nights, each of them would simply curl up on the couch or in the rocking chairs to read. For hours, the only sounds were of pages turning as all escaped into a different world, albeit in proximity to one another.

It was a throwback to an earlier era, one that cherished family time above all, and I looked forward to those evenings. They reminded me of those nights with my father as he worked on his ships and made me realize that while television was regarded as a form of escape, there was nothing calming or peaceful about it. Noah had always managed to avoid it. Until this morning.

Pushing open the door, I was assaulted by the noise of the television. Noah was propped up in bed and staring at the screen. In my hand were the items I’d brought with me from his desk.

“Hello, Noah,” I said, but instead of responding with his usual greeting, he turned toward me with a look of incredulity.

“C’mere,” he said, motioning toward me, “you won’t believe what they’re showing right now.”

I moved into the room. “What are you watching?”

“I don’t know,” he said, still focused on the screen. “Some kind of talk show. I thought it would be like Johnny Carson, but it’s not. You can’t imagine what they’re talking about.”

My mind immediately conjured up a series of vulgar programs, the kind that always made me wonder how their producers could sleep at night. Sure enough, the station was tuned to one of them. I didn’t need to know the topic to know what he’d seen; for the most part, they all featured the same disgusting topics, told as luridly as possible