Nights in Rodanthe Read Free Page A

found acceptable
     for a woman her age. It was easier—and frankly, more comfortable—to think their mom was more sedate than daring, more of a
     plodder than someone with experiences that would surprise them. And in keeping with the kind, predictable, sweet, and stable
     mother that she was, she’d had no desire to change their minds.
    Knowing that Amanda would be arriving any minute, Adrienne went to the refrigerator and set a bottle of pinot grigio on the
     table. The house had cooled since the afternoon, so she turned up the thermostat on her way to the bedroom.
    Once the room she’d shared with Jack, it was hers now, redecorated twice since the divorce. Adrienne made her way to the four-poster
     bed she’d wanted ever since she was young. Wedged against the wall beneath the bed was a small stationery box, and Adrienne
     set it on the pillow beside her.
    Inside were those things she had saved: the note he’d left at the Inn, a snapshot of him that had been taken at the clinic,
     and the letter she’d received a few weeks before Christmas. Beneath those items were two bundled stacks, missives written
     between them, that sandwiched a conch they’d once found at the beach.
    Adrienne set the note off to the side and pulled an envelope from one of the stacks, remembering how she’d felt when she’d
     first read it, then slid out the page. It had thinned and brittled, and though the ink had faded in the years since he’d first
     written it, his words were still clear.
    Dear Adrienne,
    I’ve never been good at writing letters, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m not able to make myself clear.
    I arrived this morning on a donkey, believe it or not, and found out where I’d be spending my days for a while. I wish I could
     tell you that it was better than I imagined it would be, but in all honesty, I can’t. The clinic is short of just about everything—medicine,
     equipment, and the necessary beds—but I spoke to the director and I think I’ll be able to rectify at least part of the problem.
     Though they have a generator to provide electricity, there aren’t any phones, so I won’t be able to call until I head into
     Esmeraldas. It’s a couple of days’ ride from here, and the next supply run isn’t for a few weeks. I’m sorry about that, but
     I think we both suspected it might be this way.
    I haven’t seen Mark yet. He’s been at an outreach clinic in the mountains and won’t be back until later this evening. I’ll
     let you know how that goes, but I’m not expecting much at first. Like you said, I think we need to spend some time getting
     to know each other before we can work on the problems between us.
    I can’t even begin to count how many patients I saw today. Over a hundred, I’d guess. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen
     patients in this way with these types of problems, but the nurse was helpful, even when I seemed lost. I think she was thankful
     that I was there at all.
    I’ve been thinking about you constantly since I left, wondering why the journey I’m on seemed to have led through you. I know
     my journey’s not over yet, and that life is a winding path, but I can only hope it somehow circles back to the place I belong.
    That’s how I think of it now. I belong with you. While I was driving, and again when the plane was in the air, I imagined
     that when I arrived in Quito, I’d see you in the crowds waiting for me. I knew that would be impossible, but for some reason,
     it made leaving you just a little easier. It was almost as if part of you had come with me.
    I want to believe that’s true. No, change that—I know it’s true. Before we met, I was as lost as a person could be, and yet
     you saw something in me that somehow gave me direction again. We both know the reason I went to Rodanthe, but I can’t stop
     thinking that greater forces were at work. I went there to close a chapter in my life, hoping it would help me find my way.
     But it was you, I think, that