The Guardian by Nicholas Sparks Page B

don't know how she did it."
    "She sounds remarkable."
    "She was."
    "Was?"
    "Is." He looked down, swirling the wine in his glass. "She had a stroke a few years ago and . . . well, it's not good. She's barely cognizant of what's going on around her, and she doesn't remember me at all. Doesn't remember much of anything, in fact. I had to send her to a place in Salt Lake City that specializes in her condition."
    Julie winced. Seeing her expression, Richard shook his head.
    "It's okay. You didn't know. But to be honest, it's not something I usually talk about. Kind of brings conversations to an uncomfortable stop, especially when people hear my father died, too. Makes them wonder what it must be like to be without family. But you don't need me to explain that, I suppose."
    No, she thought, I don't. I know that territory well.
    "So that's why you left Denver? Because of your mom?"
    "That was only part of it." He glanced at the table before looking up again. "I guess now's the time to tell you that I was married once. To a woman named Jessica. I left because of her, too."
    Though a little surprised he hadn't mentioned it before, Julie said nothing. She could feel him debating whether he should go on, but finally he did, his voice flat.
    "I don't know what went wrong. I could spend all night talking about it and trying to make sense of it, but to be honest, I still haven't figured it out. In the end, it just didn't work out."
    "How long were you married?"
    "Four years." He met her eyes across the table. "Do you really want to hear about this?"
    "Not if you don't want to tell me."
    "Thank you," he said, exhaling with a laugh. "You have no idea how glad I am that you said that."
    She smiled. "So Cleveland, huh? Do you like it there?"
    "It's all right, but I'm not there all that much. Usually I'm on-site like I am now. After this project finishes up, I have no idea where I'll go next."
    "I'll bet that's hard sometimes."
    "Yeah, sometimes it is, especially when I'm stuck in hotels. This project is nice because I'll be here for a while and I was able to find a place to rent. And, of course, I got the chance to meet you."
    As he was talking, Julie was struck by how much their lives seemed to have in common, from being only children raised by single mothers to their decisions to start over in someplace new. And though their marriages had ended differently, something in his tone suggested he'd been the one left behind, that he'd struggled with real feelings of loss in the aftermath. In her time in Swansboro, Julie hadn't met anyone who could understand how lonely she sometimes felt, especially around the holidays, when Mike and Henry would mention that they were going to visit their parents or Mabel headed off to Charleston to spend time with her sister.
    But Richard knew what it was like, and she felt an emerging kinship with him, the kind visitors to a strange country might feel upon discovering that the people at the next table come from a town in their home state.
    The evening wore on and the sky deepened in color, unveiling the stars. Neither Julie nor Richard rushed through dinner. They ordered coffee at the end of the meal and split a piece of key lime pie, eating their way in from opposite sides until only a sliver was left that neither would claim.
    It was still warm when they finally left. Expecting him to offer his hand or arm, she was surprised when he did neither. Part of her wondered whether he was holding back because he sensed that she'd been caught off guard by his kiss earlier that week; another part wondered if he had surprised himself with all he'd told her about his past. There was, she thought, a lot to digest there. The little tidbit about being married in the past had come out of the blue, and she wondered why he hadn't mentioned it on the first date, when she'd first told him about Jim.
    That was okay, though. She reminded herself that people were different when it came to talking about the past. And anyway, now that