The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks Page B

answer in advance.
    “Why?”
    She smiled weakly and shrugged as she answered. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
    “I guess I still look for the kind of love we had that summer.”
    Noah thought about what she had said for a long while, thinking about the relationships he’d had since he’d last seen her.
    “How about you?” she asked. “Did you ever think about us?”
    “All the time. I still do.”
    “Are you seeing anyone?”
    “No,” he answered, shaking his head.
    Both of them seemed to think about that, trying but finding it impossible to displace from their minds. Noah finished his beer, surprised that he had emptied it so quickly.
    “I’m going to go start the water. Can I get you anything?”
    She shook her head, and Noah went to the kitchen and put the crabs in the steamer and the bread in the oven. He found some flour and cornmeal for the vegetables, coated them, and put some grease into the frying pan. After turning the heat on low, he set a timer and pulled another beer from the icebox before heading back to the porch. And while he was doing those things, he thought about Allie and the love that was missing from both their lives.
    Allie, too, was thinking. About Noah, about herself, about a lot of things. For a moment she wished she weren’t engaged but then quickly cursed herself. It wasn’t Noah she loved; she loved what they once had been. Besides, it was normal to feel this way. Her first real love, the only man she’d ever been with— how could she expect to forget him?
    Yet was it normal for her insides to twitch whenever he came near? Was it normal to confess things she could never tell anyone else? Was it normal to come here three weeks from her wedding day?
    “No, it’s not,” she finally whispered to herself as she looked to the evening sky. “There’s nothing normal about any of this.”
    Noah came out at that moment and she smiled at him, glad he’d come back so she didn’t have to think about it anymore. “It’s going to take a few minutes,” he said as he sat back down.
    “That’s fine. I’m not that hungry yet.”
    He looked at her then, and she saw the softness in his eyes. “I’m glad you came, Allie,” he said.
    “Me too. I almost didn’t, though.”
    “Why did you come?”
    I was compelled, she wanted to say, but didn’t. “Just to see you, to find out what you’ve been up to. To see how you are.”
    He wondered if that was all but didn’t question further. Instead he changed the subject.
    “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask, do you still paint?”
    She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
    He was stunned. “Why not? You have so much talent.”
    “I don’t know....”
    “Sure you do. You stopped for a reason.”
    He was right. She’d had a reason.
    “It’s a long story.”
    “I’ve got all night,” he answered.
    “Did you really think I was talented?” she asked quietly.
    “C’mon,” he said, reaching for her hand, “I want to show you something.”
    She got up and followed him through the door to the living room. He stopped in front of the fireplace and pointed to the painting that hung above the mantel. She gasped, surprised she hadn’t noticed it earlier, more surprised it was here at all.
    “You kept it?”
    “Of course I kept it. It’s wonderful.”
    She gave him a skeptical look, and he explained. “It makes me feel alive when I look at it. Sometimes I have to get up and touch it. It’s just so real— the shapes, the shadows, the colors. I even dream about it sometimes. It’s incredible, Allie—I can stare at it for hours.”
    “You’re serious,” she said, shocked.
    “As serious as I’ve ever been.”
    She didn’t say anything.
    “You mean to tell me no one has ever told you that before?”
    “My professor did,” she finally said, “but I guess I didn’t believe him.”
    He knew there was more. Allie looked away before continuing.
    “I’ve been drawing and painting since I was a child. I guess that once