Next, she reached for the pictures Jeb had given her. She remembered that after she returned from Boston, she'd sifted through them one by one. When her hands began to tremble, she had put them in her drawer and never looked at them again.
But now she thumbed through them, finding the one that had been taken on the back porch. Holding it in front of her, she remembered everything about him--the way he looked and moved, his easy smile, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps tomorrow, she told herself, she would take in the negative and have another one made, an eight-by-ten that she could set on her nightstand, the same way he had with Catherine's picture. Then she smiled sadly, realizing even now that she wouldn't go through with it. The photos would go back into her drawer where they had been before, beneath her socks and next to the pearl earrings her grandmother had given her. It would hurt too much to see his face every day, and she wasn't ready for that yet.
Since the funeral, she'd kept in sporadic contact with Jeb, calling every now and then to see how he was doing. The first time she called, she had explained to him what she had discovered about why Garrett had taken Happenstance out that day, and they both ended up weeping on the phone. As the months rolled on, however, they were eventually able to mention his name without tears, and Jeb would fall to describing his memories of Garrett as a child or relating to Theresa over and over the things he'd said about her in their long absences apart.
In July Theresa and Kevin flew to Florida and went scuba diving in the Keys. The water there, as in North Carolina, was warm, though much clearer. They spent eight days there, diving every morning and relaxing on the beach in the afternoon. On their way back to Boston, they both decided they would do it again the following year. For his birthday, Kevin asked for a subscription to a diving magazine. Ironically, the first issue included a story about the shipwrecks off the North Carolina coast, including the one in shallow water they had visited with Garrett.
Though she'd been asked, she hadn't dated anyone since Garrett's death. People at work, with the exception of Deanna, tried repeatedly to set her up with various men. All were described as handsome and eligible, but she politely declined every invitation. Now and then she overheard her colleagues' whispers: "I don't understand why she's giving up," or, "She's still young and attractive." Others, who were more understanding, simply observed that she'd eventually recover, in her own time.
It was a phone call from Jeb three weeks ago that had led her back to Cape Cod. When she listened to his gentle voice, quietly suggesting that it was time to move on, the walls she'd built finally began to collapse. She cried for most of the night, but the following morning she knew what she had to do. She made the arrangements to return here--easy enough, since it was off-season. And it was then that her healing finally began.
As she stood on the beach, she wondered if anyone could see her. She glanced from side to side, but it was deserted. Only the ocean appeared to be moving, and she was drawn to its fury. The water looked angry and dangerous: it was not the romantic place she remembered it to be. She watched it for a long time, thinking of Garrett, until she heard the growl of thunder echo through the winter sky.
The wind picked up, and she felt her mind drift with it. Why, she wondered, had it ended the way it had? She didn't know. Another gust and she felt him beside her, brushing the hair from her face. He had done that when they said good-bye, and she felt his touch once more. There were so many things she wished she could change about that day, so many regrets....
Now, alone with her thoughts, she loved him. She would always love him. She'd known it from the moment she saw him on the docks, and she knew it now. Neither the passage of time nor his death could change the way she felt. She closed her eyes, whispering to him as she did so.
"I miss you, Garrett Blake," she said softly. And for a moment, she imagined he'd somehow heard her, because the wind suddenly died and the air became still.
The first few raindrops were beginning to fall by the time she uncorked the simple clear bottle she was holding so tightly and removed the letter she had written to him yesterday, the letter she had come to send. After unrolling it, she held it before her, the same way she held the first letter she'd ever found. The little light that remained was barely enough for her to see the words, but she knew them all by heart, anyway. Her hands shook slightly as she began reading.
My Darling,
One year has passed since I sat with your father in the kitchen. It is late at night and though the words are coming hard to me, I can't escape the feeling that it's time that I finally answer your question.
Of course I forgive you. I forgive you now, and I forgave you the moment I read your letter. In my heart, I had no other choice. Leaving you once was hard enough; to have done it a second time would have been impossible. I loved you too much to have let you go again. Though I'm still grieving over what might have been, I find myself thankful that you came into my life for even a short period of time. In the beginning, I'd assumed that we were somehow brought together to help you through your time of grief. Yet now, one year later, I've come to believe that it was the other way around.
Ironically, I am in the same position you were, the first time we met. As I write, I am struggling with the ghost of someone I loved and lost. I now understand more fully the difficulties you were going through, and I realize how painful it must have been for you to move on. Sometimes my grief is overwhelming, and even though I understand that we will never see each other again, there is a part of me that wants to hold on to you forever. It would be easy for me to do that because loving someone else might diminish my memories of you. Yet, this is the paradox: Even though I miss you greatly, it's because of you that I don't dread the future. Because you were able to fall in love with me, you have given me hope, my darling. You taught me that it's possible to move forward in life, no matter how terrible your grief. And in your own way, you've made me believe that true love cannot be denied.
Right now, I don't think I'm ready, but this is my choice. Do not blame yourself. Because of you, I am hopeful that there will come a day when my sadness is replaced by something beautiful. Because of you, I have the strength to go on.
I don't know if spirits do indeed roam the world, but even if they do, I will sense your presence everywhere. When I listen to the ocean, it will be your whispers; when I see a dazzling sunset, it will be your image in the sky. You are not gone forever, no matter who comes into my life. You are standing with God, alongside my soul, helping to guide me toward a future that I cannot predict.
This is not a good-bye, my darling, this is a thank-you. Thank you for coming into my life and giving me joy, thank you for loving me and receiving my love in return. Thank you for the memories I will cherish forever. But most of all, thank you for showing me that there will come a time when I can eventually let you go.
I love you,
T
After reading the letter for the last time, Theresa rolled it up and sealed it in the bottle. She turned it over a few times, knowing that her journey had come full circle. Finally, when she knew she could wait no longer, she threw it out as far as she could.
It was then that a strong wind picked up and the fog began to part. Theresa stood in silence and stared at the bottle as it began to float out to sea. And even though she knew it was impossible, she imagined that the bottle would never drift ashore. It would travel the world forever, drifting by faraway places she herself would never see.
When the bottle vanished from sight a few minutes later, she started back to the car. Walking in silence in the rain, Theresa smiled softly. She didn't know when or where or if it would ever turn up, but it didn't really matter. Somehow she knew that Garrett would get the message.
Also by Nicholas Sparks
The Notebook Message in a Bottle A Walk to Remember The Rescue
A Bend in the Road Nights in Rodanthe The Guardian The Wedding Three Weeks with My Brother (with Micah Sparks) True Believer At First Sight Dear John
/> The Choice
The Lucky One The Last Song Safe Haven
The Best of Me The Longest Ride
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE
"Deeply moving, beautifully written, and extremely romantic."
--Booklist
"Brew the tea or pour a glass of wine--whatever is your pleasure. And settle in for Nicholas Sparks's latest book... you're in for another treat."
--Oakland Press
"Sparks is on a roll."
--Atlanta Journal-Constitution
"Nicholas Sparks has written this summer's The Bridges of Madison County."
--Wall Street Journal
"Beautifully romantic."
--Kliatt
"A book that will stay with you always."
--Salisbury Post
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE RIDES A WAVE OF PRAISE!
"If you loved The Notebook you'll love Message."
--Roanoke Times
"Poignant.... A must-read for anyone who doubts that for each person there exists a perfect mate."
--Woman's Own
"The ultimate love story."
--Anniston Star
"A breezy, easy read."
--CNN Interactive Book Reviews "Nicholas Sparks is the king of read-it-and-weep.... He makes readers cry regularly--and they love him for it."
--Sacramento Bee
"An experience you won't soon forget.... Nicholas Sparks captures love's unimaginable strength but also shows us tremendous fragility."
--Abilene Reporter-News
"For those who love a love story."
--Lincoln Journal Star
"An unforgettable and heartbreaking love story."
--Coaster Magazine
"A three-hanky love story."
--Arkansas Democrat-Gazette
"A true love story. The emotional intensity is almost overwhelming."
--Bookman News (Nashville, TN) "Now that we've all seen Titanic... where can we turn to satisfy our appetite for romantic stories involving star-crossed lovers, twists of fate, and boats? MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE makes the reader want to know how it all ends."
--Palos Verdes Peninsula News
READING GROUP GUIDE
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
The prologue that begins Message in a Bottle reveals how the bottle traveled from North Carolina to Cape Cod. It also recounts the journeys of other messages, including one from a shipwrecked sailor that washed up after 150 years in the same village where he had been born. In light of this information, do you think that coincidence or fate led Theresa Osborne to find the bottle?
Why are Garrett's messages to Catherine so compelling? What makes Theresa react so powerfully?
Garrett's boat is named Happenstance. What does the name mean and do you think it applies to the chain of events in the story?
Before her death Catherine makes Garrett promise that he'll find someone else if she dies before him. His own father says, "You've got to let go." Why can't he?
Catherine's death is a tragedy and raises the age-old question: Why do bad things happen to good people? Do you have an answer?
Theresa leaves her jacket on Happenstance. Do you think she did it deliberately? Garrett thinks he is being manipulated by her when she asks about "the worst thing you've ever done." He feels the same way when he finds out she found the bottle and didn't tell him. Is Theresa manipulative? If so, do Theresa's actions make you trust her less?
Do you think Garrett idealized his relationship with Catherine or was it really as wonderful as he remembers?
Having a long-distance relationship is a problem for Theresa and Garrett as it is for many couples. How do you think couples should resolve the issue? How do you think Theresa and Garrett should have dealt with it?
Couples today face different challenges than those of former generations. What obstacles to love existed for your parents' or your grandparents' generation and how do they differ from those encountered by couples today?
Discuss Theresa's relationship with her son. Do you think she's doing a good job raising him? Do you envision any difficulties ahead for either of them?
We hear a lot about dreams in this book. What is the significance of these dreams and what do they reveal? Have you ever had dreams that seem to carry such symbolic meaning in your own life?
Garrett says: "He had never questioned whether he and Catherine were a team." How important is teamwork in a marriage? What, besides distance, is wrong with Theresa and Garrett's relationship?
Were you surprised by Garrett's actions toward the end of the book? Do you view them as totally reckless, or do you understand why he put himself in such danger? What does this say about Garrett?
Was the fact that Theresa was able to find evidence of three letters plausible? Why or why not?
How did you react to the ending of the book? Could the book have ended any other way?
Did you see the movie version of Message in a Bottle? If so, do you think it was true to the novel?
Enjoy this exciting peek at The Longest Ride, the new novel from Nicholas Sparks.
1
Early February 2011
1. Ira
I sometimes think to myself that I'm the last of my kind.
My name is Ira Levinson. I'm a southerner and a Jew, and equally proud to have been called both at one time or another. I'm also an old man. I was born in 1920, the year that alcohol was outlawed and women were given the right to vote, and I often wondered if that was the reason my life turned out the way it did. I've never been a drinker, after all, and the woman I married stood in line to cast a ballot for Roosevelt as soon as she reached the appropriate age, so it would be easy to imagine that the year of my birth somehow ordained it all.
My father would have scoffed at the notion. He was a man who believed in rules. "Ira," he would say to me when I was young and working with him in the haberdashery, "let me tell you something you should never do," and then he would tell me. His Rules for Life, he called them, and I grew up hearing my father's rules on just about everything. Some of what he told me was moral in nature, rooted in the teachings of the Talmud; and they were probably the same things most parents said to their children. I was told that I should never lie or cheat or steal, for instance, but my father--a sometimes Jew, he called himself back then--was far more likely to focus on the practical. Never go out in the rain without a hat, he would tell me. Never touch a stove burner, on the off chance it still might be hot. I was warned that I should never count the money in my wallet in public, or buy jewelry from a man on the street, no matter how good the deal might seem. On and on they went, these nevers, but despite their random nature, I found myself following almost every one, perhaps because I wanted never to disappoint my father. His voice, even now, follows me everywhere on this longest of rides, this thing called life.
Similarly, I was often told what I should do. He expected honesty and integrity in all aspects of life, but I was also told to hold doors for women and children, to shake hands with a firm grip, to remember people's names, and to always give the customer a little more than expected. His rules, I came to realize, not only were the basis of a philosophy that had served him well, but said everything about who he was. Because he believed in honesty and integrity, my father believed that others did as well. He believed in human decency and assumed others were just like him. He believed that most people, when given the choice, would do what was right, even when it was hard, and he believed that good almost always triumphed over evil. He wasn't naive, though. "Trust people," he would tell me, "until they give you a reason not to. And then never turn your back."
More than anyone, my father shaped me into the man I am today.
But the war changed him. Or rather, the Holocaust changed him. Not his intelligence--my father could finish the New York Times crossword puzzle in less than ten minutes--but his beliefs about people. The world he thought he knew no longer made sense to him, and he began to change. By then he was in his late fifties, and after making me a partn
er in the business, he spent little time in the shop. Instead, he became a full-time Jew. He began to attend synagogue regularly with my mother--I'll get to her later--and offered financial support to numerous Jewish causes. He refused to work on the Sabbath. He followed with interest the news regarding the founding of Israel--and the Arab-Israeli War in its aftermath--and he began to visit Jerusalem at least once a year, as if looking for something he'd never known he'd been missing. As he grew older, I began to worry more about those overseas trips, but he assured me that he could take care of himself, and for many years he did. Despite his advancing age, his mind remained as sharp as ever, but unfortunately his body wasn't quite so accommodating. He had a heart attack when he was ninety, and though he recovered, a stroke seven months later greatly weakened the right side of his body. Even then, he insisted on taking care of himself. He refused to move to a nursing home, even though he had to use a walker to get around, and he continued to drive despite my pleas that he forfeit his license. It's dangerous, I would tell him, to which he would shrug.
What can I do? he would answer. How else would I get to the store?
My father finally died a month before he turned 101, his license still in his wallet and a completed crossword puzzle on the bed-stand beside him. It had been a long life, an interesting life, and I've found myself thinking about him often of late. It makes sense, I suppose, because I've been following in his footsteps all along. I carried with me his Rules for Life every morning as I opened the shop and in the way I've dealt with people. I remembered names and gave more than was expected, and to this day I take my hat with me when I think there's a chance of rain. Like my father, I had a heart attack and now use a walker, and though I never liked crossword puzzles, my mind seems as sharp as ever. And, like my father, I was too stubborn to give up my license. In retrospect, this was probably a mistake. If I had, I wouldn't be in this predicament: my car off the highway and halfway down the steep embankment, the hood crumpled from impact with a tree. And I wouldn't be fantasizing about someone coming by with a thermos full of coffee and a blanket and one of those movable thrones that carried the pharaoh from one spot to the next. Because as far as I can tell, that's just about the only way I'm ever going to make it out of here alive.