Nicholas Sparks - Dear John

“And your father still collects coins?”

“All the time. At least, I think so. We don’t talk about coins anymore.”

“Why not?”

I told her that story, too. Don’t ask me why. I knew I should have been putting my best foot forward and tossing out crap to impress her, but with Savannah that wasn’t possible. For whatever reason, she made me want to tell the truth, even though I barely knew her. When I finished she was wearing a curious expression.

“Yeah, I was a jerk,” I offered, knowing there were other, probably more accurate words to describe me back then, all of which were profane enough to offend her.

“It sounds like it,” she said, “but that’s not what I was thinking. I was trying to imagine you back then, because you seem nothing like that person now.”

What could I say that wouldn’t sound bogus, even if it was true? Unsure, I opted for Dad’s approach and said nothing.

“What’s your dad like?”

I gave her a quick recap. As I spoke, she scooped sand and let it trail through her fingers, as if concentrating on my choice of words. In the end, surprising myself again, I admitted that we were almost strangers.

“You are,” she said, using that nonjudgmental, matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve been gone for a couple of years, and even you admit that you’ve changed. How could he know you?”

I sat up. The beach was packed; it was the time of day when everyone who planned to come was already here, and no one was quite ready to leave. Randy and Brad were playing Frisbee by the water’s edge, running and shouting. A few others wandered over to join them.

“I know,” I said. “But it’s not just that. We’ve always been strangers. I mean, it’s just so hard to talk to him.”

As soon as I said it, I realized she was the first person I’d ever admitted it to. Strange. But then, most of what I was saying to her sounded strange.

“Most people our age say that about their parents.”

Maybe, I thought. But this was different. It wasn’t a generational difference, it was the fact that for my dad, normal chitchat was all but impossible, unless it dealt with coins. I said nothing more, however, and Savannah smoothed the sand in front of her. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “I’d like to meet him.”

I turned toward her. “Yeah?”

“He sounds interesting. I’ve always loved people who have this… passion for life.”

“It’s a passion for coins, not life,” I corrected her.

“It’s the same thing. Passion is passion. It’s the excitement between the tedious spaces, and it doesn’t matter where it’s directed.” She shuffled her feet in the sand. “Well, most of the time, anyway. I’m not talking vices here.”

“Like you and caffeine.”

She smiled, flashing the small gap between her two front teeth. “Exactly. It can be coins or sports or politics or horses or music or faith… the saddest people I’ve ever met in life are the ones who don’t care deeply about anything at all. Passion and satisfaction go hand in hand, and without them, any happiness is only temporary, because there’s nothing to make it last. I’d love to hear your dad talk about coins, because that’s when you see a person at his best, and I’ve found that someone else’s happiness is usually infectious.”

I was struck by her words. Despite Tim’s opinion that she was naive, she seemed far more mature than most people our age. Then again, considering the way she looked in her bikini, she probably could have recited the phone book and I would have been impressed.

Savannah sat up beside me, and her gaze followed mine. The game of Frisbee was in full swing; as Brad zipped the disk, a couple of others went running for it. They both dove for it simultaneously, splashing in the shallows as their heads collided. The one in red shorts came up empty, swearing and holding his head, his shorts covered in sand. The others laughed, and I found myself smiling and wincing simultaneously.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

“Hold on,” she said instead. “I’ll be right back.” She trotted over to red shorts. He saw her approaching and froze, as did the guy next to him. Savannah, I realized, had pretty much the same effect on every guy, not just me. I could see her talking and smiling, turning that earnest gaze on the guy, who nodded as she spoke, looking like a chastised adolescent. She returned to my side and sat again. I didn’t ask, knowing it wasn’t my business, but I knew I was telegraphing my curiosity.

“Normally, I wouldn’t have said anything, but I asked him to keep his language in check because of all the families out here,” she explained. “There are lots of little kids around. He said he would.”

I should have guessed. “Did you suggest he use ‘Holy cow’ or ‘Geez’ instead?”

She squinted at me mischievously. “You liked those expressions, didn’t you.”

“I’m thinking of passing them on to my squad. They’ll add to our intimidation factor when we’re busting down doors and launching RPGs.”

She giggled. “Definitely scarier than swearing, even if I don’t know what an RPG is.”

“Rocket-propelled grenade.” Despite myself, I liked her more with every passing minute. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I don’t have any plans. Well, except for the meeting. Why? Did you want to bring me to meet your father?”

“No. Well, not tonight, anyway. Later. Tonight, I wanted to show you around Wilmington.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I’ll have you back whenever you want. I know you’ve got to work tomorrow, but there’s this great place that I want to show you.”

“What kind of place?”

“A local place. Specializes in seafood. But it’s more of an experience.”

She wrapped her arms around her knees. “I usually don’t date strangers,” she finally said, “and we only met yesterday. You think I can trust you?”

“I wouldn’t,” I said.

She laughed. “Well, in that case, I suppose I can make an exception.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m a sucker for honest guys with crew cuts. What time?”

I was home by five, and though I didn’t feel sunburned—that Southern European skin again—the burn was obvious when I showered. The water stung as it ricocheted off my chest and shoulders, and my face made me feel as if I were running a low fever. Afterward, I shaved for the first time since I’d been home and dressed in a clean pair of shorts and one of the few relatively nice button-down shirts I owned, light blue. Lucy had bought it for me and swore the color was perfect for me. I rolled up the sleeves and left the shirt untucked, then rummaged through my closet for an ancient pair of sandals.

Through the crack in the door, I could see my dad at his desk, and it struck me that for the second night in a row I’d made other plans for dinner. Nor had I spent any time with him this weekend. He wouldn’t complain, I knew, but I still felt a pang of guilt. After we stopped talking about coins, breakfast and dinner were the only things we shared, and I was now depriving him even of that. Maybe I hadn’t changed as much as I thought I had. I was staying in his home and eating his food, and I was just about to ask him whether I could borrow his car. In other words, pretty much leading my own life and using him in the process. I wondered what Savannah would say to that, but I think I already knew the answer. Savannah sometimes sounded a lot like the little voice that had taken up residence in my head but never bothered paying rent, and right now it whispered that if I felt guilty, maybe I was doing something wrong. I resolved that I would spend more time with him. It was a cop-out and I admitted it, but I didn’t know what else to do.

When I opened the door, Dad looked startled to see me.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, taking my usual seat.

“Hi, John.” As soon as he spoke, he glanced at his desk and ran a hand over his thinning hair. When I added nothing, he realized that he should ask me a question. “How was your day?” he finally inquired.

I shifted in my seat. “It was great, actually. I spent most of the day with Savannah, the girl I told you about last night.”

“Oh.” His eyes drifted to the side, refusing to meet mine. “You didn’t tell me about her.”

“I didn’t?”

“No, but that’s okay. It was late.” For the first time, he seemed to realize I was dressed up, or at least as dressed up as he’d ever seen me, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask about it.

I tugged at my shirt, letting him off the hook. “Yeah, I know, trying to impress her, right? I’m taking her out to dinner tonight,” I said. “Is it okay if I borrow the car?”

“Oh… okay,” he said.

“I mean, did you need it tonight? I might be able to call a friend or something.”

“No,” he said. He reached into his pocket for the keys. Nine dads out of ten would have tossed them; mine held them out.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Just tired,” he said.

I stood and took the keys. “Dad?”

He glanced up again.

“I’m sorry about not having dinner with you these last couple of nights.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand.”

The sun was beginning its slow descent, and as I pulled out, the sky was a swirl of fruity colors that contrasted dramatically with the evening skies I’d come to know in Germany. Traffic was horrendous, as it usually was on Sunday nights, and it took almost thirty exhaust-fumed minutes to get back to the beach and pull in the drive.

I pushed open the door to the house without knocking. Two guys seated on the couch watching baseball heard me come in.