A Bend in the Road. Nicholas Sparks. CTP FORUM. As with all my novels, I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank Cathy, my wonderful wife.
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A Bend in the Road Nicholas Sparks CTP FORUM As with all my Twelve years and still going strong. I love you. Miles, Ryan, Landon, Lexie, and Savannah. They keep f fun. Larry Kirshbaum and Maureen Egen have been both wonderful and supportive throughout my career. Thank you both. (P.S. Look for your names in this novel!) Richard Green and Howie Sanders, my Hollywood agents, are the best at what they do. Thanks, guys ! Denise Di Novi, the producer of bothMessage in a Bottle andA Walk to Remember , is not only superb at what she does, but has become a great friend as well. Scott Schwimer, my attorney, deserves my thanks and gratitude, and here it is. M icah and Christine, my brother and his wife. I love you both. who designs the covers of my novels; Courtenay Valenti and Lorenzo Di Bonaventura of Warner Bros.; H unt Lowry of Gaylord Films; Mark Johnson; and Lynn Harris of New Line Cinema. I am where I am because of you all. Prologue Where does a story truly begin? In life, there are seldom clear – cut beginnings, those moments when we can, in looking back, say tha t everything started. Yet there are moments when fate intersects with our daily lives, setting in motion a sequence of events whose outcome we could never have foreseen.
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tossed a hand, wondering about my own intersection with fate. This is not unusual for me. Lately, it Aside from the steady ticking of a cloc k that sits on the feel compelled to tell it in the first place. What can be years ago, and I suppose a case can be made that they really began two long years before that. But as I sit, I know I must try to tell it, if for no other reason than to finally put this all behind me. folder of yellowed newspaper articles, my own investigation, an d, of course, public records. mind; they are seared in my memory. But framed simply by those things, this story would be incomplete. There were others invol ved, and though I was a witness to some of the events, I was – create every feeling or every This is, above all, a love story, and like so many love stories, the love story of Miles Ryan and Sarah Andrews is rooted in tragedy. At the same time, it is also a story of forgiveness, and when that Miles Ryan and Sarah Andrews will eventually understand mine. a beginning to this story, it lies with Missy Ryan, high school sweetheart of a deputy sheriff in a small southern town. Missy Ryan, like her husband, Miles, grew up in New Bern. From all accounts, she was both charming and kind, and Miles had loved her for all of his adult life. She men from other parts of the country go weak in the knees. She laughed easily, listened with interest, and often touched the arm of whomever she was talking to, as if issuing an invitation to be part of her world. And, like most southern women, her will was stronger than was noticeable of In high school, Missy was a cheerleader. As a sophomore, she was both popular and lovely, classe and talking after football games, and eventually made arrangements to meet at a party during homecoming weekend. Soon they were inseparable, and by the time he aske d her to the prom a few months later, they were in love.
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There are those, I know, who scoff at the idea that real love can exist at such a young age. For Miles and Missy, however, it did, and it was in some ways more powerful than love experienced by older junior and senior years, and when he went off to college at North Carolina State, they remained faithful to each other while Missy moved toward her own graduation. Sh e joined him at NCSU the following year, and when he proposed over dinner three years later, she cried and said yes and spent the next hour on the phone calling her family and telling them the good news, while Miles ate the rest of his meal alone. Miles st ayed in Raleigh until Missy completed her degree, and their wedding in New Bern filled the church. Missy took a job as a loan officer at Wachovia Bank, and Miles began his training to become a deputy sheriff. She was two months pregnant when Miles started working for Craven County, patrolling the streets that had always been their home. Like many young couples, they bought their first home, and when their son, Jonah, was born in January 1981, Missy took one look at the bundled newborn and knew motherhood wa s the best thing that had ever happened to her. she wanted to scream at him the same way he was screaming at her, Missy loved him more than ssible. She was a wonderful mother. She quit her job to stay home with Jonah full – time, read him stories, played with him, and took him to play groups. She could spend hours simply watching him. By the time he was five, Missy realized she wanted another b aby, and she and Miles began trying again. The seven years they were married were the happiest years of both their lives. But in August of 1986, when she was twenty – nine years old, Missy Ryan was killed. Her death for all that was to come next. as well. I, too, played a role in all tha t happened. Chapter 1 On the morning of August 29, 1988, a little more than two years after his wife had passed away, Miles Ryan stood on the back porch of his house, smoking a cigarette, watching as the rising sun slowly changed the morning sky from dusky gray to orange. Spread before him was edge. thickening the air. In time, the birds began their morning songs, the trill whistles filling the air. A small bass boat passed by, the fisherman waved, and Miles acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod. It was all the energy he could summon. He needed a cup of coffee. A littl getting Jonah off to school, keeping rein on the locals who flouted the law, posting eviction notices
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throughout the county, as well as handling whatever else inevitably cropped up, like meeting s teacher later in the afternoon. And that was just for starters. The evenings, if anything, seemed even busier. There was always so much to do, simply to keep the household running smoothly: paying the bills, shopping, cleaning, repairing things around th e house. Even in those rare moments when Miles found himself with a little free time on his hands, he felt as if be any time. It was enough to wear anyone down for a while, but what could he do about it? throwing the cigarett But why bother? Hell, his lungs were in good shape shoplifter and had no trouble catching the kid. As – two. But that was ten years ago, and even if thirty – nursing homes, he was getting older. And he could feel it, too there was a time during college when he and his friends last few years, except for those times make him want to stay up. Exhaustion had become a permanent fixture in his life. Even on those nights when died Miles still awoke feeling . . . tired. Unfocused. Sluggish, as if he were moving around underwater. Most of the time, he attributed this to the hectic life he lived; but so metimes he he did have cause. . . . What he really needed was some q uiet time at a little beachfront cottage down in Key West, a place where he could fish for turbot or simply relax in a gently swaying hammock while drinking a cold beer, without facing any decision more major than whether or not to wear sandals as he walke d on the beach with a nice woman at his side. That was part of it, too. Loneliness. He was tired of being alone, of waking up in an empty bed, nothing more than theoretical possibilities that had no bearing on the real weathered shock and grief strong enough to make him cry every night, his life just feltwrong somehow any reason to get too worked up about anythi ng. the grass needed to be mowed. He still had a job. Once, after too many beers, Charlie, his best friend and boss, had asked him what it was like to lose a wife, and Miles had told him that it
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a friend and had left him in charge of Jonah while she was away. Time passed and so eventually n accustomed to. In its place, reality settled in. As much as he tried to move on, Miles still found his thoughts drawn to Missy. Everything, it seemed, reminded him of her. Especially Jonah, who looked more like her the older he got. Sometimes, when Miles stood in the doorway after tucking Jonah in, he could see his wife in the small features of his would stay with him for hours; he loved the way Missy had looked as brown hair spread across the pillow, one arm always resting above her head, her lips slightly parted, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. And her smell that was something Miles would never forget. On the first Chris tmas morning after her death, while sitting in church, drowning man grasping a life preserver until long after the service was over. He held on to other things a s well. When they were first married, he and Missy used to have It was out of the way, quiet, and somehow its cozy embrace made them both feel as if nothing wo uld ever change between them. started going again once she was gone, as if hoping to find some remnant of those feelings still lingering on the paneled walls. At home, too, he ran his life accordin g to what she used to do. Because Missy liked to grow tomatoes along the side of the house, Miles grew them, too. Missy had thought Lysol the best all – purpose kitc hen cleaner, so he saw no reason to use anything else. Missy was always there, in everything he did. But sometime last spring, that feeling began to change. It came without warning, and Miles sensed it as soon as it happened. While driving downtown, he cau ght himself staring at a young couple walking hand in hand as they moved down the sidewalk. And for just a moment, Miles imagined himself as the man, and that the woman was with him. Or if not her, thensomeone . . . someone who would love not only him, bu t Jonah as well. Someone who could make him laugh, someone to share a bottle of wine with over a leisurely dinner, someone to hold and touch and to whisper quietly with after the lights had been turned off. Someone like Missy, he thought to himself, and he r image immediately conjured up feelings of guilt and betrayal overwhelming enough for him to banish the young couple from his mind forever. Or so he assumed. Later that night, right after crawling into bed, he found himself thinking about them again. And one, toward finally coming to terms with his loss. He began to justify his new reality by telling himself that he was a widower now, that it was okay to have these feelings, and he knew no one would disagree with him. No one expected him to live the rest of his life alone; in the past few months, friends had even offe red to set him up with a couple of dates. Besides, he knew that Missy would have wanted him to marry again.
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game, and though neither of them had ever expected anything terrible to happen, both had been be right for the surviving spouse. Still, it seemed a little too soon. As the summer wore on, the thoughts about finding s omeone new began to surface more frequently and with more intensity. Missy was still there, Missy would always be there . . . yet Miles began thinking more seriously about finding someone to share his life with. Late at night, while comforting Jonah in the rocking chair out back it was the only thing that seemed to help with the nightmares these thoughts seemed strongest and always followed the same pattern. Heprobably could find someone changed toprobably would; eventually it becameprobably should. At thi s point, however no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise his thoughts The reason was in his bedroom. made for him what happened, he kept it to remind him of the work he still had to do. He kept it to remind him of his failure. A few minutes later, after stubbing out the cigarette on the railing and heading inside, Miles poured the coffee he needed and headed down the hall. Jonah was still asleep when he pushed open the door and peeked in. Good, he still had a little time. He headed to the bathroom. After he turned the faucet, the shower groaned and hissed for a moment before the water finally came. He showered and shaved and brushed his teeth. He ran a comb through his hair, noticing again that there seemed to be less of it now than there used to be. He hurriedly donned his sheriff and put that on as well. From the hallway, he heard Jonah rustling in his room. This time, Jonah looked up with puffy eyes as soon as Miles came in to check on him. He was st ill sitting in bed, He stretched his arms out Jonah bent over and grabbed his pants. Miles had laid them out the night before.
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After breakfast, after making sure Jonah was ready to go, Miles helped him with his backpack Miles watched as his son headed toward th e bus stop at the end of the block. Missy, he knew, have already known that Jonah was having trouble at school. Missy had taken care of things like this. Missy had taken care of everything. Chapter 2 The night before she was to meet with Miles Ryan, Sarah Andrews was walking through the historic district in New Bern, doing her best to keep a steady pace. Though she wanted to get the most from her workout an avid walker for the past five years her, something that would make her stop and stare. New Bern, founded in 1710, was situated on the banks of the Neuse and Trent Rivers in eastern North Carolina. As the second oldest town in the state, it had once served as the capital and been home to the Tryon Palace, residence of the colonial governor. Destroyed by fire in 1798, the palace had been restore d in 1954, complete with some of the most breathtaking and exquisite gardens in the South. Throughout the grounds, tulips and azaleas bloomed each spring, and the walking distance so she could pass its gates each day. downtown. The apartment w as up the stairs and three doors away from the pharmacy where in – Cola. Around the corner was the Episcopal church, a stately brick structure shaded with towering magn olias, whose doors first opened in 1718. When she left her apartment to take her walk,
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Sarah passed both sites as she made her way to Front Street, where many of the old mansions had stood gracefully for the past two hundred years. What she really admired, however, was the fact that most of the homes had been painstakingly restored over the past fifty years, one house at a time. Unlike Williamsburg, Virginia, which was restored largely through a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation, New Bern had ap pealed to its citizens and they had responded. The sense of community had lured her parents here four years As she walked, she reflected on how different New Bern was from Ba own rich history, it was a city first and foremost. New Bern, on the other hand, was a small southern town, relatively isolated and largely uninterested in keeping up with the ever quickening pace of life elsewhere. Here, people would wave as she passed them on the street, and any question she asked usually solicited a long, slow – paced answer, generally peppered with references to were somehow connected. Usually it was nice, other times it drove her batty. Her parents had moved here after her father had taken a job as hospital administrator at Craven R . .draining, for lack of a no way she saw herself living h ere forever. had met were already married, with families of their own. As in many southern towns, there was still a social order that defined town life. With most people married, it was hard for a single woman to find a place to fit in, or even to start. Especially someone who was divorced and completely new to the area. It was, however, an ideal place to rais e children, and sometimes as she walked, Sarah liked to imagine that things had turned out differently for her. As a young girl, a neighborhood where families ga thered in the yards on Friday evenings after work was finished She was finishing up her teaching degree; Michael had just received his MBA from Georgetown. His family, one of the most prominent in Baltimore, had made thei r fortune in banking and were immensely wealthy and clannish, the type of family that sat on the boards of various corporations and instituted policies at country clubs that served to exclude those they regarded as inferior. Michael, however, seemed to rej Heads would turn when he entered a room, and though he knew what was happening, his most Pretended,o f course, was the key word.
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away. The short conversation had led to a longer one over coffee the following day, then Michael asked her to marry him. other than that he ime to question his reservations, except when Michael asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement. Michael explained that his family had insisted on it, but even though he did his best to cast all the blame on his parents, a part of her suspected that had the y not been around, he would have insisted upon it himself. She nonetheless signed announce the upcoming marriage. Seven months later, Sarah and Michael were married. T hey honeymooned in Greece and Turkey; when they got back to Baltimore, they moved into a home began teaching second grade at an inner – city elementary school. Su rprisingly, Michael had been fully supportive of her decision, but that was typical of their relationship then. In the first two years of their marriage, everything seemed perfect: She and Michael spent hours in bed on the weekends, talking and making love , and he confided in her his dreams of entering politics one day. They had a large circle of friends, mainly people Michael had known his entire life, and there was always a party to attend or weekend trips out of town. They spent their remaining free time in Washington, D.C., exploring museums, attending the theater, and walking among the monuments located at the Capitol Mall. It was there, while standing inside the Lincoln Memorial, that Michael told Sarah he was ready to start a family. She threw her arm s around him any happier. Who can explain what happened next? Several months after that blissful day at the Lincoln r told her not to worry, that it sometimes took a while after going off the pill, but he suggested she see him again later that year if they were still having problems. They were, and tests were scheduled. A few days later, when the results were in, they met with the doctor. As they sat across from him, one look was enough to let her know that something was wrong. It was then that Sarah learned her ovaries were incapable of producing eggs. A week later, Sarah and Michael had their first major fight. Micha that something terrible had happened. By the time he came home, she was frantic and Michael was all he offered by way of explanation, and from there, the argument went downhill fast. They said terrible things in the heart of the moment. Sarah regretted all of them later that night; Michael was apologetic. But after that, Michael seemed more dis tant, more reserved. When she pressed him, he denied that he felt any differently toward Instead, things between them grew steadily worse. With every passing month, the arguments became more frequent , the distance more pronounced. One night, when she suggested again that
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