Nights in Rodanthe Read Online Free PDF Page B

white ball of light rose over the water, had an early breakfast, and then spent the next few hours
     walking through the rustic village, watching people ready their homes for the storm brewing off the coast.
    When he was finally ready, he tossed the duffel bag into his car and began the trip northward, to the place he had to go.
    The Outer Banks, he thought, were both strange and mystical. With saw grass speckling the rolling dunes and maritime oaks
     bent sideways with the never-ending sea breeze, it was a place like no other. The islands had once been connected to the mainland,
     but after the last ice age, the sea had flooded the area to the immediate west, forming the Pamlico Sound. Until the 1950s,
     there wasn’t a highway on this series of islands, and people had to drive along the beach to reach the homes beyond the dunes.
     Even now it was part of the culture, and as he drove, he could see tire tracks near the water’s edge.
    The sky had cleared in places, and though the clouds raced angrily toward the horizon, the sun sometimes squinted through,
     making the world glow fiercely white. Over the roar of the engine, he could hear the violence of the ocean.
    At this time of year, the Outer Banks were largely empty, and he had this stretch of roadway to himself. In the solitude,
     his thoughts returned to Martha.
    The divorce had become final only a few months earlier, but it had been amicable. He knew she was seeing someone, and he suspected
     she’d been seeing him even before they’d separated, but it wasn’t important. These days, nothing seemed important.
    When she left, Paul remembered cutting back on his schedule, thinking he needed time to sort things out. But months later,
     instead of going back to his regular routine, he cut back even more. He still ran regularly but found he no longer had any
     interest in reading the financial pages in the morning. For as long as he could remember, he’d needed only six hours of sleep
     a night; but strangely, the more he cut back on the pace of his previous life, the more hours he seemed to need to feel rested.
    There were other, physical changes as well. For the first time in years, Paul felt the muscles in his shoulders relax. The
     lines in his face, grown deep over the years, were still prominent, but the intensity he once saw in his reflection had been
     replaced with a sort of weary melancholy. And though it was probably his imagination, it seemed as if his graying hair had
     finally stopped receding.
    At one time, he had thought he had it all. He’d run and run, he’d reached the pinnacle of success; yet now, he realized he’d
     never taken his father’s advice. All his life, he’d been running away from something, not toward something, and in his heart,
     he knew it had all been in vain.
    He was fifty-four and alone in the world, and as he stared at the vacant stretch of asphalt unfolding before him, he couldn’t
     help but wonder why on earth he’d run so hard.

    Knowing he was close now, Paul settled in for the final leg of his journey. He was staying at a small bed-and-breakfast just
     off the highway, and when he reached the outskirts of Rodanthe, he took in his surroundings. Downtown, if you could call it
     that, consisted of various businesses that seemed to offer just about everything. The general store sold hardware and fishing
     gear as well as groceries; the gas station sold tires and auto parts as well as the services of a mechanic.
    He had no reason to ask for directions, and a minute later, he pulled off the highway onto a short gravel drive, thinking
     the Inn at Rodanthe was more charming than he’d imagined it would be. It was an aging white Victorian with black shutters
     and a welcoming front porch. On the railings were potted pansies in full bloom, and an American flag fluttered in the wind.
    He grabbed his gear and slung the bags over his shoulder, then walked up the steps and went inside. The floor was heart pine,
     scuffed by years