Read Online Message in a Bottle by Nicholas Sparks - Free Book Online Page B

and now that you are gone, I have no desire to find another. Till death do us part, we whispered in the church, and I’ve come to believe that the words will ring true until the day finally comes when I, too, am taken from this world.”
    She stopped eating and abruptly put down her fork.
    It can’t be! She found herself staring at the words. It’s simply not possible. . . .
    But . . .
    but . . . who else could it be?
    She wiped her brow, aware that her hands were suddenly shaking. Another letter? She flipped to the front of the article and looked at the author’s name. It had been written by Arthur Shendakin, Ph.D., a professor of history at Boston College, meaning . . .
    he must live in the area.
    She jumped up and retrieved the phone book on the stand near the dining room table. She thumbed through it, looking for the name. There were fewer than a dozen Shendakins listed, although only two seemed like a possibility. Both had “A” listed as the first initial, and she checked her watch before dialing. Nine-thirty. Late, but not too late. She punched in the numbers. The first call was answered by a woman who said she had the wrong number, and when she put down the phone, she noticed her throat had gone dry. She went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. After taking a long drink, she took a deep breath and went back to the phone.
    She made sure she dialed the correct number and waited as the phone started to ring.
    Once.
    Twice.
    Three times.
    On the fourth ring she began to lose hope, but on the fifth ring she heard the other line pick up.
    “Hello,” a man said. By the sound of his voice, she thought he must be in his sixties.
    She cleared her throat.
    “Hello, this is Theresa Osborne of the Boston Times. Is this Arthur Shendakin?”
    “Yes, it is,” he answered, sounding surprised.
    Keep calm, she told herself.
    “Oh, hi. I was just calling to find out if this is the same Arthur Shendakin who had an article published last year in Yankee magazine about messages in bottles.”
    “Yes, I wrote that. How can I help you?”
    Her hands felt sweaty on the receiver. “I was curious about one of the messages you said had washed up on Long Island. Do you remember which letter I’m talking about?”
    “Can I ask why you’re interested?”
    “Well,” she began, “the Times is thinking of doing an article on the same topic, and we were interested in obtaining a copy of the letter.”
    She winced at her own lie, but telling the truth seemed worse. How would that have sounded? Oh, hi, I’m infatuated with a mysterious man who sends messages in bottles, and I’m wondering if the letter that you found was written by him as well. . . .
    He answered slowly. “Well, I don’t know. That was the letter that inspired me to write the articles . . . I’d have to think about it.”
    Theresa’s throat tightened. “So, you have the letter?”
    “Yes. I found it a couple of years ago.”
    “Mr. Shendakin, I know this is an unusual request, but I can tell you that if you let us use the letter, we’d be happy to pay you a small sum. And we don’t need the actual letter. A copy of it will do, so you really wouldn’t be giving anything up.”
    She could tell the request surprised him.
    “How much are we talking about?”
    I don’t know, I’m making all this up on the fly. How much do you want?
    “We’re willing to offer three hundred dollars, and of course, you’ll be properly credited as the person who found it.”
    He paused for a moment, considering. Theresa chimed back in before he could formulate a rejection.
    “Mr. Shendakin, I’m sure there’s a part of you that’s worried about the similarity between your article and what the newspaper intends to print. I can assure you that they will be very different. The article that we’re doing is mainly about the direction that bottles travel—you know, ocean currents and all that. We just want some actual letters that will provide some sort