Read Online Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page A

uncontrollably. Gus had always been there with me, for me. He was my good buddy, my roommate, my jogging partner, my confidant. We had been together for fourteen years.
Bad stuff does happen sometimes, Nicholas.
Always remember that, but remember that you have to move on, somehow.
You just pick your head up and stare at something beautiful like the sky, or the ocean, and you move the hell on.
Nicholas,

An unexpected letter arrived in the mail for me the next day.
I don't know why I didn't rip it open and read it. I just stood there wondering why Matt Harrison had written me a letter when he could easily have picked up the phone or come over.
I stood at the end of the driveway in front of the weatherbeaten, off-white mailbox. I opened the letter carefully and held it tight so it wouldn't be blown away by the ocean wind.
Rather than try to paraphrase what the letter said, Nicky, I'm enclosing it in the diary.
Dear Suzanne,

You are the explosion of carnations
in a dark room.
Or the unexpected scent of pine
miles from Maine.

You are a full moon
that gives midnight its meaning.
And the explanation of water
For all living things.

You are a compass,
a sapphire,
a bookmark.
A rare coin,
a smooth stone,
a blue marble.

You are an old lore,
a small shell,
a saved silver dollar.
You are a fine quartz,
a feathered quill,
and a fob from a favorite watch.

You are a valentine
tattered and loved and reread a hundred times.
You are a medal found in the drawer
of a once sung hero.
You are honey
and cinnamon
and West Indies spices,
lost from the boat
that was once Marco Polo's.

You are a pressed rose,
a pearl ring,
and a red perfume bottle found near the Nile.

You are an old soul from an ancient place,
a thousand years, and centuries and
millenniums ago.

And you have traveled all this way
just so I could love you.
I do.

Matt
What can I say, Nicholas, that your good, sweet father cannot say better? He is a stunningly good writer, and I'm not even sure he knows it.
I love him so much.
Who wouldn't?
Nicky,

I called Matt very early the next morning, as soon as I dared, about seven. I had been up since a little past four, thinking that I had to call him, even rehearsing what I should say and how I should say it. I don't really know how to be dishonest or manipulate people very well. It puts me at a great disadvantage sometimes.
This was hard.
This was impossible.
“Matt, hi. It's Suzanne. Hope I'm not calling too early. Can you come by tonight?” was all I could manage.
“Of course I can. In fact, I was going to call you and ask for a date.”
Matt arrived at the house a little past seven that night. He was wearing a yellow plaid shirt and navy blue trousers--kind of formal for him.
“You want to take a walk on the beach, Suzanne? Take in the sunset with me?”
It was exactly what I wanted to do. He'd read my mind.
As soon as we crossed the beach road and had our bare feet in the still-warm sand, I said, “Can I talk? There's something I have to tell you.”
He smiled. “Sure. I always like the sound of your voice.”
Poor Matt. I doubted that he was going to like the sound of what was coming next.
“There's something I've wanted to tell you for a while. I keep putting it off. I'm not even sure how to broach the subject now.”
He took my hand, swung it gently in rhythm with our strides. “Consider it broached. Go ahead, Suzanne.”
“Why are you so dressed up tonight?” I thought to ask him.
“I'm dressed up because I have a date with the most special woman on this entire island. Is that the subject you had trouble broaching?”
I squeezed his hand a little. “Not exactly. No, it isn't. Okay, here goes.”
Matt finally said, “You are scaring me a little now.”
“Sorry,” I whispered. “Sorry. Matt, right before I came to the Vineyard--”
“You had a heart attack,” he said in the softest voice. “You almost died in the Public Garden, but you didn't, thank God. And now, here we are, and I think we're two of the