The Guardian

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Guardian By Nicholas Sparks

Chapter One

Four Years Later

In the years since Jim had died, Julie Barenson had somehow found away to start living again. It hadn't happened right away. The firstcouple of years after his death had been difficult and lonely, buttime had eventually worked its magic on Julie, changing her lossinto something softer. Though she loved Jim and knew that part ofher would always love Jim, the pain wasn't as sharp as it had oncebeen. She could remember her tears and the total vacuum her life hadbecome in the aftermath of his death, but the searing ache of thosedays was behind her. Now when she thought of Jim, she remembered himwith a smile, thankful that he'd been part of her life. She wasthankful for Singer, too. Jim had done the right thing by gettingher the dog. In a way, Singer had made it possible for her to go on.

But at this moment, while lying in bed on a cool spring morning inSwansboro, North Carolina, Julie wasn't thinking about what awonderful support Singer had been during the past four years.Instead, she was mentally cursing his very existence while gaspingfor breath, thinking, I can't believe that this is the way I'm goingto die. Squashed in bed by my very own dog.

With Singer splayed across her, pinning her to the mattress, sheimagined her lips turning blue from oxygen deprivation. "Get up, youlazy dog," she wheezed. "You're killing me here." Snoring soundly,Singer didn't hear her, and Julie began squirming, trying to bouncehim from his slumber. Suffocating beneath the weight, she felt as ifshe'd been wrapped in a blanket and tossed in a lake, Mafia style.

"I'm serious," she forced out, "I can't breathe." Singer finallylifted his massive head and blinked at her groggily. What's all theracket about? he seemed to be asking. Can't you see I'm trying torest here? "Get off!" Julie rasped out.

Singer yawned, pushing his cold nose against her cheek. "Yeah, yeah,good morning," she gasped. "Now scoot." With that, Singer snortedand found his legs, further squashing various parts of her as he gotup. And up. And up. And up. A moment later, towering over her withjust a smudge of drool on his lips, he looked like something from alow-budget horror movie. Good Lord, she thought, he is huge. You'dthink that I'd be used to it by now. She took a deep breath andlooked up at him, frowning. "Did I say you could get into bed withme?" she asked. Singer usually slept in the corner of her room atnight. The past two nights, however, he'd crawled in with her. Or,more accurately, on top of her. Crazy dog.

Singer lowered his head and licked her face. "No, you're notforgiven," she said, pushing him away. "Don't even bother trying toget out of this. You could have killed me. You're almost twice asheavy as I am, you know. Now get off the bed." Singer whined like apouting child before hopping down to the floor. Julie sat up, ribsaching, and looked at the clock, thinking, Already?

She and Singer stretched at the same time before she pushed asidethe covers.

"C'mon," she said, "I'll let you out before I get in the shower. Butdon't go sniffing around the neighbors' garbage cans again. Theyleft a nasty message on the machine." Singer looked at her."I know, I know," she said, "it's only garbage. But some people arefunny that way."

Singer left the bedroom, heading toward the front door. Julie rolledher shoulders as she followed him, her eyes closed for just amoment. Big mistake. On the way out of the bedroom, she slammed hertoe against the dresser. The pain shot from her toe up through herlower leg. After the initial scream, she began to curse, combiningprofanity in all sorts of marvelous permutations. Hopping on onefoot in her pink pajamas, she was sure she looked like some sort ofderanged Energizer Bunny. Singer merely gave her a look that seemedto imply, What's the holdup? You got me up, remember, so let's getgoing here. I've got things to do outside.

She groaned. "Can't you see I'm wounded here?" Singer yawned again,and Julie rubbed her toe before limping after him.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue. You're worthless in an emergency."A moment later, after Singer stepped on Julie's sore toe on his wayout the door-Julie knew he'd done it on purpose-he was outside.Instead of heading toward the garbage cans, Singer wandered over tothe vacant wooded lots that bordered one side of her house. Shewatched as he swung his massive head from side to side, as if makingsure that no one had planted any new trees or bushes during thepreceding day. All dogs liked to mark their territory, but Singerseemed to believe that somehow, if he found enough places to relievehimself, he'd be anointed King Dog in all the World. At least it gothim out of her hair for a while.

Thank heaven for small favors, Julie thought. Singer had beendriving her crazy for the last couple of days. He'd followed hereverywhere, refusing to let her out of his sight for even a fewminutes, except when she put him outside. She hadn't even been ableto put the dishes away without bumping into him a dozen times. Hewas even worse at night. Last night, he'd had a growling fit for anhour, which he'd thoughtfully interspersed with an occasional bark,and the whole thing had left her fantasizing about buying either asoundproof kennel or an elephant gun.

Not that Singer's behavior had ever been ... well, ordinary. Exceptfor the peeing thing, the dog had always acted as if he thought hewere human. He refused to eat out of a dog bowl, he'd never needed aleash, and when Julie watched television, he would crawl up on thecouch and stare at the screen. And when she talked to him-wheneveranyone talked to him, for that matter-Singer would stare intently,his head tilted to the side, as if he were following theconversation. And half the time, it did seem as if he understoodwhat she was telling him. No matter what she told him to do, nomatter how ridiculous the command, Singer would carry it out.

Could you go get my purse from the bedroom? Singer would cometrotting out with it a moment later. Will you turn off the bedroomlight? He'd balance on two legs and flick it with his nose. Put thiscan of soup in the pantry, okay? He'd carry it in his mouth and setit on the shelf. Sure, other dogs were well trained, but not likethis. Besides, Singer hadn't needed training. Not real training,anyway. All she'd had to do was show him something once and that wasit. To others it seemed downright eerie, but since it made Juliefeel like a modern-day Dr. Dolittle, she kind of liked it.

Even if it did mean she talked to her dog in complete sentences, hadarguments with him, and asked for his advice now and then. But hey,she told herself, that wasn't so odd, was it? They'd been togethersince Jim had died, just the two of them, and for the most part,Singer was pretty good company.

Singer, though, had been acting strangely ever since she starteddating again, and he hadn't liked any of the guys who'd shown up atthe door in the last couple of months. Julie had expected that part.Since he'd been a puppy, Singer tended to growl at men when he firstmet them. She used to think that Singer had a sixth sense thatenabled him to tell the good guys from the ones she should avoid,but lately she'd changed her mind. Now, she couldn't help but thinkthat he was just a big, furry version of a jealous boyfriend. It wasgetting to be a problem, she decided. They were going to have tohave a serious talk. Singer didn't want her to be alone, did he? No,of course not. It might take him a little while to get used tohaving someone else around, but he'd understand eventually. Hell, intime, he'd probably even be happy for her. But how, she wondered,was the best way to explain all this to him?

She halted for a moment, considering the question, before realizingthe implications of what she was thinking.

Explain all this to him? Good Lord, she thought, I'm going insane.Julie limped to the bathroom to start getting ready for work,slipping off her pajamas as she went. Standing over the sink, shegrimaced at her reflection. Look at me, she thought, I'm twenty-nineand falling apart at the seams here. Her ribs hurt when shebreathed, her big toe throbbed, and the mirror, she realized, wasn'thelping things. During the day, her brown hair was long andstraight, but after a night in bed, it looked as if it had beenattacked by combteasing pillow gnomes. It was frazzled and puffedout, "under siege," as Jim so kindly used to put it. Mascara wassmeared down her cheek.

The tip of her nose was red, and her green eyes were swollen fromthe springtime pollen. But a shower would help with those things,wouldn't it?

Well, maybe not with the allergies. She opened the medicine cabinetand took a Claritin before glancing up again, as if hoping for asudden improvement. Ugh.

Maybe, she thought, she wouldn't have to work so hard atdiscouraging Bob's interest after all. She'd been cutting Bob'shair, or rather what was left of it, for a year now. Two months ago,Bob had finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. He wasn'texactly the best-looking guy in the world-balding, with a roundface, eyes set too close together, and the beginnings of apaunch-but he was single and successful, and Julie hadn't been on adate since Jim had died. She figured it would be a good way to gether feet wet in the world of dating again. Wrong. There was a reasonBob was single. Bob wasn't only a triple bogey in the looksdepartment, he'd been so boring on their date that even people atnearby tables in the restaurant had glanced her way in pity. Hispreferred topic of conversation on their date had been accounting.He'd showed no interest in anything else: not her, not the menu, notthe weather, not sports, not the little black dress she was wearing.Only accounting. For three hours, she'd listened to Bob drone on andon about itemized deductions and capital gains distributions,depreciation and 401(k) rollovers. By the end of the dinner, whenhe'd leaned over the table and confided that he "knew importantpeople at the IRS," Julie's eyes were so glazed that they could haveflavored a dozen doughnuts.

It went without saying, of course, that Bob had had a wonderfultime. He'd been calling three times a week since then, asking "ifthey could get together for a second consultation, hee hee hee." Hewas persistent, that was for sure. Annoying as hell, but persistent.Then there was Ross, the second guy she dated. Ross the doctor. Rossthe good-looking guy. Ross the pervert. One date with him wasenough, thank you very much.

And can't forget good old Adam. He worked for the county, he said.He enjoyed his work, he said. Just a regular guy, he said. Adam, shefound out, worked in the sewers.

He didn't smell, he didn't have unknown substances growing under hisfingernails, his hair didn't carry a greasy shine, but she knew thatas long as she lived, she'd never get used to the idea that one day,he might show up at the front door looking that way. Had an accidentat the plant, dear. Sorry to come home like this. The very thoughtgave her the shivers. Nor could she imagine handling his clothes toput them in the laundry after something like that. The relationshipwas doomed from the start.

Just when she was beginning to wonder whether normal people like Jimeven existed anymore, just when she was beginning to wonder what itwas about her that seemed to attract oddballs like a neon signflashing "I'm Available-Normalcy Not Required," Richard had comestrolling into the picture.

And miracle of miracles, even after a first date last Saturday, hestill seemed ... normal. A consultant with J. D. BlanchardEngineering out of Cleveland-the firm repairing the bridge over theIntracoastal Waterway-he had made her acquaintance when he came intothe salon for a haircut. On their date, he'd opened doors for her,smiled at the right moments in the conversation, given the waiterher order for dinner, and not so much as tried to kiss her when he'ddropped her off. Best of all, he was good-looking in an artisticsort of way, with sculpted cheekbones, emerald eyes, black hair, anda mustache.

After he'd dropped her off, she'd felt like screaming, Hallelujah! Ihave seen the light!

Singer hadn't seemed quite as impressed. After she'd said good nightto Richard, Singer had put on one of his "I'm the boss around here"acts. He'd growled until Julie had opened the front door. "Oh, stopit," she'd said. "Don't be so hard on him." Singer did as he wastold, but he'd retreated to the bedroom, where he'd pouted the restof the night.

If my dog was any more bizarre, she thought, we could team up andwork for a carnival, right next to the guy who eats light bulbs. Butthen, my life hasn't exactly been normal, either.

Julie turned on the faucet and stepped into the shower, trying tostem the tide of memories. What was the use of replaying hard times?Her mother, she often mused, had been fatally attracted to twothings: booze and toxic men. Either one without the other would havebeen bad, but the combination had been intolerable for Julie. Hermom went through boyfriends the way kids go through paper towels,and some of them made Julie feel less than comfortable once she hitadolescence. The last one had actually tried to have his way withher, and when Julie had told her mother, her mother, in a drunken,teary rage, had blamed her for coming on to him. It wasn't longbefore Julie found herself without a home.

Living on the street had been terrifying even for the six months orso before Jim came along. Most everyone she met used drugs andpanhandled or stole ... or worse. Scared of becoming like thehaunted runaways she saw every night at the shelters and in thedoorways, she searched frantically for odd jobs that would keep herfed and out of sight. She worked every menial job she saw offeredand kept her head down. When she first met Jim at a diner inDaytona, she was nursing a cup of coffee with the last of her pocketchange. Jim bought her breakfast and on the way out the door saidhe'd do the same thing the following day if she returned. Hungry,she did, and when she challenged him about his motives (she assumedshe knew his reasons and could remember gearing up for quite theembarrassing public tirade about cradle robbers and jail time), Jimdenied any improper interest in her. And at the end of the week,when he was getting ready to head for home, he made her a proposal:If she moved to Swansboro, North Carolina, he would help her get afull-time job and a place to stay.

She remembered staring at him as though he had bugs crawling out ofhis ears.