The Not | Page 2

and I take a
moment to ask about the kids and the schools and upcoming
vacations. We talk above the crying for a minute or so. They do not
seem to notice: they have become numb to it, but then again, so have
I.
Afterwards I sit in the chair that has come to be shaped like me.
They are finishing up now; her clothes are on, but she is crying. It will
become quieter after they leave. I know. The excitement of the

morning always upsets her, and today is no exception. Finally the
nurses walk out. Both of them touch me and smile as they walk by.
I sit for just a second and stare at her, but she doesn’t return the
look. I understand, for she doesn’t know who I am. I’m a stranger to
her. Then, turning away, I how my head and pray silently for the
strength I know I will need.
Ready now. On go the glasses, out of my pocket comes a magnifier.
I put it on the table for a moment while I open the notebook. It takes
two licks on my gnarled finger to get the well-worn cover open to the
first page. Then I put the magnifier in place.
There is always a moment right before I begin to read the story when
my mind churns, and I wonder, will it happen today? I don’t know,
for I never know beforehand and deep down it really doesn’t matter.
It’s the possibility that keeps me going. And though you may call me
a dreamer or a fool. I believe that anything is possible.
I realize that the odds, and science, are against me. But science is not
the total answer. This I know, this I have learned in my lifetime. And
that leaves me with the belief that miracles, no matter how
inexplicable or unbelievable, are real and can occur without regard to
the natural order of things. So once again, just as I do every day, I
begin to read the notebook aloud, so that she can hear it, in the hope
that the miracle that has come to dominate my life will once again
prevail.
And maybe, just maybe, it will.
CHAPTER TWO GHOSTS
It was early October 1946, and Noah Calhoun watched the fading
sun sink lower from the porch of his plantation-style home. He liked
to sit here in the evenings, especially after working hard all day, and
let his thoughts wander. It was how he relaxed, a routine he’d learned
from his father.

He especially liked to look at the trees and their reflections in the
river. North Carolina trees are beautiful in deep autumn: greens,
yellows, reds, oranges, every shade in between, their dazzling colours
glowing with the sun.
The house was built in 1772, making it one of the oldest, as well as
largest, homes in New Bern. Originally it was the main house on a
working plantation, and he had bought it right after the war ended and
had spent the last eleven months and a small fortune repairing it. The
reporter from the Raleigh paper had done an article on it a few weeks
ago and said it was one of the finest restorations he’d ever seen. At
least the house was. The rest of the property was another story, and
that was where Noah had spent