A Walk to Remember

to walk normally, the pain she was feelingintensified, and sometimes even raisingher arm made her grimace. Leukemia is adisease of the blood, one that runs itscourse throughout a person’s body. Therewas literally no escape from it as long asher heart kept beating. But the disease weakened the rest of herbody as well, preying on her muscles,making even simple things more difficult.In the first week of February she lost sixpounds, and soon walking becamedifficult for her, unless it was only for ashort distance. That was, of course, if shecould put up with the pain, which in timeshe couldn’t. She went back to the pillsagain, accepting the dizziness in place ofpain. Still we read the Bible.

Whenever I visited Jamie, I would findher on the couch with the Bible alreadyopened, and I knew that eventually herfather would have to carry her there if wewanted to continue. Though she never saidanything to me about it, we both knewexactly what it meant. I was running out of time, and my heartwas still telling me that there wassomething more I could do. On February 14, Valentine’s Day,Jamie picked out a passage fromCorinthians that meant a lot to her. Shetold me that if she’d ever had the chance,it was the passage she’d wanted read ather wedding. This is what it said:

Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes. Jamie was the truest essence of thatvery description. Three days later, when the temperatureslightly warmed, I showed her somethingwonderful, something I doubted she’dever seen before, something I knew she

would want to see. Eastern North Carolina is a beautifuland special part of the country, blessedwith temperate weather and, for the mostpart, wonderful geography. Nowhere isthis more evident than Bogue Banks, anisland right off the coast, near the placewe grew up. Twenty-four miles long andnearly a mile wide, this island is a flukeof nature, running from east to west,hugging the coastline a half mile off-shore.Those who live there can witnessspectacular sunrises and sunsets every dayof the year, both taking place over theexpanse of the mighty Atlantic Ocean. Jamie was bundled up heavily, standingbeside me on the edge of the Iron SteamerPier as this perfect southern eveningdescended. I pointed off into the distance

and told her to wait. I could see ourbreaths, two of hers to every one of mine.I had to support Jamie as we stood there—she seemed lighter than the leaves of atree that had fallen in autumn—but I knewthat it would be worth it. In time the glowing, cratered moonbegan its seeming rise from the sea,casting a prism of light across the slowlydarkening water, splitting itself into athousand different parts, each morebeautiful than the last. At exactly the samemoment, the sun was meeting the horizonin the opposite direction, turning the skyred and orange and yellow, as if heavenabove had suddenly opened its gates andlet all its beauty escape its holy confines.The ocean turned golden silver as theshifting colors reflected off it, waters

rippling and sparkling with the changinglight, the vision glorious, almost like thebeginning of time. The sun continued tolower itself, casting its glow as far as theeye could see, before finally, slowly,vanishing beneath the waves. The mooncontinued its slow drift upward,shimmering as it turned a thousanddifferent shades of yellow, each paler thanthe last, before finally becoming the colorof the stars. Jamie watched all this in silence, myarm tight around her, her breathingshallow and weak. As the sky was finallyturning to black and the first twinklinglights began to appear in the distantsouthern sky, I took her in my arms. Igently kissed both her cheeks and then,finally, her lips.

“That,” I said, “is exactly how I feelabout you.” A week later Jamie’s trips to thehospital became more regular, althoughshe insisted that she didn’t want to staythere overnight. “I want to die at home,”was all she said. Since the doctorscouldn’t do anything for her, they had nochoice but to accept her wishes. At least for the time being. “I’ve been thinking about the past fewmonths,” I said to her. We were sitting in the living room,holding hands as we read the Bible. Herface was growing thinner, her hair

beginning to lose its luster. Yet her eyes,those soft blue eyes, were as lovely asever. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone asbeautiful. “I’ve been thinking about them, too,”she said. “You knew, from the first day in MissGarber’s class that I was going to do theplay, didn’t you. When you looked at meand smiled?” She nodded. “Yes.” “And when I asked you to thehomecoming dance, you made me promisethat I wouldn’t fall in love, but you knewthat I was going to, didn’t you?” She had a mischievous gleam in hereye. “Yes.” “How did you know?”

She shrugged without answering, andwe sat together for a few moments,watching the rain as it blew against thewindows. “When I told you that I prayed for you,”she finally said to me, “what did you thinkI was talking about?” The progression of her diseasecontinued, speeding up as Marchapproached. She was taking moremedicine for pain, and she felt too sick toher stomach to keep down much food. Shewas growing weak, and it looked likeshe’d have to go to the hospital to stay,despite her wishes. It was my mother and father whochanged all that.

My father had driven home fromWashington, hurriedly leaving althoughCongress was still in session. Apparentlymy mother had called him and told himthat if he didn’t come home immediately,he might as well stay in Washingtonforever. When my mother told him what washappening, my father said that Hegbertwould never accept his help, that thewounds were too deep, that it was too lateto do anything. “This isn’t about your family, or evenabout Reverend Sullivan, or anything thathappened in the past,” she said to him,refusing to accept his answer. “This isabout our son, who happens to be in lovewith a little girl who needs our help. Andyou’re going to find a way to help her.”

I don’t know what my father said toHegbert or what promises he had to makeor how much the whole thing eventuallycost. All I know is that Jamie was soonsurrounded by expensive equipment, wassupplied with all the medicine she needed,and was watched by two full-time nurseswhile a doctor peeked in on her severaltimes a day. Jamie would be able to stay at home. That night I cried on my father’sshoulder for the first time in my life. “Do you have any regrets?” I asked her.She was in her bed under the covers, atube in her arm feeding her the medicationshe needed. Her face was pale, her bodyfeather light. She could barely walk, and

when she did, she now had to besupported by someone else. “We all have regrets, Landon,” shesaid, “but I’ve led a wonderful life.” “How can you say that?” I cried out,unable to hide my anguish. “With all that’shappening to you?” She squeezed my hand, her grip weak,smiling tenderly at me. “This,” she admitted as she lookedaround her room, “could be better.” Despite my tears I laughed, thenimmediately felt guilty for doing so. I wassupposed to be supporting her, not theother way around. Jamie went on. “But other than that, I’ve been happy,Landon. I really have. I’ve had a specialfather who taught me about God. I canlook back and know that I couldn’t have

tried to help other people any more than Idid.” She paused and met my eyes. “I’veeven fallen in love and had someone loveme back.” I kissed her hand when she said it, thenheld it against my cheek. “It’s not fair,” I said. She didn’t answer. “Are you still afraid?” I asked. “Yes.” “I’m afraid, too,” I said. “I know. And I’m sorry.” “What can I do?” I asked desperately.“I don’t know what I’m supposed to doany-more.” “Will you read to me?” I nodded, though I didn’t know whetherI’d be able to make it through the nextpage without breaking down.

Please, Lord, tell me what to do! “Mom?” I said later that night. “Yes?” We were sitting on the sofa in the den,the fire blazing before us. Earlier in theday Jamie had fallen asleep while I readto her, and knowing she needed her rest, Islipped out of her room. But before I did, Ikissed her gently on the cheek. It washarmless, but Hegbert had walked in asI’d done so, and I had seen the conflictingemotions in his eyes. He looked at me,knowing that I loved his daughter but alsoknowing that I’d broken one of the rules ofhis house, even an unspoken one. Had shebeen well, I know he would never haveallowed me back inside. As it was, I

showed myself to the door. I couldn’t blame him, not really. I foundthat spending time with Jamie sapped meof the energy to feel hurt by his demeanor.If Jamie had taught me anything over theselast few months, she’d shown me thatactions—not thoughts or intentions—werethe way to judge others, and I knew thatHegbert would allow me in the followingday. I was thinking about all this as I satnext to my mother on the sofa. “Do you think we have a purpose inlife?” I asked. It was the first time I’d asked her such aquestion, but these were unusual times. “I’m not sure I understand what you’reasking,” she said, frowning. “I mean—how do you know whatyou’re supposed to do?”

“Are you asking me about spendingtime with Jamie?” I nodded, though I was still confused.“Sort of. I know I’m doing the right thing,but . . . something’s missing. I spend timewith her and we talk and read the Bible,but . . .” I paused, and my mother finished mythought for me. “You think you should be doing more?” I nodded. “I don’t know that there’s anything moreyou can do, sweetheart,” she said gently. “Then why do I feel the way I do?” She moved a little closer on the sofa,and we watched the flames together. “I think it’s because you’re frightenedand you feel helpless, and even thoughyou’re trying, things continue to get harder

and harder— for the both of you. And themore you try, the more hopeless thingsseem.” “Is there any way to stop feeling thisway?” She put her arm around me and pulledme closer. “No,” she said softly, “thereisn’t.” The next day Jamie couldn’t get out ofbed. Because she was too weak now towalk even with support, we read the Biblein her room. She fell asleep within minutes. Another week went by and Jamie grewsteadily worse, her body weakening.Bedridden, she looked smaller, almostlike a little girl again.

“Jamie,” I pleaded, “what can I do foryou?” Jamie, my sweet Jamie, was sleepingfor hours at a time now, even as I talked toher. She didn’t move at the sound of myvoice; her breaths were rapid and weak. I sat beside the bed and watched her fora long time, thinking how much I lovedher. I held her hand close to my heart,feeling the boniness of her fingers. Part ofme wanted to cry right then, but instead Ilaid her hand back down and turned toface the window. Why, I wondered, had my worldsuddenly unraveled as it had? Why had allthis happened to someone like her? Iwondered if there was a greater lesson inwhat was happening. Was it all, as Jamiewould say, simply part of the Lord’s plan?

Did the Lord want me to fall in love withher? Or was that something of my ownvolition? The longer Jamie slept, the moreI felt her presence beside me, yet theanswers to these questions were noclearer than they had been before. Outside, the last of the morning rain hadpassed. It had been a gloomy day, but nowthe late afternoon sunlight was breakingthrough the clouds. In the cool spring air Isaw the first signs of nature coming backto life. The trees outside were budding,the leaves waiting for just the rightmoment to uncoil and open themselves toyet another summer season. On the nightstand by her bed I saw thecollection of items that Jamie held closeto her heart. There were photographs ofher father, holding Jamie as a young child

and standing outside of school on her firstday of kindergarten; there was a collectionof cards that children of the orphanage hadsent. Sighing, I reached for them andopened the card on top of the stack. Written in crayon, it said simply: Please get better soon. I miss you. It was signed by Lydia, the girl who’dfallen asleep in Jamie’s lap on ChristmasEve. The second card expressed the samesentiments, but what really caught my eyewas the picture that the child, Roger, haddrawn. He’d drawn a bird, soaring abovea rainbow. Choking up, I closed the card. I couldn’t

bear to look any further, and as I put thestack back where it had been before, Inoticed a newspaper clipping, next to herwater glass. I reached for the article andsaw that it was about the play, publishedin the Sunday paper the day after we’dfinished. In the photograph above the text,I saw the only picture that had ever beentaken of the two of us. It seemed so long ago. I brought thearticle nearer to my face. As I stared, Iremembered the way I felt when I hadseen her that night. Peering closely at herimage, I searched for any sign that shesuspected what would come to pass. Iknew she did, but her expression that nightbetrayed none of it. Instead, I saw only aradiant happiness. In time I sighed and setaside the clipping.

The Bible still lay open where I’d leftoff, and although Jamie was sleeping, Ifelt the need to read some more.Eventually I came across another passage.This is what it said: I am not commanding you, but I want to test the sincerity of your love by comparing it to the earnestness of others. The words made me choke up again,and just as I was about to cry, the meaningof it suddenly became clear. God had finally answered me, and Isuddenly knew what I had to do.

I couldn’t have made it to the churchany faster, even if I’d had a car. I tookevery shortcut I could, racing throughpeople’s backyards, jumping fences, andin one case cutting through someone’sgarage and out the side door. EverythingI’d learned about the town growing upcame into play, and although I was never aparticularly good athlete, on this day I wasunstoppable, propelled by what I had todo. I didn’t care how I looked when Iarrived because I suspected Hegbertwouldn’t care, either. When I finallyentered the church, I slowed to a walk,trying to catch my breath as I made myway to the back, toward his office. Hegbert looked up when he saw me,and I knew why he was here. He didn’t

invite me in, he simply looked away, backtoward the window again. At home he’dbeen dealing with her illness by cleaningthe house almost obsessively. Here,though, papers were scattered across thedesk, and books were strewn about theroom as if no one had straightened up forweeks. I knew that this was the place hethought about Jamie; this was the placewhere Hegbert came to cry. “Reverend?” I said softly. He didn’t answer, but I went in anyway. “I’d like to be alone,” he croaked. He looked old and beaten, as weary asthe Israelites described in David’sPsalms. His face was drawn, and his hairhad grown thinner since December. Evenmore than I, perhaps, he had to keep up hisspirits around Jamie, and the stress of

doing so was wearing him down. I marched right up to his desk, and heglanced at me before turning back to thewindow. “Please,” he said to me. His tone wasdefeated, as though he didn’t have thestrength to confront even me. “I’d like to talk to you,” I said firmly. “Iwouldn’t ask unless it was veryimportant.” Hegbert sighed, and I sat in the chair Ihad sat in before, when I’d asked him if hewould let me take Jamie out for NewYear’s Eve. He listened as I told him what was onmy mind. When I was finished, Hegbert turned tome. I don’t know what he was thinking,but thankfully, he didn’t say no. Instead he

wiped his eyes with his fingers and turnedtoward the window. Even he, I think, was too shocked tospeak. Again I ran, again I didn’t tire, mypurpose giving me the strength I needed togo on. When I reached Jamie’s house, Irushed in the door without knocking, andthe nurse who’d been in her bedroomcame out to see what had caused theracket. Before she could speak, I did. “Is she awake?” I asked, euphoric andterrified at the same time. “Yes,” the nursesaid cautiously. “When she woke up, shewondered where you were.” I apologized for my disheveledappearance and thanked her, then asked if

she wouldn’t mind leaving us alone. Iwalked into Jamie’s room, partiallyclosing the door behind me. She was pale,so very pale, but her smile let me knowshe was still fighting. “Hello, Landon,” she said, her voicefaint, “thank you for coming back.” I pulled up a chair and sat next to her,taking her hand in mine. Seeing her lyingthere made something tighten deep in mystomach, making me almost want to cry. “I was here earlier, but you wereasleep,” I said. “I know . . . I’m sorry. I just can’t seemto help it anymore.” “It’s okay, really.” She lifted her hand slightly off the bed,and I kissed it, then leaned forward andkissed her cheek as well.

“Do you love me?” I asked her. She smiled. “Yes.” “Do you want me to be happy?” As Iasked her this, I felt my heart beginning torace. “Of course I do.” “Will you do something for me, then?”She looked away, sadness crossing herfeatures. “I don’t know if I can anymore,”she said. “But if you could, would you?” I cannot adequately describe theintensity of what I was feeling at thatmoment. Love, anger, sadness, hope, andfear, whirling together, sharpened by thenervousness I was feeling. Jamie lookedat me curiously, and my breaths becameshallower. Suddenly I knew that I’d neverfelt as strongly for another person as I did

at that moment. As I returned hergaze, thissimple realization made me wish for themillionth time that I could make all this goaway. Had it been possible, I would havetraded my life for hers. I wanted to tell hermy thoughts, but the sound of her voicesuddenly silenced the emotions inside me. “Yes,” she finally said, her voice weakyet somehow still full of promise. “Iwould.” Finally getting control of myself, Ikissed her again, then brought my hand toher face, gently running my fingers overher cheek. I marveled at the softness of herskin, the gentleness I saw in her eyes.Even now she was perfect. My throat began to tighten again, but asI said, I knew what I had to do. Since Ihad to accept that it was not within my

power to cure her, what I wanted to dowas give her something that she’d alwayswanted. It was what my heart had been tellingme to do all along. Jamie, I understood then, had alreadygiven me the answer I’d been searchingfor, the one my heart had needed to find.She’d told me the answer as we’d satoutside Mr. Jenkins’s office, the nightwe’d asked him about doing the play. I smiled softly, and she returned myaffection with a slight squeeze of my hand,as if trusting me in what I was about to do.Encouraged, I leaned closer and took adeep breath. When I exhaled, these werethe words that flowed with my breath. “Will you marry me?”

Chapter 13When I was seventeen, my life changedforever. As I walk the streets of Beaufort fortyyears later, thinking back on that year ofmy life, I remember everything as clearlyas if it were all still unfolding before myvery eyes. I remember Jamie saying yes to mybreathless question and how we bothbegan to cry together. I remember talkingto both Hegbert and my parents,explaining to them what I needed to do.

They thought I was doing it only for Jamie,and all three of them tried to talk me out ofit, especially when they realized thatJamie had said yes. What they didn’tunderstand, and I had to make clear tothem, was that I needed to do it for me. I was in love with her, so deeply inlove that I didn’t care if she was sick. Ididn’t care that we wouldn’t have longtogether. None of those things mattered tome. All I cared about was doingsomething that my heart had told me wasthe right thing to do. In my mind it was thefirst time God had ever spoken directly tome, and I knew with certainty that I wasn’tgoing to disobey. I know that some of you may wonder ifI was doing it out of pity. Some of themore cynical may even wonder if I did it

because she’d be gone soon anyway and Iwasn’t committing much. The answer toboth questions is no. I would have marriedJamie Sullivan no matter what happenedin the future. I would have married JamieSullivan if the miracle I was praying forhad suddenly come true. I knew it at themoment I asked her, and I still know ittoday. Jamie was more than just the woman Iloved. In that year Jamie helped mebecome the man I am today. With hersteady hand she showed me how importantit was to help others; with her patienceand kindness she showed me what life isreally all about. Her cheerfulness andoptimism, even in times of sickness, wasthe most amazing thing I have everwitnessed.

We were married by Hegbert in theBaptist church, my father standing besideme as the best man. That was another thingshe did. In the South it’s a tradition tohave your father beside you, but for meit’s a tradition that wouldn’t have hadmuch meaning before Jamie came into mylife. Jamie had brought my father and metogether again; somehow she’d alsomanaged to heal some of the woundsbetween our two families. After what he’ddone for me and for Jamie, I knew in theend that my father was someone I couldalways count on, and as the years passedour relationship grew steadily strongeruntil his death. Jamie also taught me the value offorgiveness and the transforming powerthat it offers. I realized this the day that

Eric and Margaret had come to her house.Jamie held no grudges. Jamie led her lifethe way the Bible taught. Jamie was not only the angel who savedTom Thornton, she was the angel whosaved us all. Just as she’d wanted, the church wasbursting with people. Over two hundredguests were inside, and more than thatwaited outside the doors as we weremarried on March 12, 1959. Because wewere married on such short notice, therewasn’t time to make many arrangements,and people came out of the woodwork tomake the day as special as they could,simply by showing up to support us. I saweveryone I knew—Miss Garber, Eric,

Margaret, Eddie, Sally, Carey, Angela,and even Lew and his grandmother—andthere wasn’t a dry eye in the house whenthe entrance music began. Although Jamiewas weak and hadn’t moved from her bedin two weeks, she insisted on walkingdown the aisle so that her father couldgive her away. “It’s very important to me,Landon,” she’d said. “It’s part of mydream, remember?” Though I assumed itwould be impossible, I simply nodded. Icouldn’t help but wonder at her faith. I knew she planned on wearing thedress she’d worn in the Playhouse thenight of the play. It was the only whitedress that was available on such shortnotice, though I knew it would hang moreloosely than it had before. While I waswondering how Jamie would look in the

dress, my father laid his hand on myshoulder as we stood before thecongregation. “I’m proud of you, son.” I nodded. “I’m proud of you, too, Dad.” It was the first time I’d ever said thosewords to him. My mom was in the front row, dabbingher eyes with her handkerchief when the“Wedding March” began. The doorsopened and I saw Jamie, seated in herwheelchair, a nurse by her side. With allthe strength she had left, Jamie stoodshakily as her father supported her. ThenJamie and Hegbert slowly made their waydown the aisle, while everyone in thechurch sat silently in wonder. Halfwaydown the aisle, Jamie suddenly seemed totire, and they stopped while she caught her

breath. Her eyes closed, and for a momentI didn’t think she could go on. I know thatno more than ten or twelve secondselapsed, but it seemed much longer, andfinally she nodded slightly. With that,Jamie and Hegbert started moving again,and I felt my heart surge with pride. It was, I remembered thinking, the mostdifficult walk anyone ever had to make. In every way, a walk to remember. The nurse had rolled the wheelchair upfront as Jamie and her father made theirway toward me. When she finally reachedmy side, there were gasps of joy andeveryone spontaneously began to clap.The nurse rolled the wheelchair intoposition, and Jamie sat down again, spent.With a smile I lowered myself to my kneesso that I would be level with her. My

father then did the same. Hegbert, after kissing Jamie on thecheek, retrieved his Bible in order tobegin the ceremony. All business now, heseemed to have abandoned his role asJamie’s father to something more distant,where he could keep his emotions incheck. Yet I could see him struggling as hestood before us. He perched his glasses onhis nose and opened the Bible, thenlooked at Jamie and me. Hegbert toweredover us, and I could tell that he hadn’tanticipated our being so much lower. Fora moment he stood before us, almostconfused, then surprisingly decided tokneel as well. Jamie smiled and reachedfor his free hand, then reached for mine,linking us together. Hegbert began the ceremony in the

traditional way, then read the passage inthe Bible that Jamie had once pointed outto me. Knowing how weak she was, Ithought he would have us recite the vowsright away, but once more Hegbertsurprised me. He looked at Jamie and me,then out to the congregation, then back tous again, as if searching for the rightwords. He cleared his throat, and his voicerose so that everyone could hear it. This iswhat he said: “As a father, I’m supposed to giveaway my daughter, but I’m not sure thatI’m able to do this.” The congregation went silent, andHegbert nodded at me, willing me to bepatient. Jamie squeezed my hand insupport.

“I can no more give Jamie away than Ican give away my heart. But what I can dois to let another share in the joy that shehas always given me. May God’sblessings be with you both.” It was then that he set aside the Bible.He reached out, offering his hand to mine,and I took it, completing the circle. With that he led us through our vows.My father handed me the ring my motherhad helped me pick out, and Jamie gaveme one as well. We slipped them on ourfingers. Hegbert watched us as we did so,and when we were finally ready, hepronounced us husband and wife. I kissedJamie softly as my mother began to cry,then held Jamie’s hand in mine. In front ofGod and everyone else, I’d promised mylove and devotion, in sickness and in

health, and I’d never felt so good aboutanything. It was, I remember, the most wonderfulmoment of my life. It is now forty years later, and I can stillremember everything from that day. I maybe older and wiser, I may have livedanother life since then, but I know thatwhen my time eventually comes, thememories of that day will be the finalimages that float through my mind. I stilllove her, you see, and I’ve never removedmy ring. In all these years I’ve never feltthe desire to do so. I breathe deeply, taking in the freshspring air. Though Beaufort has changedand I have changed, the air itself has not.

It’s still the air of my childhood, the air ofmy seventeenth year, and when I finallyexhale, I’m fifty-seven once more. But thisis okay. I smile slightly, looking towardthe sky, knowing there’s one thing I stillhaven’t told you: I now believe, by theway, that miracles can happen.