Every Breath

by Nicholas Sparks

  “He’d barely spoken to her? He sounds obsessive.”

  “You had to read the way he wrote it,” she said. “It was very romantic. Sometimes a person just knows.”

  He watched as she lifted a postcard from the top of the stack, one displaying the USS North Carolina, a World War II battleship. When she was finished reading it, she handed it to him without comment.

  Tru scanned it before turning toward her. “It’s a shopping list for someone planning a barbecue.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not sure why I’d be interested in this.”

  “You don’t have to be,” she said. “That’s why this is exciting. Because we’re hoping to find that diamond in the rough, and who knows,” she said, lifting a letter from the stack, “maybe this is it.”

  Tru set the postcard aside, and when she was finished with the letter, she handed it to him. It was from a young girl, a poem about her parents, and it reminded him of something Andrew might have written when he was younger. As he read, he felt Hope’s leg move against his, and by the time he finished, Hope was handing him a sheaf of pages torn from a notebook. He wondered if she realized that they were touching, or if she was simply lost in the words of anonymous writers and didn’t even notice. Now and then, he saw her glance up to make sure that Scottie was still nearby; because there were no birds, he’d plopped himself down a bit closer to the water’s edge.

  There was another postcard, and a handful of photographs with comments on the back. That was followed by a letter from a father to his children, with whom he seldom spoke. In the letter, there was more bitterness and blame than sadness about the broken relationship. Tru wondered whether the man took any responsibility for what had happened.

  As he set it aside, Hope was still reading the next letter in the stack. In the silence, he spotted a pelican skimming low over the water, just past the breakers. Beyond them, the sea continued to darken, becoming almost black near the horizon. Broken seashells littered the smooth, hard sand, left behind by the receding tide. Hope’s hair was lifting slightly in the breeze; in the graying light, she seemed to be the only element of color.

  She had yet to hand him another letter, and only then did he realize that she was reading the one in her hand a second time. He heard her sniff.

  “Wow,” she finally said.

  “Did he write about stars colliding and sending shimmers of light through his soul?”

  “No. And on second thought, you’re probably right. That other guy was definitely obsessive.”

  He laughed as she handed over the letter. She didn’t reach for another one, instead keeping her gaze on him.

  “You’re not going to watch me read it, are you?” he asked.

  “I have a better idea,” she said. “Why don’t you read it aloud?”

  The suggestion caught him off guard, but he took the letter, feeling her hand brush against his. He thought how relaxed they already seemed to be with each other, and how easy it would be to fall for someone like her. And that maybe, just maybe, he was already falling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  In the silence, he felt her move closer. He could smell her hair, the scent clean and sweet, as fresh as flowers, and he fought the urge to put his arm around her. Instead, he took a deep breath and, lowering his gaze, began to read the shaky scrawl.

  Dear Lena,

  The sands in the hourglass have fallen without mercy throughout my life, but I try to remind myself of the blessed years that we shared—especially now, when I am drowning in riptides of sorrow and loss.

  I wonder who I am without you. Even when I was old and tired, it was you who helped me face the day. I sometimes felt as though you could read my mind. You seemed to always know what I wanted and needed. Even though we had our struggles at times, I can think back on the more than half a century we spent together and know that I was the lucky one. You inspired and fascinated me, and I walked just a bit taller because you were by my side. Every time I held you, I felt as though I needed nothing else. I would trade anything to hold you just one more time.

  I want to smell your hair, and sit at the dinner table with you. I want to watch as you cook the fried chicken that always made my mouth water, the meal the doctor warned me against eating. I want to see you slip your arms into the blue sweater I bought you for your birthday, the one you usually wore in the evenings, when you settled beside me in the den. I want to sit with our children and grandchildren, and Emma, our one and only great-grandchild. How can I be this old? I think when I hug her, but when I listen for you to tease me about it, I never hear your voice. And it always breaks my heart.

  I’m not good at this. Spending my days alone. I miss your knowing smile, and I miss the sound of your voice. Sometimes I imagine that I can still hear you calling to me from the garden, but when I go to the window, there are nothing but cardinals, the ones you made me hang the bird feeder for.

  I keep it filled for you. I know you’d want me to do that. You always enjoyed watching those birds. I never understood why, until the man at the pet store mentioned that cardinals mate for life.

  I don’t know if that’s true, but I want to believe it. And as I watch them, just as you used to, I think to myself that you have always been my cardinal, and I have always been yours. I miss you so much.

  Happy Anniversary.

  Joe

  When he finished, Tru continued to stare at the page, more affected by the words than he wanted to admit. He knew that Hope was watching him, and when he turned toward her, he was struck by the open, unguarded nature of her beauty.

  “That letter,” she said quietly, “is the reason I like to come to Kindred Spirit.”

  Folding the page, he put it back in the envelope and set it atop the small stack beside him. Even as he watched her reach toward the unread pile, he had the feeling that the remaining messages would be anticlimactic, and they were. Most were heartfelt and earnest, but there was nothing that struck a chord in the same way Joe’s letter had. Even as they rose from the bench and refilled the mailbox, he wondered about the man: where he lived, what he was doing, and considering his obvious age, how he’d been able to make his way to this isolated stretch of beach on a mostly inaccessible island.

  They started back toward the house, sometimes making idle conversation but mainly content to remain silent as they walked. Their ease made Tru think about Joe and Lena again, a relationship rooted in comfort and trust and a lasting desire to be together. He wondered whether Hope was thinking the same thing.

  Up ahead, Scottie was zigzagging from the dunes to the water’s edge and back again. The clouds continued to darken, shape-shifting in the wind, and a few minutes later, it started to sprinkle. The tide had come in and they had to step onto the dune to keep the waves from washing over them, but Tru quickly realized that it was pointless to attempt to stay dry. There were two flashes of lightning followed by two booms of thunder, and the world suddenly dimmed. The sprinkle turned to rain and then became a downpour.

  Hope squealed and started to run, but with the pier still in the distance, she eventually slowed to a walk again. Turning around, she held up her hands.

  “I guess I was wrong about how much time we had, huh?” she called out. “Sorry!”

  “Not a worry,” he answered, walking toward her. “It’s wet, but not terribly cold.”

  “Not just wet,” she said. “Soaking wet. And it’s been an adventure, right?”

  In the downpour, he saw a smudge of mascara on her cheek, a hint of imperfection on a woman who otherwise struck him as nearly perfect in every way. He wondered why she’d come into his life, and how he could have come to care for her as deeply as he already did. All his thoughts revolved around her. He didn’t reflect on his life in Zimbabwe or the reason he’d come to North Carolina; instead, he marveled at her beauty and replayed the time they’d spent together, a reel of vivid images. It was a tidal wave of sensation and emotion, and he suddenly felt that every step he’d taken in
his life had been on a path leading to her, as if she were his ultimate destination.

  Hope seemed frozen in place. He guessed she knew what he was feeling, and he wondered whether she felt the same. He couldn’t tell, but she didn’t move even when he reached out, finally placing a hand on her hip.

  For a long time, they stood that way, the energy passing back and forth between them through that single, simple touch. He stared at her and she stared back, the moment seeming to last forever before he finally inched forward. He tilted his head, his face slowly drawing toward hers, before feeling Hope place a gentle hand on his chest.

  “Tru…” she whispered.

  Her voice was enough to stop him from going further. He knew he should step back, make space between them, but he felt powerless to move.

  Nor did she step back. Instead, they faced each other in the downpour, and Tru felt the old instincts rising up, instincts he couldn’t control. With sudden clarity he understood that he’d fallen in love—and perhaps even that he’d been waiting for someone just like her all his life.

  * * *

  Hope stared at Tru, her mind racing, trying to ignore the gentle strength she felt in his hand. Trying to ignore the desire and longing she sensed in his touch. Part of her knew she wanted him to kiss her, even as another part, the stronger part, warned her against it, causing her to put a hand between them.

  She wasn’t ready for this…

  Finally, reluctantly, she averted her gaze, sensing both his disappointment and his acceptance. When at long last, he stepped back, she finally felt like she could breathe again, even though his hand remained on her hip.

  “We should probably be getting back,” she murmured.

  He nodded and as he slid his hand from her hip, she reached for it, intending to give it a squeeze. He happened to rotate his hand at the same time, and their fingers interlocked as if choreographed. The next thing she knew, they were holding hands as they walked side by side.

  The sensation was heady, even though she knew holding hands meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. She vaguely remembered doing the same thing with Tony, the boy she’d kissed at the cottage, when they’d gone to the movies the following day. Back then, that simple gesture had probably impressed her as a sign of maturity, as if she were finally growing up, but here and now, it struck her as one of the most intimate things that had ever happened to her. His touch carried with it the possibility of even greater intimacy later, and she focused on keeping Scottie in sight to avoid thinking too deeply about it.

  Eventually they passed Clancy’s and then the pier; not too long after that, they’d reached the steps of the cottage. It was only when she stopped that Tru let go of her hand. As she stared at him, she knew she wasn’t yet ready to end their time together.

  “Would you like to have dinner tonight? At the cottage? I picked up some fresh fish the other day at the market.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Very much.”

  Moments of Truth

  As soon as she opened the door to her cottage, Scottie raced inside, paused, then shook himself vigorously, sending a fine spray of water over everything in the vicinity. Hope rushed to get a towel, but Scottie shook again before she could reach him. She grimaced. After she was dry, she would have to wipe down the furniture and walls. But first, a bath.

  They had arranged to meet in an hour and a half, so there was plenty of time. She started the water in the tub, peeled out of her wet clothing, and tossed it into the dryer. By the time she returned, the tub was half-full, and she added some bubbles. Realizing something was missing, she wrapped a towel around herself, went to the kitchen, and poured a glass of wine from the bottle she’d opened the day before. On her way back to the bathroom, she grabbed candles and a book of matches from the cabinet.

  She lit the candles before slipping into the hot, soapy water, and took a long sip of wine. Leaning her head back, she thought the experience seemed different than it had the day before, more luxurious somehow. As she relaxed, she replayed that moment on the beach when Tru had almost kissed her. Even though she had ultimately stopped him, there’d been a dreamlike quality to all of it, and she wanted to relive it. It wasn’t just about feeling attractive again; there was something graceful and unforced about her connection with Tru, something almost peaceful. Until meeting him, she’d had no idea how much she’d been craving something exactly like that.

  What she didn’t know was whether that feeling was new or had been buried in her subconscious all along, lost among her worries and frustrations and the anger she felt at Josh. All she knew for sure was that the emotional turbulence of the last few months had left her with little energy to take care of herself. Periods of peace or simple relaxation were rare these days; sadly, she realized that she wasn’t even excited about seeing her friends this weekend. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her spark.

  Spending time with Tru had awakened her to the fact that she didn’t want to be the person she’d recently become. She wanted to be the person she remembered herself to be—someone who embraced life, an enthusiast for both the ordinary and extraordinary. Not in the future, but starting now.

  She shaved her legs and soaked a little while longer before the water finally began to cool. After toweling off, she reached for the lotion on the counter. She spread it over her legs and breasts and belly, relishing the silky feeling as her skin came to life.

  Pulling out the new sundress, she slipped it on, along with her new sandals. She thought about putting on a bra but decided it wasn’t necessary. Feeling scandalous but not wanting to think about what it might mean for later, she didn’t reach for a pair of panties, either.

  She dried and styled her hair, trying to remember exactly how Claire had done it. When she was satisfied, she started with her makeup. For eye shadow, she selected a dusting of aqua, hoping it would accent the color of her eyes. She dabbed on a bit of perfume and chose a pair of crystal drop earrings that Robin had given her for her birthday.

  Afterward, she stood in front of the mirror. She adjusted the straps of her sundress and primped her hair until she was satisfied. There were times when she was somewhat critical about her appearance, but tonight, she couldn’t help but be pleased with the way she looked.

  She carried what was left of her glass of wine back to the kitchen. Beyond the windows, the world continued to darken. Instead of starting the dinner preparations, she mopped up the remainder of Scottie’s mess in the entranceway and did a quick run-through of the family room, straightening up the pillows and putting the novel she’d been reading back on the shelf. She switched on some lamps in the living room, using the dimmer to get the ambiance right. She turned on the radio and adjusted the tuner until she found a station offering classic jazz. Perfect.

  In the kitchen, she opened another bottle of wine but put it in the refrigerator to cool. Then, pulling out some yellow squash, zucchini, and onions, she brought them to the counter and diced them before setting them aside. The salad came next—tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, and romaine lettuce, which she’d just finished tossing in a wooden bowl when she heard a knock at the front door.

  The sound kicked up butterflies in her stomach.

  “Come in!” she called out as she moved to the sink. “It’s open!”

  The sound of rain suddenly intensified as the door opened, then quickly receded again.

  “Give me just a minute, would you?”

  “Take your time,” his voice echoed in the hallway.

  She rinsed and dried her hands, then retrieved the wine. As she poured it into glasses, it occurred to her that she should probably set out snacks. There wasn’t much in the cabinets, but in the refrigerator she found some kalamata olives. Good enough. She dumped a handful into a small ceramic bowl and placed it on the dining room table. Then, after turning on the light above the stove, she turned off the overhead light and picked up the glasses. She took a deep breath before heading around the corner to the family room.

  He’d squatted
low to show some affection to Scottie, his back to her. He was dressed in a long-sleeved blue shirt and she noted the way his jeans stretched tight around his thighs and his butt. She stopped in midstride and all she could do was stare. It was just about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

  He must have heard her, because he finally stood and turned with an automatic smile before registering the sight of her. His eyes widened as he absorbed the way she looked, his mouth slightly ajar. He seemed immobilized, struggling and failing to find his voice.

  “You’re…indescribably beautiful,” he finally whispered. “Truly.”

  He was in love with her, she realized with sudden force. Despite herself, she basked in the sensation, somehow certain that the two of them had been moving toward this moment all along. More than that, she knew now that she’d wanted this to happen, because she understood that she was undeniably in love with him, too.

  * * *

  When Tru finally lowered his gaze, Hope moved to his side and handed him a glass of wine.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking in her appearance again. “I would have worn a jacket if I’d known. And if I’d packed one.”

  “You look perfect,” she said, knowing that she wouldn’t have wanted him dressed any other way. “It’s a different wine from last night. I hope it’s okay.”

  “I’m not particular,” he said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “I haven’t started cooking yet. I wasn’t sure if you were ready to eat.”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “I put out some olives if you want to nibble on something.”

  “All right.”

  “They’re on the dining room table.”

  She knew they were skirting the edge of things, but with her emotions in upheaval, it was all she could do not to spill her wine. With a deep breath, she started toward the dining area. Beyond the window, the horizon flickered as though hiding a strobe light in its depths.