A sudden gust of wind broke her from her reverie. A hard gust, enough to make her feel unsteady on her feet, and she thought:
Who am I kidding?
She was a fool, a believer in fairy tales, in thrall to memories that now kept her prisoner. There was no one standing near the water’s edge or approaching in the distance. She was alone out here, and the certainty she’d felt regarding Tru’s presence slipped away as quickly as it had come. He won’t be here, she chided herself. He couldn’t be here, because he knew nothing about the letter.
Breathing hard, Hope slowed, focusing her energy blindly on placing one foot in front of the other. Minutes passed. Ten, then fifteen. By this point, she felt she was progressing by mere inches with every step. Finally, she was able to spot the American flag in the distance, furling and unfurling in the breeze, and knew it was time to start angling away from the water’s edge.
Just beyond the curve of the dune, she spotted the mailbox and bench, as lonely and abandoned as ever. She headed for the bench, nearly collapsing onto it as soon as she arrived.
Tru was nowhere to be seen.
The day had continued to brighten, and she shielded her eyes against the glare. Last year when she’d come, it had been cloudy, similar to the day she’d visited with Tru. She’d felt a sense of déjà vu, but now the high and steady sun seemed to taunt her for her foolishness.
The angle of the dune blocked her view of the sandy stretch of beach she’d just traversed, so she trained her gaze in the opposite direction. The flag. The waves. Shore birds, and the gently swaying saw grass capping the dunes. She marveled at how little the landscape had changed since her father had first brought her here, in contrast to how much had changed within her. She’d lived almost an entire life, but had accomplished nothing extraordinary. She’d made no permanent mark on the world, nor would she ever, but if love was all that really mattered, she understood that she’d been singularly blessed.
She decided to rest before heading back. But first she would check the mailbox. Her fingers tingled as she pulled it open and reached for the stack of letters. Carrying them back to the bench, she used her scarf to weight down the stack.
For the next half hour, she immersed herself in reading the missives that others had left. Nearly all dealt with loss, as if in keeping with some sort of theme. Two letters were from a father and daughter, who had written to a wife and mother who had died four months prior of ovarian cancer. Another was written by a woman named Valentina who was grieving the husband she’d lost; still another described the loss of a grandchild who’d passed away from a drug overdose. A particularly well-written letter described the fears associated with the loss of a job and the eventual loss of the person’s home through foreclosure. Three of them were from recent widows. And though she wished it were otherwise, all of them served as a reminder that Tru was gone forever, too.
She set aside the pile she’d read; there were only two letters left. Thinking she might as well finish, she reached for yet another envelope. It had been opened and she pulled the letter free, unfolding it in the sun. It was written on yellow legal paper and she glanced at the name at the top, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Hope
She blinked, continuing to stare at her name.
Hope
It couldn’t be, but…it was, and she felt a wave of dizziness. She recognized the handwriting; she’d seen it earlier that morning in the letter Tru had written long ago. She would have recognized it anywhere, but if that was the case, where was he?
Why wasn’t he here?
Her mind continued to race, nothing making sense at all, except for the letter she held in her hand. There was a date at the top—October 2, which was twelve days ago…
Twelve days?
Had he been twelve days early?
She didn’t understand, and her confusion led to even more questions. Had he gotten the date wrong? Had he learned of her letter, or was the whole thing a coincidence? Was the letter even for her? Had she really recognized the handwriting? And if so…
Where was he?
Where was he?
Where was he?
Her hands began to shake and she closed her eyes, trying to slow her thoughts and the cascade of questions. She drew several long, deep breaths, telling herself that she’d been imagining all of it. When she opened her eyes, there would be a different name at the top; when she really examined the letter, she would see that the handwriting didn’t match at all.
When she had regained a semblance of self-control, she lowered her gaze to the page.
Hope
Nor, she realized, had she been mistaken about the handwriting. It was his, no one’s but his, and she felt a catch in her throat as she finally began to read.
Hope,
The destiny that matters most in life is the one concerning love.
I write those words as I sit in a room where I’ve been staying for more than a month. It’s a bed and breakfast called the Stanley House, and it’s located in the historic district of Wilmington. The owners are very kind, it’s quiet most of the time, and the food is good.
I know these details may feel irrelevant, but I’m nervous, so let me start with the obvious: I learned about your letter on August 23, and I flew to North Carolina two days later. I knew where you wanted to meet me and guessed that you would visit at low tide, but for reasons I can best explain later, I didn’t know the exact date you would be there. I had only vague references to work from, which is why I chose to stay at a bed and breakfast. If I was going to be in North Carolina for a while, I wanted someplace more comfortable than a hotel, but I didn’t want the trouble of renting a place. I wasn’t even sure how to go about something like that in a foreign country, to tell you the truth. All I knew was that I had to come, since I’d promised you that I would.
Despite the lack of particulars, I assumed that you’d picked a date in September. That’s when we met, after all. I’ve visited Kindred Spirit every day this past month. I watched and waited for you without success, all the while wondering whether I’d missed you, or whether you had changed your mind. I wondered if fate had conspired to keep us apart once more. When September gave way to October, I made the decision to leave you a letter, with the hope that you may one day learn of it in the same inexplicable way I had learned of yours.
You see, I also learned that you wanted to apologize for what had happened between us, for making the decision that you did so long ago. I told you then, and I still believe now, that no apology is necessary. Meeting you and falling in love with you was an experience I would relive a thousand times in a thousand different lives, if I was ever given that chance.
You are, and always have been, forgiven.
Tru
After finishing the letter, Hope continued to stare at the page, her heart pounding in her chest. The world seemed to be closing in, collapsing from all sides. The letter offered no clues as to whether he’d stayed, no means of contacting him if he’d returned to Africa…
“Did you leave?” she cried aloud. “Please don’t tell me you’ve already left…”
As she spoke the words, she lifted her eyes from the page and caught sight of a man standing no more than ten feet away. The sun cast him in shadow, making it hard to see his features, but she had visualized his image so many thousands of times over the years that she recognized him anyway. Her mouth opened, and as he took a hesitant step toward her, she saw that he’d begun to smile.
“I didn’t leave,” Tru said to her. “I’m still here.”
Reunion
Staring at him, Hope felt frozen to the bench. It couldn’t be happening—there was no way that Tru could really be here—and yet she couldn’t hold back the avalanche of emotions that crashed over her. Wonder and joy were coupled with absolute shock, making it impossible for her to speak, and a tiny part of her feared that if she did, the illusion would be shattered.
He was here. She could see him. She’d heard him speak, a
nd with the sound of his voice, the memories of their time together materialized with vivid force. Her first thought was that he’d changed little in the years since she’d seen him last. He was still lean, his broad shoulders unbent by age, and while his hair had thinned and turned silver-gray, it had the same careless, tousled look she’d always adored. He was dressed the same as he’d dressed back then, in a neatly tucked-in button-up shirt, jeans, and boots; she remembered him being impervious to the cold, but today he was wearing a jacket that reached his hips, though he hadn’t bothered to zip it up.
He hadn’t moved any closer, seemingly as stunned as she. Eventually he broke the spell.
“Hello, Hope.”
Hearing him say her name made her heart slam in her chest. “Tru?” she breathed.
He started toward her. “I see you found the letter I left you.”
Only then did she realize she was still holding it.
“I did.” She nodded. She folded it and absently slipped it into the pocket of her jacket, her mind a jumble of colliding images, past and present. “Were you behind me on the beach? I didn’t see you.”
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I walked over from Sunset Beach, but I didn’t see you, either. Not until the mailbox came into view, anyway. I’m sorry if I startled you.”
She shook her head as she rose from the bench. “I still can’t believe you’re here…I feel like I’m dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming.”
“How do you know?”
“Because,” he responded gently, his accent exactly as she remembered, “both of us can’t be dreaming.
“It’s been a long time,” he added.
“Yes, it has.”
“You’re still beautiful,” he said, a note of wonder in his voice.
She felt the blood rise in her cheeks, a sensation she’d almost forgotten. “Hardly…” She pushed a windblown lock of hair out of her face. “But thank you.”
He closed the gap between them and gently took her hand in his. The warmth of his grip spread throughout her, and while he was close enough to kiss her, he didn’t. Instead, he traced his thumb slowly across her skin, the feeling electric.
“How are you?” he asked.
Every cell in her body seemed to be vibrating. “I’m…” She brought her lips together before going on. “Actually, I don’t know how I’m doing. Other than feeling…shell-shocked.”
His eyes captured hers, collapsing the years they’d lost. “There’s so much I want to ask you,” he said.
“Me too,” she whispered.
“It’s so good to see you again.”
As he spoke, her vision began to telescope, the wider world shrinking to the dimensions of that singular moment: Tru suddenly standing before her after so many years apart, and without another word, they went together. He put his arms around her, drawing her close, and all at once, she felt as if she were thirty-six again, dissolving in the shelter of his body as the autumn sunlight streamed down around them.
They stayed like that for a long time, until she finally pulled back to look at him. Really look. Though the lines had grown deeper in his face, the dimple on his chin and the color of his eyes were the same as she remembered. She found herself foolishly relieved that she’d had her hair done recently, and that she’d taken time with her appearance this morning. The clash of memory and immediate sensation was roiling her thoughts, and she felt her eyes inexplicably well with tears. She swiped at them, embarrassed.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry for crying, but I…I just…I never really believed that you would be here.”
He offered a wry smile. “I’ll admit that it was a fairly extraordinary sequence of events that led me back to you.”
Despite her tears, she laughed under her breath at the phrasing. He sounded like he always had, making it a bit easier to regain her bearings.
“How did you find my letter?” she wondered. “Were you here in the last year?”
“No,” he said. “And I didn’t actually find it, or even read it. I was told about it. But…more importantly, how are you? What happened to you during all these years?”
“I’m fine,” she answered automatically. “I…” She trailed off, suddenly blank. What does one say to a former lover after twenty-four years? When she’d been fantasizing about this moment ever since they’d said goodbye? “A lot happened” was all she could think to say.
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow in jest, and she couldn’t help but smile. They had always felt a natural ease with each other, and that, at least, remained unchanged.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she admitted.
“How about where we left off?”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“All right. Let’s start with this: I assume you went through with the wedding?”
He must have guessed, because she’d never contacted him. But there was no sadness or bitterness in his tone, only curiosity.
“I did,” she admitted. “Josh and I got married, but…” She wasn’t ready to delve into details. “We didn’t make it. We divorced eight years ago.”
He glanced down at the sand, then back up again. “That must have been difficult for you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “The marriage had run its course and it was time to end it. How about you? Did you ever get married again?”
“No,” he answered. “Things never quite worked out that way. It’s just me these days.”
Though it was selfish of her, she felt a wave of relief. “You still have Andrew, right? He must be in his thirties by now.”
“He’s thirty-four,” Tru answered. “I see him a few times a year. He lives in Antwerp these days.”
“Is he married?”
“Yes,” Tru said. “Three years.”
Amazing, she thought. It was difficult to imagine. “Does he have children yet?”
“His wife, Annette, is pregnant with their first.”
“So you’ll be a grandfather soon.”
“I suppose I will be,” he admitted. “How about you? Did you ever have the children you wanted?”
“Two.” She nodded. “A boy and a girl. Well, actually, I suppose they’re a man and woman now. They’re in their twenties. Jacob and Rachel.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you. It’s been the thing I’m most proud of,” she said. “Do you still guide?”
“No,” he answered. “I retired three years ago.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Not at all,” he said. “I’ve grown to enjoy sleeping past dawn without wondering whether lions will be at my doorstep.”
She knew it was small talk, skimming the surface of things, but it felt unforced and easy, like the conversations she had with her closest friends. They could go months, sometimes a year without speaking, then pick up exactly where they’d left off the last time they’d spoken. She hadn’t imagined it would be the same with Tru, but the pleasant realization was interrupted by an arctic blast of wind. It cut through her jacket and kicked up the sand on the dunes. Over his shoulder, she saw her scarf shift on the bench while the letters beneath fluttered at the edges. “Hold on. I’d better put the letters back before they blow away.”
She hurried to the mailbox. While her legs had felt like jelly when she’d arrived, they now felt rejuvenated, as if time were moving backward. Which, in a way, it was.
Closing the mouth of the mailbox, she noticed that Tru had followed her.
“I’m going to keep the letter you wrote to me,” she told him. “Unless you don’t want me to.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I wrote it for you.”
She wrapped the scarf around her neck. “Why didn’t you mention in the letter that you were still here? You could have simply written, wait for me.”
“I wasn’t exactly sure how long I was going to stay in the area. Wh
en I wrote to you, I didn’t know the date that you would be here, and the original letter you wrote was no longer in the mailbox when I arrived.”
She tilted her head. “How long were you thinking you’d stay?”
“Through the end of the year.”
At first, not sure she’d heard him right, she couldn’t respond. Then: “You were planning to come here every day until January? And then go back to Africa?”
“You’re half-correct. I was planning to stay through January. But no, even then, I wasn’t going to return to Africa. Not immediately, anyway.”
“Where were you planning to go?”
“I intended to stay here in the States.”
“Why?”
He seemed puzzled by the question. “So I could look for you,” he finally answered.
She opened her mouth, trying to respond, but again, no words would come. It made no sense at all, she thought. She didn’t deserve this devotion. She’d left him. She’d seen him break down and continued to drive away; she’d chosen to destroy his hopes and make a life with Josh instead.
And yet, as he gazed at her, she realized that his love remained undimmed, even if he hadn’t yet grasped how much she’d missed him. Or how much she still cared for him now. In her mind, she heard a voice warning her to be careful, to be completely honest about everything so he wouldn’t be hurt again. But in the throes of their reunion, the voice seemed distant, an echo that faded away to a whisper.
“What are you doing this afternoon?” she asked.
“Nothing. What did you have in mind?”
Instead of answering, she smiled, knowing exactly where to go.
* * *
They started back the way they’d come, eventually reaching the sandy gully that separated Bird Island from Sunset Beach. In the distance they could see the outline of the pier, its details lost in the glare off the water. The waves were long and gentle, rolling toward the shore in steady rhythm. Up ahead, Hope noted that there were more people on the beach now, tiny figures moving along the water’s edge. The air was sharp, carrying with it the scent of pine and wind, and in the chill she felt her fingers beginning to tingle.
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