“Why, thank you,” she said, trying to remember the last time Grant held a door for her, or if he ever did. Don’t make this a competition, she scolded herself.
“My pleasure, ma’am.” As they walked to the pier, he took her hand casually. She wanted to go with the feeling, the moment, without obsessing over right and wrong. Though her heart soared, her head attempted rationalization. A verse kept running through her mind: “Above all else, guard your heart.” She had tossed all rational thought aside the moment Campbell stepped down off his front porch the night before and smiled that lazy smile she had been missing all those years.
As if no time had passed at all, they headed to the very end of the pier. It all came back to her—the creaking of the ancient, weathered boards, the sound of the gulls swooping overhead, the angry crash of the waves below. She hadn’t walked out there again since those two summers they spent together. Even when Holly dared her to do it back when Holly made the rules. She suggested that Lindsey write “I hate you, Campbell” on a piece of paper, tear it up, and throw it off the end of the pier for the waves and God to swallow up. But Lindsey was always afraid that going there would be too painful, stir up too many memories. She never dreamed that she would return one day, holding his hand.
“Still looks the same,” Campbell said, interrupting her thoughts. “And so do you,” he added.
She grimaced. “Hardly,” she said.
“You never were any good at taking a compliment,” he said. “Or believing one.” Something in the way he looked at her told her he knew her better than she realized. He looked around. “I haven’t been back out here since then.”
She looked at him, caught off guard by his admission. “But you live here,” she sputtered.
“Yeah, well. I just couldn’t come out here without you. It seemed like, if I did come out here, that I would be betraying you even more than I already had. Plus, there was never anything worth coming out here for after you.” He paused. “This was our place. Well, this and the mailbox.”
He pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her. She wished she could ask for a time-out. She felt split down the middle. One side of her screamed, I’ve only been divorced a week! The other side reminded her, You’re not doing anything wrong.
But her conscience won over, and she pushed him away. “I can’t, Campbell,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be—” she fumbled for the right word, embarrassed—“physical,” she finished.
He bent down, his breath on her face, the scent of his skin and the warmth of his body so real she couldn’t deny the feelings she had. Feelings, she realized, she had carried since she was fifteen years old. She didn’t stop him as he covered her lips with his own, awakening in her something she had missed for most of her life. He eased away and looked down at her with his piercing blue eyes. “You mean like that?” he asked breathlessly. She pushed thoughts of right and wrong from her mind as she nodded and kissed him again. They were the only two people on earth and all bets were off.
He smiled down at her and pulled her close to him, resting his chin on her head as she rested her head against his pounding heart. “I’ll take it as slow as you need to,” he told her. “But I just needed to do that first.”
They stood silently for a while and stared out over the waves. After a few long, comfortable moments, without looking at his face, she spoke. “Tell me about your daughter.” She wanted to hear about Nikki, and yet she didn’t. To acknowledge his daughter opened up painful memories, yet not to acknowledge her excluded a huge part of his life.
He stepped away from Lindsey and looked at her with a questioning expression. She nodded her okay. “Well, the truth is,” he began, “if you had asked me that question a few weeks ago, I would have told you all about her—what I thought was true about her. But now I’m finding out I don’t know her at all.” He paused, then continued to tell Lindsey about Nikki’s recent hospitalization and struggles with anorexia. “I was so oblivious,” he said, clearly grieving. “I saw what I wanted to see, I guess,” he added.
She wanted to comfort him. “I think most of us do that with the people we love,” she said, understanding. She thought of Grant and how much she didn’t want to admit in the beginning that he could lie and cheat and ultimately walk out.
“Yeah, I suppose. But with your kids it’s like, you want to know every little thing about them—even the stuff they are struggling with. The fact that she didn’t let me in, didn’t come to me when she needed me … well, I’m still processing that, I guess. And I take a lot of the blame. I wanted to be more of a father to her. But wanting doesn’t make it so, does it?”
She shook her head, remembering all the tears she cried over the marriage she wanted. “No, it certainly does not. But the thing is, you’re here now, and she’s here now. Seems like you got a second chance to be the kind of dad you wanted to be.”
He smiled warmly, looking every bit like the boy she once loved. “Seems there’s a lot of that going around this summer,” he replied, rubbing his hand along her back.
“Yes,” she said, more boldly than she felt, “there certainly is.” She giggled. Then Campbell started to laugh with her. They laughed self-consciously at first, then took one look at each other and broke into fits of louder, but still nervous laughter. As the darkness claimed the night, their laughter spilled out over the waves that churned below them, spreading out in ripples that carried out to sea.
Chapter 25
Sunset Beach
Summer 1997
Lindsey saw a man at the mailbox and her heart sank. She didn’t want to share the mailbox with anyone today. She just wanted to enjoy some time there alone, write a quick note for the year, and head back to Grant and the children.
But she had come too far to turn back. She resolved not to make eye contact and just walk to the mailbox like always. She lowered her eyes and made her way up into the dunes, willing him to keep his distance. She busied herself with taking out a sheet of paper and a pen, then had a seat on the bench to write, telling herself not to look up. But the sound of a camera shutter made her forget her own admonitions. She looked up and saw the man aiming his camera in her direction.
She stood and held up her hands. “Excuse me!” she called. “Do you have permission to take pictures here?” What she really wanted to say was, “I don’t recall giving you permission to take my picture!”
He let go of the camera, and it flopped onto his chest, suspended by an ornately embroidered strap. “Oh I am dreadfully sorry! I do apologize!” he called back, scurrying up the dune to reach her. His accent was British, or Irish, or Australian. She could never tell them apart. “I should have asked your permission first.” He chuckled. “I am a bit of an artist with the camera, I guess, and I just forget myself when I get caught up in a bit of inspiration.”
The man studied her for a moment, cocking his head as if he were sizing her up. “You just seem very connected to this place. The look on your face was so—” he searched for a word—“reverent.” He smiled conspiratorially. “This place is special to you, no?”
She looked around to confirm that they were the only two people for miles. And yet something about how genuine the man was made her feel safe. That’s what victims probably think right before they’re abducted, she thought, smiling.
He took the smile as an invitation and extended his hand to shake hers. “Name’s Roderick. Roderick Shaw.”
She shook his hand and smiled. “Lindsey Adams,” she said. He pulled out a small notepad from his camera bag and scribbled something in it. Her name, she assumed.
“Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Adams,” he said, tucking the notepad back inside the bag. “So what brings you to the Kindred Spirit mailbox on this lovely day?”
“I come out here once a year around this time. It’s a … habit, I guess.”
“I’d say
more like a pilgrimage,” he said. “It’s important to you.” It wasn’t a question.
She nodded, growing to like this strange man a bit more by the minute. “Yes, I always leave a note in the mailbox about the year I’ve had. Catching the Kindred Spirit up on all that’s gone on in my life.” She laughed self-consciously. “It sounds silly when I say it out loud.”
“Not at all,” Roderick said. “This place is special. There’s no doubt about it. I think God listens to you better here than any place else in the world. I’d say, in fact, that He’s the real Kindred Spirit.”
“You think?” Lindsey ventured, curious.
“Well, of course.”
She smiled, thinking of the church she had been attending, the way she’d been praying more and reading the Bible Holly had given her years ago when they graduated from high school. It was still so new that some of the pages were stuck together and it crackled from lack of use when she opened it. But she was breaking it in more every day. She had made some Christian friends at church who were helping her learn more about her faith, and she was trusting God more every day. “Perhaps that’s true.”
“Oh, Ms. Adams, I think you know.” He motioned for her to take a seat beside him on the makeshift bench by the mailbox. “Might you have time to hear a story about this place?” Roderick asked.
She hadn’t planned to be here long, but she told him she had time to hear his story. She was intrigued by the idea that there were other people who had been profoundly affected by the mailbox. Of course there were, yet she had never considered them before.
“I came here several years ago on assignment. I was hired to shoot some photos for postcards for the area. You know, like you buy there at the Island Market in town?”
She nodded. Though she had never bought one, she had seen them on the rack by the cash register. She never imagined meeting the man who took the photos, never really considered there being a person with a story on the other end of the camera.
“So they tell me that I am supposed to take pictures of this obscure mailbox stuck in the sand in the middle of nowhere, and so off I go, thinking this is quite possibly the most absurd thing I have ever done.” He laughed. “To be honest, I thought it was someone’s idea of a practical joke. I didn’t believe there was a mailbox out here.”
She remembered her first walk with Campbell, how she teased him about making the mailbox up.
He went on. “But nevertheless, I found it and started shooting pictures of it. It was a glorious day, kind of like today. But the difference was it had rained a bit earlier. In fact, I almost didn’t come because I wasn’t sure the lighting was going to be right. But when I got here, you know what I found?”
She had seen the postcards for sale at the market. “A rainbow,” she answered.
He slapped his knee and laughed, pointing at her. “You have seen my photos! Yes! A gorgeous rainbow! It only lasted a few minutes, but I got the most amazing photo of this rainbow over the ocean with the mailbox in the foreground and the rainbow in the background.”
He sighed and wiped at his forehead with an old-fashioned handkerchief. “After I finished getting the pictures and putting all my gear away, I decided to have a seat.” His face changed as he looked off at the ocean. “The truth was, I wasn’t in good shape,” he said. “I was an alcoholic and my wife had left me just a few weeks before. I knew that I was heading back home to a mess, and that it was all my fault.
“So I sat right here, in this very spot and started talking to God about it. I told Him how I felt and asked Him to help me change. I gave my life to Him here at the mailbox. And all I can tell you is, after that day, I never had another drop to drink. My life turned around, and I’ve never been the same since.” He smiled and winked. “Got my wife back too. I have never been assigned to come back and take more pictures, but I still come back whenever I’m in the area. And I always bring my camera, just in case.” He paused and looked at Lindsey. “So when I saw you coming up to the mailbox, I recognized that look.”
“That look?” Lindsey asked.
“The look of a person who knows how special this place is. Who appreciates it with a kind of reverence most people reserve for memorials and churches.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I do love coming here.”
“Well then, don’t ever stop. And don’t ever take it for granted either.” His face took on a more serious expression. “And don’t forget that God loves you very much, Lindsey Adams,” he said.
The man stood up and brushed off his khaki shorts, smiling down at her. He patted her on the shoulder and her skin warmed under his touch. “Have a great day,” he said. “It was very nice to meet you.”
“You too, Roderick,” she said. She watched as he made his way back down the beach, half expecting him to disappear into thin air. She wondered if he’d even been real. She sat for a long while and thought about what Roderick said before picking up her pen and beginning to write.
Summer 1997
Dear Kindred Spirit,
I met a man here today who reminded me that God loves me. I know God arranged for that man to be here. I can’t explain it any other way. God seems to be pursuing me, Kindred Spirit.… He’s showing me that He loves me in little, personal ways. Ways someone else may not even notice, but ways that speak volumes to me. I am learning that God knows me, and I’m trying to accept that He really does, as Roderick reminded me, love me anyway.
For a long time I have refused to believe that God loves me. I have pushed Him away and equated Him to all the people who have let me down—my dad who left when I was a baby … my mom who never had time for me … Campbell … and even Grant. But God just keeps chipping away at my walls, built not only by me but also by those who’ve hurt me. Someday I think He will finally knock them down.
The mailbox has always been a special place for me, but I always thought it was special because it held a sentimental attachment from my youth. I never stopped to consider that the presence I feel here has nothing to do with Campbell and everything to do with God—that the Kindred Spirit I am writing to isn’t just some kindly person who I hope remembers me from year to year, but that the God who created me is waiting for me each time I come here. It makes me think of this place differently. It makes me think there is much more here than meets the eye.
I go home today changed by my time at the mailbox, this year more than ever before. Except maybe that first year, which will always hold a special place in my heart. Campbell, wherever you are, I wish you well.
Until next summer,
Lindsey
Chapter 26
Sunset Beach
Summer 2004
That night, after his date with Lindsey, Campbell went out to the garage and stood in front of several shelves full of red shoes. Starting with a tiny pair of red Mary Janes on the bottom shelf, Nikki’s red shoes worked their way up to a pair she wore last when she was a freshman in high school. Red Converse high tops. Campbell stepped back from the shelves and stared, as if the shoes would speak to him, dispense wisdom for what steps he should take next with their owner.
Campbell and Nikki’s red-shoe tradition started by accident when Ellie’s lack of sentimentality got the better of him. He remembered finding the little red Mary Janes he had bought her in the trash can. He had brought them to Ellie, indignant. “Why were these in the garbage?”
“Campbell, don’t be ridiculous. They’re worn out, and she outgrew them.” Ellie rolled her eyes, dismissing him. “Those nasty things belong in the trash.” She started to reach for them, but he pulled them back.
“I’m going to keep them,” he announced. He looked down at the shoes. “Her feet will never be this little again.” He smiled at Ellie, perhaps trying to elicit some kind of emotional response. “I guess I’m not willing to let go of them yet.”
Ellie waved them�
�and him—away. “Well then, go put them outside,” she instructed, wrinkling her nose. He carried them outside to the garage and laid them on an empty shelf. That day he went out and bought his three-year-old daughter a little pair of red Keds to replace the Mary Janes.
“You’re a big girl now,” he told her as she sucked on a lollipop and nodded, her curls bouncing as she did. He laid his large hand on her small head, his heart filled with love for her. Right then he knew what he would do.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said as he lifted her into her car seat. He leaned into her and kissed her on the forehead. “I promise to always buy you a pair of red shoes. Every time you outgrow one pair, we’ll take that pair and put them on the shelf in the garage.” She looked back at him and blinked. He smiled and lightly tweaked her nose. “Before you know it,” he said, “we’ll have shelves full of red shoes, and I will be able to see how big you’ve gotten right before my very eyes.”
As if she knew he needed her agreement, she nodded, her saucer eyes taking him in. “Is that a good plan?” he asked her.
She took the lollipop out of her mouth. “That’s a very good plan, Daddy,” she said and popped the lollipop back in.
Over the years, she lost interest in the red-shoe game but played along, even agreeing that she would wear red high heels in her wedding. He specifically remembered buying her first pair of high-heeled shoes in red when she was thirteen. And the time she wanted cowboy boots when she was eight and he managed to find red ones. And the time she declared that her red tennis shoes actually made her run faster and jump higher.
The more Nikki stayed away from Sunset, the less he had been able to keep up with the tradition. Over time he had all but forgotten just like she had.
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