The Letter Keeper

by Charles Martin

  In the years ahead I would learn to pay attention to that hair standing up on the back of my neck and that piercing pain in my heart—but in that moment I did not. While I was afraid to tell Marie the truth of me, she was more afraid I’d learn the truth of her. An idea that had never crossed my mind.

  She took my hand, and as we stood waiting on Bones, she whispered through the veil, “You sure you want me?”

  “With all of me.”

  Sometimes, when I walk back through this memory, I force myself to stop here. Where the dream of us still projects into one frame. Where I am still standing . . . and in one piece.

  When I finished, the bowls of popcorn were empty. Angel, Casey, and Ellie were all sitting cross-legged on my bed, eating chocolate and clutching some part of Gunner, who was milking the attention. Summer sat in a chair opposite me, an empty wineglass at her side, her feet resting alongside mine. She used a tissue to dab the corners of her eyes.

  Chapter 17

  My daily walks lengthened. A block turned to a quarter mile, to a half mile, to two. Finally, with Summer’s help, I managed to climb to the Eagle’s Nest at fourteen thousand feet where I could once again overlook the world. When I collapsed on the couch, she built a fire and then sat with me as I dozed. While I was enjoying the attention, I also knew I was softening—and a man in my line of work can’t afford to soften. It’s an occupational hazard. If I thought like my enemy for a second, I’d want me soft. And distracted.

  Summer prompted me, “What’re you thinking about?”

  I spoke into the fire. “If they can blow up my island, they can attack me here. And while I’m enjoying being with you, I’m vulnerable. And that’s bad.”

  She nodded and smiled. “Time to up my A-game.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but when she walked in the next morning at five, set my boots next to the bed, and clicked on the light, I knew there’d been a change in my level of care. She kissed me and spoke with a smile. “Soft and tender is on the bench. Rough and tumble, suit up.”

  I leaned on one elbow. “Maybe we should ease into this.”

  She slid my boots toward me and pointed out the window toward the cabin sitting three thousand feet above me. “When you get back.” She pointed at the gondola, which would lift me on eagle’s wings and drop me on my porch with zero effort. “No cheating.”

  I was sweating when the sun broke the skyline. Gunner trotted and hopped in front of me. Below me in the valley, Freetown was moving. People waking to new lives. To freedom. The thin air tasted sweet as I gorged on it.

  My inability to breathe was evidence that I was in bad shape. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Summer was right to kick me out. We lose fitness much faster than we gain it. When it’s lost, there’s only one way to get it back, and there’s usually a fight—with the enemy being yourself.

  The first day it took me four hours to get to the cabin and two to get back down. Twice my normal. Clay was waiting on me at the top with a warm cup of coffee and a PB&J. On my descent, he waved at me from the gondola. When I returned after lunch, I slept four hours and woke as the sun fell behind the peaks.

  Days bled into weeks, and the time of ascent and descent—plus my subsequent nap—reduced gradually and not without a good deal of pain. After a month, I stared down from the porch. My trip up had taken ninety minutes. It wasn’t so much a jog as a fast hike with the occasional bound thrown in. Still, whatever it was and however ugly it looked, somewhere in there I knew I was returning to me.

  Summer had everything to do with it. Without her, I doubt I’d have climbed out of bed. Which was strange because I never needed a reason before. I had one: Marie. Or rather, the thought of Marie. One morning it struck me that a subtle change had overtaken my thinking. I’d substituted Summer for Marie, and as I searched around inside myself, I felt no guilt. Which caused me to feel guilty. Beneath all that lay something else.

  A thousand feet later, as I stood on the porch of the Eagle’s Nest, I realized the root and voiced it out across the expanse before me. “It’s hope.”

  Behind me, I heard a soft voice. “What is?”

  I didn’t know she was there, which I credit to oxygen deprivation caused by climbing at two miles above sea level.

  “Huh?”

  “You said, ‘It’s hope.’ Like you were answering a question.” Summer’s voice was curious and a little playful. “So . . . what’s the question?”

  “I’ve been trying to name the thing that keeps me climbing up this impossible mountain day after day.”

  “And?”

  “I think it’s hope.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You can mute it, wound it, stab it, shoot it, and shove it in the corner, but no matter what you do or how hard you try, you can’t kill it. Sooner or later, some part of you is going to look at that mysterious shape in the corner and compare it to the wound oozing in your chest, and you’ll think to yourself, I wonder if that’ll fill the hole. And when it clicks perfectly into place, you wonder how it knew. How did that one thing fit the hole nothing could ever fill? Too jagged. And yet it did. Custom fit. That thing is hope.”

  She stepped closer. “So what are you hoping for?”

  “I don’t have words for that yet. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the thing.” I smiled. “Gimme a few weeks . . .”

  She locked her arm inside mine, and we stood staring east across Colorado. We could see nearly a hundred miles. After five or six minutes of silence, she leaned in and kissed me. Something she had grown fond of. After a second kiss, she placed her index finger on my chin and smiled. “I’ve loved our little chat, but don’t think for one second that this sweet little Hallmark moment means I’m going to let you step one foot in that gondola.” She pointed at her condo some five miles away. “You want dinner?” She pointed at the foot trail. “Get stepping.”

  “That obvious?”

  She nodded.

  “I thought I played that pretty well.”

  “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

  I sucked between my teeth and headed for the trail. “I gotta up my Hallmark game.”

  Sometimes in the evenings when we sat on the porch or before the fire, I’d find her foot tapping or her finger tracing the lines of a dance choreography along her leg. She didn’t even know she was doing it. To me they were unconscious signals, reminders even, of what she’d given up to nurse me back to health, and in one word, it was everything.

  Six months ago, we’d been thrust together on the Intracoastal Waterway, where I got to do what I do best—rush in, shoot the bad guys, and rescue people in need. And all of that usually occurred, to some weird extent, on my terms. That doesn’t mean I was in charge of what happened or the circumstances we faced, but I did dictate our response to what we encountered because I was the only one who’d ever been there. For all the right reasons, she’d looked to me. My leadership in our shared dance had been mandated by one simple fact: I’d danced that dance before. She had not. Hence, I led. A no-brainer.

  But as I stared back over the weeks since somebody blew up my boat, the dance had changed. While I’d been stabbed and shot and beat up in the past, I’d never been incapable of caring for myself—not since Marie nursed me back to health. But in the last few weeks, I had been. Completely. I could not prepare my food. Could not change my bandages. Could not bathe myself without passing out. Contrast that with Summer, who, given her occupation as a dance instructor, had been taking care of people like me for decades. People who couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. That care had produced a patience and perspective I did not possess.

  The explosion had reversed our roles. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, Summer led this dance far better than I.

  Something else had happened while Summer bathed me, fed me, and washed my sheets. We’d become friends. And friends, like softness, were occupational hazards in my line of work. It’d been a long time since I’d had any, and far
longer since any of them could be called close.

  One day as I napped on the couch, she hurried through the room, her arms full of my laundry. My stinky, sweaty, dirty clothes. I had no memory of anyone doing that. Ever.

  I wanted to thank her, so I spent about half a second thinking about how I might. That’s when I realized I had something else to do first.

  Chapter 18

  Home life in Freetown depended on need. If medical care, recovery, triage, or a more intense detox was required, then we offered either the hospital, which was more like a four-star hotel with medical staff, or townhomes that provided more independence and freedom. For more permanent residents, such as myself, we’d built over forty cabins and tucked them up into the trees with space between each. Most were two and three bedrooms. A few were larger. A couple smaller. Because my cabin was only one bedroom, Ellie had moved in with Summer and Angel.

  Over the last six months, Ellie had been making her way through her mom’s copies of my books. Savoring Marie’s handwritten notes in the margins as much as my words printed on the page. I climbed to the second floor and found Ellie propped up in bed, wrapped in a blanket. A fire in the fireplace. “How many does that make?”

  She held up my last novel. “Third time.”

  I nodded. “A true fan.”

  She smiled and tried to hide a tear that had been hanging in the corner of her eye. “Tell me about Mom.”

  Gunner hopped up on the bed and lay on the other side. Tail wagging. The slideshow clicked on in my mind’s eye. “She liked old straw hats. Scarves. Wouldn’t let me bait her hook. Could throw a cast net with accuracy. Wasn’t afraid to sweat. Loved to get her hands dirty. Tender while not needy. Fiercely independent yet hated to be without me.” I sat next to her on the bed. “Pretty stubborn.” Ellie laughed, which spilled the tear down her face, allowing me to thumb it away. “Wore cowboy boots in summer. Self-protective to a fault.”

  “Did you ever forgive her?”

  I nodded. “The moment it happened.” A pause. “And every moment after.”

  “You miss her?”

  I nodded.

  “You love Summer?”

  “I think so, although . . . it’s weird.”

  “How so?”

  “When I fell in love with your mom, I gave her all of me. Nothing held back. When she died, that didn’t just return. So now I’m walking around trying to patch together the pieces of me, and I find I don’t have as much to give. I’m only part of me. But whatever part remains is drawn to Summer. I like her a lot.”

  “Love or like?”

  “Both, I think.”

  She fell quiet a minute, running her palm across the cover of my book. “Mom read this more than a dozen times.”

  Inside the front cover, Marie had recorded by date each time she finished and started over. I nodded.

  “Does that comfort you?”

  “It does.”

  Ellie looked up. More tears. “You’ve been hanging out with Summer a lot lately.”

  A question posed as a statement. “I have.”

  “You going to marry her?”

  I put my arm around her. “Not without your permission.”

  My answer surprised her. “You mean that?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?

  “Because I don’t want your heart to hurt any more than it already does.”

  She clutched the book to her chest. “What about your heart?”

  “It’ll be just fine.”

  Gunner licked Ellie’s face, then lay back down and licked the faceplate of Ellie’s phone. Ellie shook her head. “I’m not so sure.” A pause, and another glance at the book. “So if I say no, you won’t marry her?”

  I nodded.

  “Even if that’s what you wanted?”

  “Even if.”

  “What do you think Mom would want?”

  “I think your mom would want me to spend my life being your dad. Watching over you. Hanging out with you. Asking your boyfriends a couple hundred questions before I ever let you out the door.”

  Ellie laughed. “Yeah, I kinda feel sorry for them.” Then her tone changed as more tears fell. I was watching a woman bloom before my eyes. She placed her head against my chest. “Dad?”

  Part of me melted. “Yes?”

  “Who’s gonna watch over you?”

  I ran my fingers through her hair. Such a big question for so young a person. I pushed her hair out of her eyes. “When’d you get so big?”

  “You’re dodging my question.”

  “Bones does a pretty good job.”

  “Bones is a man.”

  I laughed. “I’m aware of that.”

  “You should marry Summer.”

  I knelt alongside the bed, my eyes level with Ellie’s. She nodded, which spilled more tears down her face. “Mom would want you to.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am. I have you.”

  “I’m your daughter.” She held my hand in hers. “I’m serious.”

  I asked a second time. “What do you want?”

  “Mom’s never coming back. And Summer really loves you . . .”

  “How do you know?”

  “Dad. I’m a woman. I know these things.”

  I shook my head and marveled. Ellie had something she wanted to say. It was the reason she’d started this conversation in the first place, but she wasn’t sure how I’d receive it. I prompted, “You can say it.”

  “Summer shouldn’t have to pay for what she didn’t do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t take Mom from us. If you don’t marry her, then, in a weird way, you’re making her pay for that.”

  I studied her and thought, Out of the mouths of babes . . .

  Gunner sat up, tilted his head, and pushed his ears forward. Staring at me.

  I wrapped an arm around Ellie. “You get this from your mother, you know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A spirit that stands in a hurricane, shakes her fist, and says, ‘Bring it.’”

  She sat up, chin up. “One more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  She held up her left hand and pointed at the ring finger. “You need to get with the program. Stop being so thickheaded. The clock is ticking.”

  I sat on the bed again. “About that . . . I’ve been out of the dating game for a little over two decades and things have changed a lot. You think you could help me?”

  She smiled and raised her eyebrows, looking just like her mother. I kissed her, walked out, and began descending the stairwell to the basement. I needed to have one more conversation.

  Chapter 19

  Angel sat on the floor. A dozen books spread across the space in front of her. Windows open. White coals in the fireplace. Gunner walked in, licked her face, and lay down within arm’s reach.

  “Homework?” I asked.

  She held up her hand. Palm out. And didn’t look at me. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, you should.”

  “Should what?”

  She turned to me, raised one eyebrow, and said, “Padre.” She did not look impressed. “Don’t pretend like you’re just wandering by and thought you’d check in on me.”

  Busted.

  She smiled. “I know what you want.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course.”

  “How?”

  She held up her phone.

  “I don’t follow you.”

  She raised her phone, allowing me to see the screen where Ellie waved at me. “Hey, Dad.”

  I pointed at the phone, calculating the fact that I’d left Ellie’s room less than twenty seconds ago. “You heard all that?”

  Angel nodded matter-of-factly. “Of course.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged as if it made total sense to her. “We were talking when you walked in.”

  I pointed up.
“But . . . she’s upstairs.”

  “And your point is?”

  I shook my head. “I thought that was private.”

  Angel nodded. “It was. Just the three of us.”

  “But I didn’t know that.”

  “You didn’t need to know it.”

  I stared out the window. “What is wrong with the educational system in this country?” I turned to Gunner. “Are you in on this too?”

  Ellie laughed. I could hear her both through the phone and echoing down the stairwell. Angel returned to the papers in front of her. I picked up her phone and spoke to both of them. “Both of you, kitchen. Now.”

  They appeared in the kitchen and sat hip to hip at the breakfast bar while I poured a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and hovered over the steam lifting from the mug. When I tried to open my mouth, Ellie interrupted me. “Dad, we’re like sisters. We share everything.”

  Angel nodded.

  “And you do this often?”

  Angel responded, “What’s that?”

  “Talk on the phone when you’re ten feet apart.”

  They both shrugged and nodded.

  That struck me as strange, but whatever. “What if I want to have a conversation with one of you?”

  Angel spoke first. “You can.”

  “I thought that’s what I was doing.”

  They both shook their heads. “We were talking when you walked in.”

  I wasn’t quite following this line of logic. “Therefore?”

  They looked at me like I had six eyes.

  I angled my head toward Ellie. “It didn’t cross your mind to tell me that when I walked in? Like—” I pretended to be her and mimicked talking on the phone. “Hey, Dad just walked in. I’ll call you right back.”

  She shook her head.

  I turned to Angel. “And you didn’t think it just common courtesy, even respectful, to speak up and say, ‘Hey, I think I’ll let you two have this conversation without me’?”

  Angel shrugged and shook her head.

  I spoke as much to myself as them. “I feel like I’m standing on Mars.”