Every Breath
Page 45
“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. When 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.
They moved at a leisurely pace, though Tru didn’t seem to mind. She caught the hint of a limp in his stride, noticeable enough to make her wonder what had happened to him. It might be nothing—perhaps a touch of arthritis, or simply the by-product of an active life—but it reminded her that despite their shared history, they were in many ways strangers. She’d cherished a memory, but that wasn’t necessarily the man he was today.
Or was it?
Walking beside him, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that being with him felt as easy and comforting as it had back then, and glancing over at Tru, she suspected he felt the same way. Like her, he’d tucked his hands into his pockets, his cheeks turning pink in the chill, and there was a contented air about him, like a man just returned home after a long journey. Because the tide was slowly coming in, they walked at the very edge of the hard-packed sand, both of them watching for waves that might soak their shoes.
They drifted into conversation, the words flowing unchecked, like an old habit rediscovered. She did most of the talking. She told him about the deaths of her parents, touched briefly on work, along with her marriage and subsequent divorce from Josh, but mainly found herself telling him about Jacob and Rachel. She told countless stories about their childhoods and their teen years, and admitted how terrified she’d been when Rachel had her open-heart surgery. Often she read reactions of warmth or concern on Tru’s face, his empathy plain. She couldn’t recall everything, of course; some of the details of her life were lost to her, but she felt that Tru instinctively grasped the patterns and threads of her past. By the time they’d passed beneath the pier, she suspected there was little about her life as a mother that he didn’t already know.
As they moved through the softer sand and began to angle toward the path that led through the dunes, she walked ahead of him, realizing that unlike the arduous hike out to Kindred Spirit, she’d barely noticed the trek back. Her fingers felt warm and supple in her pockets, and despite doing almost all of the talking, she wasn’t winded.
“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. When 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.
They moved at a leisurely pace, though Tru didn’t seem to mind. She caught the hint of a limp in his stride, noticeable enough to make her wonder what had happened to him. It might be nothing—perhaps a touch of arthritis, or simply the by-product of an active life—but it reminded her that despite their shared history, they were in many ways strangers. She’d cherished a memory, but that wasn’t necessarily the man he was today.
Or was it?
Walking beside him, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that being with him felt as easy and comforting as it had back then, and glancing over at Tru, she suspected he felt the same way. Like her, he’d tucked his hands into his pockets, his cheeks turning pink in the chill, and there was a contented air about him, like a man just returned home after a long journey. Because the tide was slowly coming in, they walked at the very edge of the hard-packed sand, both of them watching for waves that might soak their shoes.
They drifted into conversation, the words flowing unchecked, like an old habit rediscovered. She did most of the talking. She told him about the deaths of her parents, touched briefly on work, along with her marriage and subsequent divorce from Josh, but mainly found herself telling him about Jacob and Rachel. She told countless stories about their childhoods and their teen years, and admitted how terrified she’d been when Rachel had her open-heart surgery. Often she read reactions of warmth or concern on Tru’s face, his empathy plain. She couldn’t recall everything, of course; some of the details of her life were lost to her, but she felt that Tru instinctively grasped the patterns and threads of her past. By the time they’d passed beneath the pier, she suspected there was little about her life as a mother that he didn’t already know.
As they moved through the softer sand and began to angle toward the path that led through the dunes, she walked ahead of him, realizing that unlike the arduous hike out to Kindred Spirit, she’d barely noticed the trek back. Her fingers felt warm and supple in her pockets, and despite doing almost all of the talking, she wasn’t winded.
