As he spoke, the woman stared at him, her head cocked slightly to the side, a slight frown of concentration on her face. Her mouth opened, then closed before she leaned across the table.
“Did you say your name was Tru Walls, and that you’re from Zimbabwe? And that you used to guide?”
“Yes.”
Sharon turned from Tru to Bill. “Do you remember what we found last spring? When we were staying at the beach house and went on that long walk? And I made a joke, because we were going to Africa?”
As she spoke, Bill began to nod. “Now I do.”
Sharon faced Tru with a delighted expression.
“Have you ever heard of Kindred Spirit?”
At her comment, Tru felt suddenly dizzy. How long had it been since he’d heard anyone mention the name of the mailbox? Though it was a place Tru had remembered a thousand times over the years, it had been until now a knowledge that felt in some way only his and Hope’s to share. “You mean the mailbox?” he croaked out.
“Yes!” Sharon cried, “I can’t believe this! Honey, can you believe this?”
Bill shook his head, seemingly as amazed as she was, while she clapped her hands in excitement.
“When you were at Sunset Beach, you met a woman there named…Helen? Hannah?” She frowned. “No, Hope—that was it, wasn’t it?”
The world beyond their table went blurry and the floor suddenly felt unsteady. “I did,” he finally stammered, “but you seem to have me at a disadvantage.”
“Maybe you should sit,” Sharon said. “There was a letter at Kindred Spirit that I need to tell you about.”
* * *
By the time he concluded, darkness had pressed close around the house, the fire the only source of light. He could just make out the faint sounds of music drifting from the radio in the kitchen. Hope’s eyes gleamed in the firelight.
“Two days later, I was here, in North Carolina. Obviously, they didn’t remember everything about the letter—critically, the date or even the month you would be here—but my name and background were enough for them to remember the basics.”
“Why didn’t you start looking for me as soon as you got to North Carolina?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Do you realize that during the week we spent together, you never told me Josh’s last name?”
“Of course I did,” she said. “I must have.”
“No,” he said, with an almost sad smile. “You didn’t. And I never asked. Nor did I know your sisters’ last names. I didn’t even realize it until after I got back to Africa, not that it mattered back then, of course. And after twenty-four years, without last names, I didn’t have much to go on. I knew your maiden name, but Anderson is a fairly common name, I quickly learned, even in North Carolina. And besides, I had no idea where you were living, or even if you’d stayed in North Carolina at all. I did remember that Josh was an orthopedic surgeon, and I must have called every orthopedic office and hospital all the way to Greensboro, asking about doctors named Josh, but that didn’t get me anywhere.”
She brought her lips together. “Then how on earth would you have found me years ago? When you almost got on the plane?”
“At the time, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. But I suppose I would have probably hired a private investigator. And if you hadn’t shown up by the end of the year, that’s what I was planning to do. But…” He grinned. “I knew you’d come. I knew I’d find you at Kindred Spirit, because that’s where you said you’d be. Every day in September, I woke up thinking that today would be the day.”
“And every day was a disappointment.”
“Yes,” he said. “But it also made it more likely that the next day would be the one.”
“What if I’d decided to come in July or August? Weren’t you worried that you’d missed me?”
“Not really,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d want to meet me in the summer, because of all the vacationers. I suspected you’d pick a day more like the one on which we visited the mailbox, when it was likely we could have some privacy. Autumn or winter seemed most likely.”
Hope gave a rueful smile. “You’ve always known me, haven’t you?”
In response, Tru lifted her hand and kissed it. “I believed in us.”
She felt herself flush again. “Would you like to read the letter?”
“You still have it?”
“I have a copy,” she said. “It’s in the box on the table.”
When she started to get up, Tru raised his hands to stop her. Rising from the couch, he fetched the carved box from the kitchen and was about to set it on the coffee table when Hope shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Put it here on the couch. Between us.”
“It’s heavy,” he observed, taking a seat again.
“It’s from Zimbabwe,” she said. “Open it. The letter is at the bottom.”
Tru lifted the lid. On top, he saw the wedding invitation, and he touched it with a questioning look; beneath it were the drawings, as well as the letter he’d written to her. At the bottom was an envelope, plain and unmarked. He was strangely affected by the sight of the drawings and letter.
“You kept them,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.
“Of course,” she answered.
“Why?”
“Don’t you know?” She touched his arm gently. “Even when I married Josh, I was still in love with you. I knew that as I took my vows. My feelings for you were passionate, but…peaceful. Because that’s how you made me feel during the week we spent together. At peace. Being with you felt like coming home.”
Tru swallowed through the lump in his throat. “It was the same for me.” He stared down at the letter. “Losing you was like feeling the earth fall away beneath my feet.”
“Read,” she said, nodding at the envelope. “It’s short.”
Tru returned the other items to the box before sliding the letter from the envelope. He read it slowly, rolling the words around in his mind, hearing her voice in every line. His chest filled, brimming now with unspoken emotion. He wanted to kiss her then, but didn’t. “I have something to give you.”
He got up and went to the end table near the door. Reaching into the canvas knapsack, he pulled out the book of bound sketches he’d made. Returning to the couch, he handed her the book. Kindred Spirit, the gold-stamped lettering on the cover read.
Hope looked from him to the book and back again, curiosity getting the better of her. Tru settled next to her as she ran her finger over the wording.
“I’m almost afraid to see what it is,” she said.
“Don’t be,” he urged as Hope finally opened the book. On the first page, there was a portrait of Hope at the edge of the pier, a place he’d never seen her. It was a sketch that seemed to capture everything about her, but since it had no role in their story, he viewed it as a title page of sorts.
He was silent as Hope turned the page, studying on the left an image of him walking the beach, and on the right, Hope trailing behind, some distance back. Scottie could be seen racing for the dune.