The Return

He looked over at his daughter, his soft eyes trying to read her. “I hope it goes well,” he said. “Whatever that means to you.”

“Me too.”

“He has some explaining to do, if you ask me.”

“I know,” she answered. Inside, she heard the grandfather clock chime. Earlier in the day, she had taken a dusty atlas down from the shelf at home and calculated the time difference with Zimbabwe. Counting forward, she figured out that it was now the middle of the night there. She assumed that Tru was in Bulawayo with Andrew, and wondered what they had planned when they woke for the day. Would he take Andrew into the bush to see the animals, or would they kick a ball back and forth, or simply go for a walk? She wondered whether Tru was still thinking about her, in the same way she couldn’t stop thinking about him. In the silence, the words from his letter tried to force their way to the surface.

She knew her dad was waiting for her to speak. In the past, whenever she’d had problems or concerns, she’d gone to him. He had a way of listening that always comforted her. Naturally empathetic, he seldom offered advice. He would instead ask what she thought she should do, silently encouraging her to trust her own instincts and judgment.

But now, after reading what Tru had written, she couldn’t help thinking that she’d made a terrible mistake. As she sat beside her father, her final morning with Tru began to replay in slow motion. She remembered the way Tru had looked when he’d stepped onto the deck, the feel of his hand in hers as they strolled down the beach. She recalled his stricken expression when she’d told him of Josh’s proposal.

Those weren’t the most piercing memories, however. Instead, she thought about the way he’d begged her to come with him to Zimbabwe; she saw him bent over double as she made that final turn, away from a possible life together.

She knew she could change things. It wasn’t too late. She could book a flight to Zimbabwe tomorrow and go to him; she’d say that she knew now that the two of them were destined to grow old together. They could make love in a foreign locale, and she would become someone new, whose life she had only fantasized about.

She wanted to say those things to her dad. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to say that her happiness was all that mattered to him, but before she could speak, she felt a lick of breeze, and all at once, she pictured Tru sitting beside her at Kindred Spirit, the wind ruffling his thick hair.

She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she?

Hadn’t she?

The crickets continued to sing, the night settling heavily, with an almost suffocating weight. Moonlight threaded the branches of the trees. On the street, a car passed by, the windows down and radio playing. She remembered the jazz music on the radio when Tru had held her in the kitchen.

“I forgot to ask you,” her dad finally said, “and I know it was storming most of the week. But did you ever make it to Kindred Spirit?”

At his words, the dam suddenly burst and Hope choked out a cry, which quickly gave way to sobbing.

“What did I say?” he asked in a panic, but she could barely hear him. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart…”

She shook her head, unable to answer. In a haze, she felt her father put a hand on her knee. Even without opening her eyes, she knew he was staring at her with alarm and concern. But all she could think about was Tru, and there was nothing she could do to stop the tears.

PART II

Sands in the Hourglass

October 2014

Memories are a doorway to the past, and the more one treasures the memories, the wider the door will open. That’s what Hope’s father used to say, anyway, and like many of the things he’d told her, the passage of time seemed to amplify its wisdom.

But then again, time had a way of changing everything, she thought. As she reflected on her life, it seemed impossible to believe that nearly a quarter century had passed since those days at Sunset Beach. So much had happened since then and she often felt as though she’d become an entirely different person than she once had been.

Now, she was alone. It was early evening, with a hint of winter evident in the brisk air, and she sat on the back porch of her home in Raleigh, North Carolina. Moonlight was casting an eerie glow across the lawn and silvering the leaves that stirred in the breeze. The rustling sound made it seem as though voices of the past were calling to her, as they often did these days. She thought about her children, and as she moved the rocker slowly back and forth, the memories tumbled forth in a kaleidoscope of images. In the darkness, she recalled the awe she’d felt when holding each of them in the hospital; she smiled at the sight of them running naked down the hallway after taking their baths as toddlers. She thought about their gap-toothed smiles after their baby teeth fell out, and relived the mixture of pride and worry she’d experienced as they’d struggled through their teenage years. They were good kids. Great kids. To her surprise, she realized that she could even recall Josh with a fondness that had once seemed impossible. They’d divorced eight years ago, but at sixty, Hope liked to believe that she’d reached the point where forgiveness came easily.

Jacob had dropped by on Friday night, and Rachel had brought over bagels on Sunday morning. Neither of the kids had expressed any curiosity about Hope’s announcement that she would be renting a cottage at the coast again, just as she’d done the year before. Their lack of interest wasn’t unusual. Like so many young people, they were caught up in their own lives. Rachel had graduated in May, Jacob the year before that, and both had been able to find jobs even before they’d received their diplomas. Jacob sold ads at a local radio station while Rachel worked for an internet marketing firm. They had their own apartments and paid their own bills, which Hope knew was something of a rarity these days. Most of their friends had moved back in with their parents after they’d finished college, and privately, Hope considered her kids’ independence even more noteworthy than their graduations.

Even before packing her suitcase earlier that day, Hope had had her hair done. Since her retirement two years ago, she’d been visiting an upscale place near some high-end department stores. It was her one splurge these days. She’d come to know some of the women with the same regular schedule, and she’d sat in the chair, listening as the talk at the salon ran from husbands to kids to the vacations they’d taken over the summer. The easy conversation was a balm to Hope, and while there, she’d found her thoughts drifting to her parents.

They had been gone for a long time now. Her father had passed away from ALS eighteen years earlier; her mom had survived four sad years more. She still missed them, but the pain of their loss had faded over the years into something more manageable, a dull ache that occurred only when she was feeling particularly blue.

When her hair was done, Hope had left the salon, noting the BMWs and Mercedes and the women exiting the department store loaded with bulging bags. She wondered whether their purchases had actually been necessary or whether shopping was an addiction of sorts, the pull from the shelf offering a momentary respite from anxiety or depression. There’d been a time in her life when Hope had occasionally shopped for the same reasons, but those days were long behind her, and she couldn’t help but think that the world had changed in recent decades. People seemed more materialistic, more focused on keeping up with the Joneses, but Hope had learned that a meaningful life was seldom about such things. It was about experiences and relationships; it was about health and family and loving someone who loved you in return. She’d done her best to instill these notions in her kids, but who really knew whether she’d succeeded?