Just beyond the curve of the dune, she spotted the mailbox and bench, as lonely and abandoned as ever. She headed for the bench, nearly collapsing onto it as soon as she arrived.
Tru was nowhere to be seen.
The day had continued to brighten, and she shielded her eyes against the glare. Last year when she’d come, it had been cloudy, similar to the day she’d visited with Tru. She’d felt a sense of déjà vu, but now the high and steady sun seemed to taunt her for her foolishness.
The angle of the dune blocked her view of the sandy stretch of beach she’d just traversed, so she trained her gaze in the opposite direction. The flag. The waves. Shore birds, and the gently swaying saw grass capping the dunes. She marveled at how little the landscape had changed since her father had first brought her here, in contrast to how much had changed within her. She’d lived almost an entire life, but had accomplished nothing extraordinary. She’d made no permanent mark on the world, nor would she ever, but if love was all that really mattered, she understood that she’d been singularly blessed.
She decided to rest before heading back. But first she would check the mailbox. Her fingers tingled as she pulled it open and reached for the stack of letters. Carrying them back to the bench, she used her scarf to weight down the stack.
For the next half hour, she immersed herself in reading the missives that others had left. Nearly all dealt with loss, as if in keeping with some sort of theme. Two letters were from a father and daughter, who had written to a wife and mother who had died four months prior of ovarian cancer. Another was written by a woman named Valentina who was grieving the husband she’d lost; still another described the loss of a grandchild who’d passed away from a drug overdose. A particularly well-written letter described the fears associated with the loss of a job and the eventual loss of the person’s home through foreclosure. Three of them were from recent widows. And though she wished it were otherwise, all of them served as a reminder that Tru was gone forever, too.
She set aside the pile she’d read; there were only two letters left. Thinking she might as well finish, she reached for yet another envelope. It had been opened and she pulled the letter free, unfolding it in the sun. It was written on yellow legal paper and she glanced at the name at the top, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Hope
She blinked, continuing to stare at her name.
Hope
It couldn’t be, but…it was, and she felt a wave of dizziness. She recognized the handwriting; she’d seen it earlier that morning in the letter Tru had written long ago. She would have recognized it anywhere, but if that was the case, where was he?
Why wasn’t he here?
Her mind continued to race, nothing making sense at all, except for the letter she held in her hand. There was a date at the top—October 2, which was twelve days ago…
Twelve days?
Had he been twelve days early?
She didn’t understand, and her confusion led to even more questions. Had he gotten the date wrong? Had he learned of her letter, or was the whole thing a coincidence? Was the letter even for her? Had she really recognized the handwriting? And if so…
Where was he?
Where was he?
Where was he?
Her hands began to shake and she closed her eyes, trying to slow her thoughts and the cascade of questions. She drew several long, deep breaths, telling herself that she’d been imagining all of it. When she opened her eyes, there would be a different name at the top; when she really examined the letter, she would see that the handwriting didn’t match at all.
When she had regained a semblance of self-control, she lowered her gaze to the page.
Hope
Nor, she realized, had she been mistaken about the handwriting. It was his, no one’s but his, and she felt a catch in her throat as she finally began to read.
Hope,
The destiny that matters most in life is the one concerning love.
I write those words as I sit in a room where I’ve been staying for more than a month. It’s a bed and breakfast called the Stanley House, and it’s located in the historic district of Wilmington. The owners are very kind, it’s quiet most of the time, and the food is good.
I know these details may feel irrelevant, but I’m nervous, so let me start with the obvious: I learned about your letter on August 23, and I flew to North Carolina two days later. I knew where you wanted to meet me and guessed that you would visit at low tide, but for reasons I can best explain later, I didn’t know the exact date you would be there. I had only vague references to work from, which is why I chose to stay at a bed and breakfast. If I was going to be in North Carolina for a while, I wanted someplace more comfortable than a hotel, but I didn’t want the trouble of renting a place. I wasn’t even sure how to go about something like that in a foreign country, to tell you the truth. All I knew was that I had to come, since I’d promised you that I would.
Despite the lack of particulars, I assumed that you’d picked a date in September. That’s when we met, after all. I’ve visited Kindred Spirit every day this past month. I watched and waited for you without success, all the while wondering whether I’d missed you, or whether you had changed your mind. I wondered if fate had conspired to keep us apart once more. When September gave way to October, I made the decision to leave you a letter, with the hope that you may one day learn of it in the same inexplicable way I had learned of yours.
You see, I also learned that you wanted to apologize for what had happened between us, for making the decision that you did so long ago. I told you then, and I still believe now, that no apology is necessary. Meeting you and falling in love with you was an experience I would relive a thousand times in a thousand different lives, if I was ever given that chance.
You are, and always have been, forgiven.
Tru
After finishing the letter, Hope continued to stare at the page, her heart pounding in her chest. The world seemed to be closing in, collapsing from all sides. The letter offered no clues as to whether he’d stayed, no means of contacting him if he’d returned to Africa…
“Did you leave?” she cried aloud. “Please don’t tell me you’ve already left…”
As she spoke the words, she lifted her eyes from the page and caught sight of a man standing no more than ten feet away. The sun cast him in shadow, making it hard to see his features, but she had visualized his image so many thousands of times over the years that she recognized him anyway. Her mouth opened, and as he took a hesitant step toward her, she saw that he’d begun to smile.
“I didn’t leave,” Tru said to her. “I’m still here.”
Reunion
Staring at him, Hope felt frozen to the bench. It couldn’t be happening—there was no way that Tru could really be here—and yet she couldn’t hold back the avalanche of emotions that crashed over her. Wonder and joy were coupled with absolute shock, making it impossible for her to speak, and a tiny part of her feared that if she did, the illusion would be shattered.
He was here. She could see him. She’d heard him speak, and with the sound of his voice, the memories of their time together materialized with vivid force. Her first thought was that he’d changed little in the years since she’d seen him last. He was still lean, his broad shoulders unbent by age, and while his hair had thinned and turned silver-gray, it had the same careless, tousled look she’d always adored. He was dressed the same as he’d dressed back then, in a neatly tucked-in button-up shirt, jeans, and boots; she remembered him being impervious to the cold, but today he was wearing a jacket that reached his hips, though he hadn’t bothered to zip it up.