Every Breath Read online

  Hope was nervous throughout the transformation, but after the highlights, blow dry, and style, she had to admit that Claire had talent. Hope’s naturally auburn hair now carried some lighter tints, as though she’d spent most of the summer in the sun, and the cut itself seemed to frame her face in a way that Hope had never envisioned possible. She left Claire an extra-generous tip on the way out and crossed the street to the nail salon, opening the door just as her appointment was set to begin. The nail technician, a middle-aged Vietnamese woman, spoke little English, so Claire pointed out a burgundy-rose color that would match the bridesmaid dress and read a magazine while her toes were being done.

  Afterward, Hope swung by Wal-Mart to pick up a new coffee maker. She chose the least expensive model. It seemed pointless, since they were selling the cottage, but a cup of coffee was part of Hope’s morning routine, and she figured she’d just wrap it up on Saturday to give to Ellen as a wedding gift, with a note saying it was slightly used. Just kidding. But the thought made her giggle. She then spent some time scouting the nearby shops and was thrilled to find a pair of comfortable strappy heels that matched her bridesmaid dress. Though they were a bit expensive, she felt lucky to find a suitable pair, given her last-minute efforts. She also splurged on some beaded white sandals to replace the scuffed-up ones she was wearing. Popping into the clothing boutique next door, she browsed the racks. A little retail therapy never hurt anyone, after all, and she ended up purchasing a flower-patterned sundress that happened to be on sale. There was a small scoop in the front, a cinch at the waist, and the hemline reached just above her knees. It wasn’t the kind of dress she usually bought—to be honest, she seldom if ever bought dresses—but it was fun and feminine, and she couldn’t say no, even if she had no idea where or when she’d ever wear it.

  The return trip was easier, with less traffic and a series of lucky breaks when it came to hitting green lights. On the highway, she passed through low-country farmland before eventually reaching the turnoff to Sunset Beach. A few minutes later she pulled into the drive. Gathering her purchases, she climbed the steps to the front door and saw a scrap of paper near the doorknob. Pulling it free, she recognized it as the note she’d written to Tru earlier. Her first thought was that he’d simply returned it to her without comment, which confused her, and it wasn’t until she flipped it over that she realized he’d written something in response.

  I’ll be on the beach at three. I look forward to warm conversation and learning the mystery surrounding Kindred Spirit; I’m anticipating surprise with you as my guide.

  She blinked, thinking that the man knew how to write a note. The wording struck her as vaguely romantic, which only deepened the flush she experienced at the thought that he’d actually agreed to join her.

  When she opened the door, Scottie circled her legs, his tail wagging. She grabbed the old coffee maker and tossed it in the outdoor garbage can while Scottie did his business, then set up the new machine in its place. She put the other bags in the bedroom and, noting the time, saw that she had an hour to get ready. With her hair already done, that simply entailed grabbing a light jacket from her suitcase and setting it within easy reach until she was ready to go.

  Which meant she had nothing else to do, other than to alternate between trying to relax on the couch and rising regularly to check her appearance in the mirror, fully conscious of how slowly time seemed to be moving.

  A Love Letter

  At ten minutes to three, Tru left the house and proceeded down the walkway toward the beach, noting that the temperature had cooled markedly since the morning. The sky was gray and a steady breeze was churning up the ocean. Foam blew down the beach, rolling like tumbleweeds in the westerns he’d sometimes watched on television as a child.

  He heard Hope before he saw her. She was shouting at Scottie not to pull so hard. As she descended to the beach, he noticed that she’d donned a light jacket, and her auburn hair not only was shorter, but seemed to glint in places. He watched as Scottie dragged her toward him.

  “Hey there,” she said when close. “How was your day?”

  “Quiet,” Tru answered, thinking her normally turquoise eyes now reflected the gray of the sky, lending them an almost ethereal quality. “I went fishing earlier.”

  “I know. I saw you going that way this morning. Any luck?”

  “A bit,” he said. “How about you? Did you accomplish all you’d hoped?”

  “I did, but I feel like I’ve been rushing around ever since I woke up.”

  “Your hair is lovely, by the way.”

  “Thank you. She cut more than I thought she would, but I’m glad you still recognize me.” She zipped her jacket before bending over to release Scottie from the leash. “Do you think you’ll need a coat? It’s kind of chilly out here, and we’ll be walking for a while.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “It must be all that Zimbabwean blood coursing through your veins.”

  As soon as Scottie was free, he took off running, sand flying from his feet. The two of them began to follow.

  “I know you probably think he’s out of control,” she said, “but I’ve taken him to obedience classes. He’s too stubborn to learn.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m thinking that maybe you figure I’m just a pushover when it comes to my dog.”

  “I’m not sure there’s a safe way for me to respond to that comment.”

  She laughed. “Probably not. Did you get the chance to speak with Andrew?”

  “I did. But I’m fairly certain that I miss him more than he misses me.”

  “I think that’s typical for kids, isn’t it? Whenever I went off to camp, I was having too much fun to even have time to think about my parents.”

  “Good to know,” he said. He glanced over at her. “Did you ever think about having children?”

  “All the time,” she admitted. “I can’t imagine not having children.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I guess I’m just into the whole marriage and family thing. I mean, I enjoy my job, but that’s not what life is about for me. I can remember when my sister had her first baby, and she let me hold her, and I just…melted. Like I knew my purpose in life. But then again, I’ve always felt that way.” Her eyes glowed. “When I was a little girl, I used to walk around with a sofa cushion stuffed under my shirt, pretending I was pregnant.” She laughed at the memory. “I’ve always pictured myself as a mother…somehow, the idea of growing a person within you, bringing it into the world and loving it with a kind of primal intensity feels…profound to me. I don’t get to church that often anymore, but my feelings about this are as close to spiritual as I get, I suppose.”

  He watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as though trying to push away a painful truth, her vulnerability making him long to put his arms around her.

  “But then, things don’t always work out the way that we imagine they will, do they?” The question was rhetorical, so he didn’t answer. After a few steps, Hope went on. “I know that life isn’t fair, and I’ve heard that old saying about how man plans and God laughs, but I never expected to be single at my age. It’s like my life is on hold somehow. It seemed like everything was on track. I’d met this wonderful man, we were making plans, and then…nothing. We’re exactly where we were six years ago. We don’t live together, we’re not married or even engaged. We’re just dating.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You probably have no interest in hearing about any of this.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Why would you care?”

  Because I care about you, he thought. Instead, he said: “Because sometimes, all a person needs is for someone else to listen.”

  She seemed to contemplate that as they walked through the sand. Scottie was far ahead, already past the pier, chasing one flock of birds after another, as energetic as alwa
ys.

  “I probably shouldn’t have said anything,” she remarked with a defeated shrug. “I’m just disappointed in Josh right now and it makes me wonder what the future holds for us. Or even if there’s going to be a future. But that’s just my anger talking. If you’d asked me when things were good between us, I’d have gone on and on about how wonderful he is.”

  When she trailed off, Tru glanced over at her. “Do you know if he wants to be married? Or have kids?”

  “That’s the thing…he says he does. Or he used to, anyway. We haven’t talked about it much recently, and when I finally tried to bring it up again, the discussion went south real fast. That’s why he’s not here. Because we ended up in this huge argument, and now instead of coming to the wedding with me, he’s in Las Vegas with his buddies.”

  Tru winced. Even in Zimbabwe, people knew about Las Vegas. Meanwhile, Hope continued. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. I probably could have handled it better, and I know I’m making him sound completely selfish. But he isn’t. It’s just, sometimes, I think he hasn’t finished growing up yet.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Almost forty. How old are you, by the way?”

  “Forty-two.”

  “When did you finally feel like an adult?”

  “When I was eighteen and left the farm.”

  “That doesn’t come as a shock. With all you went through, you had no choice but to grow up.”

  By then they’d reached the pier, and Tru noticed that many of the pilings were no longer submerged. Low tide, just as she’d told him.

  “What do you intend to do?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Right now, I’m guessing that in the end, we’ll get back together and try to pick up from where we left off.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I love him,” she conceded. “And he loves me. I know he’s being a bit of a jerk right now, but most of the time, he’s…really great.”

  Though he’d expected the words, there was part of him that wished she hadn’t said them. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because,” he responded, “you’ve chosen to stay with him for six years. And from what I know about you, you would never have done so unless he had numerous admirable traits.”

  She stopped to pick up a colorful seashell, but it turned out to be broken. “I like the way you phrase things. You often sound very British. I’ve never heard anyone described as having ‘numerous admirable traits.’”

  “That’s a pity.”

  She tossed the shell aside and laughed. “You want to know what I think?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think Kim might have made a mistake by letting you go.”

  “That’s kind of you to say. But she didn’t. I’m not sure I was ever cut out to be a husband.”

  “Does that mean you’ll never get married again?”

  “I haven’t given the matter any thought. Between work and spending time with Andrew, meeting someone is rather low on my list of priorities.”

  “What are the women like in Zimbabwe?”

  “In my world, you mean? Single women?”

  “Sure.”

  “Few and far between. Most of the women I meet are already married and they’re at the lodge with their husbands.”

  “Maybe you should move to another country.”

  “Zimbabwe is my home. And Andrew is there. I could never leave him.”

  “No,” she said. “You can’t.”

  “How about you? Have you ever considered moving from the United States?”

  “Never,” she said. “And it’s certainly not possible now, since my dad is sick. But even in the future, I’m not sure that I could. My family’s here, my friends are here. But I do hope to make it to Africa one day. And go on safari.”

  “If you do, keep your guard up around the guides. Some of them can be extremely charming.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She playfully nudged his shoulder with hers. “Are you ready for Kindred Spirit?”

  “I still don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s a mailbox on the beach,” she said.

  “To whom does the mailbox belong?”

  She shrugged. “To anyone, I guess. And everyone.”

  “Am I supposed to write a letter?”

  “If you’d like,” she said. “The first time I went, I did.”

  “When was that?”

  She considered the question. “Maybe five years ago?”

  “I assumed you’d been going there since you were young.”

  “It hasn’t been around that long. I think my dad told me that it went up in 1983, but I could be wrong about that. I’ve only been there a few times. Including the day after Christmas last year, which was kind of crazy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it snowed fifteen inches. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen snow on the beach. When we returned home, we built a snowman near the steps. I think there’s a photo of it in the cottage somewhere.”

  “I’ve never seen snow.”

  “Ever?”

  “It doesn’t snow in Zimbabwe, and I’ve only been to Europe in the summers.”

  “It rarely snows in Raleigh, but my parents used to bring us skiing at Snowshoe in West Virginia during the winter.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “I’m all right. I never liked to go too fast. I’m not a risk taker. I just want to have fun.”

  Up ahead, he saw clouds flickering on the distant horizon. “Is that lightning?”

  “Probably.”

  “Does that mean we should turn back?”

  “It’s out to sea,” she said. “The storm will be coming from the northwest.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure,” she said. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

  “All right, then,” he said with a nod, and they continued on, the pier growing ever smaller behind them. Sunset Beach eventually came to an end, with Bird Island directly ahead. They had to skirt the dune to keep their feet from getting wet, and Tru found his thoughts drifting back to the way she’d playfully bumped against him. It seemed as though he could still feel the sensation, a tingling up and down his arm.

  * * *

  “It’s a mailbox,” Tru said.

  They’d reached Kindred Spirit, and Hope watched as Tru simply stared at it.

  “I already told you that.”

  “I thought it might be a metaphor.”

  “Nope,” she said. “It’s real.”

  “Who takes care of it?”

  “I have no idea. My dad could probably tell you, but I assume it’s a local. Come on.”

  As she walked toward the mailbox, she glanced at Tru, noting again the small dimple in his chin and his wind-blown hair. Over his shoulder, she saw Scottie sniffing near the dune, his tongue hanging out, tired from the endless quest to keep birds in the air. “You’ll probably take this idea back with you to Zimbabwe, and you’ll put up a mailbox in the middle of the bush. How neat would that be?”

  He shook his head. “The termites would eat the post in less than a month. Besides, it’s not as though anyone could put a letter in it, or sit around reading it. Too dangerous.”

  “Do you ever go out into the bush alone?”

  “Only if I’m armed. And only when I can predict that I’ll be safe, because I know what animals are in the vicinity.”

  “What are the most dangerous animals?”

  “That depends on the time and the location and the mood of the animal,” he answered. “Generally, if you’re in or around the water, crocodiles and hippos. In the bush during daylight, elephants, especially if they’re in heat. In the bush at night, lions. And black mambas anytime. That’s a snake. Very poisonous. The bite is nearly always fatal.”

  “We have water moccasins in North Carolina. Copperheads, too. A kid came into the emergency room once after being bitten. But we had antivenin
at the hospital, and he recovered. And how did we get on this subject again?”

  “You suggested that I put a mailbox in the middle of the bush.”

  “Oh yeah,” she said. By then, she had her hand on the handle. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Is there a protocol?”

  “Of course there is,” she said, “First you do ten jumping jacks, then sing ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ and you’re supposed to bring red velvet cake as an offering, which you place on the bench.”

  When he stared at her, she giggled. “Gotcha. No, there’s no protocol. You just…read what’s in the mailbox. And if you want to, you can write something.”

  Hope pulled it open and removed the entire stack of mail that rested inside, bringing it with her to the bench. When she set it beside her, Tru took a seat next to her, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body.

  “How about I read first, and then just pass them to you?”

  “I’ll follow your lead,” he answered. “Proceed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Proceed,” she repeated. “It’s fine if you just say ‘okay,’ you know.”

  “Okay.”

  “I hope there’s a good one. I’ve read some amazing letters when I’ve been here.”

  “Tell me about the one you remember most.”

  She took a few seconds to consider it. “I read about this man who was searching for a woman he’d met briefly at a restaurant. They were at the bar and they spoke for a few minutes before her friends arrived and she went to her table. But he knew she was the one for him. There was this beautiful line in there about stars colliding, sending shimmers of light through his soul. And anyway, this guy was writing because he hoped that someone knew who she was and would let her know that he wanted to see her again. He even left his name and phone number.”