Four days after Theresa left Wilmington, Garrett had another dream, only this time it was about Catherine. In the dream they were in a grassy field bordered by a cliff overlooking the ocean. They were walking together, holding hands and talking, when Garrett said something that made her laugh. All at once she broke away from him. Looking over her shoulder and laughing, she called for Garrett to chase her. He did, laughing as well, feeling much as he had the day they were married.
Watching her run, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was. Her flowing hair reflected the light of the high yellow sun, her legs were lean and moving rhythmically, effortlessly. Her smile, despite the fact she was running, looked easy and relaxed, as if she were standing still.
“chase me, Garrett. Can you catch me?” she called.
The sound of laughter after she said it floated in the air around him, sounding musical.
He was slowly gaining on her when he noticed that she was heading toward the cliff. In her excitement and joy, she didn’t seem to realize where she was going.
But that’s ridiculous , he thought. She has to know .
Garrett called for her to stop, but instead she began to run faster.
She was approaching the edge of the cliff.
With a feeling of certain dread, he saw that he was still too far behind her to catch her.
He ran as fast as he could, screaming for her to turn around. She didn’t appear to hear him. He felt the adrenaline rush through his body, fed by a paralyzing fear. “Stop, Catherine!” he shouted, his lungs exhausted. “The cliff—you’re not watching where you’re going!” The more he shouted, the softer his voice became, until it turned into a whisper.
Catherine kept on running, unaware. The cliff was only a few feet away.
He was closing ground.
But he was still too far behind.
“Stop!” he screamed again, though this time he knew she couldn’t hear it. His voice had diminished to nothing. The panic he felt then was greater than anything he’d ever known. With everything he had, he willed his legs to move faster, but they began to tire, turning heavier with every step he took.
I’m not going to make it , he thought, panicking.
Then, just as suddenly as she had broken away, she stopped. Turning to face him, she seemed oblivious of any danger.
she stood only inches from the edge.
“Don’t move,” he shouted, but again it came out in a whisper. He stopped a few feet from her and held out his hand, breathing heavily.
“Come toward me,” he pleaded. “You’re right on the edge.”
She smiled and glanced behind her. Noticing how close she was to falling, she turned toward him.
“Did you think you were going to lose me?”
“Yes,” he said quietly, “and I promise not to ever let it happen again.”
* * *
Garrett woke and sat up in bed, staying awake for several hours afterward. When he finally fell back to sleep, it was fitful at best, and it was almost ten o’clock the next morning before he was able to get up. Still exhausted and feeling depressed, he found it impossible to think about anything but the dream. Not knowing what to do, he called his father, who met him for breakfast in their usual place.
“I don’t know why I feel this way,” he told his father after a few minutes of small talk. “I just don’t understand it.”
His father didn’t answer. Instead he watched his son over his coffee cup, remaining silent as his son went on.
“It’s not like she did anything to upset me,” he continued. “We just spent a long weekend together, and I really care for her. I met her son, too, and he’s great. It’s just that . . . I don’t know I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep this up.”
Garrett paused. The only sound came from the tables around them.
“Keep what up?” Jeb Blake finally asked.
garrett stirred his coffee absently. “I don’t know whether I can see her again.”
His father cocked an eyebrow but didn’t reply. Garrett went on.
“Maybe it’s just not meant to be. I mean, she doesn’t even live here. She’s a thousand miles away, she’s got her own life, she’s got her own interests. And here I am, living down here and leading an entirely separate life. Maybe she’d do better with someone else, someone she could see on a regular basis.”
He thought about what he’d said, knowing that he didn’t quite believe himself. Still, he didn’t want to tell his father about the dream.
“I mean, how can we build a relationship if we don’t see each other very often?”
Again his father said nothing. Garrett carried on, as if talking to himself.
“If she lived here and I could see her every day, I think I’d feel differently. But with her being gone . . .”
He trailed off, trying to make sense of his thoughts. After a while he spoke again.
“I just don’t see how we can make it work. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I don’t see how it could be possible. I don’t want to move to Boston, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to move here, so where would that leave us?”
Garrett stopped and waited for his father to say something—anything—in response to what he’d said up to that point. But for a while, he didn’t make a sound. Finally he sighed and looked away.
“It sounds to me like you’re making excuses,” Jeb said quietly. “you’re trying to convince yourself, and you’re using me to listen to yourself talk.”
“No, Dad, I’m not. I’m just trying to figure out this whole thing.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, Garrett?” Jeb Blake shook his head. “Sometimes, I swear you think I just fell off the turnip truck and bumbled through life without learning anything along the way. But I know exactly what you’re going through. You’ve gotten so caught up in being alone that you’re afraid of what might happen if you actually find someone else that can take you away from it.”
“I’m not afraid,” Garrett protested.
His father cut him off sharply. “You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you?”
The disappointment in his tone was unmistakable. “You know, Garrett, when your mom died, I made excuses, too. Over the years, I told myself all sorts of things. And you wanna know where it got me?”
He stared at his son. “I’m old and tired, and most of all, I’m alone. If I could go back in time, I’d change a lot about myself, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you do the same things I did.”
Jeb paused before going on, his tone softening. “I was wrong, Garrett. I was wrong not to try to find someone else. I was wrong to feel guilty about your mom. I was wrong to keep living my life the way I did, always suffering inside and wondering what she would have thought. Because you know what? I think your mom would have wanted me to find someone else. Your mom would have wanted me to be happy. And you know why?”
Garrett didn’t answer.
“because she loved me. And if you think that you’re showing your love to Catherine by suffering the way you’ve been doing, then somewhere along the way, I must have messed up in raising you.”
“You didn’t mess up. . . .”
“I must have. Because when I look at you, I see myself, and to be honest, I’d rather see someone different. I’d like to see someone who learned that it’s okay to go on, that it’s okay to find someone that can make you happy. But right now, it’s like I’m looking in the mirror and seeing myself twenty years ago.”
* * *
Garrett spent the rest of the afternoon alone, walking on the beach, thinking about what his father had said. Looking back, he knew he’d been dishonest from the start of the conversation and wasn’t surprised that his father had figured it out. Why, then, had he wanted to talk to him? Had he wanted his father to confront him as he had?
As the afternoon wore on, his depression gave way to confusion, then to a sort of numbness. By the time he called Theresa later in the evening, the feelings of betrayal he’d felt as a result of the dream had subsided enough to speak with her. They were still there, though not as strong, and when she answered the phone, he felt them diminish even further. The sound of her voice reminded him of the way he felt when they were together.
“I’m glad you called,” she said cheerfully, “I thought a lot about you today.”
“I thought about you, too,” he said. “I wish you were here right now.”
“Are you okay? You sound a little down.”
“I’m fine. . . . Just lonely that’s all. How was your day?”
“typical. too much to do at work, too much to do at home. But it’s better now that I’ve heard from you.”
Garrett smiled. “Is Kevin around?”
“He’s in his room reading a book about scuba diving. He tells me he wants to be a dive instructor when he grows up.”
“Where could he have gotten that idea?”
“I haven’t the slightest,” she said, amusement in her tone. “How about you? What did you do today?”
“Not much, actually. I didn’t go into the shop—I sort of took the day off and wandered the beaches.”
“Dreaming about me, I hope?”
The irony of her comment was not lost on him. He didn’t answer directly.
“I just really missed you today.”
“I’ve only been gone a few days,” she said gently.
“I know. And speaking of that, when will we get to see each other again?”
Theresa sat at the dining room table and glanced at her Day-Timer.
“Umm . . . how about in three weeks? I was thinking that maybe you could come up here this time. Kevin has a week-long soccer camp, and we’d be able to spend some time alone.”
“Would you like to come down here instead?”
“It would be better if you came up here, if that’s okay. I’m running low on vacation days, and I think we’d be able to work around my schedule. And besides, I think it’s about time you got out of North Carolina, just so you can see what the rest of the country has to offer.”
As she spoke, he found himself staring at Catherine’s picture on the nightstand. it took him a few seconds to respond. “Sure . . . I guess I could do that.”
“You don’t sound too sure about it.”
“I am.”
“Is there something else, then?”
“No.”
She paused uncertainly. “Are you really okay, Garrett?”
* * *
It took him a few days and several phone calls to Theresa to feel somewhat normal again. More than once he found himself calling her late in the evening, just to hear her voice.
“Hey,” he’d say, “it’s me again.”
“Hi, Garrett, what’s up?” she’d ask sleepily.
“Not much. I just wanted to say good night before you crawled into bed.”
“I’m already in bed.”
“What time is it?”
She glanced toward the clock. “Almost midnight.”
“Why are you awake? You should be sleeping,” he’d tease, and then he’d let her hang up the phone so she could get her rest.
Sometimes, if he couldn’t sleep, he’d think about his week with Theresa, remembering how good her skin felt to his touch, overwhelmed by his desire to hold her again.
Then, walking into the bedroom, he’d see Catherine’s picture by his bed. And at that moment the dream would rush forward with crystal clarity.
He knew he was still unsettled by the dream. In the past he would have written a letter to Catherine to help him get it into perspective. Then, taking Happenstance out on the same route he and catherine had sailed for the first time after Happenstance had been restored, he’d seal it and toss it into the ocean.
Strangely, he wasn’t able to do it this time. When he sat down to write, the words simply wouldn’t come. Finally growing frustrated, he willed himself to remember, instead.
“Now there’s a surprise,” Garrett said as he pointed at Catherine’s plate. On it, she was piling spinach salad from the buffet in front of them.
Catherine shrugged dismissively. “What’s wrong with wanting a salad?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” he said quickly. “It’s just that this is the third time you’ve eaten it this week.”
“I know. I’ve just been craving it. I don’t know why.”
“If you keep eating it like you do, you’re going to turn into a rabbit.”
She laughed and poured on the salad dressing. “If that were the case,” she said, looking at his plate, “if you keep eating that seafood, you’ll turn into a shark.”
“I am a shark,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“You may be a shark, but if you keep teasing me, you’ll never get the chance to prove it with me.”
He smiled. “Why don’t I prove it this weekend?”
“When? You’ll be working this weekend.”
“Not this weekend. Believe it or not, I’ve cleared my schedule so that we can spend some time together. We haven’t spent a whole weekend alone since I don’t know when.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Maybe sailing, maybe something else. Whatever you want to do.”
She laughed. “Well, I did have big plans—my trip to Paris for a little shopping, a quick safari or two . . . but I guess I can rearrange things.”
“Then it’s a date.”
* * *
As the days passed, the image of the dream began to fade. Each time Garrett talked to Theresa, he found himself feeling a little more renewed. He also spoke to Kevin a couple of times, and his enthusiasm for Garrett’s presence in their lives helped him regain his footing as well. Even though the heat and humidity of August seemed to make time pass more slowly than usual, he kept himself as busy as he could, doing his best not to think about the complexities of his new situation.
Two weeks later—a few days before he was leaving for Boston—Garrett was cooking in the kitchen when the phone rang.
“Hiya, stranger,” she said. “Got a few minutes?”
“I always have a few minutes to talk when it comes to you.”
“I was just calling to find out what time your flight is coming in. You weren’t sure the last time we talked.”
“Hold on,” he said, rummaging through the kitchen drawer for his itinerary. “Here it is—I’ll be getting into Boston a few minutes after one.”
“That works out perfectly. I’ve got to drop Kevin off a few hours earlier, and it’ll give me time to get the apartment in shape.”
“Cleaning up for me?”
“You get the full treatment. I’m even going to dust.”
“I feel honored.”
“You should. Only you and my parents get that kind of attention.”
“Should I pack a pair of white gloves to make sure you’ve done a good job?”
“If you do, you won’t live to see the evening.”
he laughed and changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again,” he said earnestly. “These last three weeks were a lot harder than the first two.”
“I know. I could hear it in your voice. You were really down for a few days, and . . . well, I was beginning to get worried about you.”
He wondered whether she suspected the reason for his melancholy. Clearing his mind, he went on. “I was, but I’m over it now. I’ve already packed my bags.”
“I hope you didn’t take up any space with unnecessary items.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . I don’t know . . . pajamas.”
He laughed. “I don’t own any pajamas.”
“That’s good. Because even if you did, you wouldn’t need them.”
* * *
Three days later, Garrett Blake arrived in Boston.
After picking him up from the airport, Theresa showed him around the city. They had lunch at Faneuil Hall, watched the skullers gliding on the Charles River, and took a quick tour of the Harvard campus. As usual, they held hands most of the day, reveling in each other’s company.
More than once, Garrett found himself wondering why the last three weeks had been so difficult for him. He knew that part of his anxiety stemmed from the dream, but spending time with Theresa made the dream’s troubling feelings seem distant and insubstantial. Every time Theresa laughed or squeezed his hand, she reaffirmed the feelings he’d had when she was last in Wilmington, banishing the dark thoughts that plagued him in her absence.
when the day began to cool and the sun dipped below the trees, Theresa and Garrett stopped for some Mexican food to bring back to her apartment. Sitting on her living room floor in the glow of candlelight, Garrett looked around the room.
“You have a nice place,” he said, forking up some beans with a tortilla chip. “For some reason, I thought it would be smaller than it is. It’s bigger than my house.”
“Only by a little, but thanks. It works for us. It’s real convenient to everything.”
“Like restaurants?”
“Exactly. I wasn’t kidding when I told you I didn’t like to cook. I’m not exactly Martha Stewart.”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” she said.
Outside her apartment, the sound of traffic was clearly audible. A car screeched on the street below, a horn blared, and all at once the air was filled with noise as other cars joined in the chorus.
“Is it always this quiet?” he asked.
She nodded toward the windows. “Friday and Saturday nights are the worst—usually it’s not so bad. But you get used to it if you live here long enough.”
The sounds of city living continued. A siren blared in the distance, growing steadily louder as it approached.
“Would you like to put on some music?” Garrett asked.
“Sure. What kind do you like?”
“I like both kinds,” he said, pausing dramatically. “Country and western.”
She laughed. “I don’t have anything like that here.”
He shook his head, enjoying his own joke. “I was kidding, anyway. it’s an old line. not too funny, but I’ve been waiting for my chance to say it for years.”
“You must have watched a lot of Hee-Haw as a kid.”
Now it was his turn to laugh.
“Back to my original question—what kind of music do you like?” she persisted.
“Anything you have is fine.”
“How about some jazz?”
“Sounds good.”
Theresa got up and chose something she thought he might like and slipped it into the CD player. In a few moments the music started, just as the traffic congestion outside seemed to clear.
“So what do you think of Boston so far?” she asked, reclaiming her seat.
“I like it. For a big city, it’s not too bad. It doesn’t seem as impersonal as I thought it would be, and it’s cleaner, too. I guess I pictured it differently. You know—crowds, asphalt, tall buildings, not a tree in sight, and muggers on every corner. But it’s not like that at all.”
She smiled. “It is nice, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not beachfront, but it has its own appeal. Especially if you consider what the city has to offer. You could go to the symphony, or to museums, or just stroll around in the Commons. There’s something for everyone here—they even have a sailing club.”
“I can see why you like it here,” he said, wondering why it sounded as if she were selling the place.
“I do. And Kevin likes it, too.”
He changed the subject: “You said he’s at soccer camp?”
She nodded. “Yeah. He’s trying out for an all-star team for twelve and under. i don’t know if he’ll make it, but he thinks he has a pretty good shot. Last year, he made the final cut as an eleven-year-old.”
“It sounds like he’s good.”
“He is,” she said with a nod. She pushed their now empty plates to the side and moved closer. “But enough about Kevin,” she said softly. “We don’t always have to talk about him. We can talk about other things, you know.”
“Like what?”
She kissed his neck. “Like what I want to do with you now that I have you all to myself.”
“Are you sure you just want to talk about it?”
“You’re right,” she whispered. “Who wants to talk at a time like this?”
* * *
The next day, Theresa again took Garrett on a tour of Boston, spending most of the morning in the Italian neighborhoods of the North End, wandering the narrow, twisting streets and stopping for the occasional cannoli and coffee. Though Garrett knew she wrote columns for the paper, he didn’t know exactly what else her job entailed. He asked her about it as they made their way leisurely through the city.
“Can’t you write a column from your home?”
“In time, I suppose I can. But right now, it’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s not in my contract, for starters. Besides, I have to do a lot more than sit at my computer and write. Often, I have to interview people, so there’s time involved in that—sometimes even a little travel. Plus, there’s all the research I have to do, especially when I write about medical or psychological issues, and when i’m in the office, i have access to a lot more sources. And then there’s the fact that I need a place where I can be reached. A lot of the stuff I do is human interest, and I get calls from people all day long. If I worked out of my home, I know a lot of people would call in the evenings when I’m spending time with Kevin, and I’m not willing to give up my time with him.”
“Do you get calls at home now?”
“Occasionally. But my number isn’t listed, so not all that often.”
“Do you get a lot of crazy calls?”
She nodded. “I think all columnists do. A lot of people call the paper with stories they want printed. I get calls about people who are locked up in prison who shouldn’t be, I get calls about city services and how the garbage isn’t being picked up on time. I get calls about street crime. It seems like I’ve gotten calls about everything.”
“I thought you said you write about parenting.”
“I do.”
“Then why would they call you? Why don’t they call someone else?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure they do, but it still doesn’t stop them from calling me. A lot of people begin their calls with, ‘No one else will listen to me and you’re my last hope.’ ” She glanced at him before going on. “I guess they think I’ll be able to do something about their problems.”
“Why?”
“Well, columnists are different from other newspaper writers. Most things printed in the newspaper are impersonal—straightforward reporting, facts and figures, and the like. But if people read my column every day, I guess they think they know me. they begin to see me as a friend of sorts. and people look to their friends to help them out when they need it.”
“It must put you in an awkward position sometimes.”
She shrugged. “It does, but I try not to think about it. Besides, there are good parts about my job, too—giving information that people can use, keeping up with the latest medical data and spelling it out in laymen’s terms, even sharing lighthearted stories just to make the day a little easier.”
Garrett stopped at a sidewalk store selling fresh fruit. He picked out a couple of apples from the bin, then handed one to Theresa.
“What’s the most popular thing you’ve ever written about in your column?” he asked.
Theresa felt her breath catch. The most popular? Easy—I found a message in a bottle once, and I got a couple of hundred letters .
She forced herself to think of something else. “Oh . . . I get a lot of letters when I write about teaching disabled children,” she said finally.
“That must be rewarding,” he said, paying the shopkeeper.
“It is.”
Before taking a bite of his apple, Garrett asked: “Could you still write your column even if you changed papers?”
She considered the question. “It would be hard to do, especially if I want to continue to syndicate. Since I’m so new and still establishing my name, having the Boston Times behind me really helps. Why?”
“Just curious,” he said quietly.
* * *
The next morning Theresa went into work for a few hours but was home for the day a little after lunchtime. They spent the afternoon at the boston commons, where they ate a picnic lunch. Their lunch was interrupted twice by people who recognized her from her picture in the paper, and Garrett realized that Theresa was actually more well-known than he had thought.
“I didn’t know you were such a celebrity,” he said wryly after the second person walked away.
“I’m not really a celebrity. It’s just that my picture appears above my column, so people know what I look like.”
“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”
“Not really. Maybe a few times a week.”
“That’s a lot,” he said, surprised.
She shook her head. “Not when you consider real celebrities. They can’t even go to the store without someone taking their picture. I pretty much lead a normal life.”
“But it still must be odd to have total strangers coming up to you.”
“Actually, it’s kind of flattering. Most people are very nice about it.”
“Either way, I’m glad I didn’t know you were so famous right off the bat.”
“Why?”
“I might have been too intimidated to ask you to go sailing.”
She reached over and took his hand. “I can’t imagine you being intimidated about anything.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Would you really have been intimidated?” she asked sheepishly.
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“i guess i’d wonder what someone like you could possibly see in me.”
She leaned over to kiss him. “I’ll tell you what I see. I see the man that I love, the man who makes me happy . . . someone I want to continue to see for a long time.”
“How come you always know just what to say?”
“Because,” she said quietly, “I know more about you than you would ever suspect.”
“Such as?”
A lazy smile played over her lips. “For instance, I know you want me to kiss you again.”
“I do?”
“Absolutely.”
And she was right.
* * *
Later that evening Garrett said, “You know, Theresa, I can’t find a single thing wrong with you.”
They were in the tub together, surrounded by mountains of bubbles, Theresa leaning against his chest. He used a sponge to wash her skin as he spoke.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked curiously, turning her head to look at him.
“Just what I said. I can’t find a single thing wrong with you. I mean, you’re perfect.”
“I’m not perfect, Garrett,” she said, pleased nonetheless.
“But you are. You’re beautiful, you’re kind, you make me laugh, you’re intelligent, and you’re a great mother as well. Toss in the fact that you’re famous, and I don’t think there’s anyone who can measure up to you.”
she caressed his arm, relaxing against him. “I think you see me through rose-colored glasses. But I like it. . . .”
“Are you saying I’m biased?”
“No—but you’ve only seen my good side so far.”
“I didn’t know you had another side to you,” he said, squeezing both of her arms simultaneously. “Both sides feel pretty good right now.”
She laughed. “You know what I mean. You haven’t seen my dark side yet.”
“You don’t have a dark side.”
“Sure I do. Everyone does. It’s just that when you’re around, it likes to keep itself hidden.”
“So, how would you describe your dark side?”
She thought for a moment. “Well, for starters, I’m stubborn, and I can get mean when I’m angry. I tend to lash out and say the first thing that pops in my head, and believe me, it’s not pretty. I also have a tendency to tell others exactly what I’m thinking, even when I know it would be best just to walk away.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“You haven’t been on the receiving end yet.”
“It still doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Well . . . let me put it this way. When I first confronted David about the affair, I called him some of the worst names in the English language.”
“He deserved it.”
“But I’m not sure he deserved to have a vase thrown at him.”
“Did you do that?”
She nodded. “You should have seen the look on his face. He’d never seen me like that before.”
“What did he do?”
“nothing—i think he was too shocked to do anything. Especially when I started in with the plates. I cleaned out most of the cupboard that night.”
He grinned in admiration. “I didn’t know you were so feisty.”
“It’s my midwest upbringing. Don’t mess with me, buster.”
“I won’t.”
“That’s good. I’m much more accurate these days.”
“I’ll remember that.”
They sank deeper into the warm water. Garrett continued to move the sponge over her body.
“I still think you’re perfect,” he said softly.
She closed her eyes. “Even with my dark side?” she asked.
“Especially with your dark side. It adds an element of excitement.”
“I’m glad, because I think you’re pretty perfect yourself.”
* * *
The rest of their vacation flew by. In the mornings Theresa would go into work for a few hours, then come home and spend the afternoons and evenings with Garrett. In the evenings they would either order something in or head to one of the many small restaurants near her apartment. Sometimes they rented a movie to watch afterward, but usually they preferred to spend their time without other distractions.
On Friday night Kevin called from the soccer camp. Excitedly he explained that he’d made the all-star team. Though it meant more games would be played outside of Boston and they’d have to travel most weekends, Theresa was happy for him. Then, surprising her, Kevin asked to speak to Garrett. Garrett listened as he described what had happened that week and congratulated him. After hanging up, Theresa opened a bottle of wine and the two of them celebrated kevin’s good fortune until the early morning hours.
On Sunday morning—the day he was leaving—they had brunch with Deanna and Brian. Garrett saw immediately what Theresa loved about Deanna. She was both charming and amusing, and Garrett found himself laughing throughout his meal. Deanna asked him about diving and sailing, while Brian speculated that if he owned his own business, he’d never get anything done because golf would simply take over his life.
Theresa was pleased that they seemed to get along so well. Excusing themselves after they’d eaten, Deanna and Theresa headed together into the bathroom to chat.
“So, what do you think?” Theresa asked expectantly.
“He’s great,” Deanna admitted. “He’s even better looking than he was in the pictures you brought back.”
“I know. My heart skips a beat whenever I look at him.”
Deanna primped her hair, doing her best to add a little body to it. “Did your week turn out as well as you hoped?”
“Even better.”
Deanna beamed. “I could tell by the way he was looking at you that he really cares about you, too. The way you two act together reminds me of Brian and me. You seem like a good match.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
Deanna took some lipstick out of her purse and began to apply it. “So, how did he like Boston?” she asked offhandedly.
Theresa took out her own lipstick as well. “It’s not what he’s used to, but he seemed to have enjoyed himself. We went to a lot of fun places.”
“did he say anything in particular?”
“No . . . why?” She looked at Deanna curiously.
“Because,” Deanna answered evenly, “I was just wondering if he’d said anything that might make you think he’d move here if you asked him to.”
Her comment made Theresa think about something she’d been avoiding.
“We haven’t talked about it yet,” she said finally.
“Were you planning to?”
The distance between us is a problem, but there’s still something else, isn’t there? she heard a voice inside her whisper.
Not wanting to think about it, she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s the right time—at least not yet.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I mean—I know we have to talk about it sometime, but I don’t think we’ve known each other long enough to start making decisions about the future. We’re still getting to know each other.”
Deanna eyed her with motherly suspicion. “But you’ve known him long enough to fall in love with him, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Theresa conceded.
“Then you know that this decision is coming, whether you want to face it or not.”
It took a moment for her to answer. “I know.”
Deanna put her hand on Theresa’s shoulder. “What if it comes down to losing him or leaving Boston?”
Theresa pondered the question and its implications. “I’m not sure,” she said quietly, and looked at Deanna uncertainly.
“Can I give you some advice?” Deanna asked.
Theresa nodded. Deanna led her out of the bathroom by the arm, leaning toward theresa’s ear so that no one could overhear them.
“Whatever you decide to do, remember that you have to be able to go forward in life without looking back. If you’re sure that Garrett can give you the kind of love you need and that you’ll be happy, then you have to do whatever it takes to keep him. True love is rare, and it’s the only thing that gives life real meaning.”
“But doesn’t the same thing apply to him? Shouldn’t he be willing to sacrifice as well?”
“Of course.”
“Then where does that leave me?”
“It leaves you with the same problem you had before, Theresa—one that you’re definitely going to have to think about.”
* * *
Over the next two months, their long-distance relationship began to evolve in a way that neither Theresa nor Garrett expected though both should have foreseen.
Working around each other’s schedules, they were able to get together three more times, each time for a weekend. Once, Theresa flew down to Wilmington so they could be alone, and they spent their time holed up in Garrett’s house, except for an evening they spent sailing. Garrett traveled to Boston twice, spending much of his time on the road for Kevin’s soccer tournaments, though he hadn’t minded. They were the first soccer games he’d ever attended, and he found himself caught up in the action more than he thought he would.
“How come you’re not as excited as I am?” he’d asked Theresa during one particularly frenzied moment on the field.
“why don’t you wait until you’ve seen a few hundred games, and then I’m sure you could answer your own question,” she’d replied playfully.
When they were together during those weekends, it was as if nothing else mattered in the world. Usually Kevin would spend one of the nights at a friend’s house so they could be alone, at least for a little while. They spent hours talking and laughing, holding each other close, and making love, trying to make up for weeks spent apart. Yet neither of them broached the subject of what was going to happen to their relationship in the future. They lived moment to moment, neither of them exactly sure of what to expect from the other. Not that they weren’t in love. Of that, at least, they were certain.
But because they didn’t see each other very often, their relationship had more ups and downs than either of them had experienced before. Since everything felt right when they were together, everything felt wrong when they weren’t. Garrett, especially, found himself struggling with the distance between them. Usually the good feelings he’d had when they saw each other lasted for a few days afterward, but then he’d find himself growing depressed as he anticipated the weeks before he saw her again.
Of course, he wanted them to spend more time together than was possible. Now that summer had passed, it was easier for him to get away than it was for her. Even with most of the employees gone, there wasn’t much to do around the shop. But Theresa’s schedule was completely different, if only because of Kevin. He was in school again, he had tournaments on the weekends, and it was difficult for her to break away, even for a few days. Although Garrett was willing to visit Boston to see her more often, Theresa simply didn’t have the time. More than once he’d suggested another trip up to see her, but for one reason or another, it hadn’t worked out.
True, he knew there were couples who faced living situations more difficult than theirs. His father told him stories of how he and his mother hadn’t spoken for months at a time. He’d gone to Korea and spent two years with the marines, and when times were tough in the shrimping business, he used to find work with passing freighters on their way to South America. Sometimes those trips lasted months. The only thing his parents had during those times were letters, which were infrequent at best. Garrett and Theresa had something less difficult, but that still didn’t make it easy.
He knew the distance between them was a problem, but it didn’t seem as if it were going to change anytime in the near future. As he saw it, there were only two solutions—he could move, or she could move. No matter how he looked at it—and no matter how much they cared for each other—it always came down to one of those two choices.
Deep down, he suspected that Theresa was having the same thoughts he was, which was why neither of them wanted to talk about it. It seemed easier not to bring it up, since it would mean starting down a path that neither was sure they wanted to follow.
One of them was going to have to change his or her life dramatically.
But which one?
He had his own business in Wilmington, the kind of life he wanted to live, the only life he knew how to live. Boston was nice to visit, but it wasn’t home. He’d never even contemplated living somewhere else. and then there was his father—he was getting up in years, and despite the strong exterior, his age was catching up with him and Garrett was all he had.
On the other hand, Theresa had strong ties to Boston. Though her parents lived elsewhere, Kevin was in a school he liked, she had a blossoming career with a major newspaper, and she had a network of friends she’d have to leave. She’d worked hard to get where she was, and if she left Boston, she’d probably have to give it up. Would she be able to do that without resenting him for what he’d made her do?
Garrett didn’t want to think about it. Instead he focused on the fact that he loved Theresa, clinging to the belief that if they were meant to be together, they would find a way to do it.
Deep down, however, he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, and not just because of the distance between them. After he’d returned from his second trip to Boston, he had a picture of Theresa enlarged and framed. He set it on the bedstand opposite Catherine’s picture, but despite his feelings for Theresa, it seemed out of place in his bedroom. A few days later he moved the picture across the room, but it still didn’t help. Wherever he put it, it seemed to him as if Catherine’s eyes would follow it. This is ridiculous , he told himself after moving it yet again. Nonetheless he found himself finally slipping Theresa’s picture into the drawer and reaching for Catherine’s instead. Sighing, he sat on the bed and held it in front of him.
“We didn’t have these problems,” he whispered as he ran his finger over her image. “With us, everything always seemed so easy, didn’t it?”
When he realized the picture wouldn’t answer, he cursed his foolishness and retrieved Theresa’s picture.
staring at them both, even he understood why he was having so much trouble with it all. He loved Theresa more than he ever thought he could . . . but he still loved Catherine. . . .
Was it possible to love them both at once?
* * *
“I can’t wait to see you again,” Garrett said.
It was the middle of November, a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. Theresa and Kevin were flying home to see her parents for the holidays, and Theresa had made arrangements to come down the weekend before to spend some time with Garrett. It had been a month since they’d seen each other.
“I’m looking forward to it, too,” she said. “And you promised that I’d finally get to meet your father, right?”
“He’s planning on cooking an early Thanksgiving dinner for us at his place. He keeps asking me what you like to eat. I think he wants to make a good impression.”
“Tell him he doesn’t have to worry. Anything he makes will be fine.”
“That’s what I keep telling him. But I can tell he’s nervous about it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll be the first guest we’ve ever had over. For years, it’s just been the two of us.”
“Am I interrupting a family tradition?”
“No—I like to think that we’re starting a new one. Besides, he was the one who volunteered, remember?”
“Do you think he’ll like me?”
“I know he will.”
* * *
when he found out Theresa was coming, Jeb Blake did some things he hadn’t ever done before. First, he hired someone to come in and clean the small house where he lived, a job that ended up taking almost two days because he was so adamant that the house be spotless. He also bought a new shirt and tie. Emerging from his bedroom in his new clothes, he couldn’t help but notice the surprise in Garrett’s eyes.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“You look fine, but why are you wearing a tie?”
“It’s not for you—it’s for dinner this weekend.”
Garrett continued to stare at his father, a wry smile on his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tie before.”
“I’ve worn them before. You just haven’t noticed.”
“You don’t have to wear a tie just because Theresa is coming.”
“I know that,” he replied tersely, “I just felt like wearing one to dinner this year.”
“You’re nervous about meeting her, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Dad—you don’t have to be someone you’re not. I’m sure Theresa would like you no matter how you were dressed.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t look nice for your lady friend, does it?”
“No.”
“Then I guess it’s settled, isn’t it? I didn’t come out here to get your advice about it, I came out here to see if I looked okay.”
“You look fine.”
“Good.”
He turned and started back to the bedroom, already untucking his shirt and loosening the tie. Garrett watched him vanish from sight, and a moment later he heard his father call his name.
“what now?” Garrett asked.
His father peeked his head around the corner. “You’re wearing a tie, too, aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Well, change your plans. I don’t want Theresa to find out that I raised someone who didn’t know how to dress for company.”
* * *
The day before her arrival, Garrett helped his father finish his preparations. Garrett mowed the lawn while Jeb unpacked the wedding china he seldom, if ever, used anymore and washed the dishes by hand. After searching for matching silverware—easier said than done—Jeb found a tablecloth in the closet, deciding it would be a nice touch. He tossed it into the washing machine just as Garrett came inside after finishing the yard. Garrett walked to the cupboard and pulled a glass from the shelf.
“What time is she coming in tomorrow?” Jeb asked from around the corner.
Garrett filled the glass with water and answered over his shoulder. “Her plane gets in about ten o’clock. We should be here around eleven or so.”
“What time do you think she’ll want to eat?”
“I don’t know.”
Jeb walked into the kitchen. “You didn’t ask her?”
“No.”
“Then how will I know when to put the turkey in the oven?”
Garrett took a drink of water. “Just plan on us eating sometime in the middle of the afternoon. Anytime is fine, I’m sure.”
“Do you think you should call and ask her?”
“I really don’t think it’s necessary. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“maybe not to you. But it’s the first time I’ll be meeting her, and if you two end up getting married, I don’t want to be the subject of any humorous stories later on.”
Garrett raised his eyebrows. “Who said we’re getting married?”
“No one.”
“Then why did you bring it up?”
“Because,” he said quickly, “I figured one of us had to, and I wasn’t sure you were ever going to get around to it.”
Garrett stared at his father. “So, you think I should marry her?”
Jeb winked as he answered. “It doesn’t matter what I think, it’s what you think that’s important, isn’t it?”
* * *
Later that evening, Garrett opened his front door just as the phone began to ring. After rushing to the phone, he picked it up and heard the voice he expected.
“Garrett?” Theresa asked. “You sound out of breath.”
He smiled. “Oh, hey, Theresa. I just walked in. My father had me over at his house all day getting the place ready—he’s really looking forward to meeting you.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. “About tomorrow . . . ,” she said finally.
He felt his throat tighten. “What about tomorrow?”
It took a moment for her to answer. “I’m really sorry, Garrett . . . I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m not going to be able to make it down to Wilmington after all.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, everything’s fine. It’s just that something came up at the last minute—a big conference that I’ve got to go to.”
“what kind of conference?”
“It’s for my job.” She paused again. “I know it sounds terrible, but I wouldn’t go unless it was really important.”
He closed his eyes. “What’s it for?”
“It’s for bigwig editors and media types—they’re meeting in Dallas this weekend. Deanna thinks it would be a good idea if I met some of them.”
“Did you just find out about it?”
“No . . . I mean, yes. Well—I knew there was going to be a meeting, but I wasn’t supposed to go. Usually, columnists aren’t invited, but Deanna pulled some strings and arranged for me to go with her.” She hesitated. “I’m really sorry, Garrett, but like I said, it would be wonderful exposure, and it’s an opportunity of a lifetime.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he said simply, “I understand.”
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you.”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She knew by his tone that he wasn’t telling the truth, but she didn’t think there was anything she could say that would make him feel any better.
“Will you tell your father that I’m sorry?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him.”
“Can I call you this weekend?”
“If you want to.”
* * *
The next day he ate dinner with his father, who did his best to play down the whole affair.
“if it’s like she said,” his father explained, “she had a good reason. It’s not like she can put her job on the back burner. She has a son to support, and she’s got to do her best to provide for him. Besides, it’s just one weekend—not much in the grand scheme of things.”
Garrett nodded, listening to his father but still upset about the whole thing. Jeb went on.
“I’m sure you two will be able to work it out. In fact, she’s probably going to do something real special the next time you two are together.”
Garrett said nothing. Jeb took a couple of bites before speaking again.
“You’ve got to understand, Garrett—she’s got responsibilities, just like you do, and sometimes those responsibilities take priority. I’m sure that if something happened in the shop that you had to take care of, you would have done the same thing.”
Garrett leaned back, pushing his half-eaten plate to the side. “I understand all that, Dad. It’s just that I haven’t seen her for a month now, and I was really looking forward to her visit.”
“Don’t you think she wanted to see you, too?”
“She said she did.”
Jeb leaned across the table and pushed Garrett’s plate in front of him again. “Eat your dinner,” he said. “I spent all day cooking, and you’re not going to waste it.”
Garrett looked at his plate. Though he wasn’t hungry anymore, he picked up his fork and took a small bite.
“You know,” his father said as he picked at his own food, “this isn’t the last time this is going to happen, so you shouldn’t get so down about it now.”
“What do you mean?”
“i mean that as long as you two continue to live a thousand miles apart, things like this are going to come up and you won’t see each other as much as either one of you wants.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“I’m sure you do. But I don’t know if either one of you has the guts to do something about it.”
Garrett looked at his father, thinking, Gee, Dad, tell me how you really feel. Don’t hold back.
“When I was young,” Jeb continued, oblivious of his son’s sour expression, “things were a lot simpler. If a man loved a woman, he asked her to marry him, and then they lived together. It was as simple as that. But you two—it’s like you don’t know what to do.”
“I’ve told you before—it’s not that easy. . . .”
“Sure it is—if you love her, then find a way to be with her. It’s as simple as that. That way, if something comes up and you don’t see each other one weekend, you don’t end up acting like your life is over.”
Jeb paused before continuing. “It just isn’t natural what you two are trying to do, and in the long run, it isn’t going to work. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know,” Garrett said simply, wishing his father would stop talking about it.
His father cocked his eyebrow, waiting. When Garrett didn’t add anything else, Jeb spoke again.
“ ‘I know’? That’s all you have to say?”
He shrugged. “What else can I say?”
“You can say that the next time you see her, you two are going to figure this out. That’s what you can say.”
“Fine—we’ll try to figure it out.”
jeb put his fork down and glared at his son. “I didn’t say try, Garrett, I said that you two are going to figure this out.”
“Why are you so adamant about it?”
“Because,” he said, “if you two don’t figure it out, you and me are going to keep eating alone for the next twenty years.”
* * *
The following day, Garrett took Happenstance out first thing in the morning and stayed on the water until after the sun went down. Though Theresa had left a message for him with her hotel information in Dallas, he hadn’t called last night, telling himself that it was too late and that she was already asleep. It was a lie and he knew it, but he simply didn’t feel like talking to her yet.
The fact was, he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He was still angry at what she’d done, and the best place for him to think about it was out on the ocean, where no one could bother him. Most of the morning he found himself wondering if she realized how much this whole thing bothered him. More than likely she didn’t—he convinced himself—otherwise she wouldn’t have done it.
That is, if she cared about him.
By the time the sun rose higher in the sky, however, his anger began to fade. As he thought more clearly about the situation, he decided that his father had been right—as usual. Her reason for not coming didn’t reflect on him as much as it reflected on the differences in their lives. She did have responsibilities she couldn’t ignore, and as long as they continued to live separate lives, things like this were going to keep coming up.
Though he wasn’t happy about it, he wondered if all relationships had moments like these. If truth be told, he didn’t know. The only other real relationship he’d ever had was with catherine, and it wasn’t easy to compare the two. he and Catherine were married and living under the same roof, for one thing. Even more, they’d known each other most of their lives, and because they were younger, they didn’t have the same responsibilities that either Garrett or Theresa had now. They were fresh out of college, they didn’t own a home, and there certainly weren’t any children to care for. No—what they had was completely different from what he and Theresa had now, and it wasn’t fair to try to link them.
Still, there was one thing he couldn’t ignore, one thing that nagged at him throughout the afternoon. Yes, he knew there were differences—yes, he knew it wasn’t fair to compare them—but in the end, what stood out for him was the fact that he had never questioned whether he and Catherine were a team . Never once did he question the future with her, never once did it enter his mind that either one of them wouldn’t sacrifice everything for the other. Even when they’d had their fights—about where to live, whether to start the shop, or even what to do on Saturday nights—it wasn’t as if either one of them doubted their relationship. There was something long-term in the way they interacted with each other, something that reminded him that they would always be together.
Theresa and he, on the other hand, didn’t have that yet.
By the time the sun went down, he realized it wasn’t fair to think this way. He and Theresa had known each other only for a short period of time—it wasn’t realistic to expect it so soon. Given enough time—and the right circumstances—they would become a team as well.
Wouldn’t they?
Shaking his head, he realized he wasn’t exactly sure.
he wasn’t sure about a lot of things.
But one thing he did know—he hadn’t ever analyzed his relationship with Catherine the way he was doing with Theresa, and this wasn’t fair, either. Besides, analysis wasn’t going to help him in this situation. All the analysis in the world didn’t change the fact that they didn’t see each other as much as they wanted—or needed—to.
No—what they needed now was action.
* * *
Garrett called Theresa as soon as he got home that evening.
“Hello,” she answered sleepily.
He spoke softly into the phone. “Hey, it’s me.”
“Garrett?”
“I’m sorry for waking you up, but you’d left a couple of messages on my answering machine.”
“I’m glad you called. I wasn’t sure you were going to.”
“For a while, I didn’t want to.”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Sad, maybe, but not mad.”
“Because I’m not there this weekend?”
“No. Because you’re not here most weekends.”
* * *
That night he dreamed again.
In his dream Theresa and he were in Boston, walking along one of the busy city streets, crowded with the usual collection of individuals—men and women, old and young, some dressed in suits, others in the baggy clothing typical of today’s youth. For a while, they window-shopped just as they had on one of his previous visits. The day was clear and bright, without a cloud in the sky, and Garrett was enjoying spending the day with her.
theresa stopped at the window of a small craft store and asked if Garrett wanted to go inside. Shaking his head, he said, “You go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.” Theresa made sure he was certain, then stepped inside. Garrett stood outside the door, relaxing in the shade of the tall buildings, when he saw something familiar out of the corner of his eye.
It was a woman, walking along the sidewalk a little distance away, her blond hair just brushing her shoulders.
He blinked, glanced away for a moment, and turned back quickly. Something in the way she moved struck him, and he watched her as she slowly moved away. Finally the woman stopped and turned her head, as if remembering something. Garrett felt his breath catch.
Catherine .
It couldn’t be.
He shook his head. At this distance he couldn’t tell if he was mistaken or not.
She started to walk away again just as Garrett called to her.
“Catherine—is it you?”
She didn’t seem to hear him above the noise of the street. Garrett glanced over his shoulder and spotted Theresa in the shop, browsing. When he looked back up the street, Catherine—or whoever she was—was turning the corner.
He started toward her, walking quickly, then he began to jog. The sidewalks were becoming more crowded by the second, as if a subway had suddenly opened its doors, and he had to dodge around throngs of people before he reached the corner.
He turned where she had.
Once around the corner, the street grew steadily—menacingly—darker. He picked up his pace again. Though it hadn’t been raining, he felt his feet splashing through puddles. he stopped for a moment to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. As he did so, fog began to roll in, almost like a wave, and soon he couldn’t see anything more than a few feet away.
“Catherine—are you here?” he shouted. “Where are you?”
He heard laughter in the distance, though he couldn’t make out exactly where it was coming from.
He started walking again, slowly. Again he heard the laughter—childlike, happy. He stopped in his tracks.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
He looked from side to side.
Nothing.
The fog grew steadily thicker as a light rain began to fall. He started moving again, unsure where he was going.
Something darted into the fog, and he moved quickly toward it.
She was walking away, only a few feet in front of him.
The rain began to fall harder now, and suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He began to jog . . . slowly . . . slowly . . . he could see her just ahead . . . the fog growing thicker by the second . . . rain coming down in showers . . . a glimpse of her hair . . .
And then she was gone. He stopped again. The rain and fog made it impossible to see anymore.
“Where are you?” he shouted again.
Nothing.
“Where are you?” he shouted, even louder this time.
“I’m here,” a voice said from the rain and mist.
he wiped the rain from his face. “Catherine? . . . Is it really you?”
“It’s me, Garrett.”
But it wasn’t her voice.
Theresa stepped out of the fog. “I’m here.”
Garrett woke and sat up in bed, sweating profusely. Wiping his face with the sheet, he sat up for a long time afterward.
* * *
Later that day, Garrett met with his father.
“I think I want to marry her, Dad.”
They were fishing together at the end of the pier with a dozen other people, most of whom seemed lost in thought. Jeb looked up in surprise.
“Two days ago, it didn’t seem like you wanted to see her again.”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking since then.”
“You must have,” Jeb said quietly. He reeled in his line, checked the bait, then cast again. Even though he doubted he’d catch anything he wanted to keep, fishing was, in his estimation, one of life’s greatest pleasures.
“Do you love her?” Jeb asked.
Garrett looked at him, surprised. “Of course I do. I’ve told you that a few times.”
Jeb Blake shook his head. “No . . . you haven’t,” he said sincerely. “We’ve talked about her a lot—you’ve told me that she makes you happy, that you feel like you know her, and that you don’t want to lose her—but you’ve never told me that you love her.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Is it?”
* * *
After he’d gone home, the conversation he’d had with his father kept repeating itself in his mind.
“Is it? ”
“Of course it is,” he’d said right away. “And even if it isn’t, I do love her.”
Jeb stared at his son for a moment before finally turning away. “You want to marry her?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her, that’s why. Isn’t that enough?”
“Maybe.”
Garrett reeled in his line, frustrated. “Weren’t you the one who thought we should get married in the first place?”
“Yeah.”
“So why are you questioning it now?”
“Because I want to make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. Two days ago, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to see her again. Now, you’re ready for marriage. It just seems like a mighty big turnaround to me, and I want to make sure it’s because of the way you feel about Theresa—and that it doesn’t have anything to do with Catherine.”
Bringing up her name stung a little.
“Catherine doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Garrett said quickly. He shook his head and sighed deeply. “You know, Dad, I don’t understand you sometimes. You’ve been pushing me into this the whole time. You kept telling me I had to put the past behind me, that I had to find someone new. And now that I have, it seems like you’re trying to talk me out of it.”
Jeb put his free hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “I’m not talking you out of anything, garrett. I’m glad you found Theresa, I’m glad that you love her, and yes, I do hope that you end up marrying her. I just said that if you’re going to get married, then you’d better be doing it for the right reasons. Marriage is between two people, not three. And it’s not fair to her if you go into it otherwise.”
It took a moment for him to respond.
“Dad, I want to get married because I love her. I want to spend my life with her.”
His father stood silently for a long time, watching. Then he said something that made Garrett look away.
“So, in other words, you’re telling me that you’re completely over Catherine?”
Though he felt the expectant weight of his father’s gaze, Garrett didn’t know the answer.
* * *
“Are you tired?” Garrett asked.
He was lying on his bed as he spoke with Theresa, with only the bedside lamp turned on.
“Yeah, I got in just a little while ago. It was a long weekend.”
“Did it turn out as well as you hoped it would?”
“I hope so. There’s no way to tell just yet, but I did meet a lot of people who could eventually help me out with my column.”
“It’s a good thing you went, then.”
“Good and bad. Most of the time, I wished I’d gone to visit you instead.”
He smiled. “When do you leave for your parents’?”
“Wednesday morning. I’ll be gone until Sunday.”
“Are they looking forward to seeing you?”
“Yeah, they are. They haven’t seen Kevin for almost a year, and i know they’re looking forward to having him around for a few days.”
“That’s good.”
There was a short pause.
“Garrett?”
“Yeah.”
She spoke softly. “I just want you to know that I’m still really sorry about this weekend.”
“I know.”
“Can I make it up to you?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well . . . can you come up here to visit the weekend after Thanksgiving?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good, because I’m going to plan a special weekend just for the two of us.”
* * *
It was a weekend that neither of them would ever forget.
Theresa had called him more than usual in the preceding two weeks. Usually it had been Garrett who called, but it seemed that every time he’d wanted to talk to her, she had anticipated it. Twice, while he was walking to the phone to dial her number, it started ringing before he got there, and the second time it happened, he simply answered the phone with, “Hi, Theresa.” It had surprised her, and they joked for a while about his psychic abilities before settling into an easy conversation.
When he arrived in Boston two weeks later, Theresa met him at the airport. She had told him to wear something dressy, and he walked off the plane wearing a blazer, something she’d never seen him in before.
“wow,” she’d said simply.
He adjusted the blazer self-consciously. “Do I look okay?”
“You look great.”
They went straight from the airport to dinner. She’d made reservations at the most elegant restaurant in town. They had a leisurely, wonderful meal, and afterward Theresa took Garrett to Les Misйrables , which was currently showing in Boston. The play was sold out, but because Theresa knew the manager, they found themselves seated in the best section of the house.
It was late by the time they got back, and to Garrett, the following day seemed just as rushed. Theresa took him to her office and showed him around—introducing him to a couple of people—and afterward they visited the Museum of Fine Arts for the rest of the afternoon. That evening they met Deanna and Brian for dinner at Anthony’s—a restaurant on the top floor of the Prudential Building that offered wonderful views of the entire city.
Garrett had never seen anything like it.
Their table was near the window. Deanna and Brian both rose from their seats to greet them. “You remember Garrett from brunch, don’t you?” Theresa asked, trying not to sound too ridiculous.
“Of course I do. It’s good to see you again, Garrett,” Deanna said, leaning in for a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry I forced Theresa to come with me a couple of weeks ago. I hope you haven’t been too hard on her.”
“It’s okay,” he said, nodding stiffly.
“I’m glad. Because looking back, I think it was worth it.”
Garrett looked at her curiously. Theresa leaned in and asked, “What do you mean, Deanna?”
deanna’s eyes sparkled. “I got some good news yesterday, after you left.”
“What is it?” Theresa asked.
“Well,” she said nonchalantly, “I talked to Dan Mandel, the head of Media Information Inc., for about twenty minutes or so, and it turns out he was very impressed with you. He liked the way you handled yourself and thought you were quite a pro. And best of all . . .”
Deanna paused dramatically, doing her best to stifle a smile.
“Yes?”
“He’s going to pick up your column in all his papers, starting in January.”
Theresa put her hand to her mouth to stifle her scream, but it was still loud enough that the people at the nearby tables turned their heads. She huddled toward Deanna, talking quickly. Garrett took a small step backward.
“You’re kidding,” Theresa cried, disbelieving.
Deanna shook her head, smiling broadly. “No. I’m telling you what he told me. He wants to talk to you again on Tuesday. I’ve got a conference call set up for ten o’clock.”
“You’re sure about this? He wants my column?”
“Positive. I faxed him your media kit along with a number of your columns, and he called me. He wants you—no doubt about it. It’s something he’s already decided.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it. And I heard through the grapevine that a couple of others are interested as well.”
“Oh . . . Deanna . . .”
Theresa leaned in and impulsively hugged Deanna, excitement animating her face. Brian nudged Garrett with his elbow.
“great news, huh?”
It took a moment for Garrett to answer.
“Yah . . . great.”
* * *
After settling in for dinner, Deanna ordered a bottle of champagne and made a toast, congratulating Theresa on her bright future. The two of them chatted nonstop throughout the rest of the evening. Garrett was quiet, not knowing quite what to add. As if sensing his discomfort, Brian leaned over to Garrett.
“They’re like schoolgirls, aren’t they? Deanna was parading around the house all day, just waiting to tell her.”
“I just wish I understood it all a little better. I don’t really know what to say.”
Brian took a drink, shaking his head. His words came out slightly slurred.
“Don’t worry about that—even if you did understand, you probably wouldn’t get a word in edgewise. They talk like this all the time. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were twins in another life.”
Garrett glanced across the table at Theresa and Deanna. “You might be right.”
“Besides,” Brian added, “you’ll understand it better when you live with it full-time. After a while, you’ll understand it almost as well as they do. I know I do.”
The comment was not lost on him. When you live with it full-time?
When Garrett didn’t respond, Brian changed the subject. “So how long are you staying?”
“Until tomorrow night.”
brian nodded. “It’s tough not seeing each other much, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes.”
“I can imagine. I know Theresa gets down about it now and then.”
Across the table, Theresa smiled at Garrett. “What are you two talking about over there?” she asked cheerfully.
“This and that,” Brian said, “your good fortune, mainly.”
Garrett nodded briefly without answering, and Theresa watched as he adjusted himself in his seat. It was obvious he felt uncomfortable—though she wasn’t sure why—and she found herself puzzling over it.
* * *
“You were kind of quiet tonight,” Theresa said.
They were back in her apartment, sitting on the couch with the radio playing softly in the background.
“I guess I didn’t have much to say.”
She took his hand and spoke quietly. “I’m glad you were with me when Deanna told me the news.”
“I’m happy for you, Theresa. I know it means a lot to you.”
She smiled uncertainly. Changing the subject, she asked: “Did you have a good time talking to Brian?”
“Yah . . . he’s easy to get along with.” He paused. “But I’m not very good in groups, especially when I’m sort of outside the loop. I just . . .” He stopped, considering whether he should say anything else, and decided not to.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“No—what were you going to say?”
After a moment he answered, choosing his words carefully. “I was just going to say that this whole weekend has been strange for me. The show, expensive dinners, going out with your friends . . .” He shrugged. “It isn’t what I expected.”
“Aren’t you having a good time?”
He ran his hands through his hair, looking uncomfortable again. “It’s not that I haven’t had fun. It’s just . . .” He shrugged. “It’s not me. None of this is anything I’d normally do.”
“That’s why I planned the weekend like I did. I wanted to introduce you to new things.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason you wanted me to learn how to dive—because it’s something exciting, something different.”
“I didn’t come up here to do something different. I came up here to spend some quiet time with you. I haven’t seen you for a long time, and ever since we’ve been up here, it seems like we’ve been rushing from place to place. We haven’t even had a chance to talk yet and I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“That’s not true. We were alone at dinner last night, and again at the museum today. We’ve had plenty of time to talk.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. What did you want to do—sit around in the apartment?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he sat quietly for a moment. Then he rose from the couch, walked across the room, and turned off the radio.
“There’s something important I’ve wanted to say since I came up here,” he said without turning around.
“What is it?”
He lowered his head. It’s now or never , he whispered to himself. finally turning around and gathering his courage, he took a deep breath.
“I guess it’s just been really hard this past month not seeing you, and right now, I’m not sure if I want to keep going on like this.”
Her breath caught for a second.
Seeing her expression, he moved toward her, feeling a strange tightness in his chest at what he was about to say. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said quickly. “You’ve got it completely wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to see you anymore, I want to see you all the time.” When he reached the couch, he kneeled in front of her. Theresa looked at him, surprised. He took her hand in his.
“I want you to move to Wilmington.”
Though she’d known this was coming sometime, she hadn’t expected it to come up now, and certainly not like this. Garrett went on.
“I know it’s a big step, but if you move down, we won’t have these long periods apart anymore. We could see each other every day.” He reached up, caressing her cheek. “I want to walk the beach with you, I want to go sailing with you. I want you to be there when I get home from the shop. I want it to feel like we’ve known each other all our lives . . .”
The words were coming quickly, and Theresa tried to make sense of them. Garrett kept talking.
“I just miss you so much when we’re not together. I realize your job is here, but I’m sure the local paper would take you on . . .”
The more he talked, the more her head began to spin. To her, it almost sounded as if he were trying to re-create his relationship with catherine. “wait a minute,” she finally said, cutting him off. “I can’t just pick up and leave. I mean . . . Kevin’s in school . . .”
“You don’t have to come right away,” he countered. “You can wait until school is out if that would be better. We’ve made it this long—another few months won’t make much difference.”
“But he’s happy here—this is his home. He’s got his friends, his soccer . . .”
“He can have all that in Wilmington.”
“You don’t know that. It’s easy for you to say that he will, but you don’t know that for sure.”
“Didn’t you see how well we got along?”
She let go of his hand, growing frustrated. “That has nothing to do with it, don’t you see? I know you two got along, but you weren’t asking him to change his life. I wasn’t asking him change his life.” She paused. “And besides, this isn’t all about him. What about me, Garrett? You were there tonight—you know what happened. I just got some wonderful news about my column and now you want me to give that up, too?”
“I don’t want to give us up. There’s a big difference.”
“Then why can’t you move to Boston?”
“And do what?”
“The same thing you do in Wilmington. Teach diving, go sailing, whatever. It’s a lot easier for you to leave than it would be for me.”
“I can’t do that. Like I said, this”—he motioned around the room and toward the windows—“isn’t me. I’d be lost up here.”
Theresa stood up and walked across the room, agitated. She ran her hand through her hair. “That isn’t fair.”
“What isn’t fair?”
she faced him. “This whole thing. Asking me to move, asking me to change my whole life. It’s like you’ve put a condition on it—‘We can be together, but it’s got to be my way.’ Well, what about my feelings? Aren’t they important, too?”
“Of course they’re important. You’re important—we’re important.”
“Well—you don’t make it sound that way. It’s like you’re only thinking about yourself. You want me to give up everything I’ve worked for, but you’re not willing to give up anything.” Her eyes never left his.
Garrett rose from the couch and moved toward her. When he got close, she pulled back, raising her arms like a barrier.
“Look, Garrett—I don’t want you to touch me right now, okay?”
He dropped his hands to his sides. For a long moment neither of them said anything. Theresa crossed her arms and glanced away.
“Then I guess your answer is that you’re not coming,” he finally said, sounding angry.
She spoke carefully. “No. My answer is that we’re going to have to talk this out.”
“So you can try to convince me that I’m wrong?”
His comment didn’t deserve a response. Shaking her head, she walked to the dining room table, picked up her purse, and started toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get some wine. I need a drink.”
“But it’s late.”
“There’s a store at the end of the block. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
“why can’t we talk about it now?”
“Because,” she said quickly, “I need a few minutes alone so I can think.”
“You’re running out?” It sounded like an accusation.
She opened the door, holding it as she spoke. “No, Garrett, I’m not running out. I’ll be back in a few minutes. And I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that. It’s not fair of you to make me feel guilty about this. You’ve just asked me to change my entire life, and I’m taking a few minutes to think about it.”
She left the apartment. Garrett stared at the door for a couple of seconds, waiting to see if she would come back. When she didn’t, he cursed himself silently. Nothing had turned out as he thought it would. One minute he asked her to move to Wilmington, the next she’s out the door, needing to be alone. How had it gotten away from him?
Not knowing what else to do, he paced around the apartment. He glanced in the kitchen, then Kevin’s room, and kept moving. When he reached her bedroom, he paused for a moment before entering. After walking over to her bed, he sat down, putting his head into his hands.
Was it fair of him to ask her to leave? Granted, she had a life here—a good life—but he felt sure that she could have that in Wilmington. No matter how he looked at it, it would probably be much better than their life together up here. Looking around, he knew there was no way he could live in an apartment. But even if they moved to a house—would it have a view? Or would they live in a suburb, surrounded by a dozen houses that looked exactly the same?
It was complicated. And somehow, everything he’d said had come out wrong. He hadn’t wanted her to feel as if he were giving her an ultimatum, but thinking back, he realized that was exactly what he had done.
Sighing, he wondered what to do next. Somehow he didn’t think there was anything he could say when she got back that wouldn’t lead to another argument. Above all, he didn’t want that. Arguments rarely led to solutions, and that’s what they needed now.
But if he couldn’t say anything, what else was there? He thought for a moment before finally deciding to write her a letter, outlining his thoughts. Writing always made him think more clearly—especially over the last few years—and maybe she would be able to understand where he was coming from.
He glanced toward her bedside table. Her phone was there—she probably took messages now and then—but he didn’t see either a pen or pad. He opened the drawer, rifled through it, and found a ballpoint near the front.
Looking for some paper, he continued shuffling—through magazines, a couple of paperback books, some empty jewelry boxes—when something familiar caught his eye.
A sailing ship.
It was on a piece of paper, wedged between a slim Day-Timer and an old copy of Ladies’ Home Journal . He reached for it, assuming it was one of the letters he’d written to her over the last couple of months, then suddenly froze.
How could that be?
The stationery had been a gift from Catherine, and he used it only when he wrote to her. His letters to Theresa had been written on different paper, something he’d picked up at the store.
He found himself holding his breath. He quickly made room in the drawer, removing the magazine and gently lifted out, not one, but five—five!—pieces of the stationery. Still confused, he blinked hard before glancing at the first page, and there, in his scrawl, were the words:
My Dearest Catherine . . .
Oh, my God. He turned to the second page, a photocopy.
My Darling Catherine . . .
The next letter.
Dear Catherine . . .
“what is this,” he muttered, unable to believe what he was seeing. “It can’t be—” He looked over the pages again just to make sure.
But it was true. One was real, two were copies, but they were his letters, the letters he had written to Catherine. The letters he had written after his dreams, the letters he dropped from Happenstance and never expected to see again.
On impulse he began to read them, and with each word, each phrase, he felt his emotions rushing to the surface, coming at him all at once. The dreams, his memories, his loss, the anguish. He stopped.
His mouth went dry as he pressed his lips together. Instead of reading any more, he simply stared at them in shock. He barely heard the front door open and then close. Theresa called out, “garrett, i’m back.” she paused, and he could hear her walking through the apartment. Then, “Where are you?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t do anything but try to grasp how this had happened. How could she have them? They were his letters . . . his personal letters.
The letters to his wife .
Letters that were no one else’s business.
Theresa stepped into the room and looked at him. Though he didn’t know it, his face was pale, his knuckles white as they gripped the pages he held.
“Are you okay?” she asked, not realizing what was in his hands.
For a moment, it was as if he hadn’t heard her. Then, looking up slowly, he glared at her.
Startled, she almost spoke again. But she didn’t. Like a wave, everything hit her at the same time—the open drawer, the papers in his hand, the expression on his face—and she knew immediately what had happened.
“Garrett . . . I can explain,” she said quickly, quietly. He didn’t seem to hear her.
“My letters . . . ,” he whispered. He looked at her, a mixture of confusion and rage.
“I . . .”
“How did you get my letters?” he demanded, the sound of his voice making her flinch.
“I found one washed up at the beach and—”
He cut her off. “You found it?”
She nodded, trying to explain. “When I was at the Cape. I was jogging and I came across the bottle. . . .”
he glanced at the first page, the only original letter. It was the one he had written earlier that year. But the others . . .
“What about these?” he asked, holding up the copies. “Where did they come from?”
Theresa answered softly. “They were sent to me.”
“By whom?” Confused, he rose from the bed.
She took a step toward him, holding out her hand. “By other people who’d found them. One of the people read my column. . . .”
“You published my letter?” He sounded as if he’d just been hit in the stomach.
She didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t know . . . ,” she began.
“You didn’t know what?” he said loudly, the hurt evident in his tone. “That it was wrong to do that? That this wasn’t something that I wanted the world to see?”
“It was washed up on the beach—you had to know someone would find it,” she said quickly. “I didn’t use your names.”
“But you put it in the paper. . . .” He trailed off in disbelief.
“Garrett . . . I—”
“Don’t,” he said angrily. Again he glanced at the letters, then looked back at her, as if he were seeing her for the first time. “You lied to me,” he said, almost as if it were a revelation.
“I didn’t lie. . . .”
He wasn’t listening. “You lied to me,” he repeated, as if to himself. “And you came to find me. Why? So you could write another column. Is that what this is about?”
“No . . . it isn’t like that at all. . . .”
“Then what was it?”
“After reading your letters, I . . . I wanted to meet you.”
he didn’t understand what she was saying. He kept looking from the letters to her and back again. His expression was pained.
“You lied to me,” he said for the third time. “You used me.”
“I didn’t. . . .”
“Yes, you did!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the room. Remembering Catherine, he held the letters out in front of him, as if Theresa had never seen them before. “These were mine—my feelings, my thoughts, my way of dealing with the loss of my wife. Mine—not yours.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He stared hard at her without saying anything. His jaw muscles tensed.
“This whole thing is a sham, isn’t it,” he said finally, not waiting for her to answer. “You took my feelings for Catherine and tried to manipulate them into something you wanted. You thought that because I loved Catherine, I would love you, too, didn’t you?”
Despite herself, she paled. She felt suddenly incapable of speech.
“You planned all this from the beginning, didn’t you?” He paused again, running his free hand through his hair. When he spoke, his voice began to crack. “The whole thing was set up—”
He seemed dazed for a moment, and she reached out to him.
“Garrett—yes, I admit I wanted to meet you. The letters were so beautiful—I wanted to see what kind of person writes like that. But I didn’t know where it would lead, I didn’t plan on anything after that.” She took his hand. “I love you, Garrett. You’ve got to believe me.”
when she finished speaking, he pulled his hand free and moved away.
“What kind of person are you?”
The comment stung, and she responded defensively, “It’s not what you think. . . .”
Garrett pressed on, oblivious of her response. “You got caught up in some weird fantasy. . . .”
That was too much. “Stop it, Garrett!” she cried angrily, hurt by his words. “You didn’t listen to anything I said!” As she shouted, she felt tears welling up in her eyes.
“Why should I listen? You’ve been lying to me ever since I’ve known you.”
“I didn’t lie! I just never told you about the letters!”
“Because you knew it was wrong!”
“No—because I knew you wouldn’t understand,” she said, trying to regain her composure.
“I understand all right. I understand what kind of person you are!”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be like this.”
“Be like what? Mad? Hurt? I just found out this whole thing was a charade, and now you want me to stop?”
“Shut up!” she shouted back, her anger suddenly rising to the surface.
He seemed stunned by her words, and he stared at her without speaking. Finally, with breaking voice, he held out the letters again.
“You think you understand what Catherine and I had together, but you don’t. No matter how many letters you read—no matter how well you know me—you’ll never understand. What she and I had was real . It was real, and she was real. . . . ”
he paused, collecting his thoughts, regarding her as if she were a stranger. Then, stiffening, he said something that hurt her worse than anything he’d said so far.
“We’ve never even come close to what Catherine and I had.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Instead he walked past her, toward his suitcase. After throwing everything inside, he zipped it quickly. For a moment she thought to stop him, but his comment had left her reeling.
He stood, lifting his bag. “These,” he said, holding the letters, “are mine, and I’m taking them with me.”
Suddenly realizing what he intended to do, she asked, “Why are you leaving?”
He stared at her. “I don’t even know who you are.”
Without another word, he turned around and strode through the living room and out the door.
CHAPTER 12
Not knowing where else to go, Garrett caught a cab to the airport after leaving Theresa’s apartment. Unfortunately no flights were available, and he ended up staying in the terminal the rest of the night, still angry and unable to sleep. Pacing the terminal for hours, he wandered past shops that had long since closed up for the evening, stopping only occasionally to look through the barricades that kept nighttime travelers at bay.
The following morning he caught the first flight he could and made it home a little after eleven and then went straight to his room. As he lay in bed, however, the events of the evening before kept running through his head, keeping him awake. Trying and failing to fall asleep, he eventually gave up. He showered and dressed, then sat on his bed again. Staring at the photograph of catherine, he eventually picked it up and carried it with him into the living room. On the coffee table he found the letters where he’d left them. In Theresa’s apartment he’d been too shocked to make sense of them, but now, with her picture in front of him, he read the letters slowly, almost reverently, sensing Catherine’s presence filling the room.
“Hey, I thought you’d forgotten about our date,” he said as he watched Catherine walking down the dock with a grocery bag.
Smiling, Catherine took his hand as she stepped on board. “I didn’t forget, I just had a little detour on the way.”
“Where?”
“Actually, I went to see the doctor.”
He took the bag from her and set it off to one side. “Are you okay? I know you haven’t been feeling well—”
“I’m okay,” she said, cutting him off gently. “But I don’t think I’m up for a sail tonight.”
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
Catherine smiled again as she leaned over and pulled a small package out of one of the bags. Garrett watched as she began to open it.
“Close your eyes,” she said, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Still a little unsure, Garrett nonetheless did as she asked and heard as tissue paper was unwrapped. “Okay, you can open them now.”
Catherine was holding up baby clothes in front of her.
“What’s this?” he asked, not understanding.
Her face was buoyant. “I’m pregnant,” she said excitedly.
“Pregnant?”
“Uh-huh. I’m officially eight weeks along.”
“Eight weeks?”
She nodded. “I think I must have gotten pregnant the last time we went sailing.”
Hesitating from the shock, Garrett took the baby clothes and held them delicately in his hand, then finally leaned forward and gave Catherine a hug. “I can’t believe it. . . .”
“It’s true.”
A broad smile crossed his lips as the realization finally began to sink in. “You’re pregnant.”
Catherine closed her eyes and whispered in his ear, “And you’re going to be a father.”
Garrett’s thoughts were interrupted by the squeaking of the door. His father peeked his head into the room.
“I saw your truck out front. I wanted to make sure everything was okay,” he said in explanation. “I didn’t expect you back here until this evening.” When Garrett didn’t respond, his father walked in and immediately spotted Catherine’s picture on the table. “You okay, son?” he asked cautiously.
They sat in the living room while Garrett explained the situation from the beginning—the dreams he’d been having over the years, the messages he’d been sending by bottle, finally moving on to the argument they’d had the night before. He left nothing out. When he finished, his father took the letters from Garrett’s hand.
“It must have been quite a shock,” he said, glancing at the pages, surprised that Garrett had never mentioned the letters to him. He paused. “But don’t you think you were a little rough on her?”
Garrett shook his head tiredly. “She knew everything about me, Dad, and she never told me. She set the whole thing up.”
“no, she didn’t,” he said gently. “She may have come down to meet you, but she didn’t make you fall in love with her. You did that on your own.”
Garrett looked away before finally returning his gaze to the picture on the table. “But don’t you think it was wrong of her to hide it from me?”
Jeb sighed, not wanting to answer the question, knowing it would lead Garrett to retread old ground. Instead he tried to think of another way to get through to his son. “A couple of weeks ago, when we were talking on the pier, you told me you wanted to marry Theresa because you loved her. Do you remember that?”
Garrett nodded absently.
“Why has that changed?”
Garrett looked at his father, confused. “I’ve already told you that—”
Jeb gently cut him off before he could finish.
“Yeah, you’ve explained your reasons, but you haven’t been honest about it. Not with me, not with Theresa, not even with yourself. She may not have told you about the letters, and granted, maybe she should have. But that’s not why you’re still angry now. You’re angry because she made you realize something that you didn’t want to admit.”
Garrett looked at his father without responding. Then, rising from the couch, he went to the kitchen, suddenly feeling the urge to escape the conversation. In the refrigerator, he found a pitcher of sweet tea and poured himself a glass. Holding the freezer open, he pulled out the metal tray to crack out a couple of cubes. In a sudden spurt of frustration, he pulled the lever too hard and ice cubes flew over the counter and onto the floor.
as garrett muttered and cursed in the kitchen, Jeb stared at the picture of Catherine, remembering his own wife from long ago. He put the letters beside it and walked to the sliding glass door. Opening it, he watched as cold December winds from the Atlantic made the waves crash violently, the sounds echoing through the house. Jeb contemplated the ocean, watching it churn and roll until he heard a knock at the door.
He turned, wondering who it could be. Strangely, he realized that in all of his visits here, no one had ever come to the door.
In the kitchen, Garrett apparently hadn’t heard the knock. Jeb went to answer it. Behind him, the wind chimes hanging over the back deck were ringing loudly.
“Coming,” he called out.
When the front door swung open, wind gusted through the living room, scattering the letters to the floor. Jeb, however, didn’t notice. All his attention was focused on the visitor on the porch. He couldn’t help but stare.
Standing before him was a dark-haired young woman he’d never seen before. He paused in the doorway, knowing exactly who she was but finding himself at a loss for words. He moved aside to make room for her.
“C’mon in,” he said quietly.
As she entered, closing the door behind her, the wind abruptly died. She glanced at Jeb, uncomfortable. For a moment, neither spoke.
“You must be Theresa,” Jeb finally said. In the background, Jeb could hear Garrett mumbling to himself as he cleaned up the ice in the kitchen. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
She crossed her arms, hesitating. “I know I’m not expected. . . .”
“it’s okay,” Jeb encouraged.
“Is he here?”
Jeb nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Yeah, he’s here. He’s getting something to drink.”
“How is he?”
Jeb shrugged and gave her a slow, wry smile. “You’ll have to talk to him. . . .”
Theresa nodded, suddenly wondering whether coming down was a good idea. She glanced around the room and immediately spied the letters spread around the floor. She also noticed Garrett’s bag sitting by his bedroom door, still packed from his visit. Other than that, the house looked exactly the same as it always did.
Except, of course, for the photograph.
She spotted it over Jeb’s shoulder. Normally it was in his room, and for some reason, now that it was in plain view, she couldn’t take her eyes off it. She was still staring at the picture when Garrett reentered the living room.
“Dad, what happened in here—”
He froze. Theresa faced him uncertainly. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then Theresa took a deep breath.
“Hello, Garrett,” she said.
Garrett said nothing. Jeb picked up his keys from the table, knowing it was time to leave.
“You two have a lot to talk about, so I’ll get out of here.”
He went to the front door, glancing sidelong at Theresa. “It was nice meeting you,” he murmured. But as he spoke, he raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly, as if to wish her luck. In a moment he was outside, making his way down the walk.
“why are you here?” Garrett asked evenly once they were alone.
“I wanted to come,” she said quietly. “I wanted to see you again.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, she walked toward him, her eyes never leaving his. Once she was close, she put her finger to his lips and shook her head to stop him from speaking. “Shh,” she whispered, “no questions . . . just for now. Please . . .” She tried to smile, but now that he could see her better, he knew she’d been crying.
There was nothing she could say. There were no words to describe what she’d been going through.
Instead she wrapped her arms around him. Reluctantly he drew his arms around her as she rested her head against him. She kissed his neck and pulled him closer. Running her hand through his hair, she moved her mouth tentatively to his cheek, then to his lips. She kissed them lightly at first, her lips barely brushing against them, then she kissed him again, more passionate now. Without conscious thought, he began to respond to her advances. His hands slowly traveled up her back, molding her against him.
In the living room, with the roar of the ocean echoing through the house, they held each other tightly, giving in to their growing desires. Finally Theresa pulled back, reaching for his hand as she did so. Taking it in hers, she led him to the bedroom.
Letting go, she crossed the room as he waited just inside the door. Light from the living room spilled in, casting shadows across the room. Hesitating only slightly before facing him again, she began to undress. garrett made a small movement to close the bedroom door, but she shook her head. She wanted to see him this time, and she wanted him to see her. She wanted Garrett to know he was with her and no one else.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she shed her garments. Her blouse . . . her jeans . . . her bra . . . her panties. She removed her clothing deliberately, her lips slightly parted, her eyes never leaving his. When she was naked, she stood before him, letting his gaze travel over all of her.
Finally she approached him. Standing close, she ran her hands over him—his chest, his shoulders, his arms, touching him gently, as if she wanted to remember the way he felt forever. Stepping back to allow him to undress, she watched him, her eyes taking everything in as his clothes fell to the floor. Moving to his side, she kissed his shoulders, then slowly worked around him, her mouth against his skin, the wetness of her lips lingering everywhere she touched. Then, leading him to the bed, she lay down, pulling him with her.
They made love fiercely, clinging desperately to each other. Their passion was unlike any time they’d made love before—each painfully conscious of the other’s pleasure, every touch more electric than the last. As if fearful of what the future would bring, they worshiped each other’s bodies with a singleminded intensity that would sear their memories forever. When they finally climaxed together, Theresa threw back her head and cried aloud, not attempting to stifle the sound.
Afterward she sat up in the bed, cradling Garrett’s head in her lap. She ran her hands through his hair, rhythmically, steadily, listening as the sound of his breathing gradually deepened.
Later that afternoon, Garrett woke up alone. Noticing that theresa’s clothes were gone as well, he grabbed his jeans and shirt. Still buttoning his shirt as he left his bedroom, he quickly searched the house for her.
The house was cold.
He found her in the kitchen. She was seated at the table, wearing her jacket. On the table in front of her, he saw a cup of coffee, nearly empty, as if she’d been sitting there for some time. The coffeepot was already in the sink. Checking the clock, he realized he’d been asleep for almost two hours.
“Hey there,” he said uncertainly.
Theresa glanced over her shoulder at him. Her voice was subdued.
“Oh, hey . . . I didn’t hear you get up.”
“You okay?”
She didn’t answer directly. “Come sit with me,” she said instead. “There’s a lot I’ve got to tell you.”
Garrett sat down at the table. He smiled tentatively at her. Theresa fidgeted with the coffee cup for a moment, her eyes downcast. He reached over, brushing a loose strand of hair away from the side of her face. When she didn’t respond, he pulled back.
Finally, without looking at him, she reached into her lap and removed the letters, laying them on the table. Apparently she’d gathered them up while he slept.
“I found the bottle when I was jogging last summer,” she began, her voice steady but distant, as if recalling something painful. “I didn’t have any idea what the letter inside would say, but after reading it, I started to cry. It was just so beautiful—I knew it had come straight from your heart, and the way it was written . . . I guess I related to the things you wrote because I felt so alone, too.”
She looked at him. “That morning, I showed it to Deanna. Publishing it was her idea. I didn’t want to at first . . . I thought it was too personal, but she didn’t see the harm in it. She thought it would be a nice thing for people to read. So I relented, and assumed that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t.”
She sighed. “After I got back to Boston, I got a call from someone who’d read the column. She sent me the second letter, one that she’d found a few years ago. After I read it, I was intrigued, but again, I didn’t think it would go any further.”
She paused. “Have you ever heard of Yankee magazine?”
“No.”
“It’s a regional magazine. It’s not well-known outside of New England, but it publishes some good stories. That’s where I found the third letter.”
Garrett looked at her in surprise. “It was published there?”
“Yes, it was. I tracked down the author of the article and he sent me the third letter, and . . . well, curiosity got the best of me. I had three letters, Garrett—not just one but three—and every one of them touched me the same way the first one had. So, with Deanna’s help, I found out who you were and I came down to meet you.”
She smiled sadly. “I know it sounds like you said—that it was some sort of fantasy—but it wasn’t. I didn’t come down here to fall in love with you. I didn’t come down here to write a column. I came down to see who you were, that was all. I wanted to meet the person who wrote those beautiful letters. So I went to the docks and there you were. We talked, and then, if you remember, you asked me to go sailing. If you hadn’t, I probably would have gone home that day.”
He didn’t know what to say. Theresa reached over and placed her hand carefully over his.
“But you know what? We had a good time that night, and I realized I wanted to see you again. Not because of the letters, but because of how you treated me. And everything just seemed to grow naturally from there. After that first meeting, nothing that happened between us was part of a plan. It just happened.”
He sat quietly for a moment, looking at the letters. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?” he asked.
She took her time answering. “There were times when I wanted to, but . . . I don’t know . . . I guess I convinced myself that it didn’t matter how we met. The only thing that mattered was how well we got along.” She paused, knowing there was more. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d understand. I didn’t want to lose you.”
“If you’d told me earlier, I would have understood.”
She watched him carefully as he answered. “Would you, Garrett? Would you really have understood?”
Garrett knew it to be a moment of truth. When he didn’t respond, Theresa shook her head and glanced away.
“Last night, when you asked me to move, I didn’t say yes right away because I was afraid of why you’d asked.” She hesitated. “I needed to be sure you wanted me , Garrett. I needed to be sure you asked me because of us , and not because you were running from something. I guess I wanted you to convince me when I got back from the store. But you found these instead. . . .”
She shrugged, speaking more softly now. “Deep down, I guess i knew it all along, but i wanted to believe that everything would work itself out.”
“What are you talking about?”
She didn’t answer directly. “Garrett—it isn’t that I don’t think you love me, because I know you do. That’s what makes this whole thing so hard. I know you love me, and I love you, too—and if the circumstances were different, perhaps we could get through all this. But right now, I don’t think we can. I don’t think you’re ready yet.”
Garrett felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. She looked directly at him, meeting his eyes.
“I’m not blind, Garrett. I knew why you would get so quiet sometimes when we weren’t together. I knew why you wanted me to move down here.”
“It was because I missed you,” he interjected.
“That was part of it . . . but not all of it,”Theresa said, pausing to blink back tears. Her voice began to crack. “It’s also because of Catherine.”
She dabbed at the corner of her eye, clearly fighting tears, determined not to break down.
“When you first told me about her, I saw the way you looked . . . it was obvious that you still loved her. And last night—despite your anger—I saw the same look again. Even after all the time we’ve spent together, you’re still not over her. And then . . . the things you said . . .” She took a deep, uneven breath. “You weren’t angry simply because I found the letters, you were angry because you felt I threatened what you and Catherine shared—and still do.”
Garrett looked away, hearing the echo of his father’s accusation. Again she reached over and touched his hand.
“you are who you are, Garrett. You’re a man who loves deeply, but you’re also a man who loves forever. No matter how much you love me, I don’t think it’s in you to ever forget her, and I can’t live my life wondering whether I measure up to her.”
“We can work on it,” he began hoarsely. “I mean . . . I can work on it. I know it can be different—”
Theresa cut him off with a brief squeeze of his hand.
“I know you believe that, and part of me wants to believe it, too. If you put your arms around me now and begged me to stay, I’m sure I would, because you added something to my life that was lacking for a long time. And we’d go on again like we had been, both believing everything was okay. . . . But it wouldn’t be, don’t you see? Because the next time we had an argument . . .” She stopped. “I can’t compete with her. And as much as I want it to go on, I can’t let it, because you won’t let it.”
“But I love you.”
She smiled gently. Letting go of his hand, she reached up and softly caressed his cheek. “I love you, too, Garrett. But sometimes love isn’t enough.”
Garrett was quiet when she finished, his face pale. In the long silence between them, Theresa began to cry.
Leaning toward her, he put his arm around her and held her, his arms weak. He rested his cheek against her hair as she buried her face in his chest, her body shaking as she cried into him. It was a long time before Theresa wiped her cheeks and pulled away. They looked at each other, Garrett’s eyes issuing a mute plea. She shook her head.
“I can’t stay, Garrett. As much as we both want me to, I can’t.”
The words hit hard. Garrett’s head suddenly felt woozy.
“No . . . ,” he said brokenly.
theresa stood, knowing she had to leave before she lost her nerve. Outside, thunder boomed loudly. Seconds later a light, misty rain began to fall.
“I have to go.”
She slipped her purse over her shoulder and started for the front door. For a moment, Garrett was too stunned to move.
Finally, in a daze, he rose from his seat and followed her out the door, the rain beginning to fall steadily now. Her rental car was parked in the driveway. Garrett watched as she opened the car door, unable to think of anything to say.
In the driver’s seat she fumbled with the key for a moment, then put it in the ignition. She forced a weak smile as she shut the door. Despite the rain, she rolled down the window to see him more clearly. Turning the key, she felt the engine crank to life. They stared at each other as the car idled in his driveway.
His expression as he looked at her cut through all her defenses, her fragile resolve. For just a moment she wanted to take everything back. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t mean what she had said, that she still loved him, that it shouldn’t end this way. It would be easy to do that, it would feel so right—
But no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t force herself to say the words.
He took a step toward the car. Theresa shook her head to stop him. This was already painful enough.
“I’ll miss you, Garrett,” she said beneath her breath, uncertain whether he could even hear her. She slid the transmission into reverse.
The rain began to fall harder: the thicker, colder drops of a winter storm.
garrett stood, frozen. “Please,” he said raggedly, “don’t leave.” His voice was low, almost obscured by the sound of the rain.
She didn’t answer.
Knowing she would start to cry again if she stayed any longer, she rolled up the window. Looking over her shoulder, she began to back out of the drive. Garrett put his hand on the hood as the car started to move, his fingers gliding along the wet surface as it slowly backed away. In a moment the car was on the street, ready to roll, the windshield wipers flapping back and forth.
With sudden urgency, Garrett felt his last chance slipping away. “Theresa,” he shouted, “wait!”
With the rain coming down steadily, she didn’t hear him. The car was already past the house. Garrett jogged to the end of the drive, waving his arms to get her attention. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Theresa!” he shouted again. He was in the middle of the road now, running behind the car, his feet splashing through the puddles that had already begun to form. The brake lights blinked for a second, then steadied as the car came to a halt. Rain and mist swirled around it, making it look like a mirage. Garrett knew she was watching him in the rearview mirror, watching him close the distance. There’s still a chance. . . .
The brake lights suddenly flicked off and the car started forward again, picking up speed, accelerating more quickly this time. Garrett kept running behind the car, chasing it as it made its way down the street. He watched as the car moved farther into the distance, becoming smaller with each passing moment. His lungs burned, but he kept on going, racing a sense of futility. The rain began to come down in sheets, storm drops, soaking through his shirt and making it difficult for him to see.
finally he slowed to a jog, then stopped. The air was dense with rain, and he was breathing heavily. His shirt clung to his skin, his hair hanging in his eyes. While the rain came down around him, he stood in the middle of the road, watching as her car turned the corner and vanished from sight.
Still, he didn’t move. He stayed in the middle of the road for a long time, trying to catch his breath, hoping she would turn around and come back to him, wishing he hadn’t let her go. Wishing for one more chance.
She was gone .
A few moments later a car honked its horn behind him and he felt his heart surge. He turned quickly and wiped the rain from his eyes, almost expecting to see her face behind the windshield, but immediately saw he was mistaken. Garrett moved to the side of the road to let the car pass, and as he felt the man’s curious stare upon him, he suddenly realized he’d never felt so alone.
* * *
On the airplane, Theresa sat with her purse resting in her lap. She’d been one of the last to board, making her way onto the plane with only a few minutes to spare.
Looking out the window, she watched the rain coming down in blowing sheets. Below her, on the tarmac, the last of the luggage was being loaded, the handlers working quickly to keep the bags from getting soaked. They finished just as the main cabin door closed, and moments later the boarding ramp pulled back to the terminal.
It was dusk, and there were only a few minutes left of waning gray light. The stewardesses made their final run through the cabin, making sure everything was stored properly, then headed for their seats. the cabin lights blinked and the plane began its slow reverse drift, away from the terminal, turning in the direction of the runway.
The plane stopped, waiting for clearance, parallel to the terminal.
Absently she glanced out at the terminal. From the corner of her eye, she saw a solitary figure standing near the terminal window, his hands pressed against the glass.
She looked closer. Could it be?
She couldn’t tell. The tinted windows of the terminal coupled with the pouring rain obscured her view. Had he not been standing so close to the glass, she wouldn’t have known he was there at all.
Theresa continued to stare at the figure, her breath catching in her throat.
Whoever it was didn’t move.
The engines roared, then quieted as the plane began its slow roll forward. She knew there were only a few moments left. The gate fell farther behind them as the plane gradually picked up speed.
Forward . . . toward the runway . . . away from Wilmington . . .
She turned her head, straining for one last glimpse, but it was impossible to tell whether the person was still there.
While the plane taxied into final position, she continued to stare out the window, wondering whether her sighting had been real or if she’d imagined it. The plane turned sharply, rotating into position, and Theresa felt the thrust of the engines as the plane made its way down the runway, the tires rumbling loudly until they lifted from the ground. Squinting through her tears as the plane rose higher, Theresa watched as Wilmington came into view. she could make out the empty beaches as they passed over them . . . the piers . . . the marina. . . .
The plane started to make its turn, banking slightly, turning north and heading for home. From her window all she could see was the ocean now, the same ocean that had brought them together.
Behind the heavy clouds, the sun was going down, drifting toward the horizon.
Just before they soared into the clouds that would obliterate everything below, she put her hand against the glass and touched it gently, imagining the feel of his hand once more.
“Good-bye,” she whispered.
Silently she began to cry.
chapter 13
Winter arrived early the following year. Sitting on the beach near the spot where she’d first discovered the bottle, Theresa noted that the cold ocean breezes had grown stronger since she’d arrived this morning. Ominous gray clouds rolled overhead, and the waves were starting to rise and crash with greater frequency. She knew the storm was finally getting close.
She’d been out here for most of the day, reliving their relationship up until the day they’d said good-bye, sifting through memories as if searching for a grain of understanding she might have missed before. For the past year she’d been haunted by his expression as he stood in the driveway, the reflection of him in her rearview mirror chasing her car as she drove away. Leaving him then had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Often she dreamed of turning back the clock and living that day over.
Finally she stood. In silence she started walking along the shore, wishing he were with her. He would enjoy a quiet, misty day like this, and she imagined him walking beside her as she looked toward the horizon. She paused, mesmerized by the churning and rolling of the water, and when she finally turned her head, she realized his image had left her as well. She stood there for a long time, trying to bring him back, but when his image didn’t return, she knew it was time to go. She started walking again, though this time more slowly, wondering if he could have guessed at her reason for coming here.
Despite herself, she felt her thoughts returning to the days immediately following their last good-bye. We spend so much time making up for things we failed to say, she mused. If only , she began for the thousandth time, the images of those days beginning to flash behind her eyes like a slide show she was powerless to stop.
If only . . .
* * *
After arriving back in Boston, Theresa had picked up Kevin on the way home from the airport. Kevin, who’d spent the day at a friend’s house, excitedly recounted the movie he’d seen, oblivious of the fact that his mother was barely listening. When they got home she ordered a pizza, and they ate in the living room with the television on. When they finished, she surprised Kevin by asking him to sit with her for a while instead of doing his homework. As he rested against her quietly on the couch, he occasionally sent her an anxious glance, but she merely stroked his hair and smiled at him abstractedly, as if she were somewhere far away.
later, after Kevin had gone to bed and she knew he’d fallen asleep, she slipped on some soft pajamas and poured herself a glass of wine. On her way back to the bedroom, she turned off the answering machine by the phone.
On Monday she had a long lunch with Deanna and told her everything that had happened. She tried to sound strong. Nonetheless Deanna held her hand throughout, listening thoughtfully and barely speaking.
“It’s for the best,” Theresa said resolutely when she finished. “I’m okay with this.” Deanna gazed at her searchingly, her eyes full of compassion. But she said nothing, only nodding at Theresa’s brave claims.
For the next few days Theresa did her best to avoid thinking about him. Working on her column was comforting. Concentrating on research and distilling it into words took all the mental energy she had. The hectic atmosphere in the newsroom helped as well, and because the conference call with Dan Mandel had turned out to be everything Deanna promised it would, Theresa approached her work with renewed enthusiasm, preparing two or three columns a day, faster than she’d ever written them before.
In the evenings, however, after Kevin went to bed and she was alone, she found it difficult to keep his image at bay. Borrowing her habits from work, Theresa tried to focus on other tasks instead. She cleaned the house from top to bottom during the next few evenings—scrubbing the floor, cleaning the refrigerator, vacuuming and dusting the apartment, rearranging the closets. Nothing was left untouched. She even sorted through her drawers for clothes that she didn’t wear anymore, with the plan of donating them to charity. After boxing them up, she carried the clothes to the car and loaded them in the back. that night she paced through the apartment, looking for something—anything—else that needed to be done. Finally, realizing she’d finished but still unable to sleep, she turned on the television. Flipping through the channels, she stopped when she saw Linda Ronstadt being interviewed on the Tonight show. Theresa had always loved her music, but when Linda later walked to the microphone to perform a dreamy ballad, Theresa nonetheless began to cry. She didn’t stop for almost an hour.
That weekend she and Kevin went to see the New England Patriots play the Chicago Bears. Kevin had been pressing her to go as soon as soccer season ended, and she finally agreed to take him, though she didn’t really understand the game. They sat in the stands, their breaths coming out in little puffs, drinking syrupy hot chocolate and rooting for the home team.
Afterward, when they went to dinner, Theresa reluctantly told Kevin that she and Garrett wouldn’t be seeing each other anymore.
“Mom, did something happen when you went to see Garrett last time? Did he do something that made you mad?”
“No,” she answered softly, “he didn’t.” She hesitated before glancing away. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”
Although Kevin clearly seemed baffled by this answer, it was the closest she could bring herself to explaining it right then.
The following week she was working at her computer when the phone rang.
“Is this Theresa?”
“Yes, it is,” she answered, not recognizing the voice.
“This is Jeb Blake . . . Garrett’s father. I know this is going to sound strange, but I’d like to talk to you.”
“oh, hi,” she stammered. “Um . . . I’ve got a few minutes now.”
He paused. “I’d like to talk to you in person, if it’s possible. It’s not something I’d be comfortable with over the phone.”
“Can I ask what it’s about?”
“It’s about Garrett,” he said quietly. “I know it’s asking a lot, but do you think you could fly down here? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
Finally agreeing to go, Theresa left work and went to Kevin’s school. After picking him up early, she dropped him off with a friend she could trust, explaining that she was probably going to be gone a few days. Kevin tried to ask her about her sudden trip, but her odd, distracted behavior made it clear that her reasons would have to be explained later.
“Say hi for me,” he said, kissing her good-bye.
Theresa only nodded, then went to the airport and caught the first flight she could. Once in Wilmington, she went directly to Garrett’s house, where Jeb was waiting for her.
* * *
“I’m glad you could come,” Jeb said as soon as she’d arrived.
“What’s going on?” she asked, scanning the house curiously for signs of Garrett’s presence.
Jeb looked older than she remembered. Leading her to the kitchen table, he pulled out the chair so she could sit with him. Speaking softly, he began with what he knew.
“From what I could gather from talking to different people,” he said quietly, “Garrett took Happenstance out later than usual. . . .”
* * *
it was simply something he had to do. Garrett knew the dark, heavy clouds on the horizon presaged a coming storm. They seemed far enough away, however, to give him the time he needed. Besides, he was only going out a few miles. Even if the storm did hit, he would be close enough to make it back to port. After pulling on his gloves, he steered Happenstance through the rising swells, the sails already in position.
For three years he’d taken the same route whenever he went out, driven by instinct and memories of Catherine. It had been her idea to sail directly east that night, the first night Happenstance was ready. In her imagination they were sailing to Europe, a place she’d always wanted to go. Sometimes she would return from the store with travel magazines and look through the pictures as he sat beside her. She wanted to see it all—the famous chвteaux of the Loire Valley, the Parthenon, the Scottish highlands, the Basilica—all the places she’d read about. Her ideal vacation ran from the ordinary to the exotic, changing every time she picked up a different magazine.
But, of course, they never made it to Europe.
It was one of his biggest regrets. When he looked back on his life with her, he knew it was the one thing he should have done. He could have given her that much, at least, and thinking back, he knew it would have been possible. After a couple of years of saving, they’d had the money to go and had toyed with travel plans, but in the end they’d used the money to buy the shop. When she realized the responsibility of the business would never leave them with enough time to go, her dream eventually began to fade. She began to bring home the magazines less frequently. After a while she seldom mentioned Europe at all.
The night they first took Happenstance out, however, he knew her dream was still alive. she stood on the bow, looking far into the distance, holding Garrett’s hand. “Will we ever go?” she asked him gently, and it was that vision of her he always remembered: her hair billowing in the wind, her expression radiant and hopeful, like that of an angel.
“Yes,” he promised her, “as soon as we have the time.”
Less than a year later, while pregnant with their child, Catherine died in the hospital with Garrett at her side.
Later, when the dreams began, he didn’t know what to do. For a while he tried to push his tormented feelings away. Then in a fit of desperation one morning, he tried to find relief by putting his feelings into words. He wrote quickly, without pausing, and the first letter was almost five pages long. He carried the finished letter with him when he went sailing later that day, and reading it again suddenly gave him an idea. Because the Gulf Stream, which flowed northward up the coast of the United States, eventually turned east once it reached the cooler waters of the Atlantic, with a little luck a bottle could drift to Europe and wash up on the foreign soil she had always wanted to visit. His decision made, he sealed the letter in a bottle and threw it overboard with the hopes of somehow keeping the promise he’d made. It became a pattern he would never break.
Since then he’d written sixteen more letters—seventeen, if you counted the one he had with him now. As he stood at the wheel, gliding the boat directly eastward, he absently touched the bottle nestled in his coat pocket. He had written it this morning, as soon as he had risen.
The sky was beginning to turn leaden, but Garrett steered onward, toward the horizon. Beside him, the radio crackled with warnings of the coming storm. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned it off and evaluated the sky. he still had time, he decided. The winds were strong and steady, but they weren’t yet unpredictable.
After writing this letter to Catherine, he had written a second one as well. That one, he’d already taken care of. Because of the second letter, though, he knew he had to send Catherine’s letter today. Storms were lined up across the Atlantic, moving slowly westward in a march toward the eastern seaboard. From the reports he’d seen on television, it didn’t look as if he’d be able to get out again for at least a week, and that was too long to wait. He’d already be gone by then.
The choppy seas continued to rise: the swells breaking higher, the troughs bottoming out a little lower. The sails were beginning to strain in the steady, heavy winds. Garrett evaluated his position. The water was deep here, though not quite deep enough. The Gulf Stream—a summer phenomenon—was gone, and the only way the bottle stood a chance of making it across the ocean was if it was far enough out to sea when it was dropped. The storm might otherwise wash it ashore within a few days—and of all the letters he’d written to her, he wanted this one to make it to Europe most of all. He had decided that it would be the last one he’d ever send.
On the horizon, the clouds looked ominous.
He pulled on his rain slicker and buttoned it up. When the rains came, he hoped it would protect him for at least a little while.
Happenstance began to bob as she moved farther out to sea. He held the wheel with both hands, keeping her as steady as he could. When the winds shifted and picked up—signaling the front of the storm—he began to tack, moving diagonally across the swells despite the hazards. Tacking was difficult in these conditions, slowing his progress, but he preferred to go against the wind now rather than attempt to tack on the way back if the storm caught up to him.
The effort was exhausting. Every time he shifted the sails, it took all the strength he had just to keep from losing control. Despite his gloves, his hands burned when the lines slid through his hands. Twice, when the wind gusted unexpectedly, he almost lost his balance, saved only because the gust died as quickly as it came.
For almost an hour he continued tacking, all the while watching the storm up ahead. It seemed to have stalled, but he knew it was an illusion. It would hit land in a few hours. As soon as it hit shallower water, the storm would accelerate and the ocean would become unnavigable. Now, it was simply gathering steam like a slowly burning fuse, getting ready to explode.
Garrett had been caught in major storms before and knew better than to underestimate the power of this one. With one careless move, the ocean would take him, and he was determined not to let that happen. He was stubborn, but not foolish. The moment he sensed real danger, he’d turn the boat around and race back to port.
Overhead, the clouds continued to thicken, rolling and twisting into new shapes. Light rain began to fall. Garrett looked upward, knowing it was just beginning. “Just a few more minutes,” he muttered under his breath. He needed just a few more minutes—
Lightning flashed across the sky, and Garrett counted off the seconds before he heard the thunder. Two and a half minutes later it finally sounded, booming over the open expanse of the ocean. The center of the storm was roughly twenty-five miles away. With the current wind speed, he calculated, he had over an hour before it hit in full force. He planned to be long gone by then.
The rain continued to fall.
Darkness began to settle in as he forged ahead. As the sun dropped lower, impenetrable clouds above blotted out the remaining sunlight, quickly lowering the air temperature. Ten minutes later the rain began to fall harder and colder.
Damn! He was running out of time, but he still wasn’t there.
The swells seemed to rise, the ocean churning, as Happenstance cut forward. To keep his balance, he spread his legs farther apart. The wheel was steady, but the swells were beginning to come diagonally now, rocking the boat like an unsteady cradle. Resolutely he pressed on.
Minutes later lightning flickered again . . . pause . . . thunder. Twenty miles now. He checked his watch. If the storm progressed at this rate, he’d be cutting it close. He could still make it back to port in time, as long as the winds continued blowing in the same direction.
But if the winds shifted . . .
His mind clicked through the scenario. He was two and a half hours out to sea—going with the wind, he would need an hour and a half to get back at the most, if everything went as planned. The storm would hit land about the same time he did.
“Damn,” he said, this time out loud. He had to drop the bottle now, even though he wasn’t as far out as he wanted to be. But he couldn’t risk going out any farther.
He grasped the now shuddering wheel with one hand as he reached into his jacket and removed the bottle. He pressed on the cork to make sure it was wedged in tightly, then held up the bottle in the waning light. he could see the letter inside, rolled tightly.
Staring at it, he felt a sense of completion, as if a long journey had finally come to an end.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the crashing of the waves.
He threw the bottle as far as he could and watched it fly, losing it only when it hit the water. It was done.
Now, to turn the boat around.
At that moment, two bolts of lightning split the sky simultaneously. Fifteen miles away now. He hesitated, concerned.
It couldn’t be coming that fast, he suddenly thought. But the storm seemed to be gaining speed and strength, expanding like a balloon, coming directly toward him.
He used the loops to steady the wheel while he returned to the stern. Losing precious minutes, he fought furiously to maintain control of the boom. The lines burned in his hands, ripping through his gloves. He finally succeeded in shifting the sails, and the boat leaned hard as it caught the wind. As he made his way back, another gust blew a cold blast from a different direction.
Warm air rushes to cold .
He switched on the radio just in time to hear a small-craft advisory being issued. Quickly he turned up the volume, listening closely as the broadcast described the rapidly changing weather patterns. “Repeat . . . small-craft advisory . . . dangerous winds forming . . . heavy rain expected.”
The storm was gathering steam.
With the temperature dropping quickly, the winds had picked up dangerously. In the last three minutes they had increased to a steady gale of twenty-five knots.
he leaned into the wheel with a growing sense of urgency.
Nothing happened.
He realized suddenly that the rising swells were lifting the stern out of the water, not allowing the rudder to respond. The boat seemed frozen in the wrong direction, teetering precariously. He rode another swell and the hull slapped hard against the water, the bow of the boat nearly going under.
“Come on . . . catch,” he whispered, the first tendrils of panic unfurling in his gut. This was taking too long. The sky was growing blacker by the minute, and the rain began to blow sideways in dense, impenetrable sheets.
A minute later the rudder finally caught and the boat began to turn . . .
Slowly . . . slowly . . . the boat still leaning too far to its side . . .
With growing horror he watched the ocean rise around him to form a roaring, giant swell that was headed straight for him.
He wasn’t going to make it.
He braced himself as water crashed over the exposed hull, sending up white plumes. Happenstance leaned even farther and Garrett’s legs buckled, but his grip on the wheel was solid. He scrambled to his feet again just as another swell hit the boat.
Water flooded onto the deck.
The boat struggled to stay upright in the blasting winds, actively taking on water now. For almost a minute it poured onto the deck with the force of a raging river. Then the winds suddenly abated for a moment, and miraculously Happenstance began to right itself, the mast rising slightly into the ebony sky. The rudder caught again and Garrett turned the wheel hard, knowing he had to rotate the boat quickly.
Lightning again. Seven miles away now.
the radio crackled. “Repeat . . . small-craft advisory . . . winds expected to reach forty knots . . . repeat . . . winds at forty knots, gusting to fifty . . .”
Garrett knew he was in danger. There was no way he could control Happenstance in winds that strong.
The boat continued to make its turn, battling the extra weight and the savage ocean swells. The water at his feet was almost six inches deep now. Almost there . . .
A gale-force wind suddenly began to blow from the opposite direction, stopping his progress cold and rocking Happenstance like a toy. Just when the boat was most vulnerable, a large swell crashed against the hull. The mast sank lower, pointing toward the ocean.
This time the gust never stopped.
Freezing rain blew sideways, blinding him. Happenstance , instead of correcting, began to tilt even more, the sails heavy with rainwater. Garrett lost his balance again, the angle of the boat defying his efforts to get up. If another swell hit again . . .
Garrett never saw it coming.
Like an executioner’s swing, the wave smashed against the boat with terrible finality, forcing Happenstance onto her side, the mast and sails crashing into the water. She was lost. Garrett clung to the wheel, knowing if he let go, he’d be swept out to sea.
Happenstance began taking on water rapidly, heaving like a great drowning beast.
He had to get to the emergency kit, which included a raft—it was his only chance. Garrett inched his way toward the cabin door, holding on to anything he could, fighting the blinding rain, fighting for his life.
Lightning and thunder again, almost simultaneously.
He finally reached the hatch and gripped the handle. It wouldn’t budge. desperate, he placed his feet into position for greater leverage and pulled again. When it cracked open, water began to flood inside, and he suddenly realized he’d made a terrible mistake.
The ocean rushed in, quickly obscuring the interior of the cabin. Garrett immediately saw that the kit, normally secured in a bin on the wall, was already underwater. There was nothing, he realized finally, to prevent the boat from being swallowed up by the ocean.
Panicked, he fought to shut the cabin door, but the rush of water and his lack of leverage made it impossible. Happenstance began to sink quickly. In seconds half the hull was submerged. His mind suddenly clicked again.
Life jackets . . .
They were located under the seats near the stern.
He looked. They were still above water.
Struggling furiously, he reached for the side railings, the only handholds still above water. By the time he grabbed hold, the water was up to his chest and his legs were kicking in the ocean. He cursed himself, knowing he should have put on the life jacket before.
Three-fourths of the boat was underwater now, and it was still going down.
Fighting toward the seats, he placed hand over hand, straining against the weight of the waves and his own leaden muscles. Halfway there, the ocean reached his neck and the futility of the situation finally hit him.
He wasn’t going to make it.
The water was up to his chin when he finally stopped trying. looking upward, his body exhausted, he still refused to believe that it would end this way.
He let go of the side rail and began to swim away from the boat. His coat and shoes dragged heavily in the water. He treaded water, rising with the swells as he watched Happenstance finally slip beneath the ocean. Then, with cold and exhaustion beginning to numb his senses, he turned and began the slow, impossible swim to shore.
* * *
Theresa sat with Jeb at the table. Talking in fits and starts, he had taken a long time to tell her what he knew.
Later, Theresa would recall that as she listened to his story, it was not with a sense of fear as much as it was one of curiosity. She knew that Garrett had survived. He was an expert sailor, an even better swimmer. He was too careful, too vital, to be bested by something like this. If anyone could make it, it would be he.
She reached across the table to Jeb, confused. “I don’t understand . . . Why did he take the boat out if he knew there was a storm coming?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
Theresa furrowed her brow, bewilderment making her surroundings surreal. “Did he say anything to you before he went out?”
Jeb shook his head. He was ashen, his eyes downcast as if hiding something. Absently Theresa looked around the kitchen. Everything was tidy, as if it had been cleaned moments before she arrived. Through the open bedroom door she saw Garrett’s comforter spread neatly across the bed. Oddly, two large floral arrangements had been placed atop it.
“I don’t understand—he’s all right, isn’t he?”
“theresa,” jeb finally said with tears forming in his eyes, “they found him yesterday morning.”
“Is he in the hospital?”
“No,” he said quietly.
“Then where is he?” she asked, refusing to acknowledge what she somehow knew.
Jeb didn’t answer.
It was then that her breathing suddenly became difficult. Beginning with her hands, her body started to tremble. Garrett! she thought. What happened? Why aren’t you here? Jeb bowed his head so she wouldn’t see his tears, but she could hear his choking gasps.
“Theresa . . . ,” he said, trailing off.
“Where is he? ” she demanded, leaping to her feet in a surge of frantic adrenaline. She heard the chair clatter to the floor behind her as if from a very great distance.
Jeb stared up at her silently. Then, with a single deliberate motion, he wiped the tears with the back of his hand. “They found his body yesterday morning.”
She felt her chest constrict as if she were suffocating.
“He’s gone, Theresa.”
* * *
On the beach where it had all begun, Theresa allowed herself to remember the events from one year earlier.
They had buried him next to Catherine, in a small cemetery near his home. Jeb and Theresa stood together at the graveside service, surrounded by the people whose lives Garrett had touched—friends from high school, former diving students, employees from the shop. It was a simple ceremony, and though it began to rain just as the minister finished speaking, the crowd lingered long after it was over.
the wake was held at Garrett’s house. One by one, people came through, all offering their condolences and sharing memories. When the last few filed out, leaving Jeb and Theresa alone, Jeb pulled a box from the closet and asked her to sit with him while they looked through it together.
In the box were hundreds of photographs. Over the next few hours she watched Garrett’s childhood and adolescence unfold—all the missing pieces of his life that she had only imagined. Then there were the pictures of the later years—high school and college graduations; the restored Happenstance ; Garrett in front of the remodeled shop prior to its opening. In every one of them, she noticed, his smile never changed. Smiling with him, she saw that for the most part his wardrobe hadn’t, either. Unless the photo had been taken for a special occasion, from early childhood on, it seemed he’d always dressed the same—either jeans or shorts, a casual shirt, and Top-Siders without socks.
There were dozens of photographs of Catherine. At first Jeb seemed uncomfortable when she saw them, but strangely, they didn’t really affect her. She felt neither sadness nor anger because of them. They were simply a part of another time in his life.
Later that evening, as they sorted through the last few pictures, she saw the Garrett she’d fallen in love with. One shot in particular caught her eye, and she held it in front of her for a long time. Noticing her expression, Jeb explained that it had been taken on Memorial Day, a few weeks before the bottle had washed up at the Cape. In it Garrett stood on his back deck, looking much the same as he had the first time she’d come to his house.
When she was finally able to put it down, Jeb gently took it from her.
The following morning he handed her an envelope. Opening it, she saw that he’d given it back to her, along with a number of others. With the pictures were the three letters that had first enabled Theresa and Garrett to come together.
“I think he would want you to have these.”
Too choked up to respond, she nodded a silent thank-you.
* * *
Theresa couldn’t remember much about her first few days back in Boston, and in retrospect she knew she didn’t really want to. She did recall that Deanna was waiting for her at Logan Airport when her plane touched down. After taking one look at her, Deanna immediately called her husband, instructing him to bring some clothes to Theresa’s because she planned to stay with her for a few days. Theresa spent most of the time in bed, not even bothering to get up when Kevin came home from school.
“Is my mom ever going to be okay?” Kevin asked.
“She just needs a little time, Kevin,” Deanna answered. “I know it’s hard for you, too, but it’s going to be okay.”
Theresa’s dreams, when she could remember them, were fragmented and disorienting. Surprisingly, Garrett never appeared in them at all. She didn’t know if that was an omen of sorts or even if she should attach any meaning to it. In her daze, she found it difficult to think about anything clearly, and she went to bed early and remained there, cocooned in the soothing darkness for as long as she could.
Sometimes upon awakening, she experienced a split second of confused unreality when the whole thing seemed like a terrible mistake, too absurd to have actually occurred. In that split second, everything would be as it should. She would find herself straining for the sounds of Garrett in the apartment, sure that the empty bed meant only that he was already in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the paper. She would join him in a moment at the table and shake her head: I had the most terrible dream . . .
Her only other recollection about that week was her relentless need to understand how this could have happened. Before she left Wilmington, she made Jeb promise to call her if he learned anything else about the day Garrett had gone out on Happenstance . In a curious twist of reason, she believed that knowing the details—the why —would somehow lessen her grief. What she refused to believe was that Garrett had sailed into the storm without planning to return. Whenever the phone rang, her hopes rose in the expectation of hearing Jeb’s voice. “I see,” she imagined herself saying. “Yes . . . I understand. That makes sense. . . .”
Of course, deep down, she knew that would never happen. Jeb didn’t call with an explanation that week, nor did the answer come to her in a moment of contemplation. No, the answer eventually came from a place she would never have predicted.
* * *
On the beach at Cape Cod, one year later, she reflected without bitterness on the turn of events that had led her to this place. Ready at last, Theresa reached in her bag. After removing the object she had brought with her, she stared at it, reliving the hour in which her answer had finally come. Unlike her recollection of the days immediately following her return to Boston, this memory was still unshakably clear.
After Deanna had left, Theresa had tried to reestablish a routine of sorts. In her confusion over the last week, she’d ignored the aspects of life that nonetheless had gone on. While Deanna had helped with Kevin and kept the house up, she’d simply piled the mail that accumulated in the corner of the dining room. after dinner one night while Kevin was at the movies, Theresa absently began to sort through the pile.
There were a few dozen letters, three magazines, and two packages. One package she recognized as an item she’d ordered from a catalog for Kevin’s birthday. The second, though, was wrapped in plain brown paper without a return address.
This second package was long and rectangular, sealed with extra tape. There were two “Fragile” stickers—one near the address and the other on the opposite side of the box—and another sticker that said “Handle with Care.” Curious, she decided to open it first.
It was then that she saw the postmark from Wilmington, North Carolina, dated from two weeks before. Quickly she scanned the address scrawled on the front.
It was Garrett’s handwriting.
“No . . .” She set the package down, her stomach suddenly tight.
She found a pair of scissors in the drawer and shakily began to cut the tape, pulling at the paper carefully as she did so. She already knew what she’d find inside.
After lifting out the object and checking the rest of the package to make sure nothing was still inside, she carefully loosened the surrounding bubble wrap. It was taped tightly at the top and bottom, and she was forced to use the scissors again. Finally, after prying off the remaining pieces, she set the object on her desk and stared at it for a long moment, unable to move. When she lifted it into better light, she saw her own reflection.
The bottle was corked, and the rolled-up letter inside stood on its end. After removing the cork—he’d corked it only loosely—she tipped it upside-down, and the letter spilled out easily. Like the letter she’d found only a few months before, it was wrapped in yarn. She unrolled it carefully, making sure not to rip it.
It was written with a fountain pen. In the top right corner was a picture of an old ship, sails billowing in the wind.
Dear Theresa,
Can you forgive me?
she laid the letter on the desk. Her throat ached, making it difficult to breathe. The overhead light was making a strange prism of her unbidden tears. She reached for some tissue and rubbed her eyes. Composing herself, she started again.
Can you forgive me?
In a world that I seldom understand, there are winds of destiny that blow when we least expect them. Sometimes they gust with the fury of a hurricane, sometimes they barely fan one’s cheek. But the winds cannot be denied, bringing as they often do a future that is impossible to ignore. You, my darling, are the wind that I did not anticipate, the wind that has gusted more strongly than I ever imagined possible. You are my destiny.
I was wrong, so wrong, to ignore what was obvious, and I beg your forgiveness. Like a cautious traveler, I tried to protect myself from the wind and lost my soul instead. I was a fool toignore my destiny, but even fools have feelings, and I’ve come to realize that you are the most important thing that I have in this world.
I know I am not perfect. I’ve made more mistakes in the past few months than some make in a lifetime. I was wrong to have acted as I did when I found the letters, just as I was wrong to hide the truth about what I was going through with respect to my past. When I chased you as you drove down the street and again as I watched you leave from the airport, I knew I should have tried harder to stop you. But most of all, I was wrong to deny what was obvious in my heart: that I can’t go on without you.
You were right about everything. When we sat in my kitchen, I tried to deny the things you were saying, even though I knew they were true. Like a man who gazes only backward on a trip across the country, I ignored what lay ahead. I missed the beauty of a coming sunrise, the wonder of anticipation that makes life worthwhile. It was wrong of me to do that, a product of my confusion, and I wish I had come to understand that sooner.
Now, though, with my gaze fixed toward the future, I see your face and hear your voice, certain that this is the path I must follow. It is my deepest wish that you give me one more chance. As you might have guessed, I’m hoping that this bottle will work its magic, as it did once before, and somehow bring us back together.
For the first few days after you left, I wanted to believe that I could go on as I always had. But I couldn’t. Every time I watched the sun go down, I thought of you. Every time I walked by the phone, I yearned to call. Even when I went sailing, I could only think of you and the wonderful times we had. I knew in my heart that my life would never be the same again. I wanted you back, more than I imagined possible, yet whenever I conjured you up, I kept hearing your words in our last conversation. No matter how much I loved you, I knew it wasn’t going to be possible unless we—both of us—were sure I would devote myself fully to the path that lay ahead. I continued to be troubled by these thoughts until late last night when the answer finally came to me. Hopefully, after I tell you about it, it will mean as much to you as it did to me:
In my dream, I saw myself on the beach with Catherine, in the same spot I took you after our lunch at Hank’s. It was bright in the sun, the rays reflecting brilliantly off the sand. As we walked alongside each other, she listened intently as I told her about you, about us, about the wonderful times we shared. Finally, after some hesitation, I admitted that I loved you, but that I felt guilty about it. She said nothing right away but simply kept walking until she finally turned to me and asked, “Why?”
“Because of you.”
Upon hearing my answer, she smiled at me with patient amusement, the way she used to before she died. “Oh, Garrett,” she finally said as she gently touched my face, “who do you think it was that brought the bottle to her?”
Theresa stopped reading. The faint hum of the refrigerator seemed to echo the letter’s words:
Who do you think it was that brought the bottle to her?
leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears.
“Garrett,” she murmured, “Garrett . . .”Outside her window, she could hear the sounds of cars passing by. Slowly she began reading again.
When I woke, I felt empty and alone. The dream did not comfort me. Rather, it made me ache inside because of what I had done to us, and I began to cry. When I finally pulled myself together, I knew what I had to do. With shaking hand, I wrote two letters: the one you’re holding in your hand right now, and one to Catherine, in which I finally said my good-bye. Today, I’m taking Happenstance out to send it to her, as I have with all the others. It will be my last letter—Catherine, in her own way, has told me to go on, and I have chosen to listen. Not only to her words, but also to the leanings of my heart that led me back to you.
Oh, Theresa, I am sorry, so very sorry, that I ever hurt you. I am coming to Boston next week with the hope that you find a way to forgive me. Maybe I’m too late now. I don’t know.
Theresa, I love you and always will. I am tired of being alone. I see children crying and laughing as they play in the sand, and I realize I want to have children with you. I want to watch Kevin as he grows into a man. I want to hold your hand and see you cry when he finally takes a bride, I want to kiss you when his dreams come true. I will move to Boston if you ask because I cannot go on this way. I am sick and sadwithout you. As I sit here in the kitchen, I am praying that you will let me come back to you, this time forever.
Garrett
It was dusk now, and the gray sky was turning dark quickly. Though she’d read the letter a thousand times, it still aroused the same feelings she’d had when she’d first read it. For the past year, those feelings had stalked her every waking moment.
Sitting on the beach, she tried once again to imagine him as he wrote the letter. She ran her finger across the words, tracing the page lightly, knowing his hand had been there before. Fighting back tears, she studied the letter, as she always did after reading it. In spots she saw smudges, as if the pen were leaking slightly while he wrote; it gave the letter a distinctive, almost rushed appearance. Six words had been crossed out, and she looked at those especially closely, wondering what he’d intended to say. As always, she couldn’t tell. Like many things about his last day, it was a secret he’d taken with him. Toward the bottom of the page, she noticed, his handwriting was hard to read, as if he’d been gripping the pen tightly.
When she was finished, she rolled up the letter again and carefully wrapped the yarn around it, preserving it so it would always look the same. She put it back into the bottle and set it off to one side, next to the bag. She knew that when she got home, she would place it back on her bureau, where she always kept it. At night, when the glow of streetlights slanted through her room, the bottle gleamed in the darkness and was usually the last thing she saw before going to sleep.
Next, she reached for the pictures Jeb had given her. She remembered that after she returned from Boston, she’d sifted through them one by one. When her hands began to tremble, she had put them in her drawer and never looked at them again.
But now she thumbed through them, finding the one that had been taken on the back porch. Holding it in front of her, she remembered everything about him—the way he looked and moved, his easy smile, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps tomorrow, she told herself, she would take in the negative and have another one made, an eight-by-ten that she could set on her nightstand, the same way he had with Catherine’s picture. Then she smiled sadly, realizing even now that she wouldn’t go through with it. The photos would go back into her drawer where they had been before, beneath her socks and next to the pearl earrings her grandmother had given her. It would hurt too much to see his face every day, and she wasn’t ready for that yet.
Since the funeral, she’d kept in sporadic contact with Jeb, calling every now and then to see how he was doing. The first time she called, she had explained to him what she had discovered about why Garrett had taken Happenstance out that day, and they both ended up weeping on the phone. As the months rolled on, however, they were eventually able to mention his name without tears, and Jeb would fall to describing his memories of Garrett as a child or relating to Theresa over and over the things he’d said about her in their long absences apart.
In July Theresa and Kevin flew to Florida and went scuba diving in the Keys. The water there, as in North Carolina, was warm, though much clearer. They spent eight days there, diving every morning and relaxing on the beach in the afternoon. On their way back to Boston, they both decided they would do it again the following year. For his birthday, Kevin asked for a subscription to a diving magazine. Ironically, the first issue included a story about the shipwrecks off the North Carolina coast, including the one in shallow water they had visited with Garrett.
Though she’d been asked, she hadn’t dated anyone since Garrett’s death. People at work, with the exception of Deanna, tried repeatedly to set her up with various men. All were described as handsome and eligible, but she politely declined every invitation. Now and then she overheard her colleagues’ whispers: “I don’t understand why she’s giving up,” or, “She’s still young and attractive.” Others, who were more understanding, simply observed that she’d eventually recover, in her own time.
It was a phone call from Jeb three weeks ago that had led her back to Cape Cod. When she listened to his gentle voice, quietly suggesting that it was time to move on, the walls she’d built finally began to collapse. She cried for most of the night, but the following morning she knew what she had to do. She made the arrangements to return here—easy enough, since it was off-season. And it was then that her healing finally began.
As she stood on the beach, she wondered if anyone could see her. She glanced from side to side, but it was deserted. Only the ocean appeared to be moving, and she was drawn to its fury. The water looked angry and dangerous: it was not the romantic place she remembered it to be. She watched it for a long time, thinking of Garrett, until she heard the growl of thunder echo through the winter sky.
The wind picked up, and she felt her mind drift with it. Why, she wondered, had it ended the way it had? She didn’t know. another gust and she felt him beside her, brushing the hair from her face. He had done that when they said good-bye, and she felt his touch once more. There were so many things she wished she could change about that day, so many regrets. . . .
Now, alone with her thoughts, she loved him. She would always love him. She’d known it from the moment she saw him on the docks, and she knew it now. Neither the passage of time nor his death could change the way she felt. She closed her eyes, whispering to him as she did so.
“I miss you, Garrett Blake,” she said softly. And for a moment, she imagined he’d somehow heard her, because the wind suddenly died and the air became still.
The first few raindrops were beginning to fall by the time she uncorked the simple clear bottle she was holding so tightly and removed the letter she had written to him yesterday, the letter she had come to send. After unrolling it, she held it before her, the same way she held the first letter she’d ever found. The little light that remained was barely enough for her to see the words, but she knew them all by heart, anyway. Her hands shook slightly as she began reading.
My Darling,
One year has passed since I sat with your father in the kitchen. It is late at night and though the words are coming hard to me, I can’t escape the feeling that it’s time that I finally answer your question.
Of course I forgive you. I forgive you now, and I forgave you the moment I read your letter. In my heart, I had no other choice. Leaving you once was hard enough; to have done it asecond time would have been impossible. I loved you too much to have let you go again. Though I’m still grieving over what might have been, I find myself thankful that you came into my life for even a short period of time. In the beginning, I’d assumed that we were somehow brought together to help you through your time of grief. Yet now, one year later, I’ve come to believe that it was the other way around.
Ironically, I am in the same position you were, the first time we met. As I write, I am struggling with the ghost of someone I loved and lost. I now understand more fully the difficulties you were going through, and I realize how painful it must have been for you to move on. Sometimes my grief is overwhelming, and even though I understand that we will never see each other again, there is a part of me that wants to hold on to you forever. It would be easy for me to do that because loving someone else might diminish my memories of you. Yet, this is the paradox: Even though I miss you greatly, it’s because of you that I don’t dread the future. Because you were able to fall in love with me, you have given me hope, my darling. You taught me that it’s possible to move forward in life, no matter how terrible your grief. And in your own way, you’ve made me believe that true love cannot be denied.
Right now, I don’t think I’m ready, but this is my choice. Do not blame yourself. Because of you, I am hopeful that there will come a day when my sadness is replaced by something beautiful. Because of you, I have the strength to go on.
I don’t know if spirits do indeed roam the world, but even if they do, I will sense your presence everywhere. When I listen to the ocean, it will be your whispers; when I see a dazzling sunset, it will be your image in the sky. You are not gone forever, no matter who comes into my life. you are standing with God, alongside my soul, helping to guide me toward a future that I cannot predict.
This is not a good-bye, my darling, this is a thank-you. Thank you for coming into my life and giving me joy, thank you for loving me and receiving my love in return. Thank you for the memories I will cherish forever. But most of all, thank you for showing me that there will come a time when I can eventually let you go.
I love you,
T
After reading the letter for the last time, Theresa rolled it up and sealed it in the bottle. She turned it over a few times, knowing that her journey had come full circle. Finally, when she knew she could wait no longer, she threw it out as far as she could.
It was then that a strong wind picked up and the fog began to part. Theresa stood in silence and stared at the bottle as it began to float out to sea. And even though she knew it was impossible, she imagined that the bottle would never drift ashore. It would travel the world forever, drifting by faraway places she herself would never see.
When the bottle vanished from sight a few minutes later, she started back to the car. Walking in silence in the rain, Theresa smiled softly. She didn’t know when or where or if it would ever turn up, but it didn’t really matter. Somehow she knew that Garrett would get the message.