I never expected to feel this way. How could I? For most of my life, and with the exception of my son, I’ve always felt as though I were meant to be alone. I’m not implying that I’ve lived the life of a hermit, because I haven’t, and you already know that my job requires a certain level of social agreeableness. But I was never a person who felt incomplete without someone lying beside me in bed; I never felt as though I was only half of something better. Until you came along. And when you did, I understood that I’d been fooling myself, and that I’d really been missing you, all these long years.
I don’t know what that means for my future. I do know that I’m not going to be the same person I used to be, because that’s no longer possible. I’m not naive enough to believe that memories will suffice, and in quiet moments, I may reach for drawing paper and try to capture whatever remains. I hope you will not deny me that.
I wish that things could have been different for us, but fate seems to have had other plans. Still, you need to know this: The love I feel for you is real, and all the sadness that now comes with it is a price I would pay a thousand times over. For knowing you, and loving you, even for a short while, has given my life a different kind of meaning, and I know it always will.
I’m not asking the same of you. I know what’s coming next for you, the new life that you’ll be living, and there’s no room for a third person there. I accept that. The Chinese philosopher Lao-tzu once said that being loved deeply by someone gives you strength, and loving someone deeply gives you courage. I understand now what he meant. Because you came into my life, I can face the oncoming years with the kind of courage that I never knew I had. Loving you has made me more than I was.
You know where I am and where I’ll be if you ever want to contact me. It might take time. I’ve already mentioned that the world moves more slowly in the bush. And some items never reach their destination. But I firmly believe that you and I shared something special enough that if you reach out to me, the universe will somehow let me know. It’s because of you, after all, that I now believe in miracles. With us, I want to believe that anything will always be possible.
Loving you,
Tru
Hope read the letter a second time, then once more, before finally returning it to the envelope. She pictured Tru writing the letter as he’d sat in her kitchen, and though she wanted to read it again, she doubted she would be able to make it to her parents’ if she did.
She stowed the drawings and the letter in the glove compartment but didn’t start the car right away. Instead, she leaned back against the headrest, trying to calm her raging emotions. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she forced herself to get on the road.
Her legs were unsteady as she walked to the door of her parents’ home. She forced a smile as she stepped through inside, watching as her dad struggled to rise from his recliner to greet her. The aroma from the kitchen filled the house, but Hope couldn’t muster an appetite.
At the table, she shared a few stories from the wedding. Asked about the rest of the week, she made no mention of Tru. Nor did she tell her parents that Josh had proposed.
After dessert, she retreated to the front porch, claiming a need for fresh air.
By then, the sky was full of stars, and when she heard the screen door creak open, she saw her dad framed in the lights from the living room. He smiled and touched her shoulder as he shuffled carefully to the seat next to hers. He carried a cup of decaffeinated coffee with him, and after he settled in, he took a sip.
“Your mom still makes the best beef stew I’ve ever tasted.”
“It was very good tonight,” Hope agreed.
“Are you feeling okay? You seemed a little quiet at dinner.”
She tucked a leg up beneath her. “Yeah. I guess I’m still recovering from the weekend.”
He placed the cup on the table between them. In the corner of the porch, a moth was dancing around the light, and crickets had begun their evening call.
“I heard that Josh showed up at the wedding.” When she turned toward him, he shrugged. “Your mom told me.”
“How did she find out?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered. “I’m assuming someone told her.”
“Yes,” Hope said, “he was there.”
“And the two of you spoke?”
“A little,” she said. Until last week, she couldn’t have imagined keeping the marriage proposal secret from her dad, but in the close, muggy air of that September evening, she couldn’t form the words. Instead she said, “We’re going to have dinner tomorrow night.”
He looked over at his daughter, his soft eyes trying to read her. “I hope it goes well,” he said. “Whatever that means to you.”
“Me too.”
“He has some explaining to do, if you ask me.”
“I know,” she answered. Inside, she heard the grandfather clock chime. Earlier in the day, she had taken a dusty atlas down from the shelf at home and calculated the time difference with Zimbabwe. Counting forward, she figured out that it was now the middle of the night there. She assumed that Tru was in Bulawayo with Andrew, and wondered what they had planned when they woke for the day. Would he take Andrew into the bush to see the animals, or would they kick a ball back and forth, or simply go for a walk? She wondered whether Tru was still thinking about her, in the same way she couldn’t stop thinking about him. In the silence, the words from his letter tried to force their way to the surface.
She knew her dad was waiting for her to speak. In the past, whenever she’d had problems or concerns, she’d gone to him. He had a way of listening that always comforted her. Naturally empathetic, he seldom offered advice. He would instead ask what she thought she should do, silently encouraging her to trust her own instincts and judgment.
But now, after reading what Tru had written, she couldn’t help thinking that she’d made a terrible mistake. As she sat beside her father, her final morning with Tru began to replay in slow motion. She remembered the way Tru had looked when he’d stepped onto the deck, the feel of his hand in hers as they strolled down the beach. She recalled his stricken expression when she’d told him of Josh’s proposal.
Those weren’t the most piercing memories, however. Instead, she thought about the way he’d begged her to come with him to Zimbabwe; she saw him bent over double as she made that final turn, away from a possible life together.
She knew she could change things. It wasn’t too late. She could book a flight to Zimbabwe tomorrow and go to him; she’d say that she knew now that the two of them were destined to grow old together. They could make love in a foreign locale, and she would become someone new, whose life she had only fantasized about.
She wanted to say those things to her dad. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to say that her happiness was all that mattered to him, but before she could speak, she felt a lick of breeze, and all at once, she pictured Tru sitting beside her at Kindred Spirit, the wind ruffling his thick hair.
She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she?
Hadn’t she?
The crickets continued to sing, the night settling heavily, with an almost suffocating weight. Moonlight threaded the branches of the trees. On the street, a car passed by, the windows down and radio playing. She remembered the jazz music on the radio when Tru had held her in the kitchen.
“I forgot to ask you,” her dad finally said, “and I know it was storming most of the week. But did you ever make it to Kindred Spirit?”
At his words, the dam suddenly burst and Hope choked out a cry, which quickly gave way to sobbing.
“What did I say?” he asked in a panic, but she could barely hear him. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart…”
She shook her head, unable to answer. In a haze, she felt her father put a hand on her knee. Even without opening her eyes, she knew he was staring at her with alarm and concern. But all she could think about was Tru, and there was nothing she could do to stop the tears.
PART II
SANDS IN THE HOURGLASS
October 2014
Memories are a doorway to the past, and the more one treasures the memories, the wider the door will open. That’s what Hope’s father used to say, anyway, and like many of the things he’d told her, the passage of time seemed to amplify its wisdom.
I don’t know what that means for my future. I do know that I’m not going to be the same person I used to be, because that’s no longer possible. I’m not naive enough to believe that memories will suffice, and in quiet moments, I may reach for drawing paper and try to capture whatever remains. I hope you will not deny me that.
I wish that things could have been different for us, but fate seems to have had other plans. Still, you need to know this: The love I feel for you is real, and all the sadness that now comes with it is a price I would pay a thousand times over. For knowing you, and loving you, even for a short while, has given my life a different kind of meaning, and I know it always will.
I’m not asking the same of you. I know what’s coming next for you, the new life that you’ll be living, and there’s no room for a third person there. I accept that. The Chinese philosopher Lao-tzu once said that being loved deeply by someone gives you strength, and loving someone deeply gives you courage. I understand now what he meant. Because you came into my life, I can face the oncoming years with the kind of courage that I never knew I had. Loving you has made me more than I was.
You know where I am and where I’ll be if you ever want to contact me. It might take time. I’ve already mentioned that the world moves more slowly in the bush. And some items never reach their destination. But I firmly believe that you and I shared something special enough that if you reach out to me, the universe will somehow let me know. It’s because of you, after all, that I now believe in miracles. With us, I want to believe that anything will always be possible.
Loving you,
Tru
Hope read the letter a second time, then once more, before finally returning it to the envelope. She pictured Tru writing the letter as he’d sat in her kitchen, and though she wanted to read it again, she doubted she would be able to make it to her parents’ if she did.
She stowed the drawings and the letter in the glove compartment but didn’t start the car right away. Instead, she leaned back against the headrest, trying to calm her raging emotions. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she forced herself to get on the road.
Her legs were unsteady as she walked to the door of her parents’ home. She forced a smile as she stepped through inside, watching as her dad struggled to rise from his recliner to greet her. The aroma from the kitchen filled the house, but Hope couldn’t muster an appetite.
At the table, she shared a few stories from the wedding. Asked about the rest of the week, she made no mention of Tru. Nor did she tell her parents that Josh had proposed.
After dessert, she retreated to the front porch, claiming a need for fresh air.
By then, the sky was full of stars, and when she heard the screen door creak open, she saw her dad framed in the lights from the living room. He smiled and touched her shoulder as he shuffled carefully to the seat next to hers. He carried a cup of decaffeinated coffee with him, and after he settled in, he took a sip.
“Your mom still makes the best beef stew I’ve ever tasted.”
“It was very good tonight,” Hope agreed.
“Are you feeling okay? You seemed a little quiet at dinner.”
She tucked a leg up beneath her. “Yeah. I guess I’m still recovering from the weekend.”
He placed the cup on the table between them. In the corner of the porch, a moth was dancing around the light, and crickets had begun their evening call.
“I heard that Josh showed up at the wedding.” When she turned toward him, he shrugged. “Your mom told me.”
“How did she find out?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered. “I’m assuming someone told her.”
“Yes,” Hope said, “he was there.”
“And the two of you spoke?”
“A little,” she said. Until last week, she couldn’t have imagined keeping the marriage proposal secret from her dad, but in the close, muggy air of that September evening, she couldn’t form the words. Instead she said, “We’re going to have dinner tomorrow night.”
He looked over at his daughter, his soft eyes trying to read her. “I hope it goes well,” he said. “Whatever that means to you.”
“Me too.”
“He has some explaining to do, if you ask me.”
“I know,” she answered. Inside, she heard the grandfather clock chime. Earlier in the day, she had taken a dusty atlas down from the shelf at home and calculated the time difference with Zimbabwe. Counting forward, she figured out that it was now the middle of the night there. She assumed that Tru was in Bulawayo with Andrew, and wondered what they had planned when they woke for the day. Would he take Andrew into the bush to see the animals, or would they kick a ball back and forth, or simply go for a walk? She wondered whether Tru was still thinking about her, in the same way she couldn’t stop thinking about him. In the silence, the words from his letter tried to force their way to the surface.
She knew her dad was waiting for her to speak. In the past, whenever she’d had problems or concerns, she’d gone to him. He had a way of listening that always comforted her. Naturally empathetic, he seldom offered advice. He would instead ask what she thought she should do, silently encouraging her to trust her own instincts and judgment.
But now, after reading what Tru had written, she couldn’t help thinking that she’d made a terrible mistake. As she sat beside her father, her final morning with Tru began to replay in slow motion. She remembered the way Tru had looked when he’d stepped onto the deck, the feel of his hand in hers as they strolled down the beach. She recalled his stricken expression when she’d told him of Josh’s proposal.
Those weren’t the most piercing memories, however. Instead, she thought about the way he’d begged her to come with him to Zimbabwe; she saw him bent over double as she made that final turn, away from a possible life together.
She knew she could change things. It wasn’t too late. She could book a flight to Zimbabwe tomorrow and go to him; she’d say that she knew now that the two of them were destined to grow old together. They could make love in a foreign locale, and she would become someone new, whose life she had only fantasized about.
She wanted to say those things to her dad. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to say that her happiness was all that mattered to him, but before she could speak, she felt a lick of breeze, and all at once, she pictured Tru sitting beside her at Kindred Spirit, the wind ruffling his thick hair.
She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she?
Hadn’t she?
The crickets continued to sing, the night settling heavily, with an almost suffocating weight. Moonlight threaded the branches of the trees. On the street, a car passed by, the windows down and radio playing. She remembered the jazz music on the radio when Tru had held her in the kitchen.
“I forgot to ask you,” her dad finally said, “and I know it was storming most of the week. But did you ever make it to Kindred Spirit?”
At his words, the dam suddenly burst and Hope choked out a cry, which quickly gave way to sobbing.
“What did I say?” he asked in a panic, but she could barely hear him. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart…”
She shook her head, unable to answer. In a haze, she felt her father put a hand on her knee. Even without opening her eyes, she knew he was staring at her with alarm and concern. But all she could think about was Tru, and there was nothing she could do to stop the tears.
PART II
SANDS IN THE HOURGLASS
October 2014
Memories are a doorway to the past, and the more one treasures the memories, the wider the door will open. That’s what Hope’s father used to say, anyway, and like many of the things he’d told her, the passage of time seemed to amplify its wisdom.
