Every Breath(68)

They stayed like that for a long time, until she finally pulled back to look at him. Really look. Though the lines had grown deeper in his face, the dimple on his chin and the color of his eyes were the same as she remembered. She found herself foolishly relieved that she’d had her hair done recently, and that she’d taken time with her appearance this morning. The clash of memory and immediate sensation was roiling her thoughts, and she felt her eyes inexplicably well with tears. She swiped at them, embarrassed.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry for crying, but I…I just…I never really believed that you would be here.”

He offered a wry smile. “I’ll admit that it was a fairly extraordinary sequence of events that led me back to you.”

Despite her tears, she laughed under her breath at the phrasing. He sounded like he always had, making it a bit easier to regain her bearings.

“How did you find my letter?” she wondered. “Were you here in the last year?”

“No,” he said. “And I didn’t actually find it, or even read it. I was told about it. But…more importantly, how are you? What happened to you during all these years?”

“I’m fine,” she answered automatically. “I…” She trailed off, suddenly blank. What does one say to a former lover after twenty-four years? When she’d been fantasizing about this moment ever since they’d said goodbye? “A lot happened” was all she could think to say.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow in jest, and she couldn’t help but smile. They had always felt a natural ease with each other, and that, at least, remained unchanged.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she admitted.

“How about where we left off?”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“All right. Let’s start with this: I assume you went through with the wedding?”

He must have guessed, because she’d never contacted him. But there was no sadness or bitterness in his tone, only curiosity.

“I did,” she admitted. “Josh and I got married, but…” She wasn’t ready to delve into details. “We didn’t make it. We divorced eight years ago.”

He glanced down at the sand, then back up again. “That must have been difficult for you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “The marriage had run its course and it was time to end it. How about you? Did you ever get married again?”

“No,” he answered. “Things never quite worked out that way. It’s just me these days.”

Though it was selfish of her, she felt a wave of relief. “You still have Andrew, right? He must be in his thirties by now.”

“He’s thirty-four,” Tru answered. “I see him a few times a year. He lives in Antwerp these days.”

“Is he married?”

“Yes,” Tru said. “Three years.”

Amazing, she thought. It was difficult to imagine. “Does he have children yet?”

“His wife, Annette, is pregnant with their first.”

“So you’ll be a grandfather soon.”

“I suppose I will be,” he admitted. “How about you? Did you ever have the children you wanted?”

“Two.” She nodded. “A boy and a girl. Well, actually, I suppose they’re a man and woman now. They’re in their twenties. Jacob and Rachel.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. It’s been the thing I’m most proud of,” she said. “Do you still guide?”

“No,” he answered. “I retired three years ago.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I’ve grown to enjoy sleeping past dawn without wondering whether lions will be at my doorstep.”

She knew it was small talk, skimming the surface of things, but it felt unforced and easy, like the conversations she had with her closest friends. They could go months, sometimes a year without speaking, then pick up exactly where they’d left off the last time they’d spoken. She hadn’t imagined it would be the same with Tru, but the pleasant realization was interrupted by an arctic blast of wind. It cut through her jacket and kicked up the sand on the dunes. Over his shoulder, she saw her scarf shift on the bench while the letters beneath fluttered at the edges. “Hold on. I’d better put the letters back before they blow away.”

She hurried to the mailbox. While her legs had felt like jelly when she’d arrived, they now felt rejuvenated, as if time were moving backward. Which, in a way, it was.

Closing the mouth of the mailbox, she noticed that Tru had followed her.

“I’m going to keep the letter you wrote to me,” she told him. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I wrote it for you.”

She wrapped the scarf around her neck. “Why didn’t you mention in the letter that you were still here? You could have simply written, wait for me.”

“I wasn’t exactly sure how long I was going to stay in the area. When I wrote to you, I didn’t know the date that you would be here, and the original letter you wrote was no longer in the mailbox when I arrived.”