Every Breath(78)

It took a moment for understanding to dawn on her. “You mean that when I was looking for you, you were trying to find me, too?”

He nodded, conscious of the dryness in his throat, knowing she was thinking about the years they’d lost—not once, but twice.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said slowly.

“I don’t think there’s anything to say, other than that it breaks my heart.”

“Oh, Tru,” she said, her eyes growing moist. “Why didn’t you get on that plane?”

“I didn’t know if I could find you.” He shook his head. “But the truth is, I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I kept imagining that I’d finally catch sight of you in a restaurant, or on the street, or maybe in your yard. You’d be holding hands with another man, or laughing with your kids, and after all I’d just been through, there was part of me that knew I wouldn’t be able to endure that. It wasn’t that I didn’t want you to be happy, because I did. I wanted that for you every single day in the last twenty-four years, if only because I knew that I wasn’t happy. It felt like part of me was missing, and always would be. But I was too afraid to do anything about it, and now—after hearing about your life—all I can think is that I should have had more courage when it mattered the most. Because it means I wouldn’t have wasted the last eight years.”

When he finished, Hope glanced away before pushing the blanket aside. Rising from the couch, she went to the front window. Her face was in shadow, but he saw the wet shine of her cheeks glowing in the moonlight.

“Why did fate always seem to conspire against us?” she asked, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Do you think there’s a greater plan at work, one we can’t even fathom?”

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely.

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly and she turned away again. She stared out the window without speaking until finally drawing a long breath. Returning to the couch, she took a seat beside him.

Up close, he thought, her face looked the same as it had in all the drawings he’d ever done of her. “I’m sorry, Hope. More sorry than you know.”

She swiped at her cheeks. “I am, too.”

“What now? Do you need some time alone?”

“No,” she said. “That’s the last thing I want right now.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Instead of answering his question, she scooted closer and readjusted the blanket over her legs. She reached for his hand, and he cradled it, relishing the softness of her skin. He traced the tender, birdlike bones on top, marveling that the last time he’d held a woman’s hand, it had been hers.

“I want you to tell me how you learned about my letter,” she said. “The one I put in Kindred Spirit. The thing that finally allowed us to find each other again.”

Tru closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s hard to explain in a way that makes sense, even to me.”

“How so?’

“Because,” he said, “it started with a dream.”

“You dreamed about the letter?”

“No,” he said. “I dreamed about a place—a café…a real place, just down the hill from where I live.” He gave a wistful smile. “I go there when I’m in the mood to be among people, and it’s got a fantastic view of the coast. Usually I’ll bring a book with me and while away a couple of hours in the afternoon. The owner knows me and doesn’t mind how long I stay.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Anyway, I woke one morning, knowing I’d just dreamed about the place, but unlike a lot of dreams, the images didn’t fizzle away. I kept seeing myself sitting at a table, like I was seeing myself on camera. I had a book with me, and there was a glass of iced tea on the table, both of which are ordinary parts of my life. It was afternoon and the sun was shining, and that’s typical as well. But in the dream, I remember noticing a couple walk in and take a seat at a nearby table. They were strangely out of focus, and I couldn’t make out their conversation, and yet I felt this urgent need to speak with them. I just knew they had something important to tell me, so I got up from the table and started to approach, but with every step I took, their table seemed to get farther and farther away. I can remember feeling a rising panic about that—I had to speak with them—and it was in that moment that I suddenly woke. It wasn’t a nightmare, exactly, but it left me a bit unsettled the rest of the day. A week later, I went to the café.”

“Because of the dream?”

“No,” he said. “By then, I’d largely forgotten about it. As I mentioned, I eat there frequently. I’d had a late lunch, and was sipping a glass of iced tea and reading a book on the Boer wars. At that point, a couple came into the restaurant. Almost every other table in the place was free, but they sat down right near me.”

“Kind of like the dream,” she said.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head, “everything to that point was exactly like the dream.”

Hope leaned forward, her features softened by the firelight. Outside, night gathered at the window, collecting darkness, as Tru went on with his story.



Like everyone, Tru had experienced feelings of déjà vu in the past, but in the moment he glanced up from the book, he felt the previous week’s dream come rushing back with utter clarity. For a moment, the world seemed to swim at the edges, almost as if he were back in the dream again.