Every Breath(79)

However, unlike in his dream, he could see the couple clearly. The woman was blond and thin, attractive, and somewhere in her forties; the man sitting across from her was a few years older and tall, with dark hair and a gold watch that glinted in the sunlight. He realized he could also hear them, and decided he must have subliminally picked up bits and pieces of their conversation, which was the reason he’d glanced up from his book in the first place. They were talking about their upcoming safaris, and he heard them mention their plans to visit not only Kruger—a massive reserve in South Africa—but Mombo Camp and Jack’s Camp, both of which were in Botswana. They were speculating about the accommodations and the animals they might see, topics he’d heard discussed thousands of times over the past forty years.

Tru didn’t recognize the couple. He’d always had a good memory for faces, but these people were strangers. There was no further reason to be interested in them at all, and yet he couldn’t look away. Not because of the dream. It was something else, and it wasn’t until he zeroed in on the soft twang of the woman’s accent that he felt a jolt of recognition, one that made the feeling of déjà vu come rushing back again, even as it mingled with his memories of another time and place.

Hope, he’d immediately thought. The woman sounded exactly like Hope.

In the years since his visit to Sunset Beach, he’d met thousands of guests. A few had been from North Carolina, and there was something unique about the accent when compared to other southern states, a softer roll to the vowels, perhaps.

They had something important to tell him.

Before he even realized that he’d risen from his seat, he was at their table. Normally, he would never think of interrupting strangers at lunch, but like a puppet on a string, he felt as though he had no choice.

“Pardon me,” Tru began. “I hate to interrupt, but you wouldn’t happen to be from North Carolina?” he asked them.

If either the man or woman was bothered by his sudden appearance at their table, they didn’t show it.

“Why, as a matter of fact, we are,” said the woman. She smiled expectantly. “Have we met?”

“I don’t believe we have.”

“Then how on earth would you know where we’re from?”

“I recognized the accent,” Tru responded.

“But clearly you’re not a Tar Heel.”

“No,” he said. “I’m originally from Zimbabwe. But I spent some time in Sunset Beach once.”

“Small world!” the woman exclaimed. “We have a house there. When did you visit?”

“1990,” Tru answered.

“That’s long before our time,” she said. “We just bought the beach house two years ago. I’m Sharon Wheddon, and this is my husband, Bill.”

Bill reached his hand out, and Tru shook it.

“Tru Walls,” he said. “I heard you talking about Mombo Camp and Jack’s Camp. Before I retired, I used to be a safari guide, and I can assure you that both are outstanding. You’ll see plenty of game at Mombo. But the camps are different. Jack’s is in the Kalahari, and it’s one of the best places in the world to see meerkats.”

As he spoke, the woman stared at him, her head cocked slightly to the side, a slight frown of concentration on her face. Her mouth opened, then closed before she leaned across the table.

“Did you say your name was Tru Walls, and that you’re from Zimbabwe? And that you used to guide?”

“Yes.”

Sharon turned from Tru to Bill. “Do you remember what we found last spring? When we were staying at the beach house and went on that long walk? And I made a joke, because we were going to Africa?”

As she spoke, Bill began to nod. “Now I do.”

Sharon faced Tru with a delighted expression.

“Have you ever heard of Kindred Spirit?”

At her comment, Tru felt suddenly dizzy. How long had it been since he’d heard anyone mention the name of the mailbox? Though it was a place Tru had remembered a thousand times over the years, it had been until now a knowledge that felt in some way only his and Hope’s to share. “You mean the mailbox?” he croaked out.

“Yes!” Sharon cried, “I can’t believe this! Honey, can you believe this?”

Bill shook his head, seemingly as amazed as she was, while she clapped her hands in excitement.

“When you were at Sunset Beach, you met a woman there named…Helen? Hannah?” She frowned. “No, Hope—that was it, wasn’t it?”

The world beyond their table went blurry and the floor suddenly felt unsteady. “I did,” he finally stammered, “but you seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

“Maybe you should sit,” Sharon said. “There was a letter at Kindred Spirit that I need to tell you about.”



By the time he concluded, darkness had pressed close around the house, the fire the only source of light. He could just make out the faint sounds of music drifting from the radio in the kitchen. Hope’s eyes gleamed in the firelight.

“Two days later, I was here, in North Carolina. Obviously, they didn’t remember everything about the letter—critically, the date or even the month you would be here—but my name and background were enough for them to remember the basics.”