The Wish(111)

Strangely, they were almost as precious to me.

*



Abigail and I arrived in Ocracoke on the morning ferry, and after getting directions, we rented a golf cart and visited some of the places Maggie had described in her story. We saw the lighthouse and the British Cemetery; we drove past fishing boats in the harbor and the school that neither Maggie nor Bryce had attended. After asking around, I even found the site of the shop where Linda and Gwen once made biscuits; it now sold tourist trinkets. I didn’t know where either Linda or Bryce had lived, but I drove every street and knew I must have passed by both of their houses at least once.

Abigail and I had lunch at Howard’s Pub, then eventually made our way to the beach. In my arms, I carried an urn containing some of Maggie’s ashes; in my pocket was a letter that Maggie had written to me. Most of her remains, in another urn, were with her parents in Seattle. Before she’d passed away, Maggie had asked me if I would be willing to do her a favor, and there was no way I could say no.

Abigail and I walked down the length of the beach; I thought of the many times Maggie and Bryce had been there together. Her description had been accurate; it was austere and undeveloped, a stretch of shore untouched by modernity. Abigail held my hand, and after a while, I brought us to a halt. Though there was no way to be certain, I wanted to pick a place where Bryce and Maggie might have had their first date, a place that somehow felt right to me.

I handed the urn to Abigail and pulled the letter from my pocket. I had no idea when she’d written it; all I knew for sure was that it was on the small table beside her bed when she’d passed away. On the outside of the envelope she had scrawled instructions, asking me to read it when I was in Ocracoke.

Opening the flap, I pulled out the letter. It wasn’t long, though the writing was scratchy and sometimes difficult to decipher, a consequence of medication and weakness. I felt something else fall out as well, catching it in my hand just in time—yet another gift to me. I took a deep breath and began to read.

Dear Mark,

First, I want to thank you for finding me, for becoming my wish somehow made true.

I want you to know how special you are to me, how proud I am of you, and that I love you. I’ve told you all of these things before, but you must know that you’ve given me one of the most beautiful gifts I’ve ever received. Please thank your parents and Abigail for me again, for allowing you the time we needed to get to know, and love, each other. They, like you, are extraordinary.

These ashes represent what’s left of my heart. Symbolically, anyway. For reasons I don’t have to explain to you, I want them spread in Ocracoke. My heart, after all, has always remained there. And, I’ve come to believe, Ocracoke is an enchanted place, where the impossible sometimes becomes real.

There’s something more I’ve been longing to tell you, though I know it will seem crazy at first. (Maybe I am crazy at the present time; cancer and drugs wreak havoc on my thoughts.) Yet I do believe what I’m about to tell you, no matter how far-fetched it sounds, because it’s the only thing that seems intuitively true right now.

You remind me of Bryce in more ways than you know. In your nature and your gentleness, in your empathy and charm. You look a little like him, and—perhaps because you were both athletes—you also move with the same fluid grace. Like Bryce, you are mature beyond your years, and as our relationship has deepened, these similarities have become even more apparent to me.

This, then, is what I’ve chosen to believe: somehow, through me, Bryce became part of you. When he took me in his arms, you absorbed a piece of him; when we spent our sweetest days together in Ocracoke, you somehow inherited his unique qualities. You are a child, then, of both of us. I know such a thing is impossible, but I choose to believe that the love Bryce and I felt for each other somehow played a role in producing the remarkable young man I’ve come to know and love. To my mind, there’s no other explanation.

Thank you for finding me, my son. I love you.

Maggie



*



After finishing the letter, I slipped it back into the envelope and eyed the necklace she had enclosed. She’d shown it to me before, and on the back of the seashell pendant I noted the words Ocracoke Memories. The pendant felt strangely heavy, as though it held their entire relationship, a lifetime of love condensed into a few short months.

When I was ready, I put the pendant and letter back into my pocket and gently took the urn from Abigail. The tide was going out and moving in the same direction as the wind. I stepped into damp sand, my feet beginning to sink, and thought about Maggie on the ferry, meeting Bryce for the first time. The waves were steady and rhythmic, and the ocean stretched toward the horizon. Its vastness felt incomprehensible, even as I imagined lighted kites floating in the nighttime sky. Above me, the sun was at half-mast and I knew that darkness was coming early. In the distance, a lone truck was parked on the sand. A pelican skimmed the breakers. I closed my eyes and saw Maggie standing in a darkroom next to Bryce or studying at a battered kitchen table. I imagined a kiss when, at least for a moment, everything in Maggie’s world seemed perfect.

Now Bryce and Maggie were both gone, and I felt an overwhelming sadness wash through me. I twisted the lid, opening the urn, and tipped it, allowing the ashes to scatter in the outgoing tide. I stood in place, recalling flashes of The Nutcracker and ice skating and decorating a Christmas tree before suddenly swiping at unbidden tears. I remembered her rapt expression when she had lifted Maggie-bear from the box and knew I would always believe that love was stronger than fear.