by Jeff Dvorak
Also by Jeff Dvorak
Topper McMullen Series:
The Trinity Murders
Sun, Surf, Suicide
Hope on a Paige
(Tales from the Dead Letter Office)
Jeff Dvorak
Copyright 2012 Jeff Dvorak
Room to room Paige floated through her apartment as if gravity were a choice not a law. By no stretch was she carefree, but when she opened the door to her apartment and crossed the threshold, the disappointments of her life washed away and she entered a world where everything was right. Lost was the tiny one-bedroom apartment overlooking an alley and in its place was a four-room bungalow on the beach. The sounds of waves crashing the shore and seagulls hunting for food washed over her as the breeze through the open windows did the same.
With a glass of sun tea, she stood facing the ocean watching a solitary sailboat lazily roll through cresting waves. She could have stood there for hours but she knew Paul was waiting. Not in the next room or in a nearby restaurant, but every week Paige sat down to write Paul a letter while he was away on business. They debated phone calls, e-mails, even video chats, but in the end, both enjoyed the romance of a handwritten letter. While the speed of the world increased with each passing day, Paige and Paul sought to slow it down by exchanging letters. “People think more carefully about their words when they write them down on paper,” Paul would say.
Stepping into her studio, Paige slowed to glance at her latest work resting on an easel, than sat at her desk. From that spot the same sailboat appeared to aimlessly roam without direction and that brought a small smile to her face. She set her tea down on a wicker coaster and reached into one of the cubbies for her monogrammed stationary. Paige cherished the time she spent writing Paul. The one thing she enjoyed more was reading the letters she received in return.
Dear Paul,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and company. I’ve been keeping busy in your absence. The weather here has been beautiful and I spend a fair amount of time sitting on the deck reading while listening to the sounds of the ocean. The sea air invigorates me and I could not imagine living anywhere else. I’ve recently started reading poetry and it speaks to me in ways that, up until now, only you could. I can almost feel you near me with each poem and I am going to try and write some myself. If I’m not too embarrassed, I’ll include some in future letters.
The collection of paintings I’ve been working on for the Seascape Hotel have been some of my best work yet. I e-mailed them pictures of my progress and they seem very pleased with the direction I’m heading. I should be done within the next few days and I can’t wait for you to come home and see them hanging in the hotel. I would include pictures with this letter, but I want you to experience them in person. Seeing your expression that first time will be like me seeing them for the first time too.
Beyond that, I am marking the calendar until you return home. It is lonely going to bed without you each night, but I will survive. I use the memories of all the wonderful times we’ve spent together to give me comfort in your absence. My favorite was the electrical storm where we shut off all the power in case the house was struck by lightning. We burned candles throughout the house and talked until dawn. Of all my memories that is my favorite. That night, you became more than just my husband, you became my best friend.
Come home to me soon.
Love,
Paige
The monogrammed stationary, given to Paige by her mother years ago, was real, but as she reread her letter for the third time she was actually sitting at her kitchen table. The glass of sun tea was a mug of coffee, the sounds of hunting seagulls was replaced by the purring of her calico Benny. Paige wasn’t delusional by any means. She knew she wasn’t staring out at the ocean and although once upon a time she dreamed of being a painter, that dream remained exactly that. Paige’s road was full of bends and turns she never saw coming and now she found herself far from the life she dreamed as a little girl drifting off to sleep. Her break from reality and letters to Paul helped pacify Paige while she waited for her real life to begin.
Addressing the letter to Prince Charming, C/O Paul Andrews, Peachtree Street, Atlanta, Georgia, she affixed a stamp to the corner and set it by the door with the other outgoing mail. The letter was not adorned with a return address and she knew the address she supplied did not exist. She did not want these letters to be returned to her. She had no idea where they ended up but what little illusion she had would be broken to find them stamped return to sender a week later.
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Mark was closing in on his five-year service pin at the Dead Letter Office. He felt it appropriate to work where the lost mail ended in a pile to be incinerated. In the Dead Letter Office of life, he likened himself to these letters. Going from place to place looking for acceptance but ultimately finding despair. Every letter in the Dead Letter Office had a destination. Mark thought he had one too but believed he would end up like these letters, looking for a salvation which would never be fulfilled.
As a hobby, Mark began collecting letters he deemed important. People searching for long lost relatives, some addressed to Santa or God which touched his heart, and he started keeping letters from a Paige Andrews. The last name was a guess but based on how the letters were addressed he believed he was correct. Her letters would have gone unnoticed if not for where they were headed. As a self-proclaimed movie aficionado, he immediately recognized the plantation address of Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara from Gone With the Wind.
Each week Mark waited for Paige’s letter and had yet to be disappointed. The eloquence of her writing was the first thing that stood out. Her words seemed to float on the page, her pen barely touching the paper as she marked it with her thoughts. Mark would sometimes sit for hours after reading one of her letters imagining what she looked like. Tall or short, dark hair or light. Does she have freckles or a button nose, the color of her eyes. He imagined her eyes were warm and kind and as time passed, these were the only thoughts that made Mark happy.
Mark had been collecting letters from Paige for six months and for four months he had been crafting letters in response. Without an address to send them to his purpose for writing them was not clear until he started to realize how much happier he was after writing one. He had begun to hope again. He kept her letters and his replies in a shoebox under his bed.
Dear Paige,
I received your letter after a long, tough day at work and the second I recognized your handwriting on the envelope, all of that washed away. During my free time there are many wonderful things to keep me busy in Georgia but with everything I do, I keep thinking to myself, I wish Paige were here. “What a wonderful museum … I wish Paige were here.” “Look at the brilliant colors of the sunset ... I wish Paige were here.” “Fill in the blank … I wish Paige were here.”
I often think of that electrical storm too. The way your body tensed with every clap of thunder and the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes. Before that night, I always hoped we would be together forever; after that I night, I knew we would.
My favorite memory is the time we were snowed in at Vail. The crackle of the fire, the marshmallows in the hot chocolate and the endless games of Scrabble. That’s the memory I always go to. It seems like some of our best times are when we are trapped somewhere with nothing but each other to keep us company. My biggest comfort is that all we need is each other. If the world were to crumble around us I know I’d be okay as long as I was with you.
It’s late, honey, and my eyelids are starting to droop. Even though I’m going to stop writing you, I’m going to slee
p so I can dream of you. I hope this letter finds you well and please know that I think of you constantly.
All my love,
Paul
P.S. No matter what dream you set out to tackle, I know you will succeed. I can’t wait to see your beauty and wisdom shine through your poetry. I know it will be wonderful.
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Paige was never the same after the death of her father. Studying art on the other side of the country, she was crippled by the news of his passing. She returned home to help her mom and never looked back. The guilt of going so far away ate at her and the least she could do was stay close to home. Paige was twenty when she decided to leave college; at thirty-two, that life seemed as much of a dream as her four-room bungalow.
Their relationship could be more accurately described as best friends rather than father/daughter. She confided in him everything going on in her life and he dispensed the type of wisdom any advice columnist would kill for and he did it without judgment. She loved him for that and it was almost enough to keep her from going away to pursue her dreams. She tried to find a school closer to home but her father convinced her to go start her life. It is a conversation which still haunted her sleep and frequently woke her in a cold sweat.
Her mother never recovered. She was okay for a while. She got a job and went through the motions but she was an empty shell occupying space in a world she felt she no longer belonged. Paige stayed close and fought to show her that life was still worth living. She tried to show her that she could still be happy without betraying the memory of her husband. She lost that fight and she lost her mother too. First it was just her spirit but two years earlier she took too many sleeping pills before going to bed and she lost her in body too. Her death was ruled an accident but Paige had her doubts. After her mother’s passing, she had enough money for that bungalow but it sat hidden away in a bank collecting dust and interest. Without monthly statements, she would forget it was there.
Paige had a few relatives but they were people she hardly knew. Growing up, she never thought much about family but she never thought she would be without one. She sometimes sat at work, looking at the clock and thinking, “At this second nobody in the world is wondering where I am, what I’m doing, whether or not I’m okay.” That was the thought which consumed her the most. She knew it wasn’t too late but she also knew she had to find peace within herself before she could start thinking of the future.
For the time being, there was Paul.
Dear Paul,
Through the sadness of you being gone I’ve been able to find a ray of light. I wouldn’t say that I’ve taken you for granted but your absence has helped me realize how much you truly mean to me. Only now have I been able to imagine my life without you. I’m grateful that it’s only for a short time. I can’t wait for you to come home.
Last night I was sitting out on the deck, watching the sun fade in the west and my thoughts were of you. I imagined that you were sitting somewhere watching the same sunset and it brought me comfort. I had never seen colors like that before and had I not seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. I hope you saw it too.
I delivered the paintings to the hotel. They have only been up for three days and I’ve already received two new jobs from them. The first day I sat in the lobby for two hours just to watch people notice them and their reactions were so positive. I feel blessed to be able to do something I love and have other people appreciate it. Thank you for being so supportive, especially when I was struggling to make a name for myself.
I was going through some old boxes in the back of a closet and I came across a stack of letters we wrote to each other during college. I lost half a day in the past and it was wonderful. I forgot how gifted you were at writing. After I said yes, you sent me a letter where you said, “From this day forward I know I will never truly have another bad day because no matter what life throws at me, I know I will always be coming home to you.” I cried the first time I read those words and they still have the ability to make me cry now.
I’m not sure what I did in life to deserve you but I’m grateful for whatever it was. There is nothing I would change, except for the fact that you are so far away. I hope you are doing well and I can’t wait to hear from you again. Write back soon.
Love Always,
Paige
In the back of her closet, the letters were real if not the sentiments. Memories of a past life. Paige and her college boyfriend did talk about a future together but there was too much life ahead of them to be taken seriously. They tried to keep it together at first, but Paige’s life was forever changed by that call from home. Keg parties, pep rallies and all night study sessions were replaced with check balancing, preparing meals and closing out her father’s estate. The phone calls went from “I’ll call you tomorrow” to “I’ll talk to you soon” and soon after, it was a distant memory. They never had a chance. Paige sometimes wondered if they had stayed together would she at some point have gone back to college. Paige loved the “what if” game. She hated it too.
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Mark doesn’t know if he’s an only child, whether his father was tall or his mother was smart. He doesn’t know if they are alive and he doesn’t care to find out. As far as Mark knows, he came into this world unwanted and was left on a church doorstep. He bounced from foster home to foster home until he was eight years old. He had wonderful parents for about three years but they knew less about his past then he did. They were taken from him when a nervous mugger shot his father and then his mother when she rushed to be by his side. Lucky for Mark, he was frozen to the spot or his fate might have had a similar ending. The mugger made off with about sixty dollars.
At eleven years old, none of his relatives spoke up for Mark so he went back into the system until he was eighteen. Sometimes he dreamt of tracking down his birth parents, but they didn’t want him so he wouldn’t waste his time wanting them.
What Mark did want was a family. Somewhere he belonged. As the sand continued to tumble, he wondered if it would ever happen. He was afraid he already knew the answer. Growing up, he would dream of being tucked in at night with somebody to care whether his teeth were brushed. He knew those days were behind him so now he wanted to do that for his own family. Mark knew he was damaged and he was afraid that the scars of his past would sabotage his chance at happiness and he would end up back where he was as a child, trying to fall asleep under loose sheets.
Turning eighteen, Mark thought he might find family in the Navy. He knew he wasn’t cut out for the military but he was willing to look under any rock that offered hope. Serving his country, Mark excelled because he was a fighter and a survivor and it served his purpose for awhile, but ultimately, he was looking for more than the Navy could offer. When his commitment was up, Mark moved on in his search for meaning, which for him would always be rooted in family.
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At the end of each week, Paige would stop by the cemetery to clean her parents’ grave site and leave fresh flowers. Sometimes she would tidy up, leave the flowers and head home, but most weeks she would stay and chat. Her belief in God was not absolute and during rare moments of self-pity she would doubt his existence and reasons for being so cruel. Most of the time, though, she believed in a higher power and that everything happened for a reason. Without someone looking down, an already lonely world would become that much lonelier. As alone as Paige felt, she took comfort knowing that there was somebody else there watching over things, even if she doesn’t always agree with His methods.
It was a beautiful autumn afternoon with a high sky and crisp feeling that Paige enjoyed. A slight breeze was shaking the leaves in the surrounding oaks while single leaves tumbled through the rows of headstones making their way to the far end of the cemetery. Paige sat down and lightly traced the names on her parents’ headstone with her index finger.
Eyes closed, she sat listening to the drumroll of the rattling leaves while the afternoon sun warmed her face. Her portion of the cemetery appeare
d to contain the collection of forgotten loved ones. Rows of empty flower holders seemed to reach out from the headstones begging for work. Paige would sit and wonder what caused these souls to go unnoticed. Did they simply lead unremarkable lives or did the ever increasing hustle and bustle force their loved ones to forget about them? Both thoughts made Paige sad. It did, however, give Paige privacy to work through her own demons and try to make sense of her life and a world which seemed to be passing her by.
“Hey, Dad, I brought Mom’s favorite flowers. It sure is beautiful today. Anyway, I could use some wisdom right now. I’m just not sure what to do. Every day I go through the motions and I feel like I don’t accomplishing anything. I get up, I go to work, I come home and then do it all again. I had such big dreams, Daddy.” She was fighting back tears but this conversation was nothing new to Paige; she had been having some version of it for years. “Now I just don’t know. I’ve been thinking about art again. Nothing big, just sketches, maybe, but I haven’t picked up a pen, brush, piece of charcoal, anything since I left school and I’m not sure I can go back. I’m scared and I’m not sure if I can go forward either, I’m not sure if I want to go forward. There’s just so much pain. I know I was meant to be an artist. I know I was meant to bring joy to others through my work, but how can I bring joy to others when I have so much sorrow? I know you would want me to move on, it’s just so hard. Sometimes I think it’s easier to just stay hidden away. I just wish I knew what to do.” She sat there for a few more minutes, fussing with the flowers and watching a squirrel jump from limb to limb on a nearby oak tree. “Anyway, I guess I’ll go. Thanks for listening, it’s always been my favorite quality of yours. Tell Mom I said hi. I’ll see you again next week.” She never lingered when visiting with her parents. As soon as her time was done, she got up and hustled out of the cemetery.
