“So did she ask about me?”
“Not directly, but I could tell she wanted to know how you are.” He pointed to the sleeping baby. “I told her about Nikki.”
Campbell nodded, wondering how she took hearing about his life from Billy. “How’d she seem?” he asked.
“Sad,” Billy said. “I’d say she’s still pretty hung up on you, if I had to guess. But she played it cool.”
He felt bad for being happy with Billy’s response. It was unfair of him, he knew, to want her to pine away after him. Billy sprang up and spun his car keys around on his key ring, something he made a habit of doing every time he was preparing to leave.
“Going already?” Campbell knew that his disappointment showed. It felt good to spend time with someone from his previous life.
Billy nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, meeting Scott and some of those guys at the arcade. See what kind of trouble we can get into.”
“Okay,” he said, dying to join his friends. “Thanks for coming by,” he managed to add as Billy loped back down the steps.
“No problem!” Billy hollered as he jumped into his truck and backed out of the drive, kicking up gravel. Campbell resumed his position on the porch’s rocking chair with Nikki in his arms, watching the sun go down and wondering if, wherever she was, Lindsey was seeing the same sunset.
Chapter 8
Sunset Beach
Summer 1988
“Lola! L-O-L-A Lola! Lo lo lo lo Lola!”
The boys Lindsey and Holly had gone out with that night screamed the lyrics to the Kinks song in unison as their little group made their way down the beach in the dark. Though they swore they hadn’t, Lindsey thought they had been drinking before they picked Holly and her up for their date. They were way too happy.
Jeff, the guy Holly was with, came over and put his arm around Holly. “Just like cherry cola!” he sang to her, loud and off key. Holly laughed though Lindsey didn’t find it funny. She thought he was especially obnoxious. What Holly saw in him, she couldn’t understand. She suspected Holly didn’t see anything in him but was only going out with him to force Lindsey to go out with his friend Joel.
She tried to catch Holly’s eye, but it was too dark to see her features. Holly would be disappointed if she asked to go home so early anyway. She watched as Jeff took Holly’s hand and turned to Joel. “What do you say we split up for a while?” he asked. Just the question made her stomach turn a complete flip.
Joel looked at her and shrugged. “Guess so,” he said, his voice not sounding as optimistic as Jeff’s did. Jeff and Holly walked ahead as Joel slowed down.
“Can we sit for a minute?” Joel asked Lindsey. It was her turn to shrug. But she really wanted to say no.
“Jeff’s got the wrong idea about my friend,” she said as she sat down in the damp sand beside him.
“What do you mean?” Joel asked, grinning, his straight white teeth showing up in the darkness like little beacons.
“I mean, she likes him, but she’s not going to do anything with him.”
“I wouldn’t think that Jeff expects that,” Joel said quietly. “Jeff likes Holly. He’s a good guy.” He paused. “And I like you,” he added.
She smiled. “Thanks,” she said. She could think of nothing else.
“So no, ‘I like you too, Joel’?”
“I do like you, but—” She shook her head.
“Not like that,” he said and smiled again.
“It’s just … there’s someone I broke up with awhile back and I’m not ready—”
“Campbell?” Joel asked, his name cutting through her like a knife.
She nodded. “Do you know him?”
“No, but Holly told me about him. She warned me you might still be hung up on him. She said it’s been over for a while though?”
It wasn’t really a question. Joel knew that she was spending her second summer pining away for a boy who had clearly forgotten all about her. She was glad it was too dark for him to see her blush. “I guess I’m a pretty sad case,” she acknowledged.
He patted her knee. “No, I get it. I’ve only recently gotten over someone who broke my heart. But you know what helped me?” He leaned in, she could smell the mint gum he chewed on his breath. He kissed her tentatively.
She wished for a moment that at the touch of his lips the spell Campbell had cast on her would be broken, that her body would respond to the touch of someone new and she would not long for Campbell anymore. Instead she felt repulsion, and something like anger, well up inside of her. She pulled away.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said. “I was hoping—”
She smiled at his earnestness. “Apparently I’m not your girl,” she said.
“But you’re someone’s. And even though he doesn’t know it, he’s a lucky guy.” He stood up and brushed the sand from his shorts. He extended his hand to pull her up. “Come on. I’ll walk you home. Jeff’ll bring Holly home if you think that won’t bother her.”
She smiled in the darkness. Holly had already arranged with Lindsey ahead of time that if the opportunity came up for them to be alone with the guys, they’d eventually meet back at the beach house. Lindsey knew that Holly wasn’t interested in starting anything physical with Jeff, but she wanted Lindsey to spend time alone with Joel and could take care of herself where Jeff was concerned. “Thanks, Joel,” Lindsey replied. “I’d love it if you’d walk me home.”
She wondered if she was stupid for overlooking a guy who was obviously interested in her, and the thought surprised her. Maybe it was a sign, a glimmer of hope that she would eventually move past her love for Campbell. That someone wonderful was waiting just around the corner. As she walked underneath a star-filled sky, she ventured a prayer asking for that to happen. Holly had encouraged her to pray that God would send someone else for her to love, that she would heal. She looked heavenward, in awe of the multitude of stars, and tried to believe that God really did listen to her prayers like Holly had promised.
Summer 1988
Dear Kindred Spirit,
Holly made rules for this year’s beach trip: No pining away. No listening to sad songs that remind me of Campbell. No sneaking up to the roof deck to cry. She says I did enough of that last year to last the rest of my life.
She also made me go out with a guy that we met on the beach. His name was Joel, and he was very good looking and polite and charming. But there was no chemistry. I endured my one date just so Holly would quit bugging me. So I could say that I was moving on with my life. The truth is, I want to move on, and I can feel myself straining to break the hold Campbell has on me.
Holly keeps preaching at me about it. She says I need to get back on the horse, that there are other fish in the sea. She’s a storehouse of clichés. She’s always talking to me about God’s plan for my life and how it’s been made clear by Campbell’s choices that he isn’t a part of that plan. I am not sure I want to believe in a God who makes a plan that is so obviously contrary to what makes me happy. I am not pleased with God’s plan, I guess you could say.
I made some rules of my own:
Rule #1: No walking past Campbell’s house. I haven’t been down Campbell’s street since we broke up. I just want to see his house, to see his truck pulled in the drive and know he’s in there. But I am also afraid I would see Ellie on the front porch rocking the baby, who I guess is over a year old now. I am sure Ellie would be only too happy to wave at me and rub it in that she won Campbell and I am the big loser who can’t let go.
Rule #2: No going to the pier. I can’t stand in the spot where we danced together that last night. So I avoid the pier entirely. Even when we are hanging out at night and a bunch of people go up there, I just go home.
At first I made rule #3 that I wasn’t going to come back here to the mailbox and write to you. But
after I thought about it, I decided that would be foolish. I love coming here, and I love writing these letters each year. It makes me feel like there is someone out there who really cares about what I think and feel, who is sad with me about what happened with Campbell and who is cheering me on, believing that someday I will be happy again and this time in my life will be a distant memory. I guess I need to still believe in you, Kindred Spirit, whoever you are.
Most of all, and I don’t admit this to anyone, but … I need to come here so I can feel close to Campbell. In spite of what he did and how bad he hurt me, I still want to feel close to him. No matter what happens to me—if I marry or how far I go in life—I will always equate this place with him. He introduced me to the mailbox and he encouraged me to write to you. In his last letter, he asked me to come here so that we could stay connected. So I will keep coming and keep writing. As silly as it is, it’s all I have left of him, of a time in my life when I still believed in love. I am glad this mailbox is here. I don’t know what I would do without it, or you. Thank you for reading my letters each year. It’s nice to know you’re there.
Until next summer,
Lindsey
Chapter 9
Charlotte
Summer 2004
“Campbell.” He heard Ellie’s voice before he saw her and still cringed reflexively. He swung his head around to see her striding down the hospital corridor, all business, her mouth set in a grim red line. She wore a tracksuit, periwinkle blue with black and white lines down the sleeves and legs. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a severe-looking ponytail—not a strand out of place—and her jewelry, while simple, still managed to be expensive looking. Though she wore what most would consider workout clothes, he got the feeling that she would never actually work out while wearing that outfit. She looked every bit the wealthy suburban doctor’s wife. It suited her much better than “teenage mother living in a beach town with her teenage husband’s parents.” That role hadn’t lasted long anyway.
Ellie swept Campbell’s mother into a dramatic hug. “Thank you so much for coming, LaRae,” she said. Ellie gave Campbell a pat on the arm. “You too, Campbell,” she offered.
He skipped all the pleasantries. “What’s going on with Nikki?” He noticed that Ellie’s son, Garrett, lay down his video game to listen in. He guessed Ellie noticed too, because she motioned for Campbell and his mom to walk down the hall, out of the boy’s earshot. They followed dutifully, and Garrett turned back to his video game, the barest hint of a sigh emerging from his lips.
“I just spoke with the doctor who admitted her,” Ellie said. “The good news is she was only out for a few seconds and she’s totally awake and alert now. They are giving her IV fluids and running some tests on her liver enzymes and electrolyte levels. Once they know more, they will get back to us.” Ellie paused, glancing over at Garrett to make sure he couldn’t hear them talking. “They are saying she most likely has … anorexia. She passed out … because she hasn’t been eating.” Ellie paused again, longer this time, looking past them toward the windows of the waiting room. Tears had collected in her eyes, threatening to spill over. “I mean, she had gotten pretty thin, but she kept saying she had it under control,” she offered, her voice sounding as weak as Campbell felt.
Without warning, anger welled up within him. “So, let me get this straight. She starved herself right under your nose? And you just let her?”
His mom put her hand on his arm, a signal: Not here. Nurses at the station glanced nervously in their direction. He saw a few of them confer with each other, determining if they should suggest the trio go somewhere more private.
He lowered his voice. Yet even in a whisper, his anger still rang. “So the … anorexia made her collapse?”
“Well, it’s an indicator that something dangerous is going on. She hadn’t eaten a thing in twenty-four hours, best we can tell.” Ellie paused. “Her friend at work filled me in. Seems she was going for some kind of personal record.” Ellie looked at him, and he could see the challenge in her eyes. She dared him to come back at her again, to land all the blame on her when they both knew he should get in line for plenty of it. “Of course, we won’t know the whole story until we can talk to her.”
As much as he wanted to blame everything on Ellie—that it happened on her watch—he had to admit he hadn’t seen his daughter in a very long time. He didn’t know how much she weighed, what her life was like, what she was struggling with, or what she thought of herself. Yes, she had been the one to bow out of visiting him over and over again, but he had let her. And he hadn’t come to visit her either.
You didn’t fight for her, a voice in his head said. Instead of arguing with Ellie, he turned and walked away from her and his mom, needing a moment to collect himself. He would let Ellie see his anger but not his tears.
He walked over to the bank of windows that made up the back wall of the waiting area. From where he stood, he could see Charlotte stretching for miles. The emergency helicopter slept on the helipad below where he stood, blissfully unneeded. Seeing that helicopter made him think about the terrible, devastating things that happened to people every day. About the people who had watched someone they love be carried away, praying they would survive. He was thankful he wasn’t in that place. It occurred to him that maybe God was giving him a second chance to be a good father, even if he wasn’t sure he deserved one.
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A nurse entered the waiting room. “We’re finished with our testing. The doctor says you are allowed back in,” she announced to the group. No one else sat in the waiting area but their family. “You can go in two at a time.”
Ellie stood up automatically, brushed the crumbs from the pretzels she had been chomping on from her pants, and took her husband Oz’s hand. She looked pointedly at Campbell, baiting him to challenge her decision to go first.
Two minutes later Ellie walked back into the waiting area, distraught. She singled Campbell out and pointed toward the direction of Nikki’s hospital room. “She wants to see you,” she said sarcastically. She sank into the nearest chair with a flourish.
“Apparently I’m not what she wants at all,” she sobbed into her hands. LaRae moved to pat Ellie on the back and make soothing noises while Campbell made his exit. He left the scene to his sweet, forgiving, gentle mother. She had a lot more patience with Ellie than he did.
He entered the room quietly, even though he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Nikki lay on her side, her back to the doorway. She looked so tiny in the bed, wrapped in white sheets, her silhouette not much bigger than an elementary school child’s. His face registered how much his daughter had shrunk since he saw her last. Had she seen his expression, she would have noticed his fear, his uncertainty as to how to proceed. He took a moment to collect himself before he spoke her name, mentally smoothing out the worry lines on his face. He wanted to appear capable of handling this situation—which was pretty much how he had approached every aspect of fatherhood since he stumbled into it seventeen years ago. He tried to act the part.
“Nikki?” he asked into the silence of the room, his voice sounding as ragged and broken as he felt. She didn’t answer. He moved to her bedside and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Nikki?” he asked again, a bit louder but still barely above a whisper. She shifted a bit under his hand as though it bothered her, resting on her thin shoulder. She did not roll over to face him.
“I go by Nicole now,” she said flatly. “No one calls me Nikki anymore,” she added.
He left his hand on her shoulder and bent down to kiss her cheek. Her skin smelled like the hospital. “Well,” he added, hoping she would take it right, that he did not overstep his absentee-father bounds, “I do.”
They remained still and quiet for a while. Campbell shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling like a nervous suitor struggling to find the right words, make the right move. She wiped
several silent tears from her eyes. He wondered how long they would stay in silence.
“Do you need anything?” he finally asked her, hoping she would order a double cheeseburger with fries. He felt like he needed a break anyway. He needed to escape for a moment, to collect himself. Then he realized it: All his life he had taken the escape route.
She held up her arm with the IV. “They are pretty much force-feeding me,” she said as she rolled over to face him.
He could see the bones of her face, a thin layer of skin covering them; her eyes sunken, black circles accentuating the hollows. She was still, oddly enough, quite beautiful, a helpless waif in need of rescue.
Her voice sounded shaky when she spoke again. “I’m sorry you had to come all this way.” She looked away from him, ashamed, mumbling a word that sounded like “stupid” to herself. He didn’t dare ask if she meant him, or herself.
He knew he had a choice in that moment. Step away and maintain the distance between them, cheapening what they once had even further and giving her permission to separate herself from him even more. Or step in and wrap his arms around her, tell her he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. His reaction would tell the tale of where he and his daughter were headed. He thanked God for this insight even as he stepped into the gap between them—which felt something like jumping off a cliff—and buried his head in her shoulder, the closest thing he could get to a hug with her lying in a tiny ball. He half expected her to push him away and roll back over, but she didn’t. Slowly, she brought her arms up and around him, carefully navigating around the IV line and laughing self-consciously as she did.
He pulled back slightly to look her in the eyes. “I don’t know how this happened,” he said, gesturing at the bed and room. “But I am going to do whatever it takes to help you get better.”
The Mailbox Page 6
