The Mailbox

by Marybeth Whalen

  He could remember once, right after Nikki went to live with Ellie and he drove to Charlotte to pick her up. According to Ellie, Garrett had been intolerably colicky and she couldn’t even meet Campbell halfway on the drive. Ellie had shouted at Campbell over Garrett’s crying in the background, “I realize you want time with Nikki, Campbell. But if you want her, you will just have to drive here and get her.” The conversation left him feeling bitter about the long drive—he really hated leaving Sunset—but also the slightest bit vengeful that Ellie and Oz’s baby was a screamer. They deserved it. Ha ha, he mouthed to the receiver after she had hung up, feeling childish as he did.

  As he drove with his seven-year-old daughter in the backseat, he asked Nikki if Garrett cried a lot, though he already knew the answer. He admittedly took sadistic pleasure in hearing the realities of the life Ellie had chosen for herself. Nikki chattered on incessantly about how much she hated that baby, how he had ruined everything. She hardly stopped talking the whole way to Sunset. When they arrived, he handed her off to his mother and went out to stand by the ocean to gather his wits. He wondered if taking Nikki off Ellie’s hands was a blessing to her instead of the sacrifice he thought—one less noisemaker in her house.

  That night they ate in Calabash with Campbell’s parents, a town famous for its abundance of restaurants specializing in fried seafood. They stopped for ice cream on the way home, a tradition Nikki wouldn’t ever let them forget. He and Nikki sat in the backseat like the children they were while his mom and dad drove them around, proud of their impish granddaughter, never tiring of her chatter. They delighted in her off-key singing, the made-up lyrics, the songs repeated over and over while he tired of them. They cleaned up her messes without complaint while he wanted to tear his hair out. They didn’t get flustered when she made demands or threw fits. He wondered how they did it, where they got the calm, unflappable state of mind he seemed to be missing in dealing with his daughter. He felt like a failure.

  The night before he drove the seven-hour round-trip to take Nikki back to Charlotte, his father sat down beside him on the couch where he had flopped, unmoving—exhausted from Nikki’s bedtime routine. One more story, one more song, one more drink of water. She had worn him out.

  Campbell’s father patted his arm. “I know you don’t believe it,” he said, “but it goes so fast. You may be in your early twenties now, but soon enough, you’ll be forty. You’ll look up and suddenly your kid is an adult. And then you wish you could go back and do it all over. And do it right.”

  Campbell gestured toward Nikki’s bedroom, where he hoped she was sleeping. “Is that where you get your patience? The benefit of hindsight? A chance to have a do-over?”

  His dad laughed. “I’d say so, yeah.” Sobering, his father added, “One day, you’ll wish for these days back. You’ll think that they were the simple days, when you had no worries.”

  Campbell had just shaken his head then, unbelieving. But now, in the truck with his mom and daughter sandwiched beside him, he knew that what his father had said was true. He longed for his little girl back—the girl full of life and words and mindless chatter, a smile always on her face, her feelings visible for all to see. He mourned that she was now locked away from him in a place he couldn’t reach. He wished he could do it all over again, and appreciate it this time around. He wished he could see being a parent as a blessing he entered into knowingly instead of being thrust upon him by simple biology.

  As they approached Sunset, he pushed aside the thoughts of what had been, or what could be, and focused on what was—something he had started learning to do. Be here, he told himself. Be present. Don’t miss this. Turning to see the back of his daughter’s head and seeing the reflection of her sad face in the window, he thought of the most important reminder of all: Don’t miss her. He was painfully aware that it might just be his last, best chance.

  Chapter 13

  Sunset Beach

  Summer 2004

  Early that morning, before the kids woke up, Lindsey’s cell phone rang. She reached for her purse atop the nightstand and fumbled around for her phone. As she searched the overfull bag, her heart threw out a word: Grant. Her brain quickly overrode the thought. It wouldn’t be him. He never called her anymore, and he only called the children on a cell phone he had bought for Anna, breaking his own rule about her not being allowed to have a cell phone until she turned fifteen. He had started relaying messages for Lindsey through Anna—a practice she found both repulsive and immature, but also heartbreaking. She remembered the days when she and Grant could spend hours on the phone, dreaming together of a future that looked nothing like the one they were in now.

  She found her phone just as it stopped ringing. It was Jane, Grant’s mother. Lindsey held the phone in her hand, staring at it like it might bite her. Should she call her back? Avoid her altogether? After all, Jane’s son had left her; “good daughter-in-law” rules didn’t apply anymore. And yet, she and Jane shared an unusual relationship. Unusual in that it wasn’t fraught with the bitterness and territorial battles that existed between many in-laws. Jane called their friendship “mutual admiration,” which was something that didn’t change with the divorce. Losing Grant meant losing much more than a husband—it meant losing the only other real family she had ever been a part of. Unlike her aunt and uncle who only welcomed her during the summers, this family had been hers every day.

  After he left, to her credit, Jane had kept calling. She told Lindsey she didn’t agree with Grant or support his decision. She confessed that she struggled with some serious anger toward him for breaking up his family. But she also told her that he was her son and that believing the worst about him was hard for her to swallow. “It’s hard to believe he could cheat, Lindsey,” she said. “I raised him better than that.”

  “I know you did,” Lindsey had answered, rubbing Jane’s shoulder as she said it, baffled that she was acting as comforter to Grant’s mother. But Jane was right. Grant was one of the good guys. He was dependable, steadfast, honorable. He came from a good, stable family and promised to deliver the same. No one counted on him changing—morphing into someone who was unrecognizable. As time went on, she and Jane talked about Grant less and less. They talked instead about safe subjects: the kids, Jane’s infinite knitting projects, the weather. Grant had reduced them from loving family to awkward acquaintances.

  With a deep sigh she called Jane. While she listened to the ringing on the other end, she wondered idly, was it duty that made her call, or devotion? Probably a strange mix of both—one just as likely to outweigh the other at any given moment. She found out that, in the aftershocks of her family breaking apart, she had to sort through the pieces like a jigsaw puzzle without the picture on the box to guide her. So many shapes, so many colors, all supposed to somehow connect to form something. But what that something was remained a mystery.

  Jane answered as she always had. “Hello, dear.” The sound of her voice brought tears to Lindsey’s eyes, but she blinked them away, pressing the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose. The week at Sunset was about making progress, not faltering.

  “Hi, Jane,” she answered. “It’s so good to hear from you.” Was it possible to keep Jane but lose Grant?

  “I just called to make sure you and the children made it to the beach safely. Are you all having a good time?”

  “Yes,” she said. “We are having a lovely time.” She knew she didn’t sound like herself. She never used words like lovely.

  They talked for a few minutes about the beach, and Jane asked how the kids were holding up. Lindsey put on her best happy voice, trying to keep Jane’s worries at bay. Jane, as it were, was not the one who had hurt the family, so Lindsey had no problem protecting her. But after awhile, Lindsey decided it would be wise to cut off the conversation before she started to break down.

  “Thanks for checking on us, Jane,” Lindsey said, trying
not to falter. “It’s nice to know someone is concerned for us.”

  “Honey, I always will be. You don’t have to wonder about that. My son’s choices don’t affect my love for you or the kids.”

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “If you talk to him,” Lindsey added, feeling foolish and desperate, “please tell him we’re okay. I mean, if he asks.”

  “I will, darlin’.” She detected a note of pity in Jane’s voice. “If I could just give you a word of advice.” Jane charged on without waiting for her permission. “Move on with your life. Find someone to love you. Stop waiting on Grant to notice what a treasure he’s lost. One thing I know: By the time he figures that out, it will be too late. That makes me sad for him, but happy for you. Because I know that there is something great waiting out there for you. Give yourself permission to be open to it, whenever it comes along. Will you promise me that?”

  “Yes,” Lindsey managed in a weak voice. “I’ll try.” A memory came to mind of Holly giving her the same advice after Campbell had married Ellie. Lindsey couldn’t help but feel an intense moment of grief—she had to let another love go. How was she to ever welcome love again?

  w

  After the conversation with Jane was over, Lindsey padded out to the kitchen to make coffee, staring out the window like a zombie while it brewed. She tried to think of what she needed to do that day. Mile-long to-do lists filled her days back at home—phone calls to make and errands to run, children to shuttle to activities, cleaning to do. Here, her schedule was swept clean. No routine whatsoever: just her life, stripped of the fat, down to a skeleton. It occurred to her that she liked the skeleton life much better than the fat one.

  As she sipped her coffee, she decided that she would go on a run while the kids were still sleeping. She pulled off a piece from the pad of paper her aunt had long ago hung on the refrigerator door, the silly words scripted elegantly across the top, “To Do.” The fact that the pad had hardly been used in ten years, other than to dash off a quick grocery list, was further proof that there was just not much “to do” at Sunset. She scrounged through the junk drawer and found a tiny pencil hefted from a golf course long ago, the point barely sharp enough to scratch out her message. “Gone running,” she scrawled. “Back soon. Love you, Mom.” She left the note on the kitchen counter, beside a box of cereal, a hint to make some breakfast while they waited for her return.

  She rummaged through her suitcase to find her running shoes, thick socks, shorts, T-shirt, and exercise bra, wondering how far she would be able to go. She had only recently gone back to running, discovering anew the freedom and energy she gained from making herself hit the pavement regularly. Two days after Grant left, she decided to run instead of cry. The weight and sadness she felt in his absence were lodged inside her—like something caught that needed to be loosened—and she hoped that the running would shake it free. That first day she ran until she nearly fell down from exhaustion. Pushing herself through exercise yielded a better release, she discovered, than sobbing. When she returned home, the sadness hadn’t disappeared, but the weight she felt before she left had lessened considerably. She had missed only a few days since, craving her runs like chocolate.

  Heading out the door of the beach house, she smiled as she thought about the exhilaration of running along the beach. If this is all there is, she thought, it could be enough. Maybe.

  She turned up her headphones and let the music fill her ears and heart. She breathed in the salty air, letting it seep in like a promise. Her legs pumped, and her feet hit the pavement in a melodic rhythm. In a moment of spontaneity, she changed her course and turned in the direction of a house she had avoided for the last twenty years. Feeling young and alive, she ran toward it with all of her might.

  w

  Lindsey felt like a stalker as she made her way down Campbell’s street, still not fully understanding why she was there. Perhaps it was because Jane’s words to her about moving on had spurred thoughts of him. What was the harm, she reasoned, in taking a detour down memory lane?

  She ran by with her eyes trained on the house like a spy, taking in the changes, looking for signs of life. She didn’t bother to pretend that she was not looking for him, was not studying the house to see some evidence that he still lived there, which was ridiculous to think, considering the amount of time that had gone by. She felt certain that he and Ellie and their child—or children by now—had moved on.

  The thought of Ellie still made her cringe. It was like she was in high school all over again. Her mind unwittingly called up the image of Ellie when they were sixteen years old, skulking around Campbell everywhere he went, pretending to be Lindsey’s friend that summer so she could be close to Campbell. She remembered Ellie’s long blonde hair with its spiral perm, her ankle bracelet made of puka shells, the way she giggled every time Campbell cracked a joke.

  Random play on Lindsey’s MP3 player brought up Peter Gabriel’s song “In Your Eyes.” She smiled as the music filled her headphones. So many times she and Campbell had listened to that song. She had to admit it still had an effect on her and the timing was perfect—it played just as she approached Campbell’s house. She decided that a little dip in the pool of nostalgia was refreshing. She just had to make sure not to drown in it.

  The house looked much the same as it did all those years ago, still white with a wide gray plank porch across the front. Someone had hung a second porch swing and the rockers were new. She guessed his mom had been the one to put red geraniums in the planters, adding a burst of color, a woman’s touch. She remembered going to his house, climbing the porch stairs holding his hand, wondering what it must be like to live at Sunset all the time, to have paradise as your backyard. She remembered that Campbell seemed not to notice, crossing the porch without even looking up.

  Someone had painted it recently, the white and gray paint too fresh and vivid to be the paint he coated the house with that second summer. Unbidden, a memory surfaced: Campbell on a ladder with a paintbrush in his hand, turning to grin at her, flicking white paint in her direction.

  “You better not hang around here too long,” he said, his smile a playful warning, “or my mom will put you to work too.”

  And her response, so cheesy yet, in memory, sweet, “That would be just fine if it meant I could stay with you.”

  She remembered standing there unself-consciously, smiling at him in her cutoff denim shorts and bikini top, the smell of the ocean perfuming her skin and the glow of a day in the sun making her radiant. She was, she could recognize now, beautiful.

  She didn’t notice the car slowing down behind her until she heard the crunch of tires on gravel. The driver didn’t notice her standing in the driveway, causing her to jump out of the way quickly, her heart wildly hammering in her chest. Whether from the fright of nearly being hit or the embarrassment of being caught standing in Campbell’s driveway, staring at his house like a lunatic, she couldn’t tell. As she caught her breath, the elderly woman driving the car got out slowly, never taking her eyes off her.

  “Phew!” Lindsey said to break the awkwardness. “That scared me!” She smiled as genuinely as possible, hoping the woman wouldn’t think she was a weirdo. She willed her heart to slow down so she could speak normally.

  The woman nodded slowly, her eyes boring into Lindsey. She wore a neon green T-shirt that said “Sunset Beach Turtle Watchers” in bold blue writing, with a big picture of a loggerhead turtle. A matching Turtle Watcher visor tamed her curly silver hair. Just the year before, Lindsey had taken the kids to one of the Turtle Watcher beach tours at night, hoping to spy some hatchlings. They didn’t have any luck. She wondered absently if the woman had been there.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “Are you looking for something?” she asked.

  Lindsey waved her hand in the air, feeling like an idiot. “Oh no!” she offered. “I knew someone who lived here a
long time ago, and I was just walking by.” She laughed for good measure, hoping to show how harmless, how totally not crazy, she was. “Guess I’ll get back to my run now,” she said. “Have a nice day!” She started to jog away.

  Before she could make her exit, she heard the woman’s voice, halting her. “You’re looking for Campbell.” It wasn’t a question, Lindsey noticed. With her back to the woman, she grimaced before she turned around.

  The woman crossed her arms over the turtle on her T-shirt. She acted like she already knew Lindsey. Or perhaps lots of women had stopped by to stare at Campbell’s house through the years.

  Lindsey decided to play it cool, nonchalant. “I’m Lindsey,” she said and extended her sweaty hand, embarrassed to be meeting anyone in that state. She should have thought twice about stopping by the house in her exercise garb—sweaty and smelly was not the kind of impression she would have wanted to make.

  The woman, obviously undeterred by a little sweat, shook Lindsey’s hand emphatically. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, the visor perched on top of her head waggling up and down with her rapidly bobbing head. “You haven’t changed a bit, girl!”

  “I … haven’t?” she asked, confused.

  “Oh no! The minute I saw you, I knew exactly who you were. You probably don’t remember me, though. I’m Campbell’s mother’s oldest friend, Minerva. I used to see you all the time when you would stop by to see Campbell. His mama and I would be playing cards or making dinner? You were always so polite.” She paused, seeming to replay a memory in her mind as she smiled. “We liked you,” she added and smiled.