Isobel,
There was no one on earth closer to me during our childhood than you. You’re entwined with my earliest years so tightly that I can’t think back without thinking of you. My playmate, my teacher, my roommate, my big sister. As soon as I was old enough to comprehend the people in my life—there you were. An integral part of my family and heart. And I repaid you, the person closest to me, with betrayal.
I want you to know that I’m sorry. Deeply sorry. I bitterly regret the actions of my twenty-three-year-old self. I was selfish and envious, and I destroyed the thing I should have recognized as one of my most valuable possessions—my relationship with you.
The total solar eclipse we promised each other we’d view together back in South America is coming to Maine in a year. When we promised each other we'd view it together, I dearly wanted to experience the eclipse with you. Now, I want to experience it with you a hundred times more than I did then.
I’m writing to ask for an opportunity to meet with you and apologize. I realize I don’t deserve that opportunity. But if you can find it within you to see me briefly, I’d greatly appreciate it. I’ll come to New York whenever it’s convenient for you.
Fiona
Unlike the prior drafts, this one felt right. It wasn’t long but it genuinely communicated her feelings. She folded the thick piece of stationery and sealed it in its matching envelope.
Her sister Alice had always been the sibling most anxious for Fiona to reconcile with Isobel, so Alice had kept Fiona apprised of Isobel’s new addresses and phone numbers over the decades. Fiona scrawled the address of Isobel’s current New York apartment on the front of the envelope, then hesitated over what to put in the return address slot. It seemed likely Alice had kept Isobel informed of Fiona’s addresses and phone numbers, too. If Isobel recognized Fiona’s address, she might not open the envelope. So in the return slot, Fiona wrote only the address of her company’s office.
Riding a wave of determination, she got in her car and drove to the post office downtown with the letter occupying the passenger seat. It was late and Groomsport had been put to bed for the night.
She pulled up to the outdoor mail collection box, rolled down her window, opened the chute. Was she going to throw up? Acid climbed her esophagus. Anxiety mounted quick and high, making her light-headed.
Weary of how long she’d fussed over the drafts of the letter already, irritated by her weakness, she grasped the letter in her free hand. Before she could second-guess, she thrust it into the chute. Out of her grip it went, down into the belly of the collection box.
There. No going back.
The following day, Jeremiah sat at Leigh’s kitchen table, laptop in front of him, spreadsheet open. Jude had just sent him a text, asking how he was, so Jeremiah texted back, letting him know he was doing even better on Islehaven than he’d been doing in Groomsport. Jude stayed in contact with him regularly. The guy struck Jeremiah as having it all together, highly organized—
All of a sudden, he remembered himself and Jude . . . at a huge dining room table. In their childhood home. He was in fifth grade, his brother smaller. Pieces of paper belonging to Jeremiah’s science fair project covered the table. But Jude was the one assembling the board.
Jeremiah leaned back, balancing his chair on its back two legs, sneakers crossed on the table. His thumbs worked the handheld video game he played. Jude was a lot better at this type of stuff than he was. He’d made a good bargain when he’d given Jude an unopened Lego set in exchange for sitting here chilling while his brother did all the work.
Back in the present, Jeremiah startled.
A memory.
He didn’t try to force more. Instead, he simply tried to open up his brain.What else do I know about Jude?
In response, a few more images landed in his head like isolated droplets of water. He saw himself and Jude as kids posing for a photo in front of the Eiffel Tower. He saw himself and Jude walking into their elementary school together on the first day of school. He saw himself pushing a kid his age after that kid said something mean to Jude. He saw himself and Jude hugging goodbye when he’d moved to Europe to compete in karting.
What do I know about my mother?He pictured her as she’d looked the last time he’d seen her. And then, yes, he could recall some things. She yelled, “Dance break,” and he’d looked way up at her as they'd danced to loud pop music. He saw her reading to him before bed. He saw her rushing to her feet in a standing ovation after his elementary talent show act. He remembered receiving a phone call from her. He was in an apartment . . . in Austria. His uncle was in the kitchen making dinner and his mother was on the other end of the line telling him in a cold, furious voice that his father was Max Cirillo’s biological dad—
Sharp pain carved through his head, slamming the door on that memory.
He laid an arm on the table and rested his forehead on it. He breathed through the pain steadily until it decreased to a bearable level.
Pleasant memories were fine but painful memories weren’t. So what did he remember about his father that was pleasant? He saw his father at the wheel of a convertible 1967 Chevy Corvette Stingray, hair whipping around his head as he drove. He remembered everyone flocking around Dad and asking for autographs when he showed up at Jeremiah’s middle school. He saw Dad dressed in a gray suit, beaming at him after an F1 race.
Anton? More enjoyable memories came.
Alexis?
Nothing.
He waited, bringing to mind the different photos he’d seen of her. He expected a walking, talking, breathing memory of her to come. But nothing answered except gray smoke.
He quit trying with Alexis and went back to Jude, Mom, Dad, and Anton. A couple additional memories trickled in. Then they all came to a stop—as if his mind had given him all it was willing to give for one day.
Which was fine. The memories were coming back just as the psychologist had predicted they would. Thank God. Finally, he was seeing the progress he'd been hoping for. Finally, his brain was issuing a payoff for all the time he'd spent waiting.
That evening Jeremiah waited for Remy—once again half-standing, half-leaning against her table.
