The beach was packed with families and the summer sun beat down on my skin. This was my least favorite time of day to walk through the sand, but I needed the serenity offered by the mailbox. Eventually the crowd thinned to smaller groups with fewer children. I felt bad for the little ones who’d been dragged this far out by their parents; they were easy to spot because they were loud, whiny, and in one case, splayed out on the ground in a full-blown tantrum. Today, I felt their pain.
As always I dug through the mailbox for the oldest notebook. Instead of sitting on the bench like I usually would, I sank into the powdery sand, sifting it through my fingers. I closed my eyes, allowing the sounds of the waves rolling onto the shore to soothe my frayed nerves. Birds screeched overhead, reminding me I was in my safe place. I cracked my eyes open when the peace was fractured by the melody of instrumental music playing.
“Sorry, is this okay?” The newcomer to the mailbox reached for her phone.
I placed my hand on her arm. While unexpected, the song wasn’t unpleasant. We all came out to the mailbox for our own reasons, and if she wanted to meditate I wasn’t about to stop her.
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” She dug to the bottom of her nylon bag, pulling out a smudge stick and a lighter. She held it up to me. “This will help cleanse your aura and lift your spirits. But if you’d prefer, I can skip it.”
“Believe me, if there was ever a day I need that, it’s today,” I blurted out. I held my breath, waiting for her to press me to open up and share my worries with her. Blessedly, she continued with her own ritual. The flame kept going out because of the wind, so I leaned in, cupping my hands to provide a shield. “That should help.”
“Thank you.” She tried in vain a few more times before giving up and shoving the smudge stick back into her bag. “Oh well, it’s not absolutely necessary.”
The stranger settled into the sand just to the right of the mailbox post and closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell steadily for a few seconds. I tried to match my breathing to hers, my eyes slowly drifting closed to the world around me. The sweet melody washed over me, eventually allowing me to forget about everything that was happening on the other side of the bridge from the inn to the beach. Time slowed and I allowed myself to believe everything would be okay.
When I opened my eyes, the woman was frantically scribbling a note in the book she’d pulled out of the mailbox. It was strange to think that, someday, I might read her words. Although I’d often wondered about the people who stopped by here and left the notes I was so obsessed with, it felt like an invasion of her privacy to know there was a chance I’d put a face with whatever it was she needed to say.
I picked up my notebook and brushed away the grains of sand that’d been kicked onto the cover. Most days, I opened to a random page and read, but today, I flipped from one page to the next as though I was searching for something specific. My heart clenched when I glimpsed familiar slanted scrawl on a page near the back. I shouldn’t read what he had to say, but I needed to. For now, this was my connection to the man I’d fallen in love with, the man who guarded so much of himself.
Dear Kindred Spirit,
It’s safe to say this trip has been nothing like I expected. I love the life I’ve built for myself, but since taking my first steps in the sand along this beach, I’ve felt that life drifting away from me. In its place, I’ve found everything I never thought I’d have. Family. Purpose. Passion. Love.
And maybe my family isn’t perfect. There are a lot of skeletons I wasn’t aware existed, and I wish like hell I could turn back the clock and shake the old man so we could have reconciled before his death. Now I’m left with an uncle I can’t trust, but I don’t think he’s all bad. I’m just not sure how to get past the things he’s done and the ways he’s threatened everything I’ve come to cherish.
If you’d told my fifteen-year-old self that I’d eventually move to the beach and take over the family business, I’d have laughed in your face, and yet here I am. And it feels so right it scares the hell out of me. I want to do this. And it’s all because of the man I didn’t know I’ve needed.
It seems fitting to admit that here, because he’s the reason I even know this mailbox exists. The first time he dragged me down the beach, I was annoyed because it felt like the trip was pointless. There was no destination in sight. But through the trips we’ve made since then, I’ve come to realize you’re much more than just a mailbox filled with notes from random strangers. You give people a sense of connection, even if they’ll never know anyone else who left notes. You’re a safe harbor, a way for people to share their joys and sorrows without feeling like a burden on those they have to face in daily life.
If I had to share a fear with you, it’s that I’ll never be enough. I’ve grown so used to everyone leaving me that I’m not sure I’m capable of being what he needs. He’s amazing, loves with his whole heart, and in return he gets the pieces of me I can trust him with. No, that’s a lie. I’d trust him with my life, but that doesn’t mean I’m not waiting for him to wake up and realize he deserves someone who isn’t broken. Someone who believes that love can last.
It’s on me to save the family business right now, and that’s a problem. I can’t do it on my own, which means I have to accept help from others. And I have it, but my love may not accept the way this is possible. It means forever tethering a piece of my past that is painful to my present and future.
If there’s anything to this kindred spirit stuff, please help me make the man I love see that there’s nothing more important to me than him. I’m doing this because I want to build a life with him, but this is the only way. I’ve never thought much about what my life would look like down the road, but now I can see it. I can see him and me walking down this beach when we’re old men, our bodies aching, but our minds and hearts unwilling to miss a single journey because the mailbox is our place.
-D
I closed the notebook and stared at the waves roaring onto shore as storm clouds built on the horizon. The tension I’d released early crashed back into my body as I tried deciphering what Dane meant about tethering a piece of his past to the future. It had to be something big for him to admit on paper that I wasn’t going to like whatever it was, and it frustrated the hell out of me that he hadn’t told me the details of how he planned to save the inn before he left town. I stood, brushing the sand off my legs before stuffing the notebook back at the bottom of the stack. I could sit here all day and I’d never get the answers I needed.
Rain started falling when I was still nearly a mile from the inn. I curled in on myself, trying to shield my body from the pelting spray. The beach was deserted by the time I got back to the bridge. So was the lobby of the inn. It was eerily quiet when it should be buzzing with guests who’d rushed to shelter from the storm. The phone started ringing, and I slipped on the polished floor as I rushed to answer.
“Bird Island Inn, this is Brook.” I sucked in a few deep breaths to quell my building anxiety.
“Brook.” James sounded even worse now than he had when I left. “Listen to me, son. I’m trying to buy some time, but I’m not sure it’ll work. I’m sorry if it’s not enough. I need you to take care of the inn for me. Run it as if it’s your own in my absence. I trust you, Brook.”
James let out a pained cry, and I wondered where he was and what he was enduring as penance for his decisions. I offered up a quick prayer for his safety, because knowing Dane believed there was something good in him, I couldn’t stand the thought of watching him mourn yet another person he cared about.
Desperate todosomething, I broke Dane’s confidence. “James, ask them for two more days. That’s it. Promise them they’ll get the money you owe them in two days.”
“No way, Brook. I’ve made too many hollow promises already. They won’t believe me,” James sobbed.
I paced back and forth behind the counter, biting my lip to keep from saying anything else. Until Dane returned with money in hand, there was no way I could guarantee anything. I straightened, lifting my shoulders as clarity hit me.
“If they want their money, they’ll wait,” I insisted. They could have taken their payment in blood long ago, but they hadn’t. For once in his miserable life, James had the upper hand, even if he didn’t know it. “If your word isn’t good, tell them you have a buyer.”
“I’m not lying to them, Brook. They’ll kill me!” His voice pitched up on the last panicked statement.
“It’s not a lie, James. Thereisa buyer, but you need them to give you a little more time,” I promised him. “Don’t ask me to go into details because I have none, but I know Dane’s been working on a way to fix this. He won’t fail you.”
I no longer cared what Dane planned to do. All that mattered was that he find a way to save our home. And this innwashome to us: the apartment on the top floor, the sands on the other side of the bridge, the mailbox, all of it.
The line cut off before James could respond. As I pulled out my phone to send Dane a frantic text that he needed to get back here as fast as he could, our first new arrivals of the night walked through the front door. Once they were settled in their room, I sent my SOS.
