I excuse myself and head to my room, where I read Edward’s letter again and again. Sometime around midnight, I pull out my stationery and begin to write to him. I have no plans to put this in the mailbox. He did say he was coming back next week, but after today—after that ill-fated almost kiss—I fully expect him to cancel.
Dear Eddie,
I always wanted a cat. But my mom is allergic, so we never had one. I’m very jealous of you and your cats. I took a bus to our local elementary school. We had the occasional rockslide and power outage that closed school. But while I was in school there weren’t any major closures like the recent one. It’s hard for the whole community when Highway One shuts down.
I’m afraid I’m not very athletic. All I did at school was draw and get good grades. However, none of my drawings are as cute as your little sketch of Jeeves the cat. The name makes me think you are a fan of P.G. Wodehouse—an absolute favorite in our house. My dad often read us BertieWooster books. They are great read-aloud books. That is one thing I really miss. We don’t read books out loud to each other anymore. There’s something so comforting about listening to the same book as a family and laughing or gasping in surprise at the same moment.
What did I want to be when I grew up? Not a resort manager—though I’ve come to love the job. You couldn’t ask for a prettier workplace, and I love all the people I work with.
Did you know that J.J. is a rich widow? She doesn’t need to work a day in her life. She’s a neighbor, and my mom’s oldest friend. One day she filled in at the front desk as favor for my mom when a road closure kept an employee from work. J.J. loved it so much she asked for a job. She says working here keeps her current on all the gossip.
But I digress—back to your question: What did I want to be when I grew up? I’ve always disliked that question. I think what people are asking is: What do you want to do for a living? Which is a fair question. But I’d like to think there’s more to me than how I make money. The more apt question is: Who do you want to be? That’s also the harder question. Ten-year-old me could have answered with more assurance. She wanted to see the world, to find all the beautiful places—and to draw them. Not for anyone else, but because something happens when I draw. Have you ever seen seals surfing in the waves? It’s one of my favorite things to watch—a few seals riding in the waves over and over. They look so happy, like they are having the best time, just being seals. That’s how I feel when I draw. It’s not about the final product; it’s about being me. It’s about being fully present in this beautiful world.
When my dad was dying, he knew he didn’t have long to live. All he wanted was to leave the hospital and come hometo die. He kept saying he wanted to sit on our porch, watch the sun on the water, and be close to his family. And that’s what he did. Sometimes when I’m having a bad day or I’m uncertain about the future, I remind myself that I am alive. I can feel sun on my face, breathe in the pine scented air and my mom and sister are nearby. That is enough—that’s so much.
Your friend
Ellie
P.S. I want to know where you’ve traveled and which places you think I should visit. Also, fries vs. mashed potatoes? Dark chocolate or milk chocolate? These are the important questions.
P.P.S. Please don’t tell me you hate chocolate. That might be a dealbreaker.
I’m not sure what I should do with the letter. The smart move would be to throw it away. But I’m not that smart.
The next afternoon after taking care of a plumbing debacle in the campground bathrooms, I return to the cottage to change out of my smelly work clothes. As I put on my clean shirtdress, I spot the note on my dresser and on a whim slip it into my pocket. When I reach the mailbox, I stop and look around the silent crossroads to see if anyone is watching. It’s nonsensical to give Edward a handwritten letter when I want to—needto—keep my distance from him. Sanity prevails, and I put the letter back in my pocket, proud of my self-restraint.
I continue on my way, reveling in the beauty of the early afternoon. I haven’t gone far when I meet Annie and Pepper wearing flower crowns and chatting as happily as birds at sunrise. Behind them Brandon carries a tall stack of buckets with just a few straggly flowers. Annie waves to me. She stops walking when they reach me, but continues her conversationwith Pepper.
“You have to go kayaking at the preserve. There’s nothing like seeing sea otters in the wild.”
“I’ve always wanted to see otters, haven’t I, Daddy? Can you come with us, Annie?” Pepper asks, bouncing on her heels.
“Well...” Annie hedges. She’s obviously torn. There’s not much my sister likes more than showing guests sea otters. “I don’t want to intrude...” Her eyes flick to Brandon standing behind them, stoically holding buckets of wilted flowers.
“I don’t mind,” he says gruffly. Without knowing the guy that well, I can’t decide if this brief reply means, “I very much mind, but I’m too polite to say,” or “I’d love to have you, but I’m playing it cool,” or and—I think this is the most likely—“I don’t mind.”
Annie bites her lip and studies Brandon. His serious face gives nothing away.
“Please!” says Pepper. “You have to show us the right spot.”
“I guess I could if we go in the morning, and if they don’t need me to fill in at the café,” says Annie.
“Okay,” says Brandon, his expression still inscrutable. “I’ll let you know when it’s booked.”
“Great,” says my sister. “It’s a date.”
“Not a date,” Brandon replies.
“No, of course not,” says a blushing Annie. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just something you say...”
Pepper gives her dad a scathing look. He shrugs but then turns back to Annie.
“Sorry; that came out wrong,” he says, his tone a little less gruff, a little more sincere. “It’s just with my daughter, I have to be careful not to... she gets her hopes up.”
“Of course, that makes total sense,” Annie says, her voice unnaturally high. I’m not sure what’s happening here. My sister sounds hurt and like she’s trying hard not to be. Which issurprising, because Annie rarely passes up a chance to share her feelings. Maybe she’s simply thrown by a man not falling at her feet. But this is not how she treated Edward. “Don’t worry about me. I have a boyfriend,” she says.
“Really!” Brandon sounds genuinely relieved. “Oh, okay, well then... good.”
