“I think Kim might have made a mistake by letting you go.”

“That’s kind of you to say. But she didn’t. I’m not sure I was ever cut out to be a husband.”

“Does that mean you’ll never get married again?”

“I haven’t given the matter any thought. Between work and spending time with Andrew, meeting someone is rather low on my list of priorities.”

“What are the women like in Zimbabwe?”

“In my world, you mean? Single women?”

“Sure.”

“Few and far between. Most of the women I meet are already married and they’re at the lodge with their husbands.”

“Maybe you should move to another country.”

“Zimbabwe is my home. And Andrew is there. I could never leave him.”

“No,” she said. “You can’t.”

“How about you? Have you ever considered moving from the United States?”

“Never,” she said. “And it’s certainly not possible now, since my dad is sick. But even in the future, I’m not sure that I could. My family’s here, my friends are here. But I do hope to make it to Africa one day. And go on safari.”

“If you do, keep your guard up around the guides. Some of them can be extremely charming.”

“Yeah, I know.” She playfully nudged his shoulder with hers. “Are you ready for Kindred Spirit?”

“I still don’t know what it is.”

“It’s a mailbox on the beach,” she said.

“To whom does the mailbox belong?”

She shrugged. “To anyone, I guess. And everyone.”

“Am I supposed to write a letter?”

“If you’d like,” she said. “The first time I went, I did.”

“When was that?”

She considered the question. “Maybe five years ago?”

“I assumed you’d been going there since you were young.”

“It hasn’t been around that long. I think my dad told me that it went up in 1983, but I could be wrong about that. I’ve only been there a few times. Including the day after Christmas last year, which was kind of crazy.”

“Why?”

“Because it snowed fifteen inches. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen snow on the beach. When we returned home, we built a snowman near the steps. I think there’s a photo of it in the cottage somewhere.”

“I’ve never seen snow.”

“Ever?”

“It doesn’t snow in Zimbabwe, and I’ve only been to Europe in the summers.”

“It rarely snows in Raleigh, but my parents used to bring us skiing at Snowshoe in West Virginia during the winter.”

“Are you any good?”

“I’m all right. I never liked to go too fast. I’m not a risk taker. I just want to have fun.”

Up ahead, he saw clouds flickering on the distant horizon. “Is that lightning?”

“Probably.”

“Does that mean we should turn back?”

“It’s out to sea,” she said. “The storm will be coming from the northwest.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” she said. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

“All right, then,” he said with a nod, and they continued on, the pier growing ever smaller behind them. Sunset Beach eventually came to an end, with Bird Island directly ahead. They had to skirt the dune to keep their feet from getting wet, and Tru found his thoughts drifting back to the way she’d playfully bumped against him. It seemed as though he could still feel the sensation, a tingling up and down his arm.

* * *

 

“It’s a mailbox,” Tru said.

They’d reached Kindred Spirit, and Hope watched as Tru simply stared at it.

“I already told you that.”

“I thought it might be a metaphor.”

“Nope,” she said. “It’s real.”

“Who takes care of it?”

“I have no idea. My dad could probably tell you, but I assume it’s a local. Come on.”

As she walked toward the mailbox, she glanced at Tru, noting again the small dimple in his chin and his wind-blown hair. Over his shoulder, she saw Scottie sniffing near the dune, his tongue hanging out, tired from the endless quest to keep birds in the air. “You’ll probably take this idea back with you to Zimbabwe, and you’ll put up a mailbox in the middle of the bush. How neat would that be?”

He shook his head. “The termites would eat the post in less than a month. Besides, it’s not as though anyone could put a letter in it, or sit around reading it. Too dangerous.”

“Do you ever go out into the bush alone?”

“Only if I’m armed. And only when I can predict that I’ll be safe, because I know what animals are in the vicinity.”

“What are the most dangerous animals?”

“That depends on the time and the location and the mood of the animal,” he answered. “Generally, if you’re in or around the water, crocodiles and hippos. In the bush during daylight, elephants, especially if they’re in heat. In the bush at night, lions. And black mambas anytime. That’s a snake. Very poisonous. The bite is nearly always fatal.”

“We have water moccasins in North Carolina. Copperheads, too. A kid came into the emergency room once after being bitten. But we had antivenin at the hospital, and he recovered. And how did we get on this subject again?”

“You suggested that I put a mailbox in the middle of the bush.”

“Oh yeah,” she said. By then, she had her hand on the handle. “Are you ready for this?”

“Is there a protocol?”

“Of course there is,” she said, “First you do ten jumping jacks, then sing ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ and you’re supposed to bring red velvet cake as an offering, which you place on the bench.”

When he stared at her, she giggled. “Gotcha. No, there’s no protocol. You just…read what’s in the mailbox. And if you want to, you can write something.”

Hope pulled it open and removed the entire stack of mail that rested inside, bringing it with her to the bench. When she set it beside her, Tru took a seat next to her, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body.

“How about I read first, and then just pass them to you?”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he answered. “Proceed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Proceed,” she repeated. “It’s fine if you just say ‘okay,’ you know.”

“Okay.”

“I hope there’s a good one. I’ve read some amazing letters when I’ve been here.”

“Tell me about the one you remember most.”

She took a few seconds to consider it. “I read about this man who was searching for a woman he’d met briefly at a restaurant. They were at the bar and they spoke for a few minutes before her friends arrived and she went to her table. But he knew she was the one for him. There was this beautiful line in there about stars colliding, sending shimmers of light through his soul. And anyway, this guy was writing because he hoped that someone knew who she was and would let her know that he wanted to see her again. He even left his name and phone number.”