Hope
Hope stepped from the back deck to the walkway that led over the dune, trying to keep her coffee from spilling. Scottie—her aptly named Scottish terrier—strained at the leash, eager to reach the beach.
“Stop pulling,” she said.
The dog ignored her. Scottie had been a gift from Josh, her boyfriend of the past six years, and he barely listened on his best days. But since arriving at the cottage the day before, he’d been positively wild. His paws scuffled madly against the sandy steps as they descended to the beach, and she reminded herself that she needed to bring him to another one of those weekend obedience training programs, though she doubted it would do any good. He’d flunked out of the first two already. Scottie—the sweetest and cutest dog in the world—seemed to be a bit of a dim bulb, bless his heart. Then again, maybe he was just stubborn.
Because Labor Day had come and gone, the beach was quiet, most of the elegant homes dark. She saw someone jogging near the pier; in the opposite direction, a couple strolled near the water. She leaned over, setting the foam cup in the sand while she released Scottie from the leash, watching as her dog sprinted away. She doubted anyone would care. Last night, she’d seen two other dogs off leash, and in any case there weren’t too many people around to complain.
Hope started walking and took a sip of her coffee. She hadn’t slept well. Usually, the endless roar of the waves lulled her immediately to sleep, but not last night. She’d tossed and turned, woken multiple times, and had finally given up for good when sunlight began streaming into her room.
At least the weather was perfect, with blue skies and a temperature more typical of early autumn than late summer. On the news last night, they had predicted storms over the weekend, and her friend Ellen was crazy with worry. Ellen was getting married on Saturday, and both the wedding and the reception were supposed to be outdoors at the Wilmington Country Club, somewhere near the eighteenth green. Hope figured there was probably a backup plan—no doubt, they’d be able to use the clubhouse—but when Ellen had called last night, she’d nearly been in tears.
Hope had been sympathetic on the phone, but it hadn’t been easy. Ellen was so caught up in her own worries that she hadn’t so much as asked how Hope was doing. In a way, that was probably a good thing; the last thing Hope wanted to talk about right now was Josh. How was she supposed to explain that Josh was going to be a no-show for the wedding? Or that—as disappointing as a rained-out wedding could be—there were definitely worse things?
Right now, Hope was feeling a bit overwhelmed by life in general, and spending the week alone at the cottage wasn’t helping. Not only because Josh wasn’t around, but because it was probably the last week she’d ever spend here. Her parents had listed the cottage with a Realtor earlier in the summer, and they’d accepted an offer ten days ago. She understood why they were selling, but she was going to miss this place. Growing up, most of her summers and holidays had been spent here, and every nook and cranny held memories. She could recall washing the sand from her feet with the garden hose, watching storms from the window seat in the kitchen, and the scent of fish or steaks being grilled on the barbecue on the back deck. She remembered swapping late-night secrets with her sisters in their shared room, and it was here that she’d kissed a boy for the very first time. She had been twelve years old and his name was Tony; for years, his family had owned the cottage three doors down. She’d had a crush on him most of the summer, and after they’d split a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he’d kissed her in the kitchen while her mom had been watering plants on the deck.
The memory still made her smile, and she wondered what the new owners intended to do with the place. She wanted to imagine that they wouldn’t change a thing, but she wasn’t naive. During her childhood, the cottage had been one of many similarly sized homes along this stretch of shoreline; now there were only a few cottages remaining. In recent years, Sunset Beach had been discovered by the wealthy, and more than likely, the cottage would be razed and a new, much larger home constructed, like the three-story monstrosity right next door. It was the way of the world, she supposed, but it nonetheless felt like part of her was being razed as well. She knew it was crazy thinking—a little too woe is me—and she chided herself for it. Playing the martyr wasn’t like her; until recently, she’d always thought of herself as a glass-half-full, because today is a new day kind of girl. And why not? In most ways her life had been blessed. She had loving parents and two wonderful older sisters; she was an aunt to three boys and two girls, who were a source of constant joy and surprise to her. She’d done well in school, and she enjoyed her work as a trauma nurse in the ER at Wake County Medical Center. Despite the few pounds she wanted to lose, she was healthy. She and Josh—an orthopedic surgeon—had been dating since she was thirty, and she loved him. She had good friends and owned her own condominium in Raleigh, not far from her parents. From the outside, everything looked just peachy.
So why was she feeling so wonky right now?
Because it was one more trying thing in an already trying year, beginning first and foremost with her dad’s diagnosis, that particular soul-crushing bombshell arriving in April. Her dad was the only one who hadn’t been surprised at the news from the doctor. He’d known something was amiss when he no longer had the energy to jog in the woods behind his house.
Her dad had exercised in those woods for as long as she could remember; despite the construction engulfing Raleigh, the area had been designated a greenbelt, which was one of the reasons her parents had bought their home in the first place. Over the years, various developers had tried to overturn the city’s decision, promising jobs and tax revenue; they did so without success, partly because her father had opposed them at every meeting of the city council.
Her dad adored the woods. Not only did he run there in the mornings, but after he finished at the school, he would walk the paths he’d followed earlier in the morning. When she was a little girl, she would tag along with him after work, chasing butterflies or tossing sticks, hunting for crawdads in the small creek that wove toward the path in places. Her dad was a high school science teacher who knew the names of every bush and tree they passed. He would point out the differences between a southern red oak and a black oak and in that instant, the distinctions were as obvious as the color of the sky. Later, though, if she attempted it on her own, the information jumbled together. The same thing would happen when they stared at constellations in the sky; he’d point out Hercules, Lyra, or Aquila and she’d nod in wonder, only to squint in confusion at the same sky a week later, trying to remember which one was which.
For a long time, she’d believed her dad to be the smartest man in the world. When she would tell him that, he’d always laugh and say that if that were true, then he would have figured out a way to earn a million dollars. Her mom was a teacher, too—second grade—and it wasn’t until Hope graduated from college and began paying her own bills that she realized how much of a financial challenge it must have been for them to raise a family, even on their combined income.
Her dad had been a coach to the high school’s cross country and track teams as well. He never raised his voice, but nonetheless led his teams to numerous conference championships. Along with her sisters, Hope had participated in both sports all four years of high school, and though none of them were stars, Hope still jogged a few times a week. Her older sisters ran three or four days a week, and for the past ten years, Hope had joined her dad and her sisters at the annual Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning, all of them working up an appetite before sitting down at the table. Two years earlier, her dad had won his age-group bracket.
But now, her dad would never run again.
It had started with occasional twitches and a slight, if noticeable, fatigue. For how long, she wasn’t exactly sure, but she guessed that it had been a couple of years. In the twelve months after that, the runs in the woods became jogs, and then finally walks.
Old age, his internist suggested, and it made sense. By then, her dad was in his late sixties—he’d retired four years earlier—and he had arthritis in his hips and feet. Despite a life of exercise, he took medication for slightly elevated blood pressure. Then, last January, he’d caught a cold. It was a normal, run-of-the-mill cold, but after a few weeks, her dad had still found it harder to breathe than usual.
Hope had gone with him to another appointment with his internist. More tests were done. Blood work was sent to the labs. He was referred to another doctor, then another. A muscle biopsy was taken, and when the results came back, there was the suggestion of a potential neurological problem. It was at that point that Hope began to worry.
More tests followed, and later, Hope sat with the rest of her family as the diagnosis of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis was pronounced. Lou Gehrig’s disease, the same disease that put Stephen Hawking in a wheelchair, caused the death of neurons that control voluntary muscles, the doctor explained. Muscles gradually weakened, resulting in loss of mobility, swallowing, and speaking. And, then, finally, breathing. There was no known cure.
Nor was there any way to predict how quickly the disease would progress. In the months since the diagnosis, her father had seemed little changed, physically. He still went for his walks in the woods, still had the same gentle spirit and unwavering faith in God, still held hands with her mom as the two of them sat on the couch and watched television in the evenings. That gave her hope that he had a slow-progressing version of the disease, but she worried all the time. How long would her dad remain mobile? How long would her mom be able to handle his care without help? Should they start building ramps and add a railing for the shower? Knowing there were wait lists for the best places, should they start researching assisted-living facilities? And how would they ever pay for it? Her parents were anything but wealthy. They had their pensions and small savings, and they owned their home and the beach cottage, but that was it. Would that be enough, not only for her father’s medical care but for her mom’s remaining years as well? And if not, what would they do?
Too many questions, with little in the way of answers. Her mom and dad seemed to accept the uncertainty, as did her sisters, but Hope had always been more of a planner. She was the kind of person who would lie awake at night anticipating various possibilities and making hypothetical decisions about pretty much everything. It made her feel like she was somehow better prepared for whatever might come, but on the downside, it led to a life that sometimes cascaded from one worry to the next. Which was exactly what happened whenever she thought about her dad.
But he was doing okay, she reminded herself. And he might be okay three or five or even ten years from now; there was no way to tell. Two days ago, before she’d left for the beach, they’d even gone on a walk, just like they used to. Granted, it was slower and shorter than their walks had been in the past, but her dad could still name all the trees and bushes, and he shared his knowledge one more time. As they were walking, he’d stopped and leaned over, lifting a fallen leaf that presaged the arrival of autumn.
“One of the great things about a leaf,” he said to her, “is that it reminds you to live as well as you can for as long as you can, until it’s finally time to let go and allow yourself to drift away with grace.”
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She liked what her dad had told her. Well…kind of. No doubt he’d viewed the fallen leaf as a teachable moment, and she knew there was both truth and value in what he said, but was it really possible to face death without any fear at all? To gracefully drift away?
If anyone could do it, her dad probably could. He was just about the most even-keeled, balanced, and peaceful person she’d ever met, which was probably one of the reasons he’d been married to her mom for fifty years and still liked to hold her hand and smooch when he thought the girls weren’t paying attention. She often wondered how the two of them could make being in love seem both intentional and effortless at the same time.
That had left her in a funk, too. Well, not so much because of her mom and dad, but because of Josh. As much as she loved him, she’d never gotten used to the on-again, off-again nature of their relationship. Right now they were in the off-again position, which was the reason that Hope was spending the week at the cottage alone except for Scottie, with only a pedicure and time with the hairstylist on the agenda until the rehearsal dinner on Friday night.
Josh was supposed to have come with her this week, and as the date of the trip had approached, Hope had become ever more certain they needed some time alone together. For the last nine months, the practice where he worked had been trying to hire two more orthopedic surgeons to handle the surging patient load, without luck. Which meant Josh had been working seventy- to eighty-hour weeks, and had been on call constantly. Even worse, his days off weren’t always in sync with hers, and lately, he seemed to feel a greater-than-usual need to blow off steam in his own way. On his few free weekends, he tended to prefer hanging out with his buddies, boating or water-skiing or overnighting in Charlotte after hitting the bars, instead of spending time with her.
It wasn’t the first time that Josh had drifted into a phase like this one, where Hope sometimes felt like an afterthought. He’d never been the type who sent flowers, and the tender gestures her parents shared every day probably seemed utterly foreign to him. There was also, especially at times like these, a bit of Peter Pan about him, a quality that made her wonder whether he would ever really grow up. His apartment, filled with IKEA furniture, baseball pennants, and movie posters, seemed more suitable for a graduate student, which made sense, since he hadn’t moved since he’d started medical school. His friends—most of whom he’d met at the gym—were in their late twenties or early thirties, single, and as handsome as Josh was. Josh didn’t look his age—he’d be forty in a few months—but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand how hanging out at bars with his buddies, who were most likely there to meet women, was something he would still find appealing. But what was she supposed to say to him? “Don’t hang out with your friends”? She and Josh weren’t married, they weren’t even engaged, and he’d told her all along that what he wanted in a partner was someone who wouldn’t try to change him. He wanted to be accepted for who he was.
She understood that. She wanted to be accepted for who she was, too. So why did it matter if he liked to hang out with his buddies at bars?
Because, she heard a voice inside her answer, right now we’re not technically together and anything is possible. He hasn’t always been faithful during previous breakups, has he?
Oh yeah. That. It had happened when they’d broken up the second and third times. Josh had come clean both times and told her what had occurred—women who’d meant nothing to him, terrible mistakes—and he’d sworn it would never happen again. They’d been able to move past it, she’d thought, but…now they were broken up again, and she could feel those old fears cropping up. Even worse, Josh and his friends were in Las Vegas, no doubt living it up and doing whatever it was that guys did while they were there. She wasn’t sure exactly what a guys’ weekend in Las Vegas might entail, but strip clubs came immediately to mind. She strongly doubted that any of them were lining up to see Siegfried and Roy. Las Vegas was nicknamed Sin City for a reason.
The whole situation still irritated her. Not only because he’d abandoned her this week, but because breaking up, even temporarily, had been so unnecessary in the first place. Couples argued. That’s what they did. And then afterward, they discussed the situation, learned from their mistakes, tried to forgive, and moved on from there. But Josh didn’t seem to understand that notion, and it left her questioning whether the two of them still had a future.
Sometimes she asked herself why she still wanted him in her life, but deep down, she knew the answer. As furious as she was with him and as frustrating as she found some of his ingrained traits, he was whip-smart and handsome enough to make her heart lurch. Even after all these years, Hope could still get lost in his dark violet eyes. Despite his weekends with the guys, she knew he loved her; a few years earlier, when Hope had been in a car accident, Josh had raced immediately from work and refused to leave her hospital bedside for two straight days. When her dad needed referrals to a neurologist, Josh had taken control of that situation, earning the gratitude of her entire family. He looked after her in little ways, taking her car in for oil changes or to rotate her tires, and every once in a while he would surprise her with a home-cooked dinner. At family gatherings and with her friends, Josh remembered details of everyone’s lives and had a gracious knack for making them feel at ease.
They also shared the same interests. They both enjoyed hiking and concerts and had the same taste in music; in the past six years, they’d traveled to New York City, Chicago, Cancun, and the Bahamas, and every one of those getaways had validated her reasons for being with him. When life with Josh was good, it felt like everything she wanted, forever. But when it wasn’t good, she admitted, it was terrible. She suspected there might be something addictive about those dramatic ups and downs, but she had no way to know for sure. All she knew was that as unbearable as life with him sometimes felt, she couldn’t quite imagine life without him, either.
Up ahead, Scottie was trotting and sniffing, weaving toward terns and sending them into deeper water. Changing directions, he raced for the dune for no reason that Hope could deduce. When they got back to the cottage, he’d probably spend the rest of the morning comatose with exhaustion. Thank God for small favors.
She took another sip of coffee, wishing things were different. Her parents made marriage seem effortless; her sisters were cut from the same cloth. Even her friends seemed to float along in their relationships while she and Josh were either soaring or sinking. And why had her most recent argument with Josh been their worst ever?
Thinking back, she suspected that she had been as much to blame as he was. He was stressed about work, and she was admittedly stressed about…well, their future, actually. But instead of finding solace in each other’s company, they had let the stress slowly amplify over a period of months until it finally blew. She couldn’t even remember how the argument had started other than that she’d mentioned Ellen’s upcoming wedding, and Josh had grown quiet. It was clear he was upset about something, but when she asked what was wrong, Josh told her it was nothing.
Nothing.
She hated that word. It was a way to end conversations, not begin them, and maybe she shouldn’t have pressed him about it. But she had, and for whatever reason, what had originally begun as the mere mention of a friend’s wedding turned into shouts and screams, and the next thing she knew, Josh was storming out the door to spend the night at his brother’s house. The following day, he’d told Hope that he thought they needed to take a break to evaluate things, and a few days after that, he’d texted to say that he and his buddies were heading to Las Vegas the week of the wedding.
That had been almost a month ago. They’d talked on the phone a few times since then, but those calls had done little to soothe her, and he hadn’t called at all in nearly a week. She wished she could roll back the clock and start over, but what she really wanted was for Josh to feel the same way. And for him to apologize. His reaction to the argument had been so over-the-top; it felt as though it hadn’t been enough to sink the knife in her heart; he’d needed to twist it as well. Things like that didn’t bode well in the long run, but would he ever change? And if not, where did that leave her? She was thirty-six years old, unmarried, and the last thing she wanted was to start over in the dating scene. She couldn’t even imagine it. What was she supposed to do—hang out at bars while guys like Josh’s friends hit on her? No, thank you. Besides, she’d devoted six years to Josh; she didn’t want to believe that it had been a waste of time. As crazy as he could sometimes make her feel, he had so many good qualities…
She finished her coffee. Up ahead, she saw a man walking near the water’s edge. Scottie raced past him, closing fast on another flock of seagulls. She tried to immerse herself in the ocean view, watching the ripples shift from yellow to gold in the morning light. The waves were mild and the sea was calm; her dad would tell her that it likely meant a storm was coming, but Hope decided not to mention that to Ellen if her friend called again. Ellen wouldn’t want to hear it.
Hope ran a hand through her hair, tucking loose strands behind her ear. There were wispy clouds on the horizon, the kind that would likely burn off as the morning progressed. It would be a perfect afternoon for a glass of wine, maybe some cheese and crackers, or even oysters on the half shell. Add some candles and some sultry R&B, and…
Why was she thinking such things?
With a sigh, she focused on the waves, recalling that as a little girl, she used to play in them for hours. Sometimes she rode a boogie board, other times it was fun diving under them as they broke overhead. More often than not, her dad would join her in the water for a while, and the memories brought with them a tinge of sadness.
Soon, she thought, her dad would never enter the ocean again.
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Staring out over the water, Hope reminded herself that she was fretting over first-world problems. It wasn’t as though she were worrying about whether she’d eat today, or have a safe place to sleep. The water she drank didn’t heighten her risk of contracting cholera or dysentery; she had clothing, and an education, and the list went on and on and on.
Her dad—what with his leaf story and all—wouldn’t want her to worry about him. And as for Josh, more than likely, he’d come around. Of their four previous breakups, none had lasted longer than six weeks, and in each case, it had been Josh who’d suggested that they start over. As for Hope, she was a big believer in the philosophy If you love something, set it free, and if it comes back it loves you. Common sense told her that begging someone to stay was often the same as begging someone to love you, and she was wise enough to know that never worked.
Turning from the water, she began to meander down the beach again. Shading her eyes, she searched for Scottie up ahead but couldn’t find him. She scanned the area behind her, wondering how he could have slipped past her, but he wasn’t there, either. Other than her, the beach was empty, and she felt the first twinge of worry. On previous walks, it had sometimes taken her a few seconds to locate him, but he wasn’t the kind of dog that would simply run off. It occurred to her that he might have chased some birds into the water and gotten caught in an undertow, but Scottie never swam in the ocean. And yet, he was…gone.
It was then that she spotted someone walking over the dune a short distance up the beach. Her dad still would have made a big deal about that. Dunes were fragile and people were supposed to use the public access paths if there were no steps to the beach, but…whatever. She had more immediate concerns…
She peered ahead and behind, her gaze returning to the man. He’d reached the beach, and she thought she’d ask him whether he’d seen Scottie. It was doubtful, but she didn’t know what else to do. Veering in his direction, she absently noticed that he seemed to be carrying something. Whatever it was blended in with the white shirt he was wearing, and it took her a moment to realize that he had Scottie in his arms. She picked up her pace.
The man walked toward her, moving with an almost animal-like grace. He was dressed in faded jeans and a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows. As he approached, she noticed his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing chest muscles that indicated both exercise and an active life. He had dark blue eyes, like the sky in late afternoon, and coal-black hair that was turning gray near his ears. When he offered a sheepish smile, she noted the dimple on his chin and an unexpected familiarity in his expression, one that strangely made her feel as if they’d known each other all their lives.