Nicholas Sparks: Message in a Bottle

July 22, 1997.

A little more than three weeks ago.

Three weeks? That’s all?

She looked a little further. The message was long—it covered the front and back sides of the paper—and it didn’t seem to request any reply of sorts. A quick glance showed no address or phone number anywhere, but she supposed it could have been written into the letter itself.

She felt a twinge of curiosity as she held the message in front of her, and it was then, in the rising sunlight of a hot New England day, that she first read the letter that would change her life forever.

July 22, 1997

My Dearest Catherine,

I miss you, my darling, as I always do, but today is especially hard because the ocean has been singing to me, and the song is that of our life together. I can almost feel you beside me as I write this letter, and I can smell the scent of wildflowers that always reminds me of you. But at this moment, these things give me no pleasure. Your visits have been coming less often, and I feel sometimes as if the greatest part of who I am is slowly slipping away.

I am trying, though. At night when I am alone, I call for you, and whenever my ache seems to be the greatest, you still seem to find a way to return to me. Last night, in my dreams, I saw you on the pier near Wrightsville Beach. The wind was blowing through your hair, and your eyes held the fading sunlight. I am struck as I see you leaning against the rail. You are beautiful, I think as I see you, a vision that I can never find in anyone else. I slowly begin to walk toward you, and when you finally turn to me, I notice that others have been watching you as well. “Do you know her?” they ask me in jealous whispers, and as you smile at me, I simply answer with the truth. “Better than my own heart.”

I stop when I reach you and take you in my arms. I long for this moment more than any other. It is what I live for, and when you return my embrace, I give myself over to this moment, at peace once again.

I raise my hand and gently touch your cheek and you tilt your head and close your eyes. My hands are hard and your skin is soft, and I wonder for a moment if you’ll pull back, but of course you don’t. You never have, and it is at times like this that I know what my purpose is in life.

I am here to love you, to hold you in my arms, to protect you. I am here to learn from you and to receive your love in return. I am here because there is no other place to be.

But then, as always, the mist starts to form as we stand close to one another. It is a distant fog that rises from the horizon, and I find that I grow fearful as it approaches. It slowly creeps in, enveloping the world around us, fencing us in as if to prevent escape. Like a rolling cloud, it blankets everything, closing, until there is nothing left but the two of us.

I feel my throat begin to close and my eyes well up with tears because I know it is time for you to go. The look you give me at that moment haunts me. I feel your sadness and my own loneliness, and the ache in my heart that had been silent for only a short time grows stronger as you release me. And then you spread your arms and step back into the fog because it is your place and not mine. I long to go with you, but your only response is to shake your head because we both know that is impossible.

And I watch with breaking heart as you slowly fade away. I find myself straining to remember everything about this moment, everything about you. But soon, always too soon, your image vanishes and the fog rolls back to its faraway place and I am alone on the pier and I do not care what others think as I bow my head and cry and cry and cry.

Garrett

“Have you been crying?” Deanna asked as Theresa stepped onto the back deck, carrying both the bottle and the message. In her confusion, she had forgotten to throw the bottle away.

Theresa felt embarrassed and wiped her eyes as Deanna put down the newspaper and rose from her seat. Though she was overweight—and had been since Theresa had known her—she moved quickly around the table, her face registering concern.

“Are you okay? What happened out there? Are you hurt?” She bumped into one of the chairs as she reached out and took Theresa’s hand.

Theresa shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I just found this letter and . . . I don’t know, after I read it I couldn’t help it.”

“a letter? what letter? Are you sure you’re okay?” Deanna’s free hand gestured compulsively as she asked the questions.

“I’m fine, really. The letter was in a bottle. I found it washed up on the beach. When I opened it and read it . . .” She trailed off, and Deanna’s face lightened just a bit.

“Oh . . . that’s good. For a second I thought something awful happened. Like someone had attacked you or something.”

Theresa brushed away a strand of hair that had blown onto her face and smiled at her concern. “No, the letter just really hit me. It’s silly, I know. I shouldn’t have been so emotional. And I’m sorry for giving you a scare.”

“Oh, pooh,” Deanna said, shrugging. “Nothing to be sorry about. I’m just glad you’re okay.” She paused for a moment. “You said the letter made you cry? Why? What did it say?”

Theresa wiped her eyes, handed the letter to Deanna, and walked over to the wrought-iron table where Deanna had been sitting. Still feeling a bit ridiculous about crying, she did her best to compose herself.

Deanna read the letter slowly, and when she finished, she looked up at Theresa. Her eyes too were watering. It wasn’t just her, after all.

“It’s . . . it’s beautiful,” Deanna finally said. “It’s one of the most touching things I’ve ever read.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“And you found it washed up on the beach? When you were running?”

Theresa nodded.

“I don’t know how it could have washed up there. The bay is sheltered from the rest of the ocean, and I’ve never heard of Wrightsville Beach.”

“i don’t know, either, but it looked like it had washed up last night. I almost walked by it at first before I noticed what it was.”

Deanna ran her finger over the writing and paused for a moment. “I wonder who they are. And why was it sealed in a bottle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

The fact was that Theresa was indeed curious. Immediately after reading it, she had read it again, then a third time. What would it be like, she mused, to have someone love her that way?

“A little. But so what? There’s no way we’ll ever know.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Keep it, I guess. I haven’t really thought about it that much.”

“Hmmm,” Deanna said with an indecipherable smile. Then, “How was your jog?”

Theresa sipped a glass of juice she had poured. “It was good. The sun was really something when it came up. It looked like the world was glowing.”

“That’s just because you were dizzy from lack of oxygen. Jogging does that to you.”

Theresa smiled, amused. “So, I take it you won’t come with me this week.”

Deanna reached for her cup of coffee with a doubtful look on her face. “Not a chance. My exercise is limited to vacuuming the house every weekend. Can you picture me out there, huffing and puffing? I’d probably have a heart attack.”

“It’s refreshing once you get used to it.”

“That may be true, but I’m not young and svelte like you are. The only time I can remember running at all was when I was a kid and the neighbor’s dog got out of the yard. I was running so fast, I almost wet my pants.”

Theresa laughed out loud. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“I thought we’d do a little shopping and have lunch in town. Are you up for something like that?”