The Mailbox Read online

  She nodded soberly, her eyes filling with tears that this time she didn’t bother to wipe away. “Will you get me out of here?” she asked in a little-girl voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time, music to his ears. In her eyes he saw his potential to be her hero. The trouble was that he saw himself as the opposite of a hero—a failure at everything he had ever done that mattered—loving Lindsey, being a husband to Ellie, and a father to Nikki.

  He found it within himself to tell her what she wanted to hear. “Yes,” he told her. “Yes, I will get you out of here. And I will help you get well.” He smiled at her, willing her to smile back, to reassure him that they would be okay, that time lost would be restored, that if they both tried they could fix things.

  “Campbell?” he heard his name being called from behind him. Ellie’s voice grated on his ears like sandpaper and steel wool. He turned to face her briefly before turning back to Nikki. He would not let Ellie make this about her. “Sorry to interrupt this father-daughter moment, but the doctor needs to speak with us,” she said. He heard the whoosh of the hospital door being closed and intuitively knew it was a good thing that hospital doors could not be slammed.

  He looked down at Nikki as she rolled her eyes at her mother. “Well, I guess I need to go talk to the doctor now. I am going to see about getting you out of here, okay?” He tried not to sound like he was speaking to a small child. He wanted to pretend he saw her as the adult she believed herself to be.

  She nodded and closed her eyes, an unspoken permission for him to go.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told her as he backed out of the room, keeping his eyes on her tiny form.

  Ellie waited for him in the hall, all but tapping her foot. He brushed past her, determined to ignore her theatrics. She followed on his heels, nervous energy emanating from her as they walked down the corridor toward the waiting room.

  “Did she say anything?” Ellie asked.

  He slowed down and looked over at Ellie. Her hair fell from the slick ponytail. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Most of her carefully applied makeup from that morning seemed to have melted away. She looked more … human than normal. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her—the only other person in the world who sat in the same boat he was in. She was the parent of a young woman who had been hospitalized for reasons she didn’t quite understand but nevertheless felt guilty for. She just wanted to know why and how and what. Just like him.

  “No,” he told her, willing his voice to sound as kind as possible. “Not really.”

  She shook her head, not believing him. Campbell could tell that Ellie thought he and Nikki had been trading secrets, swapping jokes. Bonding.

  Just before they reached the doctor and Oz, he put his hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “I think she just wanted to know we were both really here,” he told her. “She knew you would be here. She wasn’t sure I would be.”

  Ellie sized him up for a moment, then her eyes flickered over to Oz, who had stopped talking and watched them, his eyes narrowed.

  “Okay, Campbell,” she said. She glanced at him, a flash of something old and long dead passing between them. “Thanks for the reassurance.” She paused. “I hate that I needed it. From you.” She added the defensive jab before going to stand beside her husband, who wrapped his arm around her waist proprietarily and nodded smugly in Campbell’s direction. Campbell walked over and joined them.

  The doctor told them that Nikki would be released the next day. He explained in a grave voice that she was at 82 percent of what would be considered normal body weight for her height, a classic indicator of an eating disorder. When she was admitted, her liver enzymes were elevated and her electrolytes were imbalanced, telling them she had been starving herself for a while.

  He gave treatment options and recommended that they discuss them with Nikki, advising that treatments work better with the patient actively involved in her own recovery. There were a variety of programs to consider, both inpatient and outpatient. Campbell could tell by the way Ellie shook her head that an inpatient program was not up for discussion. He would not fight her on that. He hated the thought of his daughter living in a hospital. Oz just nodded his head, acting the supreme expert in all things medical. Campbell suppressed the urge to deck him.

  The doctor bustled away, on to other important business. Campbell’s mother came up behind him and whispered, “Let’s go see our girl” before heading in the direction of Nikki’s room. He followed her without looking to Ellie or Oz for approval. His mother knocked lightly, and he heard Nikki’s faint voice say, “Come in.” She sat in the darkened room with only the TV for light. The sound was off, but she stared at it blankly, the colors flashing on her face, blue then green then pink. When she saw her grandmother, her mouth bent into a smile that he knew melted his mother’s heart.

  He hung back as the women hugged. “Oh my sweet little sunshine girl,” his mom said, a nickname she had given Nikki when she was a ponytailed toddler with chubby cheeks.

  Both women looked over at Campbell. “Can you get me out of here?” Nikki asked.

  “The doctor said you can go home tomorrow,” he told her.

  She nodded, pleased with this information. She looked up at her grandmother and over at him. “I’ve had a lot of time to think today,” Nikki said, scooching herself up to a sitting position, looking more like the Nikki who lived in his head—sweet, calm, confident, and in control. “And I don’t want to go back home with Mom.” She paused and looked at their faces for a reaction. He willed his face to remain expressionless. “I’ve been thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve been to Sunset,” she continued, “and how that’s like my real home, you know? Where I was born?”

  They both nodded their heads vigorously, like a set of bobblehead dolls.

  “So, I think that I would like to go there to just hang out and get, um, help or whatever the doctor said I needed. Do you think there might be a place that could help me around there?” she asked, her face betraying her purported confidence, a little girl thrust into a scary situation. Not nearly as capable and in control as she would like others to think.

  Campbell knew he couldn’t change their situation. He couldn’t make his daughter not have anorexia or go back in time and become a good husband to Ellie. But he could do something now. He realized that God gave second chances whether we deserve them or not. He looked over at his mom, a plan forming in his mind as they made eye contact. We will do this together, she said with her eyes.

  He walked the three steps over to his daughter’s bedside and took her hand. “I think I know just the place,” he said.

  Chapter 10

  Sunset Beach

  Summer 2004

  Lindsey and the kids’ second day at the beach was rained out, much to the disappointment of Anna and Jake, who were all suited up and ready to bodysurf when the skies suddenly turned gray. Lindsey eyed the novel she brought in delicious anticipation of a few hours of sun and escape, but no such luck today. Anna slumped on the couch, her face a mixture of sadness and anger. Jake shrugged his shoulders and reached for a fourth doughnut. Lindsey was glad that she had biked up to the market early that morning when the weather was nice to pick up Sweet Sixteens as a surprise. Thankfully, she didn’t spot Bill.

  Lindsey’s mind reached deep into its catalog of “Plan Bs” and scanned through their rainy-day options. A movie in town? A trip to the grocery store on the mainland to pick up supplies they needed? She envisioned the mad dash for the car in the pouring rain, arms laden with packages while the children complained about getting drenched. That did not sound like a good option.

  She hoped the morning rainstorm would pass soon and the sky would clear in time for them to be at the beach by lunch. She remembered the board games she had packed in hopes that they could play together instead of relying so much on electronics for their entertainment.

 
; “How about we play a game of Sequence?” she asked, willing her voice to sound excited and eager about the option.

  Anna and Jake shook their heads in unison. “You don’t play Sequence with us, Mom,” Jake said. “That’s Daddy’s game.”

  Lindsey bristled defensively. While Grant did play the game with them more often than she did, she had played it with them before.

  “Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” she said, false brightness edging her voice. “Besides, what else is there to do?”

  She looked from Jake to Anna, daring them to come up with a better alternative than the one she had proposed. Jake shrugged again and seemed to think better of the idea. He looked over at Anna, deferring to her leadership as always. Please, Lindsey willed her. But instead of answering, Anna got up and left the room, slamming her bedroom door. Jake looked back at Lindsey, his eyebrows raised.

  She laughed at him in spite of herself. “Well, we can still play, can’t we?”

  Lindsey managed to win one game, but Jake won the next two. “I’m just getting warmed up,” he said after the first round, giving an evil chuckle as he rubbed his hands together.

  “Hey, what about showing your old mom some mercy?” she teased.

  “No can do, Mamacita!” he replied, smiling at her, looking so much like his daddy that her heart broke just a little bit more.

  She remained resolute though, and to her son’s credit, she didn’t let him win. He beat her fair and square. By the time they finished their last game, it was time for lunch. Jake sat by the window, staring out at the rain forlornly. “I wish you could make it stop raining,” he said to Lindsey, his lip poked out like a three-year-old’s would.

  There were many moments in her life when she realized that nothing made her feel more helpless than wanting to change the world for her kids yet knowing that she was powerless to do so. There were a lot of things in life that she wished she could change for them. Like the weather. Like the bullies who pick on them on the playground. Like freckles or curly hair or whatever they disliked about themselves. Like a daddy who had decided he wanted to “pursue other options.” But Lindsey didn’t say any of those things to her son. She simply nodded and said that, if she could, she would certainly make it stop raining.

  She made them grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and whispered a prayer for it to stop raining, just in case the Lord felt like orchestrating a miracle for a desperate single mom. She knew He had wars to stop and sick people to heal, but sometimes He still paused for her silly little requests. Gratefulness filled her heart when He did. She went to Anna’s room to tell her to come to lunch, not expecting to hear her crying on the other side of the door.

  “Go. Away.” Lindsey heard her muffled reply, but Anna had to know Lindsey would do no such thing.

  Surprisingly, Anna’s bedroom door was not locked. Lindsey entered to find her daughter splayed across the bed, all long arms and legs like a little colt. She hated her long legs and often complained about being too tall and gangly.

  “I wish I was short, like Emily,” Anna had said more than once, comparing herself to her friends just like Lindsey used to do. Emily had a tiny and compact body, with the beginnings of a figure already. The boys had started to notice Emily, asking her to be their girlfriend; her newest admirer changing so often that Lindsey had stopped trying to keep up. But no one noticed Anna. She had never been asked to be anyone’s girlfriend. So she looked at Emily and wanted what she had, wanted to be Emily instead of herself. Lindsey struggled with how to help her daughter see her own beauty. She had struggled with that when things were normal—even more after her father walked out. In the best of circumstances, parenting was hard. In the worst, well, sometimes it just felt impossible.

  Lindsey lay down on the bed beside her daughter, not saying a word, though she wanted to ask her a million questions. She had learned that waiting silently often yielded better results, to let her daughter take the lead in the conversation; a gentle dance they were still picking up the steps to. Sometimes she stepped on Anna’s toes, sometimes Anna stepped on hers. Lindsey picked up the end of Anna’s long ponytail, wrapping it around her fingertips like she used to when Anna was little.

  In the quiet, Lindsey counted the dots on the ceiling, listened for sounds in the kitchen—the water running in the sink, a bag of something being opened, the sound of the TV being turned on, then Jake’s laughter following. When she was not much older than Anna, she had slept in the same room, stared at the same ceiling, listened to her aunt’s and uncle’s voices from the kitchen and wished in vain that they were her real family. It seemed hard to believe that her daughter was nearing the age she was when she first came to Sunset Beach. When she met her first love. Just as her thoughts were about to carry her back in time, Anna turned to face her.

  “I hate being here without Daddy,” Anna said, not so much wiping her eyes as swiping at them angrily.

  There it was.

  Lindsey had tried to read books about single parenting in the months since Grant left, listened to advice from experts and took advice from other moms who had walked in her lonely shoes. Some suggested telling the kids everything, while others recommended telling them nothing. But lately she had learned to go with her gut. She answered from her heart.

  “Me too, honey,” she said.

  Anna looked surprised. “Then why don’t you invite him? Maybe if he knew we missed him …” her voice trailed off, already knowing the answer but refusing to lose hope that her real dad still existed somewhere and this other guy was just an impostor. Lindsey knew how she felt.

  “Sweetie, your dad knows that he is welcome here. He knows we came down here just like we always do. I would love to tell you that inviting him would help but it just wouldn’t. I can’t explain it any better than that. Because the truth is, I don’t understand all that has happened either. But one thing I can tell you. Your dad still loves you very—”

  Anna stopped Lindsey, putting her hand out in the space between them, like a crossing guard. “Mom, please stop saying that. ’Cause it’s not really true. If Dad loves me like you say, he wouldn’t hurt me like this. I don’t think that he really loves any of us. I think that he loves himself and doing what he wants is all that matters now. But that’s not what real love is. If he loved me, he wouldn’t make me feel this bad. ’Cause when you love someone, you care about how they feel too.”

  Out of the mouths of babes.

  Grant didn’t witness the ugly parts of their divorce like Lindsey did. He didn’t hold his daughter while she cried or try to handle her anger when it welled up to the point of spewing out, usually at Lindsey. Anna didn’t feel comfortable enough with Grant to lash out at him. Lindsey got the ugly part of it, and he got to live in denial. Hardly a fair bargain seeing as how she never wanted any of it.

  She pulled her daughter close, kissed the top of her head. Her older child. Her only daughter. She had vowed she would make life different for her. She had done everything right—taken her to church, gone to parenting conferences, and been involved with every bit of her child’s life. She had given up on dreams of a career so she could pour herself into her daughter’s life, never missing a moment. And yet she still couldn’t save her from heartbreak. Outside forces still blew into their lives and knocked them off course. Lindsey shuddered to realize once again just how helpless they all were when it came down to it.

  “Sweetie, I’m going to pray for you—for us—okay?”

  Anna looked up, her expression a combination of hesitance and anticipation. “Okay.”

  Lindsey wrapped her arms around her daughter and offered as honest a prayer as she could. She confessed their sadness about Grant and asked for better times in the future, even for a good time at the beach. Even if Anna wasn’t listening, or participating, the prayer felt necessary for Lindsey. She felt closer to her daughter—and to God—at that moment than she had in
quite some time.

  She finished praying just as they heard a knock at Anna’s bedroom door. “Hey, guys,” Jake said as he burst in the room, hopping from one foot to the other in a little dance that was “so Jake.” “The rain stopped! The sun’s out! Let’s go!”

  Anna looked at Lindsey with wide eyes. Gratitude for this simplest of gifts flooded Lindsey’s body. As she began to once again gather their beach paraphernalia, she added a PS to her prayer. “Thank You,” she whispered.

  w

  The beach felt amazingly bearable for a late July day. The morning rainstorms had cooled things down, and the sun peeked through the clouds just as Lindsey settled down on her beach chair and put on some SPF 15. As she rubbed the lotion into her skin, memories filled her mind of other times on the beach, times when she was younger and the scent of suntan oil was an aphrodisiac. She could remember a time when she would slather herself with baby oil and spray her hair with lemon juice, spending whole days cooking herself in the sun’s warmth, transforming herself to a deep brown color, the ends of her hair kissed by sunlight. But that was before all the news stories about the harmful effects of the sun’s rays. She had since learned to play things a lot safer.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked up just in time to watch Anna catch a wave on her boogie board. She rode it almost all the way into shore before being wiped out by another, stronger wave. Lindsey couldn’t save her from that wave any more than she could save her from the other waves in life. But she could prepare her for those waves. Just like the sunscreen lotion she covered her with and the swim lessons she gave her, she could try to protect her from the things that came along and threatened to pull her under. And she could be there when she fell. She could cup her chin with her hand and tell her that she was still beautiful and treasured. By Lindsey and by God. She wondered how things in her life would have turned out if her mom had done that even once.

  Anna came running up to their little compound of towels and toys and chairs on the beach, dripping wet, her nose running and eyes tearing. She reached out blindly for a towel, expecting her mom to provide it as she did. “You took quite a fall out there,” Lindsey mused, her voice teasing as she added, “think you can go out there and try it again?” Anna looked up from wiping her eyes, a resolute look on her face, nodding vigorously as she threw the towel to the side and raced back to the water. As she ran, she called out over her shoulder, “Watch me, Mom!”