Page 98 of The Summers of Us

“You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to believe me.”

“I believe you.”

The universe is not a nautilus shell. Not a tree branch. Not a bird bath or a button. Not even a snowflake. The universe doesn’t know math. I am not in debt to something that doesn’t even know me by name. The universe is more than fabric, and my life is not transactional. It transcends the beautiful, inarguable equivalence of math.

I look into the fabric of his eyes. “Thank you.”

Everett smiles warmly in response, then we dig in to the sandwiches and grapes he packed in his bookbag. While I pluck grapes from their vine, Everett writes his own letter in the green notebook, glancing up at the waves in blips of thought. I write the beginning of my own letter, then get trapped in my own trance. I watch the waves in hopes that they’ll write my story for me.

Everett finishes and puts his notebook in the mailbox. He tells me he’s going to cool off in the water. I watch him walk the long stretch to the ocean. Finally, the rest of my inspiration strikes. It’s impossible for it not to, given the way Everett waves at me from the ocean, smiling at the sun, smiling at me, smiling atus.

Quinn and Everett.

My words will live forever in the blue notebook in the Kindred Spirit mailbox:

Eight summers ago, I came here chasing the welcoming nature of the beach. When my father left me for a new life, I felt invisible, but just like my father, I made my own new life. Thanks to Piper Island, I got to be a kid again, form lifelong friendships, and fall in love.

I’ve never really told anyone that, but you’re special, Kindred Spirit. You hold a universe of secrets, wishes, hopes, dreams, and loves. The secret is that I am in love with the boy who brought me here. He’s jumping the waves right now. Every couple waves, he looks back at me. I don’t think he knows I’m watching, but there’s nothing I’d rather watch than him.

Kindred Spirit, I’m not proud to admit it, but I’m scared of a lot of things. This fear has barred me from a lot of joy, but I’m not sure it’s kept me from danger. I’m not sure the world is as dangerous as I always thought. I’m not even sure what I’m scared of. I guess it’s like swimming in murky water. There’s a fear there that you can’t quite shake, even when you don’t know what you’re scared of. The unknown, I suppose, but who knows if there’s even a sea monster? How often is there actually a sea monster? The unknown might have a perfect sand dollar or something else equally as incredible.

Another truth is that the ocean has given and taken things from me. That’s how waves work.

It’s given me Haven, Holden, Mason, and Jorge.

It’s taken away my loneliness.

It’s given me a lifetime of memories.

It’s taken away Hadley.

It’s given me my moon, my rollercoaster, my Everett.

I’m still waiting for it to take away my fear.

It owes me that, but I suppose the ocean is not transactional.

The ocean and the universe are similar that way.

I put the pen down, open and close my fist to stretch out the ache from writing on autopilot. I don’t know the strangers who will read this letter one day, but I hope it helps them with their own grief, their own tug-of-war with giving and taking. I close the notebook and place it in the mailbox, then comb for shells closer to the waves.

While I’m searching, I see a shell emerge from the falling waves. When I get closer, I spot five flower petals etched on the top.There’s no way. Five oval-shaped holes emerge from all but the top petal. A bigger oval lives just below the etching. It’s more circular than clam shaped. The circumference could almost be calculated by pi.It can’t be.

Off-white. As big as my palm. Smooth.

An intact sand dollar.

My heart leaps in tune with my ear-splitting gasp. I jump out of my skin to cradle it into my shaking palms. I even let out some expletives, which prompts Everett to run over. I make him pinky promise he didn’t plant it here. It’s not bleached enough to be store-bought anyway.

How many years have I dreamt of this moment? How many years was I sure I wanted to carry it all the way to my sunny windowsill? How many years would I have needed to convince myself that when I finally found it, Iwouldn’tkeep it? The ocean has given, but I don’t plan on taking.

Someone else might, but if they do, it’s because they’ve searched their whole life for it. It’s because they need it as much as I don’t. Not anymore.

Instead, I pen an inky message onto the gritty underbelly, then place it inside Kindred Spirit.

Hadley, you deserved a rollercoaster, and so do I.

August 12

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