Message in a Bottle

After the sun went down, the three of them drove to Hya

“I read it when I got back from golfing. Dea

dea

“It washed up on the beach. I found it when I was jogging.”

Brian finished his beer and went on. “It was quite a letter. It seemed so sad.”

“I know. That’s how I felt when I read it.”

“Do you know where Wrightsville Beach is?”

“No. I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s in North Carolina,” Brian said as he reached into a pocket for a cigarette. “I had a golf trip down there once. Great courses. A little flat, but playable.”

Dea

Theresa asked, “Where in North Carolina?”

Brian lit his cigarette and inhaled. As he exhaled, he spoke.

“Near Wilmington—or actually, it might even be a part of it—I’m not exactly sure about the boundaries. If you’re driving, it’s about an hour and a half north of Myrtle Beach. Have you ever heard of the movie Cape Fear ?”

“Sure.”

“The Cape Fear River is in Wilmington, and that’s where both of the movies were set. Actually, a lot of movies are filmed there. Most of the major studios have a presence in town. Wrightsville Beach is an island right off the coast. Very developed—it’s almost a resort community now. It’s where a lot of the stars stay while they’re on location filming.”

“How come I’ve never heard of it?”

“I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t get much attention because of Myrtle Beach, but it’s popular down south. The beaches are beautiful—white sand, warm water. it’s a great place to spend a week if you ever get the chance.”

Theresa didn’t respond, and Dea

“So, now we know where our mystery writer is from.”

Theresa shrugged. “I suppose so, but there’s still no way to tell for sure. It could have been a place where they vacationed or visited. It doesn’t mean he lives there.”

Dea

“You’ve really given this some thought, haven’t you?”

“Instincts. You learn to go with them, and I’d be willing to bet that Wrightsville Beach or Wilmington is his home.”

“So what?”

Dea

“Have you given any more thought to having the letter published?”

“Not really. I still don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“How about if we don’t use their names—just their initials? We can even change the name of Wrightsville Beach, if you want to.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“Because I know a good story when I see one. More than that, I think that this would be meaningful to a lot of people. nowadays, people are so busy that romance seems to be slowly dying out. This letter shows that it’s still possible.”

Theresa absently reached for a strand of hair and began to twist it. A habit since childhood, it was what she did whenever she was thinking about something. After a long moment, she finally responded.

“All right.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Yes, but like you said, we’ll use only their initials and we’ll omit the part about Wrightsville Beach. And I’ll write a couple of sentences to introduce it.”

“I’m so glad,” Dea

Later that night, Theresa wrote out the begi

*  *  *

The following day, Theresa and Dea

The rest of the morning and afternoon were spent like the day before—shopping, relaxing at the beach, easy conversation, and a delicious di

Four days ago, while I was on vacation, I was listening to some old songs on the radio and heard Sting singing “Message in a Bottle.” Spurred to action by his impassioned crooning, I raced to the beach to find a bottle of my own. Within minutes I found one, and sure enough, it had a message inside. (Actually, I didn’t hear the song first: I made that up for dramatic effect. But I did find a bottle the other morning with a deeply moving message inside.) I haven’t been able to get it off my mind, and although it isn’t something I’d normally write about, in a time where everlasting love and commitment seem to be in such short supply, I was hoping you would find it as meaningful as I did.

The rest of the column was devoted to the letter. When Dea

“Do you think so?”

“Absolutely. I’m sure of it.”

“Even more than usual?”

“Tons more. I can feel it. In fact, I’m going to call John today. I’m going to have him place this on the wire a couple times this week. You may even get some Sunday runs with this one.”

“We’ll see,” Theresa said as she ate a bagel, not really sure whether to believe Dea

Chapter 3

On Saturday, eight days after she’d arrived, Theresa returned to Boston.

She unlocked the door to her apartment and Harvey came ru

After unpacking her bags and picking up her keys and mail from ella, she poured herself a glass of wine, went to the stereo, and popped in the John Coltrane CD she had bought. As the sound of jazz filtered through the room, she sorted through the mail. As usual, it was mainly bills, and she put them aside for another time.

There were eight messages on her recorder when she checked it. Two were from men she had dated in the past, asking her to call if she had a chance. She thought about it briefly, then decided against it. Neither of them was attractive to her, and she didn’t feel like going out just because she had a break in her schedule. She also had calls from her mother and sister, and she made a note to call them sometime this week. There were no calls from Kevin. By now he was rafting and camping with his father somewhere in Arizona.