The Calling
Clearwater Cove seemed like it had been built for Christmas but then forgotten over time.
Snow rested on the peaked roofs like powdered sugar. The harbor lay quiet, boats rocking in slow rhythm, masts strung with white lights that reflected on the black water. Wreaths hung on every door. The kind of town people took pictures of and used as Christmas cards.
Emma Calder no longer took pictures.
She stood outside Harper’s Bakery with a paper bag pressed to her chest, breath puffing white into the cold air. The smell of cinnamon and sugar clung to her coat. Inside the bag were six cinnamon rolls for the volunteers at the church. Outside the bag was the weight of ten Decembers that felt the same.
She crossed the street and paused at the town square. The enormous evergreen in the center was half decorated, one side glittering with ornaments while the other waited for someone to care. Volunteers laughed as they strung lights, their voices carrying down the street. Somewhere, a speaker played an old Christmas hymn that used to make her sing along in the car with Adam.
The memory cut deep.
Emma turned away and headed for the parking lot behind the church. The sanctuary doors were open, and voices echoed inside as people prepared for the Lighting of Hope ceremony, for which Clearwater Cove had become renowned.
Every year on Christmas Eve, people gathered to light candles for those they had lost, for the people they were fighting for, and for the prayers that still felt unanswered. The town now had cameras set up. Livestreams. A website. Candlelight photos sent from around the world.
The whole thing made the town feel larger than itself. It also made Emma feel small. She reached her old sedan and balanced the bakery bag on the roof while she fumbled for her keys. The car chirped, and she pulled the handle, then froze. A cardboard box sat on the passenger seat. Medium-sized. Brown. Old tape along the edges.
Her first thought was that someone had broken in, which was ridiculous. Nothing about the car or the town invited that kind of trouble. Her second thought knocked the breath right out of her.
The handwriting on the lid.
ADAM CALDER PRIVATE LETTERS
Emma stared so hard her eyes stung. The script was familiar. Slanted, a little messy, the way he wrote when he was in a hurry. She opened the driver’s door and sank into the seat. For a long time, she just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, heart racing, and the bakery bag forgotten on the roof.
Adam had been gone for ten years. She lifted the box carefully and set it in her lap. Her fingers shook as she peeled the brittle tape back and lifted the lid. Inside lay stacks of envelopes bundled with twine. Some were worn, edges frayed as if they had been handled many times. Some looked untouched. Every one of them was addressed to someone other than her.
Corporal Nathan Reyes Cluj, Romania
Ama Kwarteng Accra, Ghana
Hana Takahashi Kyoto, Japan
Others were scattered through the stack. Names she didn’t recognize. Places she had never been. Something hot and sharp rose in her chest. Anger at first. That he had secrets. That he had poured words into strangers and never told her. That he had written more letters in the last year of his life than he had written to her in the hospital waiting room.
Then the anger softened. Curiosity. Fear. And hope that she did not want to admit. Emma reached for the envelope on top, her fingers running over the stamp that had never been marked or mailed. That alone made no sense. Adam was the kind of man who always returned library books on time.
The car door opened suddenly. Emma jumped and let out a small gasp. “Easy, girl, it’s just me.” Harper leaned down, cheeks rosy from the cold, apron still dusted with flour. “You left your cinnamon rolls on the roof. Again.” Emma tried to catch her breath. “I’m fine. Just distracted.” Harper glanced at the box. Her smile faded. “What is that?” Emma looked down at the letters again and knew something for sure.
Whatever this was, it was about to change everything. “I think,” she said slowly, “it’s Adams.”
