These ashes represent what’s left of my heart. Symbolically, anyway. For reasons I don’t have to explain to you, I want them spread in Ocracoke. My heart, after all, has always remained there. And, I’ve come to believe, Ocracoke is an enchanted place, where the impossible sometimes becomes real.
There’s something more I’ve been longing to tell you, though I know it will seem crazy at first. （Maybe I am crazy at the present time; cancer and drugs wreak havoc on my thoughts.） Yet I do believe what I’m about to tell you, no matter how far-fetched it sounds, because it’s the only thing that seems intuitively true right now.
You remind me of Bryce in more ways than you know. In your nature and your gentleness, in your empathy and charm. You look a little like him, and—perhaps because you were both athletes—you also move with the same fluid grace. Like Bryce, you are mature beyond your years, and as our relationship has deepened, these similarities have become even more apparent to me.
This, then, is what I’ve chosen to believe: somehow, through me, Bryce became part of you. When he took me in his arms, you absorbed a piece of him; when we spent our sweetest days together in Ocracoke, you somehow inherited his unique qualities. You are a child, then, of both of us. I know such a thing is impossible, but I choose to believe that the love Bryce and I felt for each other somehow played a role in producing the remarkable young man I’ve come to know and love. To my mind, there’s no other explanation.
Thank you for finding me, my son. I love you.
Maggie
*
After finishing the letter, I slipped it back into the envelope and eyed the necklace she had enclosed. She’d shown it to me before, and on the back of the seashell pendant I noted the words Ocracoke Memories. The pendant felt strangely heavy, as though it held their entire relationship, a lifetime of love condensed into a few short months.
When I was ready, I put the pendant and letter back into my pocket and gently took the urn from Abigail. The tide was going out and moving in the same direction as the wind. I stepped into damp sand, my feet beginning to sink, and thought about Maggie on the ferry, meeting Bryce for the first time. The waves were steady and rhythmic, and the ocean stretched toward the horizon. Its vastness felt incomprehensible, even as I imagined lighted kites floating in the nighttime sky. Above me, the sun was at half-mast and I knew that darkness was coming early. In the distance, a lone truck was parked on the sand. A pelican skimmed the breakers. I closed my eyes and saw Maggie standing in a darkroom next to Bryce or studying at a battered kitchen table. I imagined a kiss when, at least for a moment, everything in Maggie’s world seemed perfect.
Now Bryce and Maggie were both gone, and I felt an overwhelming sadness wash through me. I twisted the lid, opening the urn, and tipped it, allowing the ashes to scatter in the outgoing tide. I stood in place, recalling flashes of The Nutcracker and ice skating and decorating a Christmas tree before suddenly swiping at unbidden tears. I remembered her rapt expression when she had lifted Maggie-bear from the box and knew I would always believe that love was stronger than fear.
Taking a long breath, I finally turned, walking slowly toward Abigail. I kissed her gently, clasping her hand in mine, and the two of us walked in silence back up the beach together.
Travel Photos from Nicholas Sparks
I’ve always loved international travel and all the new experiences and inspiration that come with it. I hope you enjoy these photos from my travels that I kept beside me while I wrote The Wish.
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