A Heart of Time (15 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I’m here!” Mom
yells from the front door. “Where is my little Olive Oil?”

Olive is watching TV in the family room and I’ve been staring into my mirror for the last twenty minutes. I’m not sure what I’m looking at but maybe I’ve been hoping some kind of sense finds my reflection. No such luck, though. Charlotte isn’t happy. She’s probably pretty rip shit, actually. I can’t say I wouldn’t be if I were in her shoes, and normally, I would care. I do care, especially after how much I have fallen for Charlotte. But this other relationship—or whatever it is—I’ve had with this woman who has Ellie’s heart has been alive for almost five years. I can’t just forego the one opportunity I’ve wanted more than anything since I received the first letter from her. I owe this to my curiosity, my pain, and heartache...and to Ellie.

What I don’t understand is what suddenly made this woman want to change her anonymity. In any case, I will hopefully find out tonight. So many times, I have lain awake at night imagining what she might look like. A faceless woman is the only thing that has come to mind, though—a faceless woman with a heart made of gold, a heart that can outlive the most amazing woman who has ever existed in this world.

“Hunter, sweetie,” Mom calls, her voice growing louder the closer she comes. As she turns the corner, stepping into my bedroom, a questioning look lines her face. “Must be a pretty big client?”

“Yeah, it’s a huge opportunity—one I’ve been waiting for.” It isn’t a lie, just the client part. “Thank you for coming to watch Olive,” I offer.

“Why didn’t you ask Charlotte to watch Olive tonight like you normally have been lately?” Mom asks.

“I don’t want to take advantage of her willingness to help me so often,” I respond honestly.

“I see.” There’s the look, wondering if things are fizzling between me and her dream of a new daughter-in-law. “Anyway...” Mom brushes the hair away from her forehead and releases a soft sigh. “Have you spoken to your brother today?”

Ah shit. I’m going on the probable notion that AJ did not inform Mom of his newfound situation. Problem is, she knows we worked together today. “Yeah, we worked this morning.”

“Do you know where he went after work?” Not that she’s ever great at giving us our space, but she’s definitely fishing for information right now. She must know something.

“Nope, I’ve been a little preoccupied.” Truth.

“Hmm.” She sweeps her fingers across the top of my bureau, creating a cloud of dust in the air. “You really need a housekeeper,” she says, wiping her finger off on her pants.

“Noted,” I sigh. “Okay, I won’t be home too late.” I don’t think. Finally breaking my stare from the mirror, I inhale sharply and swallow against the dryness in my mouth.

“You put cologne on for a
client
?”

My God
.

“Goodbye, Mom.” I grip her shoulders and place a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, again.”

After saying goodbye to Olive and shooing off
her
four million questions, I have slipped out the door and into my car, unnoticeably I hope. Whether or not Charlotte is, in fact, watching me out of her window right now, I don’t know, but I feel as though I’m hurting her by doing this, even though I failed to mention this meet-up. I hate that it has to be this way, and I shouldn’t have to convince myself that what I’m doing is right or wrong because it’s something I know I have to do.

The closer I come to Borderline Grill, the heavier my chest feels and the more painful my gut becomes. How will I even know how to find her? She left me no description or even a name. So now I’m going to have to approach every female in the restaurant and ask if she writes a stranger notes, or “Hey, I’m sorry, this might sound weird, but, do you have my wife’s heart in your chest?”
What the hell am I doing?
Maybe I’ll have this unsaid connection to her and I’ll just know by looking at her that it’s
her
. Except, that thought is ridiculous.

My racing mind blurred out the last five minutes of this trip and I’m pulling into the half-full parking lot. I glance down the row of cars looking for any type of car that might stand out to me but I’m not sure what would stand out and make a statement. A car is a car.

I find myself short of breath as I step out of the truck. My knees are weak and if I weren’t trying my hardest not to fall over, I’d be kissing the pavement.

What should be twenty-five steps to the front door seems as if it’s only three, and before I know it, my hand is gripped around the ice-cold handle. The slight gust of wind feels as though it’s holding the door in place but it’s actually just my muscles not working accordingly. The restaurant isn’t large and it’s diner style, which means the moment I step in, I will be faced with people looking at me—the reason for the door chiming.

I hold my breath and yank the door open, stepping inside. Looking at several people sitting in booths, I notice none of them are seated alone. Maybe she brought someone with her...her mother, father, sister, or brother? I could be psycho, after all. Though, I don’t even know if she has any of those relatives. I know almost nothing about her. Maybe I would have been smart to bring someone, too—Charlotte. Maybe that would have been the right way to handle this.
Too late now, though
. Whatever, it isn’t like this a blind date. I just want to meet her.
I just want to be near her heart.

As I continue scanning my gaze up and down the row from left to right, no one is looking at me anymore, which means no one has cared enough to think I could be Hunter. Does she know what I look like? I suppose that wouldn’t surprise me since she knows where I live and what my name is. It wouldn’t be that hard to figure out.

I pull in another shuddered breath as a waitress with a black skirt and a white blouse approaches me. She’s young, maybe a teenager. Her hair is everywhere and there is sadness pooling in her dark lined eyes, telling me she’s got a story to tell. I’d like to distract myself with figuring her out but there are no time-outs or pauses in real life, so I won’t ask her if she’s okay while she’s asking me if I would like a table for one. The mere fact that I even notice sadness in others around me makes me realize how different I am today from the grieving Hunter who first met Charlotte at the bus stop just a few months ago.

“Two, please,” a voice from behind me answers the question before I have the chance to open my mouth.

“Right this way,” the waitress says, pivoting and heading down the narrow path toward the last empty table in the restaurant.

I should turn around. I should face her. She knows who I am from behind and I don’t know who she is at all.

Doing what any scared-shitless person would do, I follow the waitress without turning around. By the time we reach the table, the waitress has already placed the two menus down and told us to enjoy our meal. I slide into the nearest bench, which is rude. I’ve always been big on offering the lady the closest seat first, but I don’t have the balls to be a gentleman at this moment. My wife’s heart is four inches behind me—close enough to feel the breath being created from Ellie’s beating heart.

The coward inside of me would like to run away and never face the outcome to this mystery, but I would have to face her in order to do that, too. I understand now why she has kept her identity secret all of these years. The moment I see her, know her, speak to her…everything will change.

I close my eyes briefly as I feel the booth adjust slightly, telling me she is now seated across from me, staring at me, likely wondering what the hell is wrong with me as I sit here with my eyes pinned shut.

I place my hands down on the table, gripping the plastic coating with the tips of my fingers. My heart is in my throat and I’m not sure I have what it takes to swallow until a hand—a soft, warm hand—falls gently on top of one of mine, and instantly, my eyes flicker open.

My other hand finds my mouth, covering it with shock and awe. “You,” is all I manage.

She nods with an unsure, small smile and responds, “Me.” With a gentle laugh, she says, “Robert Frost told me to take a different path today.”

“You didn’t just move here from San Diego, did you?” The tense feeling in my muscles eases at the sound of her voice, “And I thought you didn’t believe any of that? As a matter of fact, if I remember correctly, you called it, ‘bull’.”

She expels a quiet huff and peers down to her lap. After a brief pause, she looks back up at me through her thick, dark lashes. “No, I lied about San Diego,” she says, “And I could have been wrong about Frost.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“I couldn’t figure out how to,” she says, breaking her gaze from mine.

I seem to have an abundance of people in my life who don’t know how to tell me things…important things. “Hey, I have your wife’s heart,” I say, offering her the simple words that so easily could have been admitted when we first met. “That would have done the trick.”

“Yeah, like that would be the appropriate way to do it and not weird at all,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. Her upper body slouches forward, allowing her dark hair to slip off the edges of her shoulders. Creating more silence, she unzips her coat, cautiously pulling each arm from her sleeves, revealing a v-neck black shirt that flirts with her collarbone. My focus is drawn to the very center of her chest where a perfectly straight scar plays peek-a-boo with the covering material.
It is her.

“I wanted to tell you but there’s something about running up to a total stranger and gutting him,” she says.

We aren’t strangers
.

“Instead, you have written me anonymous letters for five years. Don’t you realize that has gutted me, too?” Maybe gutted isn’t the correct word but I’ve felt hollowed out each time I read more of her words. It has kept the pain alive for me.
It has also kept Ellie alive for me
. “And where was this mountain you wrote about?”

“That was never my intention, Hunter. I promise you.” She presses her fingers through her hair, sweeping it away from her cheeks, and I take the moment to acknowledge Olive’s description of a Disney princess to be quite accurate. She’s flawless. “The mountain is up north. I like to take short road trips to think and be alone sometimes.”

Checking off the answers to my questions, I continue, “Did you know I would be at the gardens that day? Those days?” I ask her, wondering how much Ari honestly knows about me.

“No, I had no idea. That happened all on it’s own.” As if Ellie wanted us to meet. Nothing happens on its own. Everything is preplanned and destined to happen.

“Wow,” I offer as an honest response.

“I agree.” Ari places her hands down on top of the table; folding them together and interlocking all of her perfectly manicured fingers. “I know you have a girlfriend, or at least, I’m assuming so by what Olive said that day at the gardens. It is not my intention to cause any issues or ripples in your life and I hope I haven’t done so by asking you to meet me here tonight.” I don’t think it’s necessary to admit the trouble this has actually caused because I’m sitting across from Ellie’s beating heart.

“I do have a girlfriend, but that has nothing to do with us,” I admit. She smiles at this and I’m not sure I understand why.

“I’m glad you are happy. It takes a little more of the guilt off of me.”

I don’t understand how she could feel guilt. Ellie died and was noble enough to think of what would happen in life once she was gone. “You should never feel guilty. This moment right here, right now, shows me how wonderful of a person Ellie was to think ahead and want to save a life if hers were to end. It makes me love her even more.”

“She was a great woman,” Ari says, once more stealing the breath from my lungs.

“Can I take your order or do you need a few more minutes?” The waitress interrupts this incredibly important discussion, and Ari uses it to her advantage.

“Could I have the garden salad with oil and vinegar, topped with the grilled chicken, please?”

Losing track of the fact that I’m sitting on top of a mile-high roller coaster waiting for the brakes to release, I look at her, dumbfounded. “Salad? Are you serious?”

She places her hand over her chest. “Gotta keep this ticking.”

“She’ll have a burger and fries.” I know that was rude and she could be a vegetarian or a vegan or something but Ellie would want her to have a burger and fries. If there was one thing Ellie did right, it was eat, and she did it as if she were going to die the next day. Which she did—she had an entire Cheese pizza and two orders of fries the night before Olive was born. She knew they weren’t going to let her eat anything at the hospital and early labor had already started. It was her last pre-mommy wish. The woman got what she wanted and it made her night; thankfully, since it was her last.
Talk about a last meal
.