Chapter Six
Isit downat my computer and press my fingertips lightly on the keyboard. There is no way to tell a broken-hearted man that you have the heart he once lost. For years, I’ve contemplated the words I would use but no words seem delicate or worthy enough. For just over a month, I have sat down at this computer and typed out the perfect letter at least a hundred times, only to type the last word and immediately hate everything I have written. What I’ve concluded is that this isn’t the type of information given through a letter, but it still has to bewritten.
DearHunter,
I can’t do this any longer. Her heart aches for you every time I send you a letter. Guilt fills my soul and covers me like a heavy blanket I can’t seem to find my way out of. I know I’m not responsible for taking her life but I feel like I’m keeping her alive for you and at the same time holding this heart hostage for the sake ofyours.
I’ve debated over the last couple of weeks whether or not this is the right decision, but I think itis.
I asked the doctors to keep my information anonymous because I didn’t think I would have it in me to face the family who so unfortunately lost this very heart I protect so dearly. With realization of the unfairness in this situation, given you have not been offered the choice to remain anonymous, I feel I should unveil my identity to offer you proper closure. These letters aren’t fair to either one of us, and I have been selfish in pretending theyare.
I’d like to request that you meet me at the Borderline Grill for dinner tonight at seven. I realize it is short notice and I know you have to find care for Olive, but if I don’t do this now, I may never find the courage to do itagain.
I understand if this is too much to ask or if you don’t wish to meet with me. In any case, I appreciate yourconsideration.
Best,
Her Heart
Iprintout the letter and, with an exhale, I place it into an envelope. Now or never. For the amount of times I have said that…I can’t believe I’m actually sendingit.
I’m not sure I can wait for the mail to run through the delivery system so I’m going to drop it into his mailbox, and chance him seeing me from his window. I need him to have this letter and I need to see if he will meet me tonight so I can come clean. There’s no morewaiting.
As I drive down Hunter’s street, I see cars in his driveway and a knot forms in my stomach. Maybe I could just ring his doorbell and blurt it all out, but I feel like I should give him the option of finding this information out. He may not want to know who I am. If he chooses to meet me tonight, then I’ll know it’s what he wants. If he doesn’t, I’m going to lay this all torest.
I stop in right in front of his mailbox, glancing quickly at the window to see if the coast is clear. When I see it is, I hop out of my car and place the letter inside the mailbox, leaving the flap open so he will hopefully know something is inside. Without being spotted, I take off, crossing my fingers that he does want to know who has his wife’s heart. It’s a secret I don’t want to hold ontoanymore.
As I pullinto the parking lot of the diner I asked Hunter to meet me at tonight, I realize this has been one of the longest days of my life. To my surprise, I see his car as I’m walking toward the front door. He’s here. He came! He wants to know, and I want to relieve myself of this heavy secret. All of these understandings are making my chest hurt, but also making Ellie’s heart beat hard and fast. I hope she wants this as much as Ido.
When I walk into the diner, Hunter is already inside. His back is to me, and he’s looking around the restaurant as the hostess asks him how many are in his party. Without thinking, I respond for him. “Two,please.”
Expecting him to turn around, possibly with curiosity as to who is answering for him, I’m a little taken aback when he doesn’t turn to see me. Instead, he follows the young girl leading us to ourseat.
As we approach the end of the row, the girl places two menus down onto the table and Hunter sits in the closest seat, still facing away from me. After our meeting in the garden, I find Hunter’s behavior a little strange. I can only assume he’s as nervous as I am, and this is his way of showingit.
When I slip into the seat across from him, feeling even more anxious than a moment ago, I find him with his eyes closed, which confirms my assumptions. He’s scared to know. Part of me would like to take his hand and place it over my chest before he has a second to realize anything else, but that would beinappropriate.
Instead, I place my hand gently on top of his. The sensation of his skin is cold against mine, yet magnetic at the same time. His fingers feel stiff beneath my touch, but only until he curls his hand up into afist.
Finally, he pulls in a shuddering breath and opens his eyes, appearing startled, shocked, and I’m not sure I can pinpoint the hundreds of other emotions running through hisface.
His hand cups over his mouth, and all I hear is a muttering of, “You.”
I respond with, “Me,” and a small laugh to ease thediscomfort.
We begin a conversation with the small talk we left off with at the gardens, but it quickly grows heavier during every moment thatpasses.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” heasks.
“I couldn’t figure out how to,” I say, trying my best to look everywhere and anywhere excepthim.
Though, when I look back at him, there’s a small smile teasing his lips. “Hey, I have your wife’s heart,” he says, joking of the simple words that should have been spoken when we met at the gardnes. “That would have done thetrick.”
“Yeah, like that would be the appropriate way to do it and not weird at all,” I say through a sigh. “I wanted to tell you but there’s something about running up to a total stranger and guttinghim.”
Although strangers, the way in which we are connected is muchstranger
“Instead, you have written me anonymous letters for five years. Don’t you realize that has gutted me, too?” I gutted him? That was precisely what I was trying to avoid. How could I have been sowrong?
