“Yes,” I refrain from lying, following my earlier intentions.
“So you do know who it is,” she kindly informs me.
“The letter was anonymous.”
“It was her,” she whispers, a cold fog billowing from her mouth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I’m here!” Momyells 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 aclient?”
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 offherfour 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’sher. 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.
