“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.”
