Off The Record
I Thought She Was Perfect—Until I Discovered The One Secret That Shattered My World
My best buddy arranged for me to go on a date that I didn’t want to go on, three years after my wife died in an automobile accident. However, there was something eerily familiar about her from the moment I met her.
THE WINTER ROAD IN MISSOURI
Although it was really silence, I referred to it as a pause.
Emma’s absence for three years felt like a long, dreary, and unending winter road in Missouri. The kind where the heating only blows on one foot and your radio crackles. Empty ‘if onlys’ and the pungent stench of guilt permeated the house.
Three years without Emma
felt like a long winter road in Missouri — drab, flat, and limitless.
In order to hide behind the scent of oil and the broken stories of others, I would get up, wash the same coffee mug, double-check that the stove was off, and then drive to the garage.
People in this area remark, “Don’t fix what ain’t broke.”
I didn’t dare touch it because I was broke all over.
I could still hear the tires squealing. The way the sky turned dark and then white. That word alone kept me awake at night, and I made it through. I made it through. She didn’t.
I made it through. She didn’t.
The pictures replayed, brutal and silent, each time I tried to fall asleep.
I wish I had drove more slowly. I wish I had applied the brakes earlier.
I wish I hadn’t glanced at the fucking radio.
Barb from the neighborhood diner flicked her fingers in front of me and said, “Jack.” She had worked as a waitress there since disco was hip, and she was aware of everyone’s depressing backstories based on how they drank their coffee. You’re looking at that coffee as if it were going to respond to your gaze. Ten minutes have passed since it went dead.
I wish I had drove more slowly.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Cold is sincere.”
“Are you now becoming a poet?” She gave me a cherry pie slice while grinning. “Eat something, my love. You appear to be a ghost who has forgotten to haunt.”
Next came Mike, who was gregarious, untidy, and smiling. He was the one guy who refused to let me remain fully buried and still turned up, rain or shine. He stretched his long legs and sank onto the stool next to me.
Next came Mike, who was gregarious, untidy, and smiling.
“You hear me, man?” His voice broke through the comfortable diner bustle as he pushed me. Although I am aware that this is a sensitive topic, three years is three horrible years. You need to get back to living.
“Mike, don’t begin. I’m all right.”
He waved to Barb and said, “Come on, buddy,” for another cup of coffee. “You enter, gaze at your image, make a payment, and then disappear. The jukebox stopped working because you used to laugh so loudly. What became to that man?”
“You need to get back to living.”
“Emma was beside him.”
The silence fell. Barb even turned off the music while feigning to scrub the counter. As the hush descended, Mike took a milder sip of his beer.
He lowered his voice and murmured, “Listen.” I’m not suggesting that you forget her. She wouldn’t want you to rot away like this, I’m just saying. Additionally… I want you to meet someone I have.
“I want you to meet someone I have.”
“No.”
“Calm down. She isn’t a party animal. She owns the little animal clinic on Maple and works as a veterinarian. Very bashful but lovely and kind-hearted. She also lost someone. The heart hole is the same, but the story is different. Jack, just coffee. Isn’t anyone discussing marriage?”
“Calm down. She is not a party animal.”
I gave my neck a quick rub. Something about Mike’s voice stuck, even if the idea of sitting across from another lady made my stomach turn.
“What is her name?” The word was dry on my mouth when I eventually inquired.
“Claire.”
A weird feeling that I hadn’t had in years was evoked by the word.
My stomach twisted at the idea of sitting across from another woman.
Mike smiled, his usual bluster giving way to a sincere, hopeful expression. “All right? Six o’clock tomorrow. I promised her you would call already.”
“I’m not sure, Mike.”
I groaned, half-dreading what was about to happen, half-laughing at how inevitable Mike’s meddling was. Unbeknownst to me at the time, that one coffee date—yes—was going to completely upend my world.
“All right? Six o’clock tomorrow. I promised her you would call already.”
He held up his mug. “To second chances, my friend.” They don’t always look as you expected them to.
THE SCAR
One thing Mike had been correct about was that Claire was unlike anyone I had ever met.
She was sitting near the window with a cup of tea rather than coffee when I entered the diner, tapping her spoon as if she were mentally keeping time to a song.
She appeared calm, tidy, as though she had managed to fold all of her anxieties into squares.
“Jack?” she said, getting to her feet.
I had never met anyone like Claire.
She had a nice, modest smile that didn’t strive too hard.
I scratched my neck and said, “That’s me.” “You must be the courageous person Mike spoke into this catastrophe with.”
She chuckled. I heard a deep, melodic sound that reminded me of something I couldn’t identify.
“You would say that,” he said.
I pulled out a chair and mumbled, “Well, he knows me too well.” “I hope you enjoy awkward silences because I have a lot of them.”
“I hope you enjoy uncomfortable silences,”
“because I have a lot.”
“All day long, I work with dogs. Being silent is a luxury.”
I couldn’t resist laughing. I hadn’t done it in a long time.
We got her an apple pie with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, which was her pick. I saw how cautiously she chopped it, as if she were afraid of breaking it. One knuckle had a small scar, and her hands were fragile. She grinned when she saw that I was staring.
“All day long, I work with dogs.”
Being silent is a luxury.
“A cat bite. danger at work.”
“So you genuinely enjoy what you do?”
I adore it. Animals are simple. They don’t conceal their suffering.
I glanced at my dish below. “People do.”
She sipped her drink and nodded. “Someone has passed away.”
“Someone has passed away.”
I went cold. She spoke it as though she simply knew, rather than as a question.
“Yeah,” I responded at last. “That was three years ago. My spouse.”
Claire took her time filling the void. She simply gave me an understanding gaze.
“I apologize. Loss never truly goes away. It simply changes form.”
“That was three years ago. My spouse.”
Her serene eyes, which somehow made breathing easier, captured my attention. “You seem to have experienced it as well.”
“Yes, I have. However, I was given another chance. a very literal one.”
Her napkin dropped before I could ask, and as she reached for it, her blouse moved slightly enough for me to see a tiny scar of pink that ran down the center of her chest.
A slight shift occurred in her blouse.
enough for a faint pink scar to be seen to me.
that slid down her chest’s center.
I blinked. It was as quick as a chilly air striking a nerve.
A slight flush rose as she straightened. “Oh. That. heart surgery. Three years prior.”
I let the fork drop from my grasp. “Third years?”
She tried to grin as she continued, “Almost to the day.” “I was given a transplant.” An unidentified donor. I suppose I owe them my existence.
“Oh. That. heart surgery.”
Three years prior
My throat became parched. “Are you aware of—”
“No. They claimed that it was private. Sometimes, though, I wish I could give the family credit. Tell them that I devoted all for their loss.”
The words hovered like fog between us.It was three years ago. the same month. an automobile accident.
“Jack?” she scowled and said. Are you alright? You appear pallid.
It was three years ago. the same month. an automobile accident.
Yes, I do. I grabbed my coat and muttered, “Just… dizzy.” “I think I need a breath.”
“Did I say something incorrectly?”
“No. No, you didn’t.”
However, my heart was beating so rapidly that I could hear it echoing in my ears, as if it were trying to communicate with me. I apologized in a whisper, dropped some money on the table, and staggered out into the chilly night.
“I think I need a breath.”
Overhead, the streetlights hummed. Gasping, I leaned against my truck.
No manner was possible. It was impossible. Could it?
The damaged, desperate part of my brain saw only a straight line, while the logical part cried out coincidence.
AFTER THE GHOST
I didn’t get any sleep that evening. Every time I closed my eyes, I could hear her words again and see the faint pink line across her chest: “Three years ago.” Nearing the end of the day.
I didn’t get any sleep that evening. Suddenly, the silence in my home became intolerable.
By morning, my eyes were red and my hair was sticking up like poor hay, giving me the appearance of having been struck by a truck. Mike arrived at my door with two coffees and a critical expression on his face.
He said, “Jesus, Jack,” and entered without a question. “You appear to be a raccoon that was defeated by a lawnmower. What on earth took place?”
Mike arrived at my door with two coffees and a critical expression on his face.
I massaged my forehead and said, “It’s… complex.”
“Everything about you is intricate. Jack, I put you in touch with a nice woman. When she called me, she was in tears.”
That gave me a shiver. “Weeping?”
Indeed. said that you simply ran away because she believed she had said something incorrectly. What did you do?
“When she called me, she was crying.”
I lowered myself in the chair. “She informed me that she received a heart transplant.”
“All right… and that’s your main justification for ignoring her?”
“Mike, it was three years ago. Three. Emma passed away in the same month.”
“You believe—”
“I doubt it. I am aware. I forcefully put down the cup. Emma donated her organs. They informed me that she had sympathy for an in-state person. In the same week, Claire had surgery at the same hospital. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”
“Mike, it was three years ago. Three.”
Emma passed away in the same month.
Mike wiped his face with his hand. He paced the room, attempting to take it all in.
“So what?” “Hey, you got my dead wife’s heart,” will you approach her? Doesn’t that sound crazy to you?
“I simply must be certain. Somewhere there is a hospital record. The donor file will be with them.”
“You can’t just in and make demands. Man, there are privacy laws.”
Will you approach her and say,
“Hey, you have the heart of my deceased wife.”
I grabbed my jacket and responded, “I don’t care.” “I can’t live in ignorance. I need the answer since I’ve been living on a question for three years.”
Mike shut the door. “Stop, Jack. Last night, you finally cracked a smile. For heaven’s sake, you laughed. Don’t let your mind chase ghosts destroy this.”
“I’m not looking for ghosts. I’m after her. The part of her that continued to beat.”
“The part of her that continued to beat.”
“You know what? Do what is necessary. But I promise that I will force you to change your ways if you damage that girl, the one who saved your life.”
I left after he stepped aside.
After twenty minutes, I was standing at the front desk, perspiring.
“Sir,” the nurse stated in a monotone voice, “donor information cannot be disclosed.”
“We are unable to reveal donor information.”
I moved Emma’s picture across the counter. It was an image of her grinning while resting on the diner jukebox. “Please. She was my spouse. The donor was her.”
After a moment of hesitation, the nurse remarked, “Wait here a moment.”
She vanished through a door. Hours passed in the span of minutes. Then she returned, but she wasn’t by herself. She was followed out by a middle-aged woman whose eyes were knowing and compassionate. In her palm was a little white envelope.
“Hold on a second.”
I served as the transplant coordinator three years ago. This letter was left by your wife. It got lost in the documentation.
My throat became parched. “Do you think she was referring to me?”
“She was certain.”
I picked up the envelope. I had trembling fingers. Despite feeling light, it was heavier than everything I had been carrying for the past three years.
“This letter was left by your wife.”
It got lost in the documentation.
I took the packet home and sat on the couch.
I struggled to open it for a long time. Emma’s favorite fragrance, lavender, seemed to permeate the space, bringing back a memory I could finally touch.
When I did, the handwriting appeared in familiar looping lines that poured across the paper.
I struggled to open it for a long time.
If you’re reading this, Jack, it means you made it through, and for that I’m incredibly thankful. Don’t let your heart stop, even though mine might go to someone else. Allow it to rediscover love if it does. Don’t be scared. Love simply changes its address; it never ends, Jack.
Emma, I’ve signed.
“Love simply changes its address, Jack. It doesn’t end.”
Silently, I sat there as my tears caused the ink to distort. Her guilt was not the subject of the letter. My survival was at stake. Permission was at issue.
A NEW ADDRESS
Even though it had been a month since I had read Emma’s letter, the words continued to pulse quietly inside of me. “Let it if it discovers love again.”
I called Claire because of this.
The country road that curled past the field where everything ended and, somehow, everything started again is where we met.
“Let it if it discovers love again.”
Standing by her truck, she appeared anxious.
She said, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
I wasn’t certain if I should. However, I have to do something.
I took out a little sapling with burlap-wrapped roots from the back of my pickup.
“A tree?”
Emma had always expressed her desire to plant one. Something that might develop from the broken
“I didn’t think you would show up.”
We got on our knees in the damp dirt. We didn’t speak much. Just dug till the ground buckled. Claire’s cheeks were flushed from the breeze as she brushed the dirt from her hands once we were done.
“It’s lovely,” she muttered.
We watched it for a while, tiny and frail, shivering in the wind as if it wasn’t sure where it belonged.
We didn’t speak much.
Just dug till the ground buckled.
Claire then turned to face me.
I’m not sure what transpired between us, but I’ve felt a connection ever since that evening. As if I knew you before I did, somehow.
Claire. I have something to tell you. The donor is the focus.
“You’re not required to. I am already aware.”
“You do?”
Claire. I have something to tell you.
The donor is the focus.
She touched her chest, her fingers just above the thin pink scar, and smiled softly. “I do, but I’m not sure how. And if this heart has ever loved you before, I believe it is beginning to love you once more, independently this time.”
I extended my arm to grasp her hand.
“Then let’s give it something to beat for.”
We watched a new life take root as two people united by something greater than loss stood there beneath the bleak Missouri sky.
Under the dismal Missouri sky, we stood there.
Two individuals connected by something greater than loss, observing the establishment of a new life.
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