The Color of a Memory (The Color of Heaven Series) (17 page)

“It was painful back then,” she explained, “but I think enough time has passed. I feel differently now. I’d like to meet all the people who received something from Alex. I want to see how he helped them. As a mother, it would make me very proud.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. If Alex was having an affair, I wasn’t certain I’d
ever
want to tell Jean. She idolized her son. She thought he was a hero in every sense of the word. It would break her heart to know the truth.

Then again, the child in that ultrasound photo could possibly be Jean’s granddaughter.
Wouldn’t it be wrong to deny her that knowledge?

“I’ve invited the donor recipient to come for lunch next weekend,” Jean told me. “Would you like to come, too?”

Again, butterflies invaded my belly and they seemed in an angry tizzy today. I felt shaken. Confused.

Realizing I had to choose my words carefully, I took a few seconds to clear my throat. “I don’t think so, Jean. It’s not something I want to do. At least not right now.”

The long silence on the other end of the line made my heart feel heavy.

“Life does go on, Audrey,” Jean finally said. “We have to keep going, and I’m sure Alex wouldn’t have wanted you to pine away forever. He’d want you to move on and find happiness.”

Believe me, I have every intention of moving on—just as soon as I dig up the past and take a good hard look at it with a magnifying glass.

That’s right. I had no intention of letting my husband’s infidelity break me or ruin the rest of my life. I had a beautiful daughter to raise and a job I loved. I deserved happiness like anyone else.

I just needed to know the truth first.

“Let me know how it goes,” I said to Jean. “I hope it’s a good experience for you, but I don’t think I can be there.” Then suddenly I felt a need to soften my rejection. Quickly I added, “And I think I’m working that day anyway.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Okay. I understand. But bring Wendy over soon, all right? We miss her.”

“Of course.”

With that, I hung up and pushed myself off the sofa to go cook dinner for my guest.

Chapter Forty-one

That night, after I put Wendy to bed, David and I sat at the computer in the living room, searching through old car restoration websites and community forums for Vintage Car Chick. We didn’t find a single thing, but we did venture into our individual Facebook pages. He showed me old videos and pictures he’d posted years ago when he first started his page.

I played some obscure music for him—indie artists I loved that were off the beaten track—and he played me a number of contemporary bluesy tunes I’d never heard before.

It was nearly eleven when we said good night. This time I was sober because I had to work in the morning. I didn’t throw my arms around him as I did the night before, but he surprised me by leaning forward and giving me a friendly kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow night,” he said.

As I locked the door behind him, I stood for a moment in the hall, unable to wipe the smile off my face.

It had been a fun evening—which was definitely something I’d needed.

* * *

At four o’clock in the morning, I woke from a terrible nightmare.

In the dream, I was sitting in the back seat of the Buick and Alex was driving. In the front seat, beside him, was the woman from the park—the one who had asked me all the personal questions about him.

They laughed and joked about things I didn’t understand. Everything they said sounded garbled—like the teacher’s voice in the Charlie Brown cartoons—but I knew they were having a good time. They didn’t seem the slightest bit conscious of the fact that I was present in the car.

I felt invisible and jealous of their connection, and soon my rage escalated to such a state, I began to shout and pound on the glass between the back seat and the front—which was odd because there was no interior window inside the Buick.

Alex and the woman—I’ll just call her Carla—turned around to stare at me in horror, as if I were a crazed chainsaw murderer. Then Alex slammed on the brakes and they both flew forward through the front windshield, passing through it as if it weren’t even there. They disappeared into the sky, like Keanu Reeves at the end of
The Matrix
and I was left in the back seat all alone.

I was wearing my seatbelt. Obviously they hadn’t been.

I woke in a cold sweat, filled with raging emotions. I couldn’t shake the frustration that lingered from pounding my fists on the glass while I was powerless to break through and tell Alex how I felt. He couldn’t hear me.

I wanted to scream, but I kept my mouth shut because Wendy was asleep in the next room.

Never once during my marriage had I ever felt such anger toward my husband.

I wanted him back, alive again, standing in front of me, so that I could shake him, yell at him and tear a good long strip off of him. Because he deserved it. Oh, how he deserved it.

Chapter Forty-two

Perhaps you’ll think I’m stupid when you hear the next part of this story. I certainly felt like an idiot when things transpired as they did. Not long afterward, I wondered if I should get my brain checked.

I’m not sure what made me forget that my mother-in-law had invited the recipient of Alex’s heart for lunch the following Saturday. She’d also invited me to attend, but I had declined because I was too angry with Alex and didn’t have the heart to explain why—pardon the pun. Over the next few days I was so absorbed in my own problems and unlocking the mystery of “Carla, Vintage Car Chick,” that I didn’t give much thought to my mother-in-law’s important luncheon.

David and I both worked heavy shifts that week, so we only spoke a few times on the phone. I also spoke to Cathy, and like the good friend she was, she listened to me rail on and on about what had occurred since I found the ultrasound photo in the Buick.

I should have known better than to wallow in my anger—I was usually more in control of my emotions—but I needed to blow off some steam, so that’s what I did.

By Saturday, there was nothing left to say about it and I hadn’t uncovered any additional information, so when Wendy asked if we could visit Grandma, I suggested we pop by after we finished grocery shopping.

Maybe there was some intuition involved—either on Wendy’s part or mine. I’ll never know, but it was interesting how so many of the puzzle pieces came together on that day. It makes me wonder about the possibility of fate.

* * *

When I pulled over at the curb near Jean’s driveway, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Frowning, I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and squinted through the hazy, late afternoon sunshine.

Yes, it was real. It wasn’t a dream.

“Stay here, sweetie,” I said to Wendy, who was buckled into the booster seat in the back.

Flicking the door handle, I stepped out of my vehicle and approached the car that was parked in front of mine.

A woman was bent over, buckling her own child into the back. I had to wait a moment on the sidewalk until she finished. When at last she straightened and turned to face me, my stomach pitched and rolled like a small boat on a large wave.

“
You…
” I said to her—to the very same woman who had found me in the playground across the street from my home a year ago. The woman who had asked far too many personal questions about my relationship with my dead husband.

As I stood in front of Jean’s home, I felt violated, not unlike the night I stood on the road watching my house burn to the ground because a female stalker, obsessed with my husband, had wanted me out of the way.

A look of recognition flickered in the woman’s eyes and she took a breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is awkward.”

“I’ll say.”

What was she doing here?
Had she come to present herself to Jean as Alex’s one
true
love?

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my tone dripping with accusation.

“I came to meet Jean and Garry,” she replied. “They invited me.”

“They
did
? My God.” I wished suddenly that I had confided in Jean on the phone and told her the truth about Alex and the picture I’d found in the car.

Who knows what this woman might have said to them. I didn’t trust her one iota because she’d already proven she lacked integrity. That had become obvious the moment she slept with another woman’s husband and was eager to become a home wrecker.

I looked down at the little girl in the car and shivered at the possibility that she might belong to Alex. Did she have his eyes? His smile?

Then I noticed a man sitting in the driver’s seat. He leaned across the passenger seat with his head tilted to look up at me.

He was curious. Probably because I was speaking in heated tones.

“Who’s that?” I quietly asked, feeling daunted all of a sudden because I was standing on the street, on my own, boldly confronting the woman who may have slept with my husband.

I wished David was there so I had some support. I also wished I didn’t feel like one of those jealous wives who scream and point fingers on the
Maury Povich Show
.
Please, don’t let me be that
.

“He’s my husband,” the woman replied. “His name is Jesse. And you’re Audrey…right?”

The woman’s eyes were warm and friendly, surprisingly sympathetic.

“Yes,” I said, feeling confused and unsettled by her knowledge of me. “And you’re Carla?”

She pursed her lips questioningly and grinned at me. “No, I’m Nadia. We met a year ago in the playground across the street from your house.” She held out her hand to shake mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was back then. I probably should have, but I was embarrassed that I’d violated the confidentiality agreement. I kind of felt like a stalker.”

I was in a daze as I looked down at her outstretched hand…realizing slowly that this was not the woman who had borne a child with my husband. This was the person who had received his heart on the day he died.

Good God
. What was wrong with me?

My gaze lifted to her chest where I saw the top of a scar. “You’re the heart recipient,” I said, slipping my hand into hers.

It was mind-boggling to me, that Alex’s heart was actually beating inside this woman who stood before me. An organ from his living form was pumping blood through her body, keeping her alive—yet he was gone. As a physical being, he no longer existed in this world.

“Yes, that’s me,” she replied as we shook hands.

“I’m an idiot,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she asked. “I can understand why you’d be reluctant to meet me, and I was worried about meeting you today. I didn’t know how to explain myself. I shouldn’t have pried into your life the way I did last year, without telling you who I was.”

“I thought you were someone else,” I blurted out.

She shook her head with confusion.

“Never mind,” I said. “It was a stupid mistake.” I wanted to sink through the concrete.

“Are you leaving now?” I asked, glancing down at her daughter in the back seat and suddenly wishing I had accepted Jean’s invitation, because I didn’t want this woman to go yet.

“Yes,” she replied. “We were here all afternoon and Ellen is pretty tuckered out, but I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to spend more time with you.”

Her husband got out of the car. “Hi,” he said, circling around the back. “You must be Audrey.”

He was young and handsome and was dressed casually in jeans and a long sleeved gray T-shirt.

Nadia gestured toward him. “This is my husband, Jesse.”

Holding out a hand to shake his, I said, “It’s nice to meet you. And is this your daughter? She’s gotten bigger since the last time I saw her.”

“They grow so fast,” Nadia said. She bent forward to speak to the little girl. “Ellen, say hi to Audrey. We met her last year in the playground in Manchester. Do you remember?”

Ellen nodded, but she looked as if she was about to nod off, and I suspected she didn’t remember me at all. She was just being polite, which displayed incredibly good social skills for a two-year-old.

Jesse and Nadia stood on the sidewalk for a few seconds, their smiles full of warmth and curiosity. I was, after all, the wife of the man who saved Nadia’s life.

Strangely, much of my anger toward Alex slipped away in that moment, and I felt as if he was actually here, standing on the sidewalk, showering me with love—not knowing, of course, that I’d wanted to tear a strip off him all week. Or maybe he did know and wasn’t fazed by it.

But that was silly. He wasn’t here.

Nadia reached over to lay a hand on my arm. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

Her touch was comforting. I struggled to breathe evenly. “It’s been a strange week,” I replied. “And I wish I had come to lunch today. I didn’t want to meet you before, but I think I was in some kind of denial. Now that we’re face to face, I don’t want you to go.”

Nadia looked up at her husband. Their gazes held for a moment, then he said, “Why don’t you two hang out for a while? I can take Ellen for a drive around town until she falls asleep. Want me to drop you off at a bar or something?” he suggested with a smile.