is, I have no idea where to start the conversation. So, I blurt, “What happened to your wife?”
At first, he says nothing. His eyes move around the street, at the passing cars, the tourists lining the jetty. Anywhere but me. In the moments when I do catch sight of his expression, he looks lost and vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for the sharp intake of his breath the moment the words left my lips, I wouldn’t have thought he heard my question, but he does. Tossing his cigarette aside, his voice takes on an undertone of defeat when he says, “She died. I told you that.”
Though my heart beats wildly, my anger for the situation begins to fade. I’m still upset, but not like I thought I’d be. “And she’s my donor,” I deduce, thinking he’s not going to say it.
He nods, his knee bouncing with pent-up anxiety, I assume. “I don’t know for sure.” Shrugging one shoulder, he leans back in the chair. He stares at me, scrutinizing me closely, his eyes bleak and anxious. “I said I didn’t want to know and told them we didn’t want to be contacted.”
I don’t think I’ve been this nervous in my life. I take a deep breath, steadying myself for my next question. “You knew when you walked into that bar that I was the one, didn’t you?”
Another nod.
“Why?” I ask, pursing my lips and striving to appear unaffected by his presence. “Some kind of sick attachment to her? You made me believe you felt something for me.”
He leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, he furrows his brow and angles his head toward me. I can barely breathe with the way he’s watching me. I keep distance between us, knowing if I don’t, I’ll succumb. I’ll give in to the power of his touch, and my traitorous body will give up before my brain is ready.
And then he frowns. “I didn’t intentionally look for you. I’ll admit, I was curious. But then I met you, and suddenly, it had nothing to do with her any longer.”
I watch him carefully, looking for any indication that he’s lying to me. There’s nothing to go on. I blink, staring at him. His eyes lock on mine, and the truth bleeds through. All the threads that tied together finally make sense. His brother died with my parents, and his wife, her heart is beating in my chest. Our lives are so intertwined, so deep, that we’re practically sown together as one. And I can’t even be that mad at him because I ignored the subtle warnings.
But I know one thing, I don’t want this pain. This bitterness inside me. I don’t want any of it. I want to be at peace with this and move on. I want… forgiveness, even if it’s not deserved.
“It’s a sea of lies,” I mumble, staring at the gray sky above us, blinking tears away. “All of it.”
He straightens and twists toward me and cradles both sides of my face with his hands. Leaning in, his breath hits my cheeks, touching his forehead to mine. “Or the sea of light, depending on how you look at it.”
I look into his eyes, noticing the pain, conflict, and parts of his reasoning I can’t even begin to comprehend. I lean away and watch him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, Lincoln. She’s your wife. And I don’t know how I fit into all this.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t think I’m expecting him to. I understand it, in part, but my walls are up, and his truth scares me unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.
Drawing in a deep breath, he closes his eyes a moment and then regards me. It makes me sad, the way he looks at me like he wants to take all my pain away, and knows he can’t because he’s the reason for it. “How do you walk up to someone and say, by the way, I think you have my dead wife’s heart?” His eyes narrow, his mouth settling into a grim line. “There’s really no right way to fucking say that. There’s no right way to approach that, and it not lead to an awkward moment. I lied. I just kept complicating it even more. I didn’t know how to say it, so I didn’t,” he says, his words barely audible over the sounds of the ocean and boats docking. “And then I didn’t know how to let you go.”
Tears