No Matter What

Chapter Fourteen

Misty:

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” J.D. asked again.

“I already answered that question,” Misty reminded him with a laugh. “This is not going to be the first weekend in our lifetime that we don’t spend together.”

“Our lifetime, huh?” J.D. repeated with a grin, and Misty felt the heat in her cheeks.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he agreed and pulled her into his arms. “I sure did like the way that sounded though.”

“All things in due time,” she said, wriggling free from his embrace. “Now, you better get going, or Daisy’s going to send the police looking for you.”

“Can’t I just stay here and make love to you all day?”

“As wonderful as that sounds, I was counting on this time alone to finish my unpacking.”

“Okay, I’m going, but I expect you to make this up to me when I get home tonight.”

“I think we can work something out,” Misty assured him in her most seductive voice before sending him off with one final kiss.

Once she was certain he was gone, she pulled her hair into a high ponytail, cranked up the stereo and got to work. As though he was planning to help her, Toby hunkered down beside her as she pried open the first of many boxes. With nothing to distract her, Misty managed to bulldoze her way through half her boxes before dinner time. Because she’d been going along at such a good clip, she was startled when she glanced up at the clock and saw how late it was getting.

“What do you think, Toby? Do you think we should break for dinner or finish these last few boxes?”

As if in answer to her question, Toby nosed one of the sealed boxes, and Misty took that to mean she should finish unpacking. It turned out the box was full of her underwear, and for some reason she found this hilarious. She laughed out loud as she gathered the panties in her hand and pulled open the top drawer of the bureau. J.D.’s socks and underwear were scattered throughout the drawer, and Misty realized she’d have to fold everything in order to make room for her clothes. With only the slightest sigh, she dropped her load on top of the bureau and began to fold his clothes and stack them neatly on one side of the drawer.

As she reached into the drawer for one of the last pair of socks, her fingers brushed something smooth. When she peered inside for a closer look, she saw it was an envelope. She extracted it from the drawer for a closer look and found it was postmarked fifteen years ago. Strangely, there was no return address. Misty held it in her hands for a moment before curiosity got the better of her, and she carefully removed the now yellowed paper from the flimsy envelope and began to read.

 

Dear James,

You might find this funny, or maybe you won’t, but I’ve been sitting here with this pen poised over this piece of paper for nearly half the day. I haven’t been able to decide where to start. As you can see, I’ve finally settled on this. Please bear with me while I get settled in, but the words are starting to come a little easier. I guess that means it’s time to get to the point.

Please forgive my delay in sending a reply to your letter. I have to confess that when the Organ Donor Registry first contacted me to say you’d been in touch and wanted to speak to me, my first inclination was to say no. Speaking to you, hell, just being told of your existence would remind me you’re alive, and my son is not. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t regret the decision my husband and I made to donate his organs, nor do I wish you weren’t alive. I guess it would be more accurate to say that your life reminds me of my son’s death, and the wounds are still so fresh. It’s been less than a year since we lost him, and there are days when I still don’t believe it’s real. I keep waiting for him to come bounding through that door and call out to me. The fantasy is nice, but when I open my eyes, I find I’m not even in the same home, let alone the same state as I was when my son died.