Free The Color of a Dream by Julianne MacLean

from her.
    “You’re not crazy,” Diana said. “When you
got sick, I did a lot of research. I read that many people have
reported similar experiences. They sometimes feel differently
afterwards, their tastes change and they feel some connection to
the donor.”
    “But isn’t that just psychological?” I
asked. “There’s no scientific proof to support that, surely. Most
doctors say that the heart is just a pump.”
    “Doctors and scientists don’t know
everything,” she replied. “Organ transplantation is still fairly
new. You know, I read about a guy who always hated onions. Then he
had a heart transplant and suddenly he couldn’t get enough of them.
He met the donor’s family and found out that his donor loved
onions. It was his favorite food—raw, sautéed, fried…”
    I cradled Ellen in my arms and smiled down
at her. “Do you hear that? A man hated onions and then he loved
them. How weird is that?” I turned my attention back to my sister.
“I wish I knew more about my donor.”
    Unfortunately, there were strict rules of
confidentiality in place to guard everyone’s privacy. All I had
been told was age and gender. He was male and twenty-eight—the same
age as me—when he died. I didn’t know the cause of death, but I
couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been some sort of
accident.
    I’d written a letter of thanks to the family
(which we are permitted to do as long as we don’t reveal our
identity). The organ donor network took care of delivering it for
me. According to protocol, if the donor’s family ever wished to
make contact, it could be arranged as long as we were both willing
and eager.
    I hadn’t heard back from the family—at least
not yet—and I could only presume they would find it too painful to
meet me, or that they simply wanted to move on with their
lives.
    I often thought about how they must still be
grieving for their lost loved one—and though I was immensely
grateful for the generous gift that saved my life, there were also
feelings of guilt.
    Why was I the lucky one? Why had I survived
and not him? Was it somehow fated that he would live and die so
that I could have his heart when I needed it?
    Diana pushed a lock of my hair behind my
ear. “Maybe you should talk to somebody about this.”
    “Like who?” I asked. “A shrink?”
    She considered that for a moment. “No. I
mean somebody who might be more open-minded about this sort of
thing. When I was researching everything to do with organ
transplantation, I came across a book written by a woman who lives
somewhere here in New England. She had an out-of-body, near-death
experience a few years ago and sometimes she speaks in public about
the possibility of life after death. I saw something in the paper
the other day, which is why I’m mentioning it. I think she’s going
to be in town doing a book signing. You should go. I’ll watch Ellen
for you.”
    “A near-death experience?” I asked. “That
seems way out there.”
    She gave me a look. “You have someone else’s
heart beating inside of you. If that’s not way out there, I don’t
know what is.”
    Ellen started to fuss, so we took her
downstairs to feed her.

Chapter Twenty-four
     
    As it turned out, the woman who had written
the book about her near-death experience came to town the following
week to do a reading at an independent bookstore that specialized
in non-fiction and self-help books.
    I decided to follow Diana’s advice and check
it out, but first I ordered her book online and downloaded it to my
tablet. The woman’s name was Sophie Duncan and she told the story
of how her car skidded off a country road on a winter night and
rolled over onto a frozen lake. The ice broke and her vehicle sank
to the bottom. By the time the rescue team pulled her out, she’d
been dead for at least twenty minutes but the freezing temperature
of the water slowed her body systems down, and they were able to
revive her.
    The book described how she watched