Page 27 of Highway To Destiny

Once I’d said that, neither said a word right away as they continued to stare at me.

Jack finally spoke first. “Did you give him a lift?” He gave me an uneasy look, knowing I didn’t normally pick up hitchhikers.

“I did. I figured since I was headed to La Grande to make a delivery, it wouldn’t take me out of my way,” I replied and kept the conversation light. “He was very polite and a first-year grad student at Eastern Oregon University getting his MBA. He told me his hometown was Portland.”

At that, Jack and Sylvia looked at each other. I thoughtthatwas odd, but I didn’t say anything. I did notice that Sylvia glanced over at a framed portrait of Claudia.

Sylvia took a sip of her wine and then asked, “If he’s a first-year grad student, he must be about what, twenty-one or twenty-two?”

I responded with a laugh. “That’s funny, I asked him the same question. His name is Connor, and he told me he was twenty-two.” I couldn’t figure out where her line of questioning was headed.

Sylvia stood, glass in hand, and walked past her husband to the credenza that held Claudia’s portrait. She picked it up and looked at it intensely. I glanced at Jack, who was watching her with a pinched expression. He looked at me and gave me a little smile.

She put the picture back, walked to the sofa, and said, “Her eye color was a rarity. My mother, her grandmother, also had it.” Jack placed his arm over the back of the sofa behind her as she sat down. “Jack and I both have blue eyes. We figured that since my mother had green eyes, I must carry the gene for it.”

“Connor and I talked about eye color and genetics,” I said, looking into my glass.

We sat in silence for a brief while, and I took in the hum of a passing car outside. Sylvia then said, “You talk about him casually, but I sense something more. He must have made an impression on you?” Her motherly intuition was always spot on.

Yeah, he did. I also miss him.

“He did make an impression. He’s smart, has a great sense of humor, and he was easy to talk to.” I took a beat before I continued. “I had to make a delivery in the college town in early November, and we ran into each other again. I decided to have lunch in town, and he just happened to walk into the diner.”

Sylvia had a smile on her face when she looked at me, her kind eyes locked onto mine.

“Do you believe in fate, kismet… or destiny, Mason?”

Her question made my heart stutter. Here was another person in my life talking about fate.

“I’m beginning to,” I responded, swirling the wine in my glass.

“You know Jack and I travel quite a bit, and when you look around our home, you can see the evidence from our travels.” She swept her hand across the room. “Some of the furniture and most of the artwork come from Asian countries. I’ve always been drawn to the Asian aesthetic.”

I looked around as she spoke. “Yes, you have a lovely home,” I replied. I had no idea what that had to do with fate, though.

Jack remained quiet, almost pensive, listening to his wife as she spoke. Sylvia then asked me, “Mason, have you ever heard of the Red String Theory?”

I gave her a puzzled look and shook my head. “No, not that I recall.” I took a sip of wine, sat my glass down, and waited for her to explain.

“In Japanese culture, it’s also known as the Red String of Fate,” she began thoughtfully. “Legend tells that everyone is bound by a thin, red string tied to their little finger, which in turn is tied to someone they are destined to meet. It signifies a strong bond, a destined connection—it means you are soulmates. The string may twist, turn, or stretch, but it is unbreakable.”

A wave of confusion came over me. “But Claudia and I were married, so I thought we were soulmates. I guess I would assume our string was connected because of that.”

She smiled with a look of understanding and replied, “According to the legend, getting married doesn’t necessarily mean you are soulmates. You and Claudia had a strong, romantic, loving connection. I know you both loved each other deeply, but your red thread may not have been attached to hers. She could have been bound to someone else as well. The red threads are determined at birth.”

I sat there and tried to take it all in. Connor and I had talked about fate and destiny.If this theory is even remotely true, what does it mean for Connor and me? Did Claudia and I have red threads that were not bound together but perhaps only crossed each other?

Jack interrupted my thoughts. “Deep human connections are complicated, Mason. Sylvia and I have always believed our red thread connected us. We met, fell in love immediately, and knew it was destined. We can try and analyze predetermined paths, but things between our brains and our hearts don’t always make sense.”

They gazed at each other, and I felt my throat tighten.

“I think I know you, Mason,” Sylvia said gently as she looked my way. “Since losing Claudia, you’ve been stuck. You’ve relied on work simply to get by. I’d say you’ve been avoiding us these last few years, but I think it’s been your past emotional pain that drove that. It’s understandable, but I have this feeling that you’ve recently begun to open your heart again.”

Truthfully, she wasn’t wrong. Driving that truck was my life, my constant escape. I compartmentalized some things in my life, and I preferred it that way. I kept emotions at bay, keeping that compartment closed, and relied on logic and the order of things to keep moving forward. But after I'd spent time with Connor and seen these two tonight, I realized I’d been hiding and suffering in loneliness.

“It’s time to start living again, my dear. No matter who you meet on your path, always look for the possibility that it could lead to great things, even love,” she concluded.

I smiled. “It may seem crazy, but I think deciding to visit you tonight was destined. I have missed you, and I needed to see you again.” I stood to take my leave. “Thank you for the Eastern philosophy lesson,” I said with a chuckle. “And thank you for the phenomenal dinner. I do miss home-cooked meals.” They followed my lead as we walked to the front door.

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