Chapter 9
I hear that annoying sound again. It makes me want to grind my teeth. I want to scream. I would know it anywhere. It seems permanently etched on my brain. The Super Mario Brother's Theme song. How many times have I told him not to wake us?
"Jesse, I’ve told you not to play that thing in my room!” I mumble and then there is a reply, but I don’t know if it’s in my dream or if it’s real.
"Comon... wake up and play with me..." He whines, but I'm so tired! I try to wave him away
"Leave me alone." I manage and when I do, I wake myself fully.
My mouth feels thick and I find it hard to speak, like I've been taking some sort of drug. A shadow darts away from me. Groggily I lift my head and see the shadow crossing in front of my bedroom door. For several seconds the room spins and I groan. I am lost. Where am I? The yellow sunlight is streaming through the crack in the black out curtain and I am in my bedroom. Doyle is not here. There is not even an indentation in his side of the bed to suggest that he’s slept there. I jump at the sudden realization that I have just seen an unexplained shadow dart by my door. I had been awake when I saw it and I know I had heard the Mario Brothers music. I wonder if it was all a dream or if it was just part of my disjointed memory. My hair stands on end and I push the thought away. I will not even allow myself to wonder if it had been real.
There are no such things as ghosts. I tell myself but the air still feels electric, like someone else is in the room with me, like someone or something is watching me. I try to ignore it for several seconds; fighting with myself about whether or not I am losing my sanity. The feeling of unease grows until I have to leave.
Now!
I roll out of bed and realize that my whole body feels bruised. I try to think about the night before. I remember being in the pool and Doyle kissing me. That was all. I take one step and my body screams in pain.
"What the heck?" I wonder to myself aloud. I'm wearing the same outfit from the night before. I remember getting into the pool with it on but it's not the least bit damp. I pull the terrycloth bathrobe over my aching body and hobble down the stairs.
Mr. Pedigree is lying in the hallway. He gives me a disinterested look and one flop of his tail. Apparently, I'm not interesting enough for even a complete wag. I call him 'Lucifer or Devil Dog' behind Doyle's back but the dog seems to like that name more than his real one. Figures. I pass an empty bed room and for an instant I see a silhouette outlined in the semi-darkness. I feel coldness envelop me and I freeze in place. My heart seems to stop for a second but when I blink it’s gone. “Nothing.” I say aloud as much to the unseen entity as to myself. “It’s nothing.” I try to calm my heart. My imagination is working overtime and I walk quickly down the stairs.
I find Doyle in the kitchen working on a cup of coffee. He's not wearing a shirt and for a second I am struck by how beautiful he is. I wonder if he ever looks at me and wonders why he's with me.
He lifts his arms up to replace the coffee tin and I see the dark blue bruise on his left side. I wince when I see it and feel badly that I hurt him. I watch him for several seconds from the darkened hallway. Other than the bruise he seems to be feeling good. In fact, he looks more awake and energetic than normal. I wonder if it had something to do with what we did last night, but I pat my not damp clothes and wonder if we were really together or if it was all a dream.
I step into the kitchen and he beams at me. “Good morning beautiful!” He pushes a cup of coffee my way. “I was just about to bring this to you.”
I hobble into the kitchen, my muscles and joints screaming with every step. I step close to him and inspect his wound. He winces when I touch his ribcage.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper and he shakes his head and chuckles at me like I am a silly child.
“It’s not your fault. I should not have grabbed you from behind. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He smiles at me and pulls me into his arms. “By now I should know better than to underestimate you mountain girls.” Another chuckle that makes me blush. “I’m just glad no one got hurt.”
Besides that poor fool who tried to rob us. I think don’t say that though.
“The officer who came to take my statement told me that there have been a lot of muggings around that area in the last few weeks. Tourists mostly. I gave him a pretty good description. He had a deep wound so if he goes to either of the hospitals he’ll be in jail.”
I nod into his chest and his arms tighten around me and I wonder how something can feel so right and so wrong at the same time. This is not right. He is not your husband. My conscience cries but I push the thought out of my head and focus on the leanness of his body next to mine, the strength of his arms around me.
“You were already asleep by the time he left so I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me?” I ask, somewhat disappointed. “We didn’t swim together last night?”
He gives me a dumb grin. “No. You were out when I came back to the room.”
I shrug. “Oh, I dreamed it.” I’m sore all over. That was some kind of dream… or some really good medicine. I’m not sure which.
“We can go swimming after breakfast if you wish.” He tells me and I consider it until I try to move. I groan and shake my head. “I’m sore all over.”
“Well. You had an exciting night.”
No kidding Doc.
“You walked more yesterday than you have since your accident, plus you climbed stairs, ran a couple blocks and almost killed your husband with a tire iron!” He shoots me a charming smile and a playful wink. I feel my heart skip a beat. “You probably need to rest.”
It seems like all I do is rest but I’m so tired still. I nod and wander up to my room to run a hot bath, hoping it will help sooth my sore muscles.
It’s not until I am in the water that I notice the bruises on my wrists and arms. I wonder what in the heck I could have done to get those. I nap in the steaming water then pull myself out and crawl into bed. I have no idea where Doyle is, nor do I care at the moment. It’s dark and that doesn’t make any sense. I had checked the clock and it was three when I awoke. I suppose that’s three am - not pm. Doyle says I will be right on schedule when I go back to work.
If I ever go back, I wonder if I’ll ever remember enough to go back to work.
He goes back tomorrow and I will be on my own. I wonder how it will feel in this big, unfamiliar old house all by myself. Well, except for Lucifer the mutt from Hell, whom I can already tell is not going to be much company at all. German Spitz are supposed to be very protective and loyal dogs according to the web pages I’ve looked at. Obviously he hasn’t read those blurbs about he is supposed to be loyal and protective because I don’t get that vibe from Lucifer even a little bit. I think he’d probably let a robber right in as long as they didn’t try to take his food dish.
Doyle wakes me and tells me it’s almost six. I am still in a fog and it almost sends me for a loop when I realize I’ve slept through another day. I can’t seem to keep time straight anymore. He hints that we are going out later and I need to dress nicely. As it is his last night alone with me before he starts work tomorrow night - we are going on another date. I groan remembering how the last one turned out, and I’m not really sure if I can live through another date with Doyle. He pulls me into his arms and nuzzles my neck and tells me he wants to make it up to me. “The last date- wasn’t so good.” He says and I stifle a sarcastic laugh.
Not so good? You think Doc? We were almost knifed in the parking lot. I want to tell him but I decide to take the high road. He’s trying and I need to give him a little credit and show some appreciation to the man who has cared for me when I couldn’t lift a finger for myself. He could have pulled the plug on me when I was lying in that coma but he didn’t. The least I could do is try to act excited about dinner. I excuse myself to go searc
h through my closet and find something that would make me look somewhat attractive.
I suppose I am attractive enough on my own but standing beside Doyle who could easily pass as a male model always makes me feel like a sympathy date. He’s almost too gorgeous to be real and it would be nice to know that he finds me attractive as well. He says he does but every time I look in the mirror I doubt it. In the back of my mind I wonder if he married me more for my personality than my looks anyway. If so he lost that when that car ran the red light. I think to myself and sigh. There’s nothing I can do about that now so I flip through the dresses in my closet and try to figure out what that other me would wear.
I find a classic black tango style dress with a cowl neckline and strappy heels and I am thankful the other me had great fashion taste. I worry with my hair but it seems to have a mind of its own and I’ve never really tried making it look nice since the accident. A pony tail holder so far has done the trick, but this night needs to be special. I do several different things but almost end up in tears. Finally I give up, wet it, slather it with mousse and scrunch my curls. I open a drawer of make-up and wonder if I was a cosmetologist in my last life. There’s every shade of eye shadow and lipstick imaginable and I have no idea what to do with it. Luckily I’ve learned a few things from Doyle about how to put an IPhone to work. I download a video on how to do “smoky seductive eyes” from YouTube while I wait for my nails to dry. I check my appearance over in the mirror one last time before I leave. It’s not perfect but I’m satisfied that I don’t look like a clown.
I emerge from my cave and I’m somewhat afraid he’ll laugh at me. I wonder what he’ll think of my new look. His mouth drops when he sees me and he stares at me for several heart stopping seconds. I feel like crawling under a rug until he speaks. “I’ve booked the wrong place.” He stammers and I really don’t know what to make of that statement. “It’s more casual.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll make reservations somewhere else.” But I stop him.
“I’ll just change clothes.” I tell him. No big deal. Jeans are more comfortable anyway.
He practically leaps over the couch to stop me. “NO!” He yells and grabs my arm. I’m a little taken aback by his roughness- which he apologizes for. “I like it." He laughs like a little kid who has just been given that Christmas present he has dreamed of. "I like it very much.” His eyes wander over me like he could eat me and for the first time- I feel pretty. “I’ll just—put on a jacket and a tie. We’ll both look out of place.”
As he drives I notice him looking at my legs on more than one occasion and I worry he may be in an accident on my account.
We have a nice supper at the Brew house. I suppose it is one of Doyle’s favorites because it stays open late and he can get outdoor seating. Something we can’t enjoy during the day. We chitchat and he holds my hand from across the table. He’s so handsome that other women look at him longingly and the men cut jealous glances his way. I notice, but he doesn’t. His eyes are on mine, like we are having our first date. Well second, really. He’s assured me that the first one didn't count since we almost got killed.
I feel out of place, with all the happy young couples laughing and chatting. He tells me that we come often but I don’t know what to order from the menu. I play it safe and order a burger. Doyle laughs at me. I'm the only person on the planet who would even consider coming to a place like this dressed like I am and order a burger. My face turns red and I drop my head to hide my embarrassment. When the waiter looks away I tell him I don't remember what I like. He looks a little ashamed for teasing me but I really don't mind. I figure if the burger's good I will try something else next time. Can anyone mess up a burger? I’m pretty sure that’s impossible but then they ask me if I want Bison or lamb. I want to gag. Doyle takes over for me and says bison- that's what I liked the last time. He pats my hand reassuringly. "They are just very large cows, sweetheart."
He orders the beer sampler - for me - he says and I try a few sips which tastes to me like...beer. The next - he promises will be better. He waits expectantly and I tell him it ... tastes like beer. He urges me to try another - it’s a different kind of beer and I’ll like it better. He looks disheartened when I tell him it tastes the same as the previous two. Perhaps the crash affected my taste buds. I figure he's wasted his money on this experience - seeing as how I'd just as soon drink sweet tea.
The waiter brings our meal, and Doyle has Salmon. He offers me a bite and I chew it up and manage to swallow but if I had a choice I would have spat it out. He asks if I like it and I say "Uh huh." And tell him it’s "interesting." I wonder if he can tell I’m lying. Obviously I’m not a seafood person.
We talk more than we eat though. He tells me about how we fell in love with each other at first sight and we spent two glorious days in Paris together until he woke to find me gone. Heartless, I know. I’m ashamed and I don’t even remember it. It’s only a story to me- like it’s someone else and not me. He says he used the internet to find me and we chatted a few times on ICQ. (I have no idea. I suppose that was what they used before Facebook.) He says I had no idea that he would come to find me. I had never told him I had a fiancé and was planning on getting married but it did not happen once he stepped onto the scene. I was madly in love with him from the time we set eyes on each other in Paris and I was only settling for the poor bloke who gave me the ring. Doyle said he did us a favor, really. We would have only ended up in divorce court in two years. I laughed dryly.
“Was that when my family disowned me?” I ask and he looks away- like he feels bad about it for whatever reason.
“They never liked me. They liked the dumb mechanic you were engaged to. They said he was a decent, hardworking, God-fearing man and they’d never speak to you again for breaking his poor redneck heart and leaving him for the snooty, foreign, atheist-doctor.”
That last sentence catches my attention and I look up sharply. “I never knew you were an atheist.” I say. I did know that he never talked about God - he was hostile towards religion- or religious people any way. Am I an atheist? I wonder to myself. I don’t feel like one. I think of the Bible I found hidden in the cabinet. At one time I had faith. I don’t know where it went- or if it went anywhere at all. I haven’t really considered God in this whole scenario- though I sort of always felt He was there… somewhere… waiting.
“Oh, your parents- like most people around here are religious nuts!" he stabs his food with his fork to punctuate that thought. "Your dad’s a xenophobe!” He tells me between bites. I frown as I push my fries around on my plate trying to figure out what a xenophobe is. I wonder if that’s a contagious disease but luckily he tells me before I show my stupidity. “He thinks if people don’t come from here- they’re the enemy. Seriously, I think he’s stuck in the civil war.”
His demeanor changes when he notices my frown and he looks forlorn. “I’m sorry honey.” He says as he places his hand on mine. “I didn’t come to berate your family. I just hate the way they’ve treated you since I came. They didn’t even come to the hospital when you had the accident.”
“Oh, well. Maybe it’s best I don’t remember them.” I lie and give him a fake smile. It doesn’t matter what he says. I don’t know them- but I miss having them in my life. There’s a hole there that can’t be filled with anything else and I know he doesn’t want to hear that.
After our meal I excuse myself to go to the restroom and Doyle waits for me just outside. I prep myself for the event that will inevitably happen once we get home. He's your husband. I tell myself as I look in the mirror. This is natural. I fight the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. Stage fright. That's what it feels like; though I don't remember ever being on stage myself. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. I suppose I should be nervous a little - our first time together. I don't really know what to expect...or do for that matter.
I wade out through the tables and chairs and happy patrons and spot Doyle outside and he waves me over.
"You ready?" He asks and I nod.
The ride home is nice though, compared to the night before. Uneventful. Just the way I like it, though I am worried that Doyle is paying more attention to my legs than the road ahead. I tell him to watch where he is driving and if we make it home in one piece he will see more than my legs. He smiles from ear to ear and asks if I really mean it. I rub his upper thigh in response and he presses the accelerator harder.
We arrive home in record time and runs around the car to open the door for me. He pulls me into his arms and I am swept up in the heady aroma of his cologne and the tingling sensation of his body pressing close to mine. He looks into my eyes and asks if I'm sure. I take in a steadying breath. "I am. I love you and want to be with you."
He kisses me hungrily and I 'm not sure how we make it into the kitchen. I suppose I've had enough of his beer sampler to make me lose some inhibitions. He lifts me onto the counter top and we kiss passionately until I manage to open the buttons on his shirt and. I feel confident enough for the next phase. The bedroom.
Doyle is tender and careful with me because I'm unsure of what to do; he leads me gently and expertly as I clumsily try to satisfy him. He whispers sweet and encouraging things to me. Perhaps he senses my trepidation or perhaps he has always been this way. We spend the night in each other’s arms and it is everything I hoped it would be -passionate, beautiful and satisfying- but still; something is not quite right. He thanks me and tells me how much I pleased him but still I wonder if he is comparing me to the other me and I am fairly sure the other me was better.
I tell myself I did the right thing; that he had waited and wanted long enough. He is my husband. I tell myself this but the heavy burning feeling in my heart tells me otherwise. Why does my conscience burn like I've just committed a crime?
A snip-it of a poem comes to mind. It flits on the edge of my memory. Le coeur a ses raisons...que le raison.... something… something… something… I can't recall it but its something like the heart has its reasons ...that reason knows nothing about...or something like that. I wrestle with it until the first streaks of dawn tint the sky and at last; I fall asleep.
I hear a man's voice close to my ear. In my semi- conscious state I think I can feel the puff of his breath as he speaks to me and it startles me a little. I know that deep gentle voice that comes to me just on the edge of my dreams.
"Where are you Andrea? Where have you gone?" My heart swells with sadness. "Darling little girl. Please come back to us..." I've heard the voice before. I know it with the all the assurance that I've ever known anything. I know without being told that it belongs to my father.
The Life I Left Behind Page 10