Nameless

by Marni MacRae

  “Yes, Eve told me you were aware of her coming to see me so I am not breaking confidence in sharing that her visit was this morning.”

  “Ah, yes, I did know she was coming. Slipped my mind it was today.”

  Valerie smiles and lowers herself onto the couch at the far end from me. “Yes, a lovely woman, Eve. Tell me, is she the purpose of your visit today or would you like to discuss a different matter?”

  “No, you have it right. I told Eve I would come, as a way of encouraging her to visit you herself. I think she was nervous, but I also think it is important for her to have someone to talk to. Aside from the promise, though, I really do need advice. Seems to me her therapist is the best person to ask.”

  “You understand of course I can’t discuss Eve’s visits with you.” Valerie relaxes back against the couch, crossing her legs, and folding her hands in her lap. I like her energy, calm, certain, inviting. I can see she went into the right business. She has a way of putting a person at ease.

  “I know. I wouldn’t want to betray any trust or step over boundaries. I’m here more to ask what I should do with Eve.”

  Hearing it aloud sounded wrong. Like I want to send her off to boarding school or I don’t understand women and Eve is a burden. I shake my head and stand up, pacing slowly about Valerie’s office to try and sort my thoughts.

  The room holds a sturdy, carved wooden desk in one corner, a few potted plants, shelves with books boasting colorful bindings and a set of bay windows behind the couch. It’s very homey. I pick up a knickknack from an end table near the door. It’s an elephant with grooves and detail carved into the dark wood. The small statue seems so lifelike I get lost in the lines, the curves, letting the feel of the wood ground me. Finally, I take a breath and set the figurine back in its spot, then turn back to Dr. Leesing who still sits, legs crossed, hands folded, patiently waiting for me to work through my own thoughts.

  “I don’t want to hurt her.” I return to the couch and sit, turned slightly to face the petite therapist. “I want to help her find answers, but I don’t know the right way to do that. I was hoping you could give me a crash course in how to handle her so I don’t do any more damage than she’s already dealing with.”

  “You care for her.”

  Valerie states it as a fact, and I don’t bother trying to correct her.

  “Of course I care. I wouldn’t be here if she didn’t matter to me.”

  “I admire you for coming in, asking for help. Not many men admit they don’t know everything.”

  I choke back a laugh and shake my head. “Ms. Leesing, I will admit to not knowing how women think in general, but this particular woman and her particular problem is way outside my realm of understanding.”

  Valerie smiles and gives a slight nod as she rises to her feet. “Would you like some tea, coffee, water?”

  “Coffee, thanks. Just black.” I watch as she pours a cup from a pot sitting on a warmer on a counter along one wall. She opens a small fridge below the counter and retrieves a bottle of water for herself.

  “Women are never really as complicated as we lead you to believe. But Eve, in particular, does have a situation best approached with delicacy.” She hands me the mug of coffee and reclaims her seat. “Tell me how you feel about her, what you want to accomplish in your relationship with Eve.”

  “That’s a big question.”

  “Well, you’re a big boy, and this is no small thing we are discussing. It requires large questions.”

  “Yeah.” I take a breath and blow it out, wrapping my hands around my coffee mug to center my nervous energy, and confess, “I have this…reaction to her, like a need or a response that was wired into me just for her.”

  I shrug my shoulders and sit back.

  “I’ve dated. I’ve had relationships. I know the game. The attraction and follow-through. This is different. It feels like…more.”

  Valerie takes a sip of water and watches me while I talk. It almost unnerves me to have a woman sit patiently listening. I’ve never met a woman who doesn’t love to hear her own voice, certainly never one who asked a question and waited for a full answer.

  I set the heated cup on the coffee table and turn toward Valerie. Looking her in eyes, I speak honestly, baring to her what I have only just recently admitted to myself.

  “At first I thought it was just a need to help. She was standing in the road when I met her. Drenched to the bone, shivering with cold, cut-up feet, and she screamed. Right there, in the first minute of meeting her. It was like how a firefighter rushes toward flames or a paramedic toward an accident. I rushed to her, and ever since that moment, I can’t get her out of my head.”

  “You want to protect her, fix her.”

  “Yes, of course, but more than that. I want to watch movies with her and listen to her play piano. I want to answer all her crazy questions about the world. I want to see through her eyes. I want her to see my home, see what I do, I want to show her the homes we’re building, introduce her to my family, hear her laugh—she has the best laugh.”

  I realize suddenly that I’m smiling, gesturing with my hands, leaning toward Valerie as if I can get her to feel that thrumming inside me when I think about Eve.

  “Ah.” Valerie sighs and sets her water bottle on the coffee table. “You know that this is not a normal situation. That a relationship formed with Eve needs to be gone into with eyes wide open. At any moment she could get her memories back. At any moment she could leave.”

  “Yes. I know.” I hate that she said it, though. Hearing the words makes my heart twist in a battle. I want Eve whole. I want her pain-free and healed. But I don’t want her to leave. “I’m prepared to deal with the risk that goes along with her situation. I guess what I’m asking is, should I pursue Eve at all? Do I need to keep my distance, try to keep things between us more…platonic?”

  “As long as you understand and are willing to accept the repercussions of becoming involved, I see no reason why you and Eve should keep your distance from each other. I would advise you to move slowly, for both your sakes. Emotions are running high during this time of transition. Eve will need time to settle into a normalized behavior pattern. Find her feet and make personal choices on multiple levels. But having support and friends around her will go a long way toward helping her feel less alone. Less lost.”

  I blow out a breath and relax back against the couch. “I have a tough time not thinking of her as normal, to be honest. I know she’s vulnerable, I know she must be feeling a whirlwind of emotions and looking for an anchor in all this. But to me, she is a woman with interests, preferences, baggage, yes, but…passion, too. Just like everyone else.”

  “That’s good. That will help her. To be treated normally. I understand you are attending a barbeque tomorrow, and Eve is invited.”

  “Yeah, my sister in-law throws a big May Day shindig. Lots of folks will be there. Why? Do you think Eve shouldn’t go?”

  “Oh, no, she seems to be looking forward to it, but it will be different for her. She is the talk of the town, every move she makes, everything she says, it will be hot on the gossip wires for weeks. Give her that normalcy, allow her to circulate and find her own comfort level. Don’t hover.”

  Valerie smiles at me as if I am an overprotective mother hen, but I nod, conceding my nature would be to not let her out of my sight.

  “But provide an out as well. If she is overwhelmed, feels pressured or threatened, take her home, or offer her a quiet place to get away from the crowd. If you weren’t going to be there with her, I would have advised her not to go.”

  I absorb that comment for a moment. Dr. Leesing has surely already heard through the town grapevine that I have been spending quite a bit of time with Eve, and Eve must have mentioned me for her to feel I would be a safe person to entrust Eve's welfare to. Realizing that both Eve and Valerie trust me instills a feeling of pride and responsibility, one I already take seriously.

  “I’ll watch out for her. And I won’t hover,�
� I assure the doctor when she raises a brow at me.

  “Excellent. As for dealing with Eve and the amnesia, I suggest you take your cues from her, but use your own worldly judgment when necessary. Eve may not know what she wants and can easily be swept along with suggestion. It may be up to you to make the harder choices she isn’t ready to make.”

  “Like taking things slowly.”

  “Yes,” Valerie confirms my suspicion that she doesn’t support rushing a physical relationship. “That is not me saying you don’t have a right to pursue Eve, but in this case, it wouldn’t be fair to either of you to jump into something too early. There are many questions to be answered.”

  “Yeah, about that. I’m not sure Eve even wants to ask the questions. I think where she came from, someone gave her cause to run. Something happened, that I know. I’m not sure she would be ready to go back even if we could answer those questions.”

  “Well, Nick, as much as I may agree with you, that is not our decision to make. Eve is an adult, and all her choices are her responsibility. Memory or not. For now, take it a day at a time. Go slow and listen to her cues. I understand your brother is working the case with the department?”

  “Yeah, he started the file and is following up with missing persons.”

  “Perhaps you should discuss a planning strategy with Eve. See how she feels about it. Be open with how you feel about her. The two of you may come up with more answers than I can provide. If things start to feel stressful, back off. Give her space, time if she needs it, support if she wants it, and go from there.”

  Valerie smiles kindly and stands, signaling the end of our session. “This is a long road, Nick. Ask yourself how you would feel if you never got answers. Then ask how you would feel if tomorrow she remembered everything and left.”

  I agree with everything Dr. Leesing is saying, but I can’t help but think of the option she hadn’t voiced.

  What if she remembered, and chose to stay.

  Chapter 19

  “Can you drive me to the hospital?” I close the passenger door to the black car that is still sitting where I left it when Ezra dropped me off an hour ago. Leaning back into the soft leather seat, I relax and turn to catch a worried expression on the older man’s face.

  “Oh, no, Ezra, there’s nothing wrong,” I reach out and pat his hand resting on the steering wheel. “In fact, Dr. Leesing says I am doing really well.” I smile reassuringly, a little touched that the stern, seemingly emotionless man is showing concern for me.” I just want to talk to Dr. Eston before we go back to Ms. Thornton’s.”

  Ezra gives a slight nod, and his features relax. “Yes, Miss Eve. Seat belt.” He reminds me as we pull smoothly away from Dr. Leesing’s office.

  I will never get used to strapping myself to the seat, but it is clear it is a rule of driving, so I pull the restraining belt over my shoulder and click it into place. Ezra had insisted I ride in the back of the car when we were leaving Elizabeth’s after breakfast this morning. I had insisted on sitting in the front with him. I don’t like the idea of that much separation between us. It seems…rude. Also, I can see better sitting in the front.

  As it turns out, I won. I was surprised at first when Ezra didn’t argue further when I disregarded his strong suggestion to sit in the back. But thinking on it now as we travel down side streets, winding our way toward the hospital, I realize that Ezra is an employee. He can suggest but not really tell me what to do. I wonder if that is frustrating for him.

  “Ezra?”

  “Yes, Miss Eve.”

  “How long have you worked for Ms. Thornton?”

  He didn’t speak for a moment, and I wondered if he would reply. He is a man of so few words it seems.

  “Fifty-eight years.”

  “Fifty-eight years! But that must be your whole life!” I’m shocked and turn in my seat toward him as much as the restraining belt will allow. “Have you ever worked anywhere else?”

  I study his face, the creases along his brow and his eyes. He must have laughed in his life to have gotten those, I muse. I wonder what a laughing Ezra looks like.

  “No,” he states softly.

  I want to push, to ask more questions and get to know this quiet old man who seems so isolated in his world. But I don’t want him to feel obligated to answer because he has to, and I don’t think he will offer more than one word responses anyway. I smile sadly and turn back to face the road, wondering what Ezra and Elizabeth were like fifty-eight years ago.

  “But I wasn’t always a butler.”

  The quiet admission surprises me. I look back at him and see his features have changed. He looks…sad.

  “What were you?” It comes out in a whisper as if we are sharing secrets and someone might hear.

  The car comes to a gentle stop, and I glance away from his face to see we are only at a stop sign on a quiet tree-lined street. Turning back to him, I find he has turned his face to mine and is smiling. Not a big grin or even showing teeth, but his face shows some joy and something else that captures my attention. Pride.

  “I raced horses.”

  The car pulls through the intersection as I digest that, and Ezra is back to staring at the road ahead. The flash of joy is gone from his eyes, but the pride remains and I simply can’t let the statement go unquestioned.

  “You raced horses? But, the stables—Ms. Thornton has horses. Why don’t you work with them anymore?”

  It’s hard to fathom giving up such an exciting job to become a butler, but I don’t want to say that or hurt his feelings. I can’t help but wonder what path took a young man who raced to become an old man who butlers.

  Ezra sighs and turns into the entrance to the hospital. He smoothly maneuvers the car into a parking spot and turns off the engine. After a quiet minute goes by, I wonder if I should stop peppering him with questions and just leave him to wait while I speak with Dr. Eston. Honestly, I didn’t think I would get as much from him as I have. But now the mystery of him and the stories he must have to tell have me vibrating with dozens of questions.

  “I was injured.” His deep voice is quiet, and I hold my breath, hoping he will continue. I watch his face change from stubbornness, to pride, and then to regret.

  “I was hired by Master Thornton. Ms. Thornton’s grandfather.” He looks out the front windshield toward the hospital, not seeing the building, but a time when employers were called “Master,” and he still rode horses with a strong young man’s body.

  “I was good. Fast.” He almost whispered it. “My father was a trainer. I grew up on the back of a horse. Back then, in this part of Kentucky, it was the way of things. You rode, or you bred, or you trained. If you didn’t know horses, you were nobody.”

  Ezra relaxes back into his seat, his hands slipping down the steering wheel to rest in his lap.

  “I knew all of them. Every name, every bloodline.” He turns to face me, acknowledging that he was speaking to me and not just recalling a memory.

  “And my father—he trained at the top of his field. Master Thornton paid top dollar to bring him to his stables, so we came here.” He gestured to Brighton Valley in general outside the car windows. “I was young then. Twelve or so. We bunked at the stable house, my father, mother, sister and me. My mother worked in the big house, cleaning. The estate was busier then.”

  “Were you friends with Ms. Thornton then? When she was young?” I hated to interrupt, but the idea of the two of them growing up in another time, becoming friends, is enchanting to me.

  “Oh, no. In those days, you didn’t mingle with the masters.” Ezra’s expression is rueful, but he doesn’t stop his story. “Ms. Thornton was off at school. She would come back during the summers, but I only ever caught glimpses of her if I visited my mother at the house. I was in the stables. Day and night. I belonged there you see.”

  He looks into my eyes, and I am startled to find that his are blue. A pale sky blue that are filled now with memories rarely spoken.

  “Not only due to my st
ation, but because it was in my blood. In my bones. I was born a horse in a man’s body, my father used to say. I would sleep in the stables or out in the pastures on hot nights, just to be near them.”

  “And you got to race them.” I breathed it in wonder. Picturing Ezra streaming along the dirt roads, fast as the wind, one with his horse.

  “Well, yes.” Ezra nodded and turned back to look out at the gray building before us. “I raced them at first for training. I wanted to be just like my father, to be valued and respected in the racing circle. We may not have been welcomed at the big house, at the lavish parties thrown, or in polite company. But in our circle, we were royalty. My father could train a wild stallion to dance for him. As a boy, I thought he was magic.”

  Ezra chuckled softly, and the sound warms the car.

  I clasp my hands in my lap, hoping he will continue. Eager to hear how he went from that magical racing world to answering doors and coming when beckoned by Ms. Thornton. It seems a shame and a waste to me.

  “So, after a time, a few years on the training track, I began to draw the eye of Master Thornton.” He pauses for a moment and closes his eyes. “Then, he bought The Beast.”

  “Beast?”

  “Ah, yes. The devil in horse skin.” Ezra opens his eyes, and I see they are gleaming. lit with a fire and passion I didn’t think someone of his age could feel.

  “The Beast, as we called him, was from a long line of pureblood racers. Winners, all of them. He came from a sire in Ireland and a dam out of Louisville. One of the richest breeders in the state. The champion bloodlines mixed to bring forth a beast straight from the devil himself.”

  “Oh,” I whispered it as a chill went down my spine. “You said you were injured. Did the Beast throw you? Trample you?” Caught up in his tale, I feel on edge, terrified of this beast horse he described and aching to know if it cursed him to a life of service.

  “Oh, no, Miss Eve. The Beast saved me.”

  Ezra laughs then, a real laugh that startles me and has me smiling along with him, although I don’t know the joke.