As Jarret picked up a pack of hot dogs, a girl some distance away shouted, “Jarret West!”
We both turned.
A sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl bounced up to us. She wore formfitting jeans and a skimpy top with spaghetti-straps. Blond-streaked brown hair fell over one eye. Her other eye, the one glued to Jarret, shimmered with thick make-up. “Hey, ya, Jarret,” she said in a sweet Southern voice.
“What’s up?” Jarret shifted to face the girl, the hint of a smile passing his lips. He assumed the same coy, self-confident attitude he used to take in high school whenever he spoke to a pretty girl.
“Wow,” the girl said. “What’re y’all doing here?”
Did she really have to ask? I found my eyes narrowing and forced myself to avert my gaze. I had no reason to feel jealous. What did I care whom Jarret associated with?
Then it happened. The opportunity I had been looking for. The girl stuck out her hand to Jarret. Jarret held a pack of bun length Ball Parks in his left and my hand in his right. His right hand twitched. Then he let go.
Air hit my sweaty palm and sent a cool chill through me. I sucked in a breath and stumbled back a step.
“I didn’t know you lived nearby.” The girl gushed with adoration. “Are you coming back to our school this year?”
Jarret mumbled something, his attention entirely on the girl.
I turned and bolted. The grocery basket— I saw it in my peripheral vision but too late. My foot crashed into it with a jolt of pain. The basket slid. I sailed forward. A display of hot dog and hamburger buns broke my fall. I hit the cold hard floor and grunted, packages of buns sliding onto me.
“Hey, baby, you all right?” Jarret hovered over me, his expression changing from concern to amusement. He grabbed my hands and yanked me to my feet.
“I’m fine,” I said, bottom lip trembling. I was back in high school, walking into the tetherball pole and tripping over my own books.
Jarret pulled me to himself, his arms slithering around my waist. He turned me so we both faced the girl, then he spoke over my shoulder, his musky cologne assailing my nostrils. “Do you remember my wife?”
The hair on my neck quivered. My face burned. I had probably turned every shade of red.
“Sure, I think so.” The girl extended a hand to me.
I forced a smile and shook the girl’s hand. “Charmed.”
“Can’t wait to see you when you come around again.” The girl beamed at Jarret, another gushy smile, and bounced off.
I exhaled, still trembling. “You can get your hands off me now,” I said with disgust, prying at his warm, muscular forearms.
“I don’t know if I want to.” He buried his nose in my hair, took a deep breath, then released me. “Let’s get out of here. Did you get everything you wanted?” He snatched a pack of buns from off the floor.
A few minutes later, we were through the checkout and back in the truck. He shoved the key into the ignition. Before cranking it, he gave me a long look. “You’re probably wondering what that girl—”
“No, really, I’m not.” I flashed a smile. “I don’t care. I just want to go home.” I didn’t need to know. I needed to go. I needed to return to my family home and figure out what had happened to me. Jarret was Jarret. I was under no illusions about him. He could do what he wanted.
~ ~ ~
Our second stop came after a fifteen-minute drive down a busy four-lane boulevard, past restaurants, strip malls, a fire department, and spa. Jarret turned down a road behind a new car lot, drove past a little church and a few houses, and pulled into a shady, sprawling two-story apartment complex. He gave me a sideways glance as we crawled through the half-empty parking lot.
“Who lives here?” I said. The apartments looked older but well maintained. They had sloping tan roofs, cream siding, burgundy shutters, low bushes, and towering trees that cast inviting shadows on the lawn.
Jarret drove to the back of the half-mile complex and stopped.
I eyed the buildings. Did he expect to find my car here? Should the place jog a memory?
He stared at the back of the parking lot, where a group of young men and teenage boys rode skateboards back and forth. One practiced jumping, the board following his feet into the air like iron to a magnet. Another spun on the back wheels of his skateboard. One guy sped up a ramp and did a turning jump. He and his skateboard landed together on the pavement, but then his foot slipped off the board and he fell. Without hesitation, he jumped to his feet and rolled on. Another boy took a turn at the ramp.
“Do you know them?” I said.
Jarret shrugged and drove back through the complex and out onto the road.
We rode in silence for a long time, down another busy road, then to a rural road, and back into a more populated section of town. Finally, he pulled into the parking lot of a tall, two-story brick building. White pillars rose up on either side of a fancy door. It looked like a real-estate brokerage. A white sign with big black letters hung out front, displaying the names “Wright Investigators” and “Guardian Investors.”
“This is where you work,” he said.
“Really?” Eyes wide, I looked again. “Wright Investigators?”
“Yeah, you guys are in the back half of the building. I think some investors have the front. It was a real-estate brokerage but they moved out.” He looked at me, the muscles of his face twitching. “I wish you remembered something about yesterday. Anything.”
“Well, what do you remember?”
He gazed at the building before answering. “We both went to work. Then I saw you here at lunch because...” He glanced at me.
“You came up to my work? Why?”
He frowned. “I, uh, I wanted to bring you your camera in case you needed it. I also told you I’d be late getting home. You said you’d make dinner.” He shook his head. “But I came home to an empty house. No message. Nothing. I tried calling you. You didn’t answer your cell phone. No one was at Wright Investigators.”
“You tried calling my work?” Something about his expression and words gave me the impression he was hiding something, but I didn’t know what to ask him.
“Yeah.”
“Did you try my boss or a coworker’s cell phone?”
“No, I figured you’d tell me your deal when you got home.” He rubbed his temples, his eyelids heavy. “But it was late, after dark. You came home in a cab, told me to pay for it, and went inside. Then you were just gonna walk right past me. No explanation. Nothing.”
“Did I have a purse or my phone?”
“Huh?” He looked at me. “No, nothing. You probably left it all in the car. But maybe... you were mugged.” He frowned. “I really don’t know.” His voice rose in anger. “I don’t know what happened to you. You wouldn’t tell me a thing, just said you wanted to lie down.”
“Well, I do have that bump on my head. I was obviously hurt.”
“I know.” His tone softened. His eyelids flickered. “But why didn’t you tell me that? Instead, you avoided my questions. You made me so mad.”
“Were we upset with each other yesterday? I mean, earlier. Like, did we fight at lunch?”
He blinked a few times and averted his gaze. His mouth opened as if he had something to say, but then he shut it. Was he keeping something from me?
“Do we argue a lot? I remember when I was in high school, how you used to yell at Roland. Do you shout at me like that?” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked, but I wanted to know.
Still not looking at me, he shook his head and threw the truck in gear. “No.”
CHAPTER 6
I FOLLOWED MY friends Peter and Roland through the woods down the rocky path that led to the waterfall. My heart floated above me, free as a drifting cloud. My stomach growled, but other than that, I hadn’t a care in the world. A bird chirped and another replied. Something made a tap, tap, tapping sound.
The curtains? Oh. I was not in the woods.
I sighed and tried to cling to the dream f
or a little longer. I preferred the dreams to the reality, but reality slithered in like a snake and my dream slipped away. Somewhere in this unfamiliar little house where I now lived, halfway across country from home, lurked Jarret West. Though he’d slept on the couch without me asking him to, I dreaded seeing him this morning.
Throwing the covers back, I sat up. The smell of bacon wafted through the window. My stomach growled as if in greeting to the wonderful smell. Then my stomach did something else. Churning? Maybe I wasn’t in the mood for bacon. An uncomfortable lump formed in my throat. My hand shot up to it. Maybe I wasn’t hungry at all. The hunger pang dissolved into a wave of nausea. Ugh. Maybe I was going to be sick.
As the nausea abated, I gazed at the dancing curtains and twisted my wedding bands the way I used to twist my gold purity ring whenever lost in thought. Sometimes I would run my finger over the little cross inside the heart or take the ring off and read the inscription inside: True love waits. Nothing had meant more to me than finding true love, the man God had prepared for me, my future husband and father of my children.
Over the years I’d romanticized it more and more. It would be love at first sight, but we wouldn’t let on at first. We’d grow closer through shared projects and friendships. Various tests, trials, and misunderstandings would prove the depth of our love until one day... “I’ve loved you since the day we met,” he’d say on bended knee. “I know God brought us together, and I want to love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”
A tear rolled down my cheek. Had we waited for marriage? Or did we marry because we’d already rushed things? How had he proposed? Did he get down on one knee and say something terribly romantic? Or was it something more like: “Hey, babe, why don’t we get hitched?” What was our wedding night like? Did we go on a honeymoon?
With a sigh, I staggered from the bed to the closet and stared at my clothes. I might as well get dressed. A pink-flowered sundress fell off the hanger and into my hands but, noticing its big red belt, I put it back. I didn’t feel red, pink, or flowery today. The aqua button-front dress had always been a favorite. Nah, too cheery. I settled for a dress I’d never seen before, a knee-length with a dark print and short sleeves, black pockets and trim.
After dressing, I considered hanging out in the bedroom longer, to avoid him, but my stomach disagreed. So I forced myself to leave the comfort and privacy of the bedroom and to face my destiny.
A pillow and blanket lay on the couch, papers and cups cluttered the coffee table, and jeans and a shirt littered the floor. The lived-in living room tempted me to clean, even though it didn’t feel like my house, but my stomach urged me on to the kitchen.
Jarret rifled through an overhead cabinet while mumbling into the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. He wore loose white pajamas with a V-neck so low it hung half off one shoulder, exposing the brown cord of a necklace. A curl hung loose from a messy ponytail that he’d probably slept on.
All through his high-school years, he’d portrayed the image of male vanity, from the expensive clothing that emphasized his masculine physique to his long dark curls pulled back in a neat ponytail and his well-trimmed goatee. Every detail of his appearance and attitude had mattered to him. He’d created an image that attracted girls and commanded the respect and fear of boys. Even his twin brother, while roughly identical in appearance, couldn’t match his vanity.
Now he seemed at ease with a comfortable, shabby look. Was he only this way around me?
As Jarret brought plates down from the cabinet, he caught sight of me. He mumbled into the phone, pressed a button, and slid the phone toward its cradle. “Hey. You sleep okay?”
I nodded and forced myself to stop staring. “Not as good as I would’ve in my own bed.”
“In your own—” He shut his mouth and smirked, then scooped scrambled eggs onto two plates. “Right. Well, I hope you want scrambled eggs again. I made bacon.”
A sudden rush of nausea overtook me. My hand shot up to my mouth.
“Don’t tell me you’re not hungry, ’cuz I know better.”
Did he know better? How well did he know me? Of course, my eating habits had never been a secret. My friends made fun of me all through high school. I ate whatever I wanted and even brought snacks to every other class. Never gained an ounce. They drank Slim Fast for breakfast, ate salads for lunch, swore they didn’t eat dinner but still gained weight.
I forced myself to smile and say, “Breakfast smells good,” even though I no longer wanted to eat. Why did I feel the need to be polite to everyone, friend or foe?
As I sat at the end of the table, the nausea passed. Maybe I did need to eat.
Jarret slid a plate of bacon and eggs to me and another to the place next to mine. When he returned to the kitchen, I got up and slid the second plate to the other end of the table. There was no need for us to sit so close.
On the way back to my seat, I noticed three thick books stacked in the middle of the table. Photo albums? I reached for one, but he came to the table with a mug of black coffee and a glass of milk, so I withdrew my hand and sat back down.
Sliding the second plate back to where he’d first placed it, he sat in the chair next to mine. “Aren’t you hungry?” Eyes on me, he sipped his coffee.
“Sure, I’m hungry.” I lifted the fork and poked at the eggs.
He turned toward the books. A breath later, he said, “You... wanna look at these?” Moving in slow motion, he took the top book down and slid it toward my plate.
It had a thick, satiny white cover and, in the middle of it, an oval picture of a bride and groom. I leaned in for a better look and gasped. Jarret was the groom and I the bride.
The fork fell from my hand.
He blinked a few times, then gazed into my eyes. “I’m not lying to you. You’re my wife and I love you. These are wedding pictures.” Lowering his head, he talked to his plate. “I wish you’d look at them. Maybe it’d bring back your memory.”
“All right. I’ll try.” I did seem happy in the picture, smiling, laughing as I gazed into his eyes, a white veil blowing behind me. He smiled too. He wore a trim goatee, not the completely unshaven look he had now. What was the look in his eyes?
Aware of his attention, I opened the book and saw pictures of myself with my mother and sisters. My sisters wore frilly pale-aqua dresses. They must’ve been flower girls. Mya was my bridesmaid?
“Did Zoë come to the wedding?” I shouldn’t have asked, but the question was out.
He shifted in his seat and gave a little nod. “Yeah, she was there.”
I wanted to ask, “With your baby?” but I would’ve only said it in spite. I knew the answer. Neither one of them had been ready to care for a baby.
The next picture showed Jarret with Roland, Mr. West, my father and brothers, and even Peter. I suppressed a giggle. Every picture showed Peter in an awkward pose. In one, he was doubled over laughing while everyone else stood poised for the camera. He held his hands up in another, and a few yards away a glaring Jarret pointed at him. Oh, how they hated each other. Did they still? And where was Jarret’s twin brother Keefe?
The next few pages showed the wedding, the wedding party, and other pictures taken inside St. Michael Church. Flowers, candles, decorations... It all looked so real. Could it be true? Was it possible all these pictures could be fakes?
Between glances in my direction, Jarret pushed his eggs around and tapped his fork on his plate.
“So, when was this? When did we...” I couldn’t bring myself to say get married.
“Almost a year ago, end of June. Got our first anniversary coming up.” Fork sliding from his hand, he gave me a lingering look.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember any of this.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but it’s hard for me to accept. I don’t see how it’s possible that we... What do you even know about me?”
He leaned back, wiped his face, and clasped his hands behind his hea
d, sitting with his elbows out. “What do I know? You like cute things,” he said, eyes to the ceiling. “Puppies and babies and such. You love taking long walks. You paint miniatures, mostly of South Dakota.” He rolled his eyes. “We don’t have any in the house ’cuz, well, you give them away to friends and family and, you once gave one to a total stranger.” A smile flickered on his lips, only to be replaced by a glower. “Your favorite color is, well, you don’t have a favorite color because you like them all, but you tend toward shades of green and violet. And I don’t know what else to tell you. I know you. You’re my wife.” He slumped forward, resting his arms on each side of his plate.
All those things he said about me, they were true. It just didn’t seem real. “What ever happened to me and Roland?”
He huffed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to you and Roland. You told me you were good friends. You told me it wasn’t meant to be more than that. You weren’t seeing him when you and I...”
“Really?” My voice came out high, my forehead wrinkling and brows lifting against my will. How could that be true? I had wanted Roland to ask me out for years before he finally did. I was so drawn to him. He was mysterious, handsome, kind. He hadn’t a single fault. We were planning to go to SDU together.
“Well, can we visit him?” I said. “Can I talk to him?” A glimmer of hope fluttered in my heart. What reason would he have for saying—
“No.”
“No?” I pushed the photo album away, my stomach clenching and a weight falling in my heart. I’d seen enough. I had a lot of thinking to do. It was really all too much. How could it be true? What would have ever drawn me to Jarret? We were nothing alike. If I could talk to my mother or some of my friends—
“Caitlyn, we’re not in South Dakota. We can’t take a little drive and go see Roland. We’re in North Carolina and I’m your husband.” A troubled, stormy look came over him, and he was suddenly leaning into my space.
I gasped in shock, my lips parting. Before I could protest, he cupped the back of my head and smashed his lips to mine. A warm, intense, fleeting kiss.
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