I pushed the curtains back and inhaled a deep breath of the fresh night air that came in through the open window. It was a perfect night for running away. Once outside, I would race to the car and roll it out of the driveway. What if he heard the engine and woke up? That shouldn’t matter. Having lent his truck to Roland, he would have no way of following me. Maybe he’d call a cab. He would probably assume I was going to find Roland or maybe to the park where my car had been found. He’d be wrong. I would be well on my way to South Dakota.
Heart pounding with anticipation, I lifted the screen and gave it a hard shove. The bottom corner popped right out. I laughed. Easy. The rest of the screen soon followed, but as it broke free—a high alarm sounded.
I gasped and my hands shot up to my ears.
The bedroom door flew open.
Jarret stood in the doorway, expressionless. “Oh, hey, I meant to tell you...” He staggered to me and offered a hand to help me off the chair. “I put an alarm on the windows, in case you, uh...” He looked me over instead of completing his sentence. I stood on a chair by the open window. What more needed said?
I took his hand and stepped down. “How do you shut the alarm off? It’s going to wake the neighbors.”
“Yeah, I got it. Gotta get it from outside.” He sauntered from the room in no obvious hurry.
As soon as he disappeared, I dashed for the bedroom door and peeked around the corner.
No Jarret. Just the sound of the patio door sliding open.
Not giving up, I bolted for the front door, leaping over the mess on the floor and weaving around the skewed coffee table. I latched onto the doorknob. It didn’t turn. I flipped the lock on the knob. It turned but the door wouldn’t open. Two dead bolts held it shut. I unlocked one by hand but the other needed a key. I tugged on the doorknob, hoping the other one wasn’t locked. It was.
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I glanced over my shoulder. The alarm still sounded. The sliding glass patio door and the screen were open wide, but I couldn’t see Jarret.
Now, which key? Not counting my car key, four keys hung from the ring. Heart pumping hard, I grabbed one randomly and tried to shove it in. It didn’t fit. My hands trembled. I dropped the keys.
The alarm shut off.
I glanced over my shoulder. No Jarret, yet. I snatched the keys. Which one had I tried already? I made a guess and shoved another one into the lock. It went in! I breathed and turned the key. As I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob again, I glanced over my shoulder and let out an involuntary, whispery scream.
Jarret stood a few feet behind me, hands on his hips and eyes droopy from lack of sleep. “You gonna run off to Roland? Leave me without a car?”
“I…” Guilt overwhelming me, confusing my thoughts, I pressed my back to the door and held the keys to my chest.
A look of defeat crossing his face, he raised his hands and stepped back. “That…that saying keeps running through my mind: if you love something… let it go…” He closed his eyes and shoved his hand into his hair, turning away. “God, don’t ask this of me.”
Was he saying I could go? All my ideas about him and all my plans of escape jumbled up in my mind. But this was my opportunity. I could get away from him. I could go home and figure this all out in peace.
My heart wrenched. No, I hadn’t the heart to do it now.
Not sure what just happened, I tossed the keys onto the leather chair and shuffled back through the mess and to the bedroom.
~ ~ ~
Saturday morning. Weary after only a few hours of sleep but stomach growling, I sat slumped on the edge of the bed. Judging by the noise in the house, Jarret had somehow awoken before me. I’d have to face him to get breakfast. I stuffed my arms into a white robe, pulled it on over my nightgown and opened the bedroom door.
The washing machine chugged in some remote part of the house. Jarret held a plastic grocery bag and stooped over the mess he’d made in the living room. When he saw me, he straightened and opened his mouth to speak, apology written on his face.
Not ready to talk with him, I closed the door. Bits and pieces of last night flashed through my mind, with all the accompanying emotions: fear, anger, grief, anxiety… and shock. Was Jarret actually going to let me go last night? And I’d blown it.
I shuffled to the bed and pulled the sheet straight, wishing I knew what to do. My life had turned out much differently than I had hoped. With each passing year of high school, excitement and hope in my future had grown within me. I’d believed that God had a plan for me, and I’d wanted to make myself ready. I wanted to go to college, grow in faith, and meet others who shared my faith. Not knowing God’s plan, the whole world had been open to me. I could go anywhere and become anything. True, it had always been in my heart to marry and raise children, but I had pictured myself marrying a godly husband... in the distant future. I’d had it all figured out— how had this become my reality?
After making the bed, I dusted the night table and dresser. As I dusted the jewelry box, the rag slipped and fell to the floor. Stooping to retrieve it, my hand brushed the pile of papers on the corner of the dresser. Catalogs, receipts, and bills rained down. With a loud moan, I dropped to my knees to gather them up. Could my life get any more frustrating?
The emotions and feelings I’d had in high school still felt so fresh, but here I was living the reality. Fast forward. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. I had married a man as different from me as a lion from a house cat. In six months, I would deliver a baby into the world. Would I be fed up with Jarret by then and living at home with my parents? Could my marriage to this selfish, womanizing, jealous man possibly last? Or would I become another statistic, adding to the number of divorced, single-parent Catholics? Maybe I could get an annulment.
With a sigh, I slapped the papers onto the dresser and tossed the dust rag into the clothes hamper. Get a grip. With or without your memory, you can make this work. Right now, I just needed time to think things through.
After a long shower, I dressed in one of my familiar dresses. Then I stood before the bathroom mirror and played with my hair until it fell in pretty curls. As I admired my hair, my stomach rumbled. If it wasn’t for the baby, I might have skipped breakfast. Who was I kidding? Jarret was right: I never skipped a meal no matter what.
I stuffed the comb, curling iron, and hair products back into drawers and cabinets. Then over the roar of the vacuum cleaner, a knock sounded on the front door. I froze and listened.
The vacuum cleaner went silent. The front door opened and Jarret mumbled something.
I raced to the bedroom door and cracked it open. Jarret walked away from the closed front door. He’d sent the unknown visitor away. Could it have been Roland? It was probably Bobby. I would’ve enjoyed speaking with Bobby for a while. He was such a sweet little boy. He had an awful lot to say. I could discover what else he knew about Jarret and about us.
One hand on the vacuum cleaner, Jarret gaped at me through the cracked-open bedroom door. “You look pretty,” he said.
Not wanting him to think I’d fixed it for him, I returned to the bathroom and pulled my hair into a plain ponytail. A childish move, for sure, but I couldn’t stop myself.
The smell of coffee tempted me as soon as I left the bedroom. I shouldn’t have coffee, though, not with the baby.
As soon as Jarret laid eyes on me again, he shut off the vacuum cleaner. “Hey, I made waffles and sausage.” He sounded extra friendly, no doubt wanting to make up.
“Okay.” I needed to give him a chance, but I just couldn’t smile. He’d thrown Roland out. And he so resembled the man in my memory. But then, too, he was going to let me go last night. Or was he?
“Food’s in the microwave. The coffee’s decaf.” He turned the vacuum on and pushed it back and forth behind the couch.
After breakfast, not sure what to do with myself, I returned to my sanctuary and picked up the Louis L’Amour book. As I followed the cowboy in the story through his trials and tribulati
ons, questions filled my mind. How could I regain peace in my life? What if my memories never returned? What important events did I no longer remember? Good things? Bad things?
Sometime later, I closed the book, slid off the bed, and opened the bedroom door. There Jarret was, heading my way with a basket of laundry. So, I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him put clothes away, my skin crawling to see him so comfortable in my underwear drawer. A part of me felt maybe we should talk, but I couldn’t get myself to do it. Working silently, he didn’t seem ready to talk either.
Laundry complete, Jarret carried the old boxes he’d brought from work to the table. He spent the next couple of hours spreading out and rearranging papers and charts until they covered the table like an ugly, patchwork quilt.
Deciding against interrupting his work and not sure what to say anyway, I picked up another book and made myself comfortable on the couch.
Lunchtime finally arrived. Jarret made turkey and cheese sandwiches. I brought out a jar of dill pickles and a bag of cheese puffs. We said grace together and both bit into our sandwiches. Halfway through lunch, Jarret set the last bit of his sandwich down and took a swig of Coke.
“Hey, can we talk?”
“Uh…” My heart hammered. He wanted to talk? What direction would this conversation take? He’d already thrown Roland out. What would he want next? “Okay,” I said over a mouthful of food.
Eyes on me, Jarret opened his mouth, took a breath, and a moment later said, “So…I messed up last night.”
I stopped chewing. A glimmer of hope tingled inside me. Maybe he’d repent of booting Roland out the door and he’d invite him over today.
Sitting back, he ran a hand over his hair. “When I got home last night, late, and you weren’t here—”
“But Roland called—”
He reached toward my hand but stopped shy of touching it. “I know. I knew you were still at the movies, but it triggered this…” He gestured, as if trying to physically grasp the right words from the air. “…this downward spiral of self-pity. And the guys from work were all meeting at the bar, so I turned around and went up there. And I didn’t think I was drinking too much but…” He paused, a guilty grin flickering on his face. “Well, obviously I was. I—I said things to Roland that I shouldn’t have. And I upset you, and—and I’m sorry.”
“Oh, wow.” His words having taken me by surprise, my voice came out whispery and my insides turned to jelly. The apology didn’t fit into my idea of who Jarret was or what he was capable of.
“I just feel so powerless to make things right, powerless to help you. And I know, no matter what your feelings for him, for Roland, you wouldn’t act on them.” He paused. “You’re better than that. And he is too. But with him around, the way you look at him…” He glanced, a vulnerable look in his eyes, and shook his head. “…the way you look at me, I can’t shake this insecurity.”
We both glanced down at our plates, my heart still hammering.
“I…I don’t know what to say.” His faith in me touched me. Was I better than that? Ever since Roland arrived, I’d been focused less on the mystery of my marriage and more on the mystery of my amnesia. How could I possibly develop feelings for Jarret when I still had feelings for Roland? Maybe he was right to throw Roland out.
“Tell me what I can do to make things better between us.”
Stunned, I sat staring, my mind empty at first. Then everything I wanted flooded in all at once. I wanted Roland nearby. I wanted to keep going up to work. I wanted to visit the park where my car had been found… But I decided to ask for the two things I wanted most.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. I want to go to Mass. We won’t get through this without prayer, without faith, without God.”
He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” His voice was a hope-filled whisper. “We’ll go to Mass.”
“And I want to call my mother.”
He froze, his gaze locked on mine and his face getting a shade lighter. “I…”
“Jarret.” I used a firm tone to let him know this was non-negotiable.
He took breath and slouched back. “Well, what are you going to say to your mother? She wasn’t exactly happy about you marrying me.”
I didn’t doubt that. Mom had probably judged him by his reputation. The West family, with their wealth and lack of involvement in the community, had had the reputation of being secretive and aloof. Due to a life of travel with their father, the boys had never set foot in a school building until their teen years. A cloud of strange rumors, most of them false, hung over them at school. I had never believed the rumors, preferring to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Jarret had used the rumors to his advantage, convincing most everyone that he was to be feared and admired. He’d built some reputation.
I pushed those thoughts back, but still I wondered: how had I gone from helping him in his drunken stupor to falling in love with him? And what had Mom and Dad thought when I started seeing him? Mom had probably voiced a dozen objections.
Why, oh, why didn’t I listen to Mom?
“And your mother doesn’t like your job. You censor what you tell her, not wanting her to worry. If you tell her you’ve got amnesia and that you hate being with me...” He flung his arm around, gesturing wildly as he spoke. “…she’ll blame me. She’ll blame your job. Then when you get your memory back, it’s gonna be a mess.”
“You mean, if I get my memory back.” I shook my head, tempted by despair but not wanting to compromise on this. “Well, I won’t tell her I have amnesia. And I won’t tell her I don’t like being with you.” Bitterly, I added, “I’ll lie to my own mother.” We stared at each other for a few long seconds, then a lump formed in my throat. “I just want to hear her voice.”
Scowling, he gave a little nod, as if he understood.
“This is all still so strange to me,” I whispered. “I don’t remember any of this. I feel like I should still be living at home with my mom and dad.”
He dropped his head into his hand and pushed the curls off his forehead. “Let me think about it. Just let me think...”
It wasn’t the first time he’d said that. What was there to think about? Or was this just his way of stalling?
CHAPTER 27
WITH FOLDED HANDS and bowed head, I knelt beside Jarret in a pew toward the back of St. Joseph Church. The choir sang, “O Lord, I Am Not Worthy,” while people processed up to receive Holy Communion. I’d considered singing along but hadn’t paid attention when the choir director announced the song number. I could always flip through the book, page after page, until I found it. Experience told me I’d find the song just as it ended.
Light crept under my eyelids. This church was so bright, compared to my cozy, traditional church back home. I’d only warmed up to this place—a modern structure with an odd mix of contemporary and traditional furnishings—in the middle of the Mass, during the prayers of consecration. My heart had stirred for a moment then, but I felt nothing now.
A cellophane candy wrapper lay in the pew in front of me, where my gaze naturally fell. By the shape of it and the pinkish tint around the creases, I decided it once contained one of those hot cinnamon candies that I’d never liked. Whose was it? No kids sat nearby. But an adult could’ve dropped it too. Some people didn’t seem to care about the fast before Holy Communion.
Reeling in my wandering thoughts, I bowed my head lower. Lord, sorry. Where were we? Thank you for letting me get to Mass this Sunday. Sorry about last Sunday, but you know it wasn’t my fault. And please, please, please give me back my memory. There is sooo much I don’t understand about my life. I promise I’ll take advantage of this second chance I’ve been given, and I’ll amend my life.
A woman slipped into the pew in front of us and side-stepped to the very end. There she knelt, clasping her hands and making her thanksgiving.
A hint of jealousy struck me. Unsure of the state of my soul, I had remained in the pew during Holy Communion. Jarret did too. To keep an eye on me? Did he norm
ally go up for Holy Communion? Next Saturday I’d talk him into taking me to Confession. Maybe he’d go too. A husband and wife should encourage each other in their faith, right?
I sneaked a peek at Jarret. My husband. Why him? my heart protested.
He knelt slumped over, with his butt resting on the seat and his forehead on his folded hands on the back of the pew in front of us. Was he even awake? He’d dressed nicely, anyway—with a gray tie, turquoise dress shirt, and dark gray slacks—the way his brothers and father always did. At least, anytime I ever saw them at church. I only remembered seeing Jarret in jeans. And that curly ponytail that refused to lay neatly on his back. Did he ever cut his hair?
Argh. I needed to direct my thoughts back to Jesus. I’d made a spiritual communion already and begged to get my memory back, but I couldn’t focus on anything deeper.
Lord, please, bring me through this. Make a way for me. Open a door.
~ ~ ~
After Mass we drove straight home. Jarret changed into jeans and a striped t-shirt, while I made pancakes and decaf for breakfast.
Excitement, or maybe nervousness, fluttered through me as I ate breakfast. I couldn’t wait to hear Mom’s voice. And Dad. And maybe even my brothers and sisters. Jarret had kept his word, taking me to Mass. Would he let me make the phone call too? He’d said he needed to think. What was there to think about?
“Hey, so…” Sitting before a plate with a few streaks of syrup, Jarret twisted his coffee mug from side to side. “When do you want to make that phone call?”
A smile sneaked onto my face. My heart leaped. “How about now, I mean, after breakfast?”
He smiled back. “Yeah, okay. Sorry I didn’t let you talk to your mother sooner.”
“Really?” I whispered, again stunned by his apology.
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