Anyone but Him

by Theresa Linden

  He nodded. “We just gotta be cautious. Okay?”

  “Okay. I won’t tell her I have amnesia or that I don’t like—” I pressed my lips together before “you” came out.

  With a huff, he rolled his eyes and got up from the table. “Right, that you don’t like me.” Jarret gathered breakfast dishes and carried them to the sink. “So, there’s one more thing you can’t talk about.” He turned and leaned against the countertop, resting his hands on each side.

  “Okay. What is it?” I stepped into the kitchen, my gaze darting from the phone to him.

  “Don’t ask about your father.”

  I stared, dumbfounded and unable to formulate a reply for two whole seconds. Would I ever comprehend his ways? “Um. Why? That’s kind of an unfair condition. Of course I want to talk to my father too.”

  “Please.” He shook his head. “Just don’t. I’ll explain later.”

  A long moment passed, while I tried to read his expression and decipher his words. Vague explanations for his cryptic request flitted through my mind, but I could grasp none of them. Could my father have lost his job? Be suffering from an illness? And me so far from home, unavailable to offer comfort? Dad would never have left Mom. And he couldn’t have—

  Brick walls rose up in my mind, preventing me from considering other possibilities.

  Jarret held my gaze, his warning and look of compassion reaching inside me.

  A chill overcame me, dampening my excitement. Shivering, I shifted my attention to the phone on the countertop and wrapped my fingers around it. I dialed the number I would always know by heart, amnesia or not, and three rings later…

  “Hello?” Mom’s sweet voice came through the receiver. She sounded a bit winded.

  My heart stirred, and a great longing welled up inside. “Mom?”

  “Oh, hi, Caitlyn. I was on my way out the door when the phone rang. I thought that was your number. What’s up? Is everything okay?”

  Wishing I could throw myself into Mom’s arms, I leaned against the island countertop and wrapped my arm around my waist.

  Jarret slinked over to the kitchen island and stopped two feet from me, his eyes on the countertop and a look of concentration on his face. He probably wished he could hear both sides of the conversation.

  “I just wanted to hear your voice, Mom.” Wanting to pour my heart out but knowing I couldn’t, I struggled to keep an even tone. I didn’t want Mom to worry. Maybe Jarret was right to try to dissuade me from calling. “How is everyone?”

  Jarret lifted his gaze to mine, caution lights flashing in his eyes. He pulled a notepad and pen from a drawer.

  I wanted to turn away from him and transport myself back home in my mind, but I also wanted to read his expression as I spoke and so remained facing him.

  “Oh, we’re all fine,” Mom said. “Let’s see, when did we talk last? What haven’t I told you?”

  “Um? When did we talk last?” I repeated Mom’s question so that Jarret could give me the answer.

  “Last month,” he mouthed.

  “I guess it’s been about a month,” I said. Worried I’d need more assistance with the phone call, I pressed the speaker button and replaced the phone in the cradle.

  Jarret exhaled a deep breath, maybe seeing the move as a sign of my trust.

  “Well, not much new. Priscilla’s still working at the Brandts’ bed and breakfast and at the craft store, which you know she just loves.”

  Mind reeling, I tuned out Mom’s next words. How could Priscilla be old enough to have a job? I calculated on my fingers. Priscilla was eighteen! And Stacey fifteen, David ten, and little Andy eight. Wow! My heart ached over the years I couldn’t remember.

  “I think she works too hard,” Mom said, “but she seems to enjoy it, the Brandts love having her, and it really helps out around here.”

  “Oh.” I could think of nothing better to say. And my mind had gotten stuck on trying to understand why Priscilla’s job helped out around there. We’d never been rich, but Dad had always made enough to provide for the family.

  “Stacey’s talking about getting a job this summer too. She wants to help Mr. Brandt with his forest ranger duties.” Mom laughed. “I think he’ll humor her and let her help with a thing or two around their big yard.”

  “Stacey always did like outdoor activities,” I said, “the dirtier, the better.”

  Mom laughed again. “So, did you call for a reason? Are you sure everything’s okay? You and Jarret getting along?”

  Jarret shook his head and sighed, then he glanced, maybe wondering how I would answer. He couldn’t stop me now. I could say anything. But I wouldn’t. I didn’t want Mom to worry.

  Not wanting to lie, I chose not to answer with a yes or no. “I just called to hear your voice, Mom. I miss you guys.”

  “We miss you, too, dear. Wish you didn’t live so far away. I just know one day you’re going to call and tell me I’m going to be a grandmother and that you’re coming back home.”

  I shot Jarret a look and mouthed, “Mom doesn’t know?”

  He shook his head and wrote a note: You wanted to wait.

  Still holding his gaze, I tried to understand why.

  “Well,” Mom said, “I’d talk longer, but I was off to your father’s old workplace to see about getting our air conditioner replaced before summer. I don’t know how he held the old thing together all those years.”

  Jarret stiffened and sucked in a breath.

  Why would Mom worry about that at all? Dad was a registered heating and air conditioner technician.

  “Guess we never realized how lucky we had it?” Mom’s voice held a hint of sadness. “But his work buddies offered me his old discounts.” She sighed. “I know they all loved your father.”

  Jarret sucked in another breath and blinked his eyes several times as he scribbled the note: please don’t ask. He shoved the note to me and lifted his gaze…his eyes teary?

  “A discount…” I repeated, mindlessly. “Loved?” Why past tense?

  Heart thudding in my chest, I pressed my lips together to keep the questions from coming out. What do you mean, Mom? Why doesn’t Dad fix it? What’s wrong with Dad?

  “We take so much for granted, you know? Your father always took care of all of that. No matter how harsh the winter or how hot the summer, we never had to think twice about heating or air conditioning.”

  Mom’s melancholy voice brought waves of grief and panic to my mind. Why could Dad no longer take care of it? What happened to him?

  Jarret pressed his lips together and turned away… as a tear slid down his face.

  “Mom?” I whispered, unable to stop the question from coming out. “What happened—”

  Jarret spun to face me and, grabbing me by the shoulders, pulled me to himself. “Don’t, Caitlyn,” he whispered in my ear. “Just tell her goodbye.”

  “Oh, well,” Mom said, her voice strong now. “I have to get going. Love from all of us to both of you.”

  “I love you too, Mom,” I whispered with my last ounce of strength.

  With one arm still wrapped around me, Jarret clicked the speaker phone off. “Come sit down and we’ll talk.” Squeezing my hand, he tried to lead me from the kitchen.

  Desperate for answers now, I stood my ground and wriggled my hand from his grip. “What happened to Dad? Tell me.”

  As if not sure how to answer, he bowed his head for a moment. Then he glanced up. “I didn’t want you to have to go through the pain again. I wish you could just remember. It was so hard.”

  “Tell me.” I squeezed my hands into fists, bracing myself.

  A pained expression overcoming him, Jarret sagged against the countertop. “A month or so before our wedding, we got the news.”

  Anxiety mounting, I held my breath.

  “Your father was diagnosed with a fast-acting cancer, given three months to live.”

  No, I wailed inside but only a grief-stricken moan came out. Several puzzle pieces of my life shattered. Gone
forever. Never to fall back into place. Nothing made sense. Why had I married Jarret after learning of my father’s cancer? Why had I moved away after that? Why hadn’t I remained behind to support my family?

  Jarret moved in, reaching for me.

  Not wanting his comfort, I pushed him back and shook my head. “Give me a moment,” I said, tears on the verge of erupting. Then I bolted for the sliding glass doors, slipped sandals on my feet, and stepped out onto the deck.

  With my arms wrapped around my waist, holding myself together, I shuffled to a sunny spot by the far railing and peered through tears at the dense trees and bushes along the backyard. The sun-drenched wood of the back deck radiated warmth to my legs. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage and carried the scent of lilacs and other flowers. A distant radio played a sad country song. The peaceful surroundings did little to soothe my soul. Dad is dead. I’ll never see him again. What else have I lost that Jarret hasn’t told me about? It already felt like so much. Too much lost.

  The screen door slid open. “Hey, I’ll make you some iced tea, okay? I’ll bring it outside to you.”

  After a quick wipe of my cheeks, I spared a glance and shrugged. I did not want his comfort. I wanted to blame him. If I hadn’t married him, I’d probably still live in my home town. I’d be there for my family. And most likely, I wouldn’t have had the accident that had caused my amnesia.

  The screen door slid shut. A moment later, a cabinet squeaked open and pans clanked.

  More than ever now, I wanted to go back home. I wanted, no, I needed, to mourn with my family. Sure, they might not feel the loss as intensely as I did now, having just discovered it—for the first time I could remember. But they loved him and must’ve still felt some pain.

  I turned my head a bit, listening to a cabinet slam shut. Fragments of thoughts weeded their way into my mind. Run. Leave. He would be too busy making the iced tea to notice my disappearance. I could wander to the neighbor playing the country music… phone Roland from there and get a ride. Home.

  I’d prayed for God to make a way. Could this be the door God had left open?

  Heart thumping a warning, I crept down the porch steps and into the backyard. I didn’t doubt Jarret had feelings for me, but our relationship had serious problems. In addition to not trusting him, I had too many questions, and I needed space and a good friend to help sort things out. And Dad was gone. Gone forever. Nothing made sense anymore.

  Once past the lilac bush, I bolted, heading to the front instead of the back. I kept to the high wooden fence that enclosed the neighbors’ backyard. Then I cut across their front yard and stopped in their empty driveway. My gaze snapped to the gate.

  Jarret would notice my disappearance soon and come looking for me. I shouldn’t be running away. He’d as much as told me I was free to leave him. But I’d lost my nerve when he’d said that. And if he said it again, I’d lose my nerve again. No, I needed to do this my way.

  Hide.

  He’d eventually tire of searching for me. Maybe he’d even drive around in my car. Then I could find the neighbor playing the country music. Phone Roland or call a cab. I would explain myself to Jarret later. If he was the man Roland claimed he was, he’d understand…

  “Mrs. West?” Bobby’s voice came from the street. “Whatcha doing?”

  Scalp tingling, eyes ready to pop from my head, and anxiety mounting, I faced him. “Bobby...” I did not have time for this. “Why don’t you go on home? I don’t want anyone to know where I am. Mr. West and I are...” Biting my lip, I cut a glance to our house. No sign of Jarret yet. “We’re playing hide and seek. Can you keep a secret?”

  Bobby stood with his head tilted to one side and his thumbs in the front pockets of dirt-streaked jeans. He shrugged. “I s’pose.”

  “Good.” I put a finger to my lips and said, “Shhhh.” Then I dashed up the neighbors’ driveway to the gate and lifted the latch.

  “That ain’t a good hidin’ spot, Mrs. West,” Bobby said.

  As I cracked open the gate, Jarret called my name. He sounded near but not near enough to see me. I still had a chance. Please, Bobby, don’t rat me out.

  Heart pounding in my ears, I slipped inside the gate and pulled it shut.

  A low growling came to my ears, making the hair on my neck rise.

  I froze. Then with slow, deliberate movements, I turned.

  A short, stocky dog with a shiny black coat bared its teeth and growled, its fiery orange glare locked on me. No more than a few feet away, it crept toward me.

  “Nice doggy.” My voice wavered and my blood ran cold. I wanted to reach for the gate and slip back out but feared the dog would attack at any movement. I lifted a trembling hand, inching it toward the gate.

  The dog’s growl deepened. He lowered his head.

  My heart thumped hard in my throat.

  Suddenly, the gate flew open and banged against the fence.

  I stumbled back with a gasp.

  The dog lunged.

  Expecting sharp teeth to pierce my skin, I threw my arms over my face. But they never came.

  A man grunted.

  The dog went into a frenzy of wrath, barking, snapping, and jumping at his new victim: Jarret.

  “Caitlyn, go!” Jarret flung himself onto the dog and pressed its snapping jaw to the ground.

  Adrenaline surging, propelling me into action, I dashed through the gate.

  The dog popped up and wriggled free to attack.

  “Off! Down! Sit!” Jarret grunted, then cussed. A second later, he barged through the gate and slammed it shut. He set the latch and threw his back against the gate, breathing hard. The dog barked with fury, pounding its paws against the other side of the gate.

  “They... got a fierce dog.” Panting, Jarret looked me over. “You all right?” The dog had left long red gashes on his right forearm.

  Startled by the sight and heart still racing, I reached but stopped myself from touching his arm. “He bit you!”

  Jarret pushed himself off the gate, glancing at his arm. “Na, it’s just a scratch.” He tramped back down the driveway to where Bobby still stood.

  “I told you that weren’t a good hidin’ spot.” Mumbling to himself and shaking his head, Bobby turned and strolled away.

  “We’ve been trying to make friends with Sparky,” Jarret said, “whenever he’s out for a walk, but...”

  “Oh, so that’s why we have dog treats in the cupboard?”

  “It hasn’t worked. Obviously.” He gave me a little smile and a lingering gaze. A curl from his ponytail wrapped around to the side of his neck. His smile faded as he stuffed one hand in a pocket and stood with his weight on one leg and his head tilted to one side. Looking as cool as ever. Not looking like the man of my dreams. “I’m sorry about today. Do you wish I had talked you outta that phone call?”

  Breathless and unable to answer, I gasped. Tears from a loss so unexpected and deep rushed out. A tidal wave of grief and emotion swallowed me up, destroying all reason, hope, and identity. I collapsed into his arms.

  CHAPTER 28

  JARRET AND I strolled back to the house side by side. It had taken me an eternity to compose myself. Jarret had simply stroked my hair, kissed the top of my head, and held me the whole time I’d bawled in his arms. He never asked why I’d bolted from the house. Did he realize I’d wanted to leave him? Or did he simply chalk it up to my grief?

  “Hey, so, I didn’t get that iced tea made,” Jarret said in a casual tone, as if we had just returned from a neighborly visit and not a heart-pounding attack by the neighbors’ vicious dog. He stopped near the steps to the deck and made a sweeping gaze of our back lawn, which now rivaled the unkempt lawn of the abandoned house next door. “I was gonna cut the grass.”

  “Oh, you go ahead. I can finish making the iced tea.” A bit numb from the experience, I climbed the steps. The screen door hung wide open, water ran from the kitchen faucet, and a pan lay on the floor by an open cabinet. Jarret must have heard the dog and noticed I
was missing. Fearing the worst, he’d abandoned it all to rescue me.

  I picked up the pan and took it to the sink. Within a few minutes, I made the iced tea and set a glass of it on the patio table for Jarret, along with peroxide, Band-aids, and cotton balls for his scrapes.

  He stooped over the lawn mower, checking something. Then he yanked the starter and straightened as the lawn mower sputtered to life. One hand to the control bar, he glanced at me.

  A bit of the numbness wore off at his glance, and my cheeks warmed with my embarrassment. I went back inside and watched him from the shadowy breakfast nook. In a moment of weakness and unwelcome vulnerability, I’d flung myself into his arms. Bawling against his muscular chest, encircled by his strong arms, his manly scent filling my senses, I’d felt safe and comforted and free to express my grief.

  I sighed, more confused now than ever, and returned to the kitchen.

  Wanting to think of something other than my father’s death, I took a glass of iced tea and a bowl of prunes to the weight room to read more of the emails I’d sent to Roland that fateful summer. I desperately needed to know more about this man I’d married, now more than ever. So far, the emails had only given me the impression that Jarret was an arrogant drunk and I didn’t like him much. But Roland had gleaned a different impression. Maybe I would see it too.

  Computer humming and the email program open, I scooted my chair forward and picked up where I’d left off.

  Dear Roland,

  Nanny’s recovery is going well. She leaves her room more often now and sometimes tells me stories while she watches me work. She talks about you and your brothers, telling stories from when you were children. Sometimes we laugh so hard it hurts. It hurts my side, anyway. I’m sure it’s worse for her healing body. I’ll tell you the stories one day but not via email. I want to see your face. I want to watch your fine, pale skin turn a lovely shade of crimson.

  Stunned that I’d written “fine, pale skin” in an email to Roland, I sat back and laughed aloud. No doubt those words would’ve gone through my mind, but to write them in a message to him... Things must’ve changed between us.

  My thoughts froze and I frowned. Changed from romantic to friendship? When? How? With a mournful sigh, I turned back to the email.