Anyone but Him

by Theresa Linden

  Or... he could sleep in bed with me, the two of us, the way it must have been for almost a year. We were married, after all. I’d seen the marriage license and the wedding albums with my own eyes. No doubts remained. I no longer suspected him of kidnapping and drugging me.

  I giggled at the paranoid thoughts I’d once had. Then I rolled onto my right side, facing the window.

  We were married, united in a permanent covenant. He was my husband. I was his wife. I had no right to keep him out of the bedroom.

  I threw the blanket back and tiptoed to the window. Pushing the curtain aside, I inhaled a breath of cool night air. The tree by the deck looked like a tall shadow of trembling leaves, black against the royal-blue night sky. Above it shone a few points of light from distant stars.

  Did I love Jarret? He wasn’t at all the man I had at first assumed he was. Yes, I loved him. It felt like a new love, though. If only I could remember our marriage, or at least a moment or two of the wedding, an exchange of vows, the bouquet toss, the chicken dance... How would I ever fully resume my role as wife?

  A wife shouldn’t keep herself from her husband. I no longer belonged to myself but to him. Isn’t that what it said in the Bible? And he belonged to me.

  I wanted to make him happy and to make our marriage a good one, a fruitful one. I liked the idea of children. In fact, I wanted a houseful of them. My hand and my gaze dropped to my slightly rounded belly. Why should the thought of nuptial love make me nervous? I had obviously done this before.

  Jarret wasn’t unattractive. My false opinion of him had blinded me to his appearance. I’d only seen the person he used to be, the person I assumed he was still. In reality, Jarret was handsome, once you got past the sneer. And his body, the way he worked out... Other girls saw it. They probably considered me lucky to have him. Now that I knew him better... I was lucky, or rather blessed, to have him. But to give myself completely to him...

  I sighed and let the curtain fall. If I could only remember our wedding.

  My memories might never return, but we were married. I would have to start acting like his wife sooner or later. I turned toward the door, inhaled deeply, and forced the air out, cementing my decision.

  It took an entire minute to cross the room, but then I flung the bedroom door open and it banged against the doorstop.

  Jarret popped up from where he lay on the couch. He grabbed the remote and muted the TV. “Hey, you okay?” His ponytail hung loose and low as if the band had nearly come out.

  “Okay? Oh. Yes, I’m fine.” I leaned against the doorframe, attempting to appear relaxed.

  He got up from the couch, concern in his eyes. He wore the same white shirt, un-tucked now, and the chino pants he’d worn all day. “You got a headache or something?”

  “A headache? No.”

  “TV too loud?”

  I glanced at the muted TV, then at him as he slowly approached. He came to stand, as had been his habit lately, about five feet from me.

  “Did you...” Hope flickered in his eyes. “... remember something?”

  Glancing at my feet, I spoke softly, almost whispered. “No, I wish I had.”

  “So...” He let his mouth and his sentence hang.

  “Well, I thought...” How should I say it? Maybe I should’ve just sat next to him on the couch for a while, but he was up now, standing there, staring, waiting for an explanation. Once I went to the bedroom for the night, I never came back out. Of course, he was worried. “I thought you might, um, want to sleep in our bed?”

  He gave me the hint of a smile, kindness in his eyes. “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.” He paused. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean to.”

  It took a few seconds for my words to appear to register in his mind. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it, gave the dark bedroom a glance, and then, with his eyes locked on mine, closed the distance between us.

  I didn’t regret inviting him, but my heartbeat quickened with every step he took.

  He moved into my personal space, pushed a tangle of hair from my face, and rubbed his fingertips down my cheek. “Are you sure?”

  My heart fluttered at his touch. I breathed and nodded. “We are married,” I wanted to say but found myself unable to speak.

  With his gaze connected to mine, he took my left hand, brought it up to his mouth, and kissed my wedding band. Then he turned my hand over and kissed my palm once, twice, three times. After each kiss, he met my gaze as if getting my permission to go on. What look my eyes held, I had no clue, but each kiss made me dizzier than the first.

  When he finally brought his mouth near mine, he stopped before our lips touched. What was he waiting for? Did he doubt that I wanted this? That I wanted him? Or did he want me to make the first move? My lips burned for his, but he seemed unable to draw nearer.

  So, I did it. I made the move, pressed my mouth to his, and kissed him with a passion I didn’t realize I had.

  He took my hands and played with them, caressing them as we kissed. Then he withdrew and gave me another searching gaze.

  I wanted to smile to let him know it was okay to go on, but I only panted for air and tried keep the world from spinning out of control.

  His next kiss came soft and short, then another like it. As he kissed me this way, he brought my hands to a button on his shirt and left them there.

  Did he want me to take off his shirt? Could I manage it? I fumbled with a button before it finally slipped through the buttonhole. As he continued to kiss me playfully, and my lightheadedness increased, I went to the next button and the next.

  At the fourth button, he pushed his hands into my hair. Then he stroked my collarbone and my neck up to my chin. He probably meant to please me with gentle caressing… but the feel of his hand against my neck sent a dread chill through me.

  I froze.

  He pulled back, his gaze shooting to mine then dropping to my hands motionless on the fourth button of his shirt. He inhaled deeply, exhaled a trembling breath through his mouth, took my hands into his again, and kissed me on the top of the head. Then he backed away.

  “I love you, Caitlyn.” He released my hands. “I can wait. I just want you to...” He didn’t finish his sentence but I knew what the rest would be. Love me. He turned away.

  I wanted to say something—to apologize or tell him that I did love him—but I only watched him return to the couch.

  His hairband must’ve fallen out when we embraced. His hair hung free. So dark and so long for a guy. How it had swung about his face when he and Roland had fought. It so resembled the hair of my attacker, if my memory served me right.

  I slunk back into the darkness of the bedroom before he had a chance to settle on the couch and turn my way.

  Leaving the door ajar, I took a few steps toward the bed, but I couldn’t get myself to lie down. Still dazed, I touched my neck. The feeling had come with such strength at his touch. My attacker, he had touched my neck roughly. Something of the fear of that moment returned to me, turning my blood to ice.

  Trembling, I crawled under the covers and tucked the blankets under my chin. Jarret had kissed me so sweetly, but I had felt such passion.

  Passion.

  Jarret stood inches away, confusion and hurt in his eyes. The desire to kiss him overpowered me, the desire to be safe in his arms. I flung my arms around his neck and pulled him close. His kiss sent a thrill through me that merged with the pain in my head, resulting in a dizzying effect.

  I gasped at the memory. When had that happened? I remembered it clearly! Closing my eyes, I tried to recall more. Perhaps all the memories would return if I concentrated.

  I stumbled into the bathroom. The glowing nightlight reflected in the mirror. I pushed my weight against the bathroom door to close it. Jarret tried to block it but made no real effort. With a good shove, it clicked shut. He shouted something, his voice loud and angry, though muffled through the door. What did he say? Water blasted from the faucet.
I splashed it on my face. Cool, soothing. Leaning over, my head reeled and the pain increased.

  The rest of the memory came in pieces. It was mostly Jarret’s anger that I remembered. He had grabbed my wrist and glared down his nose at me.

  “You got something you wanna tell me?”

  I twisted my wrist from him. What was his problem? “If I did, I would’ve told you.”

  “You cheatin’ on me?”

  Did he just say— I glared. “You don’t really think that?”

  “I don’t want to. But why won’t you tell me?”

  Breathing hard, trembling, I sat up. When had this happened? At that time, I couldn’t think clearly, but the memory itself... it was clear. It had to be real. It had to have happened to me.

  I slipped from bed and retraced my steps to the dresser, to where Jarret had stood. Was this the night I’d lost my memory? What had happened before? What happened after? Why was he so angry?

  Before I reached the dresser, a memory of darkness filled my mind.

  A strange humming sound rang in my head, so loud it hurt. Not in my head. Outside me. Surrounding me. I knew the sound. The sound of crickets and night bugs. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times to make sure they were really open.

  Darkness surrounded me. The odor of dirt and decaying leaves permeated the air. I shivered from the coolness of the night. My head throbbed with pain. Cold and grit pressed against my cheek. Rocks poked into my legs and hip.

  Unable to see, I reached out with both hands and swung at the air. I hit something hard and cold. A rock on my left, a big rock. I gripped the boulder and pulled myself up. It stood nearly as tall as I did.

  Where was I? What happened to me? How did I get outside? My heartbeat quickened and my breaths came hard. Panicking would get me nowhere. Calm down!

  Clinging to the boulder, I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. My heart rate slowed and my breathing calmed. I heard other sounds, distant ones. Every few minutes came the faint rumble of a semi-truck driving over an open road. It came from my left. I would go that way. Get out of the woods.

  Reaching into darkness, I stumbled along at a slow pace, tripping on roots and getting my legs tangled in vines and weeds. Moonlight shone through the canopy of leaves here and there, revealing outlines of trees and bushes and occasionally reaching to the ground. Too often, I walked with no hint of light. Darkness. Indistinct shapes. The sounds of the road grew louder; I was headed in the right direction. Keep going. I would soon get back to civilization and find my way home.

  My mind tingled, grew numb. Get out of the woods. Get out of the woods. Finally, the trees parted and a road lay before me. How long had I been walking? My head hurt. I needed to lie down.

  CHAPTER 37

  THE BIRDS’ SWEET songs traveled through the open window, inviting me to wake. I stretched and rolled toward the window, a beam of sunlight finding me. I opened my eyes, squinting. The left side of the curtain hung open a bit. I hadn’t bothered pulling it closed after standing at the window last night.

  I pushed myself up, sitting out of the sun’s reach. I yawned and stretched again. A tempting aroma wafted on the air, making my stomach growl, but my body ached and sleepiness clung to me. I hadn’t slept well. I couldn’t find a comfortable position and strange dreams had haunted me all night.

  My eyes popped open wide. No, not dreams. Flashbacks. I hadn’t been able to shut my mind off to the disturbing flashbacks. Even now, I remembered the night sounds and the distress of wandering in the dark. I shook my head, not wanting to think about it again.

  Folding my hands and bowing my head, I turned my thoughts to God. I offered my day to Him, come what may. And I asked for His strength and wisdom. The memories made no sense and I wanted to interpret them correctly, rather than jump to conclusions. I’d misjudged Jarret terribly so far. I wouldn’t do it again.

  My stomach growled, turning my thoughts to my baby.

  “Okay, I hear you.” I stumbled out of bed. After washing up, I pulled my bathrobe on over my nightgown and opened the bedroom door. I was dying to know what Jarret had made for breakfast.

  On my way through the living room, something caught my eye. The old box of files and slides from Jarret’s work sat on the coffee table, closed with the flaps tucked one under the other, Jarret’s camera and keys sitting on top. He must’ve finished organizing the contents and planned to take it back to work. I turned my attention to the kitchen.

  Jarret didn’t see me coming or he probably wouldn’t have cussed over his mishap at the stove. He jumped back as a flame leaped from the skillet. Then he snatched an oven mitt and swung the flaming skillet from the stove. The flames died quickly. He slid the skillet back onto the stove, still unaware of me, and leaned over a cookbook, mumbling to himself. He was dressed for work, already, wearing blue work pants and a burgundy button-front shirt, his hair in a neat ponytail.

  “Smells delicious.” I rested my arms on the countertop to watch him work.

  “Oh, hey, you’re up.” He glanced then did a double-take at my robe. “It’ll be done in a minute. It’s, uh, apple crepe.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive. And you said you couldn’t cook.”

  He gave a sly grin. “You better try it before you think too highly of me.” He stirred the simmering apple mixture in the skillet. “You going to work today?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m just going to hang around the house, work from home. I want to call Melinda, that girl I met at the park.”

  “Yeah, you and Sean.” He dumped the apple mixture into six crepes in a crude but successful manner.

  I nodded, refusing to acknowledge his jealous tone. “Melinda would make a great witness if she wouldn’t mind telling her parents. Because of her age, we would need their permission.”

  He filled the last crepe and dropped the skillet into the sink.

  “Mainly, I want to focus on getting my memories back. Roland’s going up to Wright. Maybe being alone here, relaxed, thinking about it, and going over the few memories and impressions that I have...” I shrugged, pushing back discomfort from last night’s memory. “I don’t know. It’s worth a try. And I have other phone calls to make.”

  That made him look, but he just as quickly turned away, as if he had made a personal commitment not to interfere with the way I chose to handle things. He folded the crepes, sprinkled them with a crumbly streusel topping, and put two on each plate. Plates in hand, he skirted around the end of the counter. “I thought we could eat out on the deck.” He nodded for me to go first.

  “Oh, that sounds nice.” As I squeezed past the big table, my gaze fell on a romantic scene of purple, lilac, and white on the deck.

  A white tablecloth covered the patio table, swelling with a breeze. In the middle of the table stood a tall vase of lilacs and a short crystal vase of violets. Glasses of milk, coffee cups, utensils, and napkins were all in place. A dark green umbrella hovered above all, casting a shadow on the chair that missed the shade from the tree.

  “Oh, wow, Jarret.” Heart tingling, I pulled out a chair and inhaled the fragrance of the lilacs.

  He set the plates down then jerked his face toward the house. “Oh, wait!” He dashed inside, mumbling, “I forgot... I need to get...”

  The crepes, the flowers, the umbrella... everything so picturesque. I felt a bit out of place in my nightgown and bathrobe. Maybe I could throw on a dress before he—

  Jarret hurried out onto the deck, slowed his pace, and sat in the chair across from me.

  “You didn’t try it.” He reached toward the vase of lilacs, but his eyes were on my plate, disappointment on his brow.

  “I was waiting for you. Everything is so lovely. What did you forget?”

  “You’ll see.” He raised an eyebrow, then bowed his head and made the Sign of the Cross.

  Together we prayed the traditional grace before meals, the same prayer I’d prayed every day of my life, before every meal with family, friends, and even alone. I prayed with
my husband. He prayed. The godly husband I’d hoped to marry.

  Overwhelmed with thankfulness, I lifted my fork and smiled at the sky. The sun peeked through the leaves and sent hazy beams to the dew-laden grass. “You must’ve gotten up awfully early.”

  “Yeah, gotta get to work on time. Before they decide to fire me. But I wanted to, uh...” Fork in hand, he stared at his plate but made no move to eat. He glanced. “I—I wanted to tell you how we got engaged.”

  My heart did a somersault. “I’d like to hear that.”

  “Okay, but try the crepes.” He cut his own crepe and took a bite, watching me.

  Trying hard to eat like a lady, I slid a forkful into my watering mouth. My taste buds went wild over a sweet, savory taste with a hint of tang. “Oh my, these are delicious.”

  His crooked smile said he liked my response.

  We both took a second bite before he began our story. “Didja know about my trip to South America and the opal mine?”

  I nodded, chewing, unwilling to speak with food in my mouth.

  “Well, while I was there I called you—”

  “I thought...” I swallowed. “...we weren’t talking.”

  “Yeah, we weren’t. But I needed to hear your voice.” His glance made him look vulnerable. “So I called the house. You answered but I, uh, I didn’t say anything.”

  I put on a pretend angry face. “How rude.”

  He smiled and shrugged a shoulder. “You kept talking into the phone, thinking whoever-it-was could hear you and trying to get whoever-it-was to call back, as if we had a bad connection. After we hung up, my cell phone rang. It was you. You asked if I called, then told me you couldn’t hear me. I told you I didn’t say anything. So that made you mad, and I thought you were gonna hang up on me. But then...” His nonchalant manner faded with the flicker of his eyes. “I confessed needing to hear your voice, so you stayed on the line. We talked awhile. I told you about the work I was doing in Brazil, how muggy and buggy and uncomfortable it was there. Felt like I wore wet clothes all day long.”

  While he retold our conversation and toyed with his food, I finished my first crepe and cut into the next.