Remember Me

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

  Bang....Bang.......Bang!

  “Goddammit.” she muttered as her eyes flew wide open. Sitting upright, she shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Throwing the blanket aside, she grabbed her glasses off the coffee table and slipped them on.

  Standing and stretching wearily, she glanced at the small, battery operated alarm clock on the table. “Who in the blue hell is banging on my door at five thirty in the freakin' morning? It's still dark outside, for Christ sake. This better be end-of-the-world important.” she groused with a scowl on her pretty features. Snatching her favorite pink, quilted robe from the back of the couch, she slipped it on and tied the frayed belt

  Walking stiffly to the door, she found herself hoping her mother had gotten a better nights rest than she had. Her mother had paid her a visit late the previous afternoon, and they had both stayed up long into the night talking, catching up. She had regaled her with stories about her childhood, her father, who sadly had passed away, she also spoke at great length about Regan, and her marriage with Granger. She was so grateful for the time they had spent together, and thankful for a family connection, strange as it still felt. She hadn't wanted her mother to have to go back to the hotel, so she had insisted on her sleeping in her own bed.

  Bang.....Bang......Bang!

  “Alright alright, I hear you, you trying to wake up the friggin' DEAD?” she half shouted irritably as she fumbled with the dead bolt.

  “Lord have mercy, Cassandra, who's that banging on the door this early?” Jocelyn fussed as she came hurrying out of the bedroom and tying her own robe shut.

  “Don't know mom, I don't have a peephole in the door.” she mumbled

  Grabbing an umbrella that was propped up in a corner near the door, Jocelyn brandished it like a baseball player at bat. “Well, don't open it until you know. With all the gangs running around these days and doing the home-invasion thing, you never know.” she cautioned.

  Even though she knew her mother was right, she still had to struggle to keep from laughing at the comical defensive stance she had taken in front of the door. Turning to face the door again, she called out, “Who is it?”

  “Your husband. Granger.” came the muffled reply.

  *********************************************************

  The door slowly opened to a sight of pure perfection standing before him. His Cassandra, in all her morning glory. Hair in wild disarray, looking much like the hairstyle the cartoon character Lisa Simpson sported, and sleep-heavy eyes that were regarding him with irritation. She looks so damn cute, morning drool and all. God, her gentle and overwhelming beauty always shines through, that's the woman I love.. He thought.

  Pulling the ratty, quilted robe tighter around her lush body, Cassandra became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, her own eyes began to wander, and she suddenly felt her own pulse quicken as her eyes roamed over her pre-dawn guest. Gone was the designer business suit, and in its place firm fitting jeans, a tight black tee shirt, waist-length black jacket, and Coleman hiking boots. The outfit, combined with his unshaven, handsome face and mussed up hair, gave him a wild, sexy look that set off an involuntary, yet pleasant tingle deep in her loins. Absolutely gorgeous! She thought as a shudder ran through her entire body. Glancing down at her own sock-covered feet, she was mortified at the thought of him seeing her in such a disheveled state. What in the world did he ever see in me to begin with? He could have any woman he wants, especially one that doesn't look like Little Orphan Annie.. She thought.

  “Granger, boy, have you lost your mind, waking us up this early? Look at you standing there grinning like a fool! Get yo tired butt in here!” Jocelyn fussed, unable to hide a pleased smile. Yeah, that boy's determined to win my baby back! I can’t wait to see sourpuss Grace's face when she sees them together again.. She thought. Giggling like a naughty schoolgirl, she propped the umbrella back up in the corner, turned, and shuffled back down the hall towards the bedroom.

  “Sorry for waking you Jocelyn, I just wanted to take my wife out for a sunrise breakfast." he called out to her as he stepped inside.

  “Well, have fun kids.” she answered, then disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door.

  Closing the front door behind him and locking it, he grabbed Cassandra's hand before she could get away. “ Good morning.” he murmured, then leaned down slowly and kissed her cheek as his fingers stroked her arm sensuously.

  His closeness unnerving her, she closed her eyes and took an unintentional deep breath, his scent making her senses reel. The smell of cedar wood, combined with his natural smell, a man's pheromones, made an amazing, intoxicating mixture. “Good morning.” she answered breathlessly, feeling like a complete dork, but unable to think of anything else on such short notice. Caught up in the moment, she was only dimly aware that she had planted her face in his chest, where she inhaled even more deeply. “Hey, are you actually coming around, or am I dreaming?” she heard him ask, as if from a great distance. Her eyes suddenly flew open and grew wide with shock, then she stepped back, pulling her arm free of his grip. Oh Lord, am I losing what little I have left of my mind? How can I be so turned on by him, especially since I don't even know for certain that he wasn't the one who attacked me? None of this makes sense, he could very well be wanting to kill me, and here I am lusting after him like some sex-starved female prisoner... she thought.

  “What's wrong, did I do something to upset you?” he asked hesitantly, a look of hurt etched across his handsome features.

  Oddly enough, when she dared to look back into his eyes, all thoughts of him meaning her harm dissipated like fog underneath a rising sun. Could the usual intimidating, strong-willed, take-charge manner he normally displayed be a facade, hiding the fact that he was just as afraid and lonely as she was? Did she want to know more about him? Time to take a leap of faith, for my son, myself, and maybe for my.... husband... she decided. Taking a deep breath, she looked at him squarely. “Give me twenty minutes to get showered and dressed, then we'll see to your sunrise breakfast.” she said quietly, then turned and walked off just as Jocelyn emerged from the bedroom and headed for the tiny kitchenette.

  Did I hear right? Is she going to turn around any second now and say, Gotcha! He thought, completely stunned. Of course he had hoped she would accept, but the pessimist in him had talked him into believing she would accept nothing more than breakfast from the safety of her own apartment. He had been fully prepared for and willing to have to beg and plead with her. Jesus, don't psychoanalyze it to death, just be thankful she's willing to go... he reminded himself.

  “Remember hon, try to not push too hard, too quickly.” a voice close by said.

  Startled from his thoughts, he turned and saw Jocelyn standing there, holding two steaming cups of coffee.

  Handing him a cup, she gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder, then turned to go back to bed. It would be the first time in three years she would rest peacefully.

  *********************************************************

  40 minutes later, at Lake Harvest

  “How did you come up with this idea?” Cassandra asked as she held up a battery operated lantern, one commonly used for camping. She had been pleasantly surprised when Granger had announced they would be having breakfast on the lake, and would watch the sun come up together. “I don't mean to offend you, I mean, I'm flattered and all, but this... “she hesitated, then gestured toward the canoe with her free hand, “this...well...just doesn't seem like it would be your thing.” she finished, then chuckled nervously as she watched him put the large backpack inside the wooden vessel.

  Double checking to make sure he had everything, he looked up at her and gave her a coy smile. “Well, actually, you're right, this isn't something I would have come up with.” he said as he stood straight, then reached for the lantern.

  Handing it to him, she stood stock-still as he reached out and gently caressed the side of her face with his free hand. She was actually disappoin
ted when he finally pulled his hand away. And she was actually surprised that she was disappointed.

  His gorgeous eyes twinkling, he explained. “But this is something that my Cassandra would have done. WOULD do, I mean. See, you live for stuff like this, I'm just now beginning to understand it. Before....well, you know, when we were together, I could give you anything, material wise, but all you ever really wanted was my time. You took pleasure simply from being with the people you loved, that's all. I wish...” he faltered as his eyes grew misty under the moonlight, “....I wish I had valued it more, when I had the chance. There's a lot of things I...” he trailed off, and remembering Jocelyn's warning, let the matter drop.

  The uncomfortable silence was suddenly broken by a low-keyed honking noise, and they both turned to see a decidedly plump, well-fed gray gander slowly waddling down the wooden pier towards them.

  “What's he doing here? I thought those things found a roost and slept through the night like...well, like roosters.” Cassandra asked.

  “Maybe the lantern woke him up, or maybe he's confused and thinks he's an owl, I dunno'.” he shrugged. “Should be harmless though. Judging by how healthy he looks, I'll wager he's nearly tame, probably gets fed by campers here all the time. Well, shall we?” he finished, gesturing in the direction of the canoe.

  Looking back at him, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his captivating gaze. Is this just a physical reaction, one any woman would have being around a sexy, handsome man, or is what I'm feeling something deeper, something.... real? I did marry him, after all... she couldn't help but wonder. Taking his outstretched hand, she was grateful for his assistance as he helped her keep her balance as she stepped inside the tiny watercraft and sat down.

  Getting in after her, he carefully shoved off from the pier, then picked up the oar and began paddling slowly.

  “You said I used to like this?” she asked, honestly curious.

  “Well, maybe not this exact thing, but things like it. The canoe was my idea, I was trying to be original. I guess what I'm trying to say is, you were always the fun, spontaneous one of us two.” he answered softly.

  “Did I do similar things with Regan?”

  Before answering he looked around, and satisfied with their location, put the oar down and grabbed the backpack. “Oh yes. Honey, the two of you had all night movie marathons on weekends and holidays. You two would always go out and rent your favorite Three Stooges movies, the ones with Curly, not Shemp. You would never buy the movies, half the fun with you two was going to the video store, picking them off the shelf, and loading up on movie theater type snacks. Then you would come home and whip up a homemade pizza, to top things off. And if it happened to be fall, when you two finally got tired, you would take sleeping bags outside, stargaze while you roasted marshmallows over a small fire, eat them, then go to sleep.”

  “Sounds so nice.” she said with a dreamy smile on her face.

  “That's just the tip of the iceberg. You threw big Halloween Parties for him every year, too. Oh, and you two would decorate the entire yard, and I mean balls-to-the-wall, if you'll pardon my French. Life-sized, fully dressed witches you two made, using plastic skeletons, minus the skull. For the head you used a Styrofoam wig stand, attached a witch mask, hair, and witches hat. Then you would stand them up over an old cast iron cauldron, one filled with dry-ice to produce smoke, put long, ugly sticks in their hands, and posed them like they were stirring the pot. A red strobe light, lying underneath and covered by a thin layer of leaves, gave the illusion of a fire burning. You two would also strategically place fog machines underneath mounds of leaves in the yard, and when they were set off, the effect looked like something out of a cheesy, yet campy Sci-Fi B-horror movie. And like I said, that's just the tip of the iceberg..” he trailed off, feeling a pang of guilt for all the wasted time, time he could have been spending with them, when he had had the chance.

  “Well, when can I see him?” she asked in a wistful voice. “I know he barely remembers me, but I was hoping I could still see him, in the next day or so.”

  Inside, he winced. He didn't want her to think he was keeping her from their son, but he also knew Regan had to be protected. Clearing his throat, he spoke gently, yet firmly. “Cassandra, I'm not trying to keep him from you, I would never keep my son's mother from him. But honey, someone tried to kill you, remember? Cass, I can't allow this madness to touch him, or place him in jeopardy. Just give us a little more time to find the animal who hurt you. Sure, I could hire an army of bodyguards, but neither you nor Reagan would ever be truly safe until he, or she, is found, and the best way to do that is for you to get your memory back. I…no, scratch that, WE, can‘t take any chances, any at all, concerning his safety.”

  Although she was disappointed, the dormant maternal instincts in her knew he was right. Although she wanted to be angry, she knew they shouldn't take any risks, no matter how small they seemed, when it came to the safety of their child. “Alright.” she conceded. “But I do at least want to talk to him, every day, what harm can come of that? If you'll just give him my number, I'll buy him a cell phone so he can call me anytime he wants.”

  Nodding in agreement, he picked up the backpack, opened it, then pulled out two bowls, two spoons, a quart jug of milk, and a large box of Cheerios.

  Completely at ease for the first time that morning (the prospect of finally getting to talk to Regan had cheered her considerably) she giggled and accepted bowl he proffered. As she watched him fill her bowl with cereal, then milk, a sudden thought struck her: I simply cannot believe he was the one who hurt me, then her thoughts drifted back to a conversation she had had with her mother, only hours earlier:

  Baby, now listen to me. I know you believe Granger was the one who attacked you, and I for one can't fault you for that. After all, the man sometimes comes off as cold as a bear’s bald butt in the winter. He WANTS people to think he’s SOB, it's his way of keeping people at arm’s length. But I've seen his loving, tender side as well, with both you and Regan, and let me tell you something, that man would die, he would KILL, for either one of you. At first, I was pissed when he didn't look for you, that he believed that old witch of a mother of his when she said you had simply left of your own accord, but in his defense, and this is something we're still working on trying to figure out, your behavior prior to your disappearance was downright bizarre, honey.

  Darling, I believe in my soul that he would never harm a hair on your head. But that snake named Grace, I wouldn't put anything past HER. And if she DID have something to do with it, she better hope and pray I never find out. I'm sure you don't remember this, but that woman was always butting into your marriage, she caused problems from day one. The greatest failure on Granger's part was trying to be an honorable son to that ridge-running momma of his.

  “Penny for your thoughts. Well, make that my entire fortune.” Granger's voice interrupted her thoughts as he munched noisily on a spoonful of his cereal.

  Looking down at her own bowl, she grabbed the spoon and stirred her cereal around. Shrugging her shoulders, she replied cautiously, “What about your mom? From what my mother said, she was never too keen on us being together.”

  Wanting to restart their relationship off on the right foot, he decided to be as honest as he could. “Well, she's right, mother always was a problem, and still is. But Cass, I'm not going to allow her to do the things she did before, no way, no how. When you're ready to move back home, our home, if I have to, I'll let mother live on the estate, alone, and we'll buy another place of our own.”

  “You make it sound so easy, but from what my mom told me, I got the feeling I wasn't the woman your mother envisioned marching down the aisle as your blushing bride.” she replied, trying to act nonchalant, but failing miserably.

  “We didn't do the marching down the aisle thing.” he laughed softly.

  Surprised, she looked up at him.

  “We were married by a woman named Sister Love, it was at the Black Mount
ains Wilderness Retreat.” he explained with a smile. “I'll never forget it. Shortly before we were married, you had called me while I was in Europe on a business trip, and announced you were pregnant. I was so happy, I couldn't believe you were actually carrying my child. I was so blown away I was literally speechless, and you mistook my shock, my surprise, my silence, for rejection. Before I had a chance to explain, you hung up on me. You were hurt, and immediately packed a bag and went to that place, the one I mentioned a minute ago. Long story short, it took me seven days to track you down, and when I finally did find you, I told you that I loved you and wanted to you to be the mother of all my children.”

  Eyes wide with wonder, Cassandra was now staring at him like a child being read a favorite bedtime story.

  Encouraged by the look in her eyes, he continued with the story. “While I was telling you all of this, I was standing in the hallway, right outside of your room, and I got down on my knees and proposed to you right then and there. Well, Sister Love, who was an ordained minister, just happened to walk by. She stopped, said hello to us, and offered her services. Sister Love....” he chuckled at the memory, “...now SHE was a character! She was a chain-smoker, of the left-handed cigarette variety, if you catch my drift, and an extremely loud dresser, kind of like that psychic you used to see on television, Miss Cleo. Our wedding was rather informal, and completely spontaneous. We were married inside her tree house, where she grew her...uhhh..special tobacco. She claimed it was the best pot in Kentucky, and I was dressed in a tank top, camouflage pants, and hiking boots. As for you, the good Sister gave you a flowing, pale blue dress, like the kind flower children used to wear back in the sixties. You were barefoot, except for silver toe rings on all of your toes, and she also braided flowers and lavender together to make you a crown. As comical as it may be to picture it, you were so beautiful.”