Private Vows

by Sally C. Berneathy

  Mary returned his smile. “For all I know, that could be my normal diet. But I have to admit, it doesn’t sound very appealing.”

  Inside the store she was surprised to find that, while she couldn’t specifically remember eating certain foods, she did have definite ideas of what she liked and didn’t like. “No liver,” she said, shuddering as she stared down at the dark meat.

  Cole chuckled. “Smart lady. We’ll get some steaks and chicken. How about broccoli?”

  “Only with cheese sauce.”

  As they went through the store, discussing and selecting items of food, Mary found herself relaxing, the ever-present fear dissipating into the mundane shelves of food. She felt almost as if she had a life, as if she and Cole were friends…or something more than friends…who shared a past and shopped for groceries together on Saturday afternoons. It was all a lie; she knew that. But the respite from emptiness and fear was a welcome one.

  Cole’s home was only a few minutes from the store and Mary’s comfort level rose another notch as they turned off the street onto an almost invisible driveway then traveled a short distance through thick, concealing woods. The house was two-story, built from native stone that blended into the woodsy setting. Like Cole, his home seemed a sturdy, impenetrable fortress, hidden from the world.

  Holding the bag of groceries in one hand, he unlocked the front door with the other and moved back for her to precede him. As she stepped onto the solid marble of the entryway and looked into the spacious living room, for the first time in her limited memory, she felt safe from the nameless terrors that stalked her.

  A large picture window took up most of one wall, but even though the drapes were open, the trees outside were so thick and so close that she didn’t feel exposed. A long navy-blue sofa faced the tall stone fireplace and dominated the room. A matching oversize recliner and irregularly shaped coffee table, its top carved from some dark, shiny wood at least a couple of inches thick, added to the feel of solidity. Every surface was spotless, and vacuum cleaner tracks crossed the plush tan carpet. Mary recalled that Cole had said the cleaning lady had just been there, which explained the immaculate condition, but even so, the comfortable, inviting room seemed somehow desolate and abandoned, not lived-in.

  “You have a lovely home,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He stood just inside the door, clutching the bag of groceries, his expression tight as he stared at the wide staircase opposite the living room.

  What, she wondered, had caused his sudden mood change? Was he regretting his offer for her to stay there? Or was she imagining the mood change? “The bedrooms are upstairs,” he said. “In case you want to get settled in. Put your things away.”

  “Yes, I’d like that.” Though she carried in one shopping bag the few clothes and toiletries she’d purchased, it would feel good to put them out somewhere, to have one small area where she belonged, even if only temporarily. “Which room should I use?”

  She hadn’t imagined his change of mood. A battle raged across the angles of his face, in his dark eyes, in the tight lines around his mouth and the tortured set of his jaw. He drew in a long, hard breath then let it out on a casual shrug, the gesture belying the anguish she’d just witnessed. “Your choice,” he said, his voice noncommittal and empty. “It doesn’t matter. Let me put these groceries in the kitchen and I’ll go up with you.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Mary waited, studying the two closed doors at the top of the stairs with trepidation. The light mood she’d found in the grocery store and on the drive here had vanished with Cole’s. What was up there that caused Cole so much distress? What could possibly await her behind the closed doors of the bedrooms?

  Cole returned from the kitchen, his expression grim as he came up beside her then paused for a moment before starting up the stairs.

  Mary followed, her footsteps dragging.

  On the landing he stopped in front of the door on the left and closed the fingers of one hand around the metal knob. “This room will probably be more comfortable,” he said, looking down at his hand that held but didn’t turn the knob. “It’s the master bedroom. I haven’t been in either of these rooms for three years, but Ethel cleans them regularly. Angela and Billy, my wife and stepson, have been dead for three years.”

  Angela and Billy, my wife and stepson? Dead for three years?

  Slowly he turned the knob, and suddenly her heartbeat went into double time. The nameless, irrational fear hit again, and she felt that if she went into that room, she might never come out again.

  As he opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter, for an instant her vision blurred and she saw a dim room with dark, heavy furniture. For that instant, terror rose in her throat and stole her breath and she thought she would suffocate, but then the vision disappeared, sucked back into the black void of her mind.

  In its place was a light, spacious room. Dust motes danced in the late-afternoon sun as it filtered through lace curtains and dappled the polished wood of an ornate dresser. A spread of pale blue with white swirls covered the king-size bed and was complemented by a lacy dust ruffle and pillow shams.

  Unlike the living area downstairs, a woman had obviously occupied this room. The dresser held an assortment of feminine paraphernalia—a tall wooden jewelry box with etched glass doors through which she could see flashes of gold, a mirrored tray holding several bottles of perfume and a couple of lipsticks, and a porcelain ring holder with two rings. A picture sat on top of the chest of drawers in the opposite corner. In the studio portrait, Cole stood with one arm around a small, dark-haired woman and the other resting on the shoulder of the boy in front of them.

  She shook her head and backed from the room. “I, uh, could I see the other room, please?” Even as the words left her mouth, Mary knew she sounded ungrateful, but she also knew she could never sleep in the sunny, happy room where Cole and Angela had slept as husband and wife.

  “I understand,” he said, his voice and face devoid of expression as he closed the door behind her.

  Mary refrained from asking him to explain it to her since she didn’t understand her aversion to the room at all. She barely knew Cole. His relationship with another woman, his deceased wife, couldn’t—shouldn’t—bother her.

  He strode across the hall and opened the door on the opposite side. “This was Billy’s room.”

  Posters of Cowboys football players hung on the walls, and the twin bed was topped by a spread featuring footballs, gold and silver helmets and lots of Cowboys banners. Stuffed animals perched in orderly rows on shelves. A baseball, bat and glove occupied one corner. A computer sat on a child-size desk. This room, like the other, had the appearance of an inhabitant who would return at any minute.

  Mary swallowed hard, pushing down the sensation of overpowering loneliness and sorrow that the room evoked as it sat waiting for the little boy who would never return.

  “Thank you,” she said. “This will be fine.” Perhaps she should have stayed at the shelter.

  But she couldn’t have done that. However out of place she might feel invading Cole’s secret places, the bond she felt with him was so strong, she could never have refused his offer, the chance to be near him.

  “Good. There are still things in the drawers and closets, but you can move them or push them aside, whatever you need to do,” Cole said. She watched his throat move as he, too, swallowed, probably pushing down the same sensations of loneliness and sorrow as she had only moments before. “I’ll go put on the steaks while you settle in.”

  He left, and Mary entered Billy’s room, feeling like an intruder as she set her shopping bag on the floor. She wouldn’t take out anything and create her own space after all. The drawers would already be filled…with the clothes and memories of a little boy.

  She’d been right about the desolate emptiness in Cole that had called to that same feeling inside her. Once, Cole had had a life, a family who loved him. Now he had an empty house and an empty soul, just like he
r.

  The only difference was, she couldn’t be sure she’d ever had a life with people who loved her. Cole at least had his memories…but perhaps, in a way, that made it even harder for him. She couldn’t miss what she couldn’t remember having.

  If the dark, foreboding room that had flashed through her mind when Cole had first opened the door to his and Angela’s bedroom was a part of her forgotten memories she wasn’t sure she wanted to remember.

  “HOW’S YOUR STEAK?” Cole asked. As they ate dinner at the small kitchen table, he was doing his best—which wasn’t all that great—to find again the easy camaraderie they’d shared in the grocery store before he’d taken her upstairs and opened the doors to Angela’s and Billy’s rooms. It had been the first time he’d looked in either room since that awful night.

  “Very good.” She cut off a small piece of meat and chewed. That made a total of four bites, plus about the same number from her potato. For a short while, on the drive home and during their visit to the grocery store, she’d lost some of her tension. Her quiet voice and soft features had become animated as he’d teased her about her distinct preferences for foods she couldn’t remember.

  But then they’d arrived at his house and he’d frozen at the thought of her being inside the rooms that had belonged to Angela and Billy, as if simply by being there she would know about their lives and how he’d failed them. Of course, she’d sensed his mood…the change, the withdrawal, the fear…and her own mood had changed accordingly.

  As he sat across the table from her, watching her nibble her food, he wondered if bringing her here had been a mistake, if he’d let his libido overrun his common sense. In the white cotton blouse and blue jeans, she somehow seemed even more fragile and more desirable than she had in the elegant wedding gown. And, just as he’d feared, he’d only made her feel worse.

  She laid down her fork and looked at him squarely, her delicate features surprisingly resolute. “Perhaps it would be better if you took me back to the shelter. I feel like I’m intruding.”

  “No!” Maybe bringing her here had been a mistake, but he couldn’t see taking her back to that shelter.

  He didn’t want to take her back to the shelter. He wanted her in his house, at his table, relaxed and smiling as she had been in the grocery store. He owed her that.

  And more than responsibility, but he wasn’t going to think about that now, about the tantalizing way she’d felt in his arms when he’d comforted her outside the morgue, the easy closeness they’d unexpectedly shared in the grocery store.

  “You’re not intruding,” he assured her.

  “Yes, I am. You kept those rooms closed until I came. I shouldn’t be there.”

  He shook his head. “Of course you should be. They’re rooms, unoccupied space. That’s all. There just wasn’t any reason to open them up until now.” It should have been the truth, but it wasn’t. He was lying, and he could tell she knew that.

  “It bothered you to open the doors to those rooms.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. He laid down his fork and gave up the pretense of eating. “It bothered me because I don’t usually talk about Angela and Billy. I try to avoid even thinking about them.”

  She smiled weakly. “I suppose there are some advantages to having my memories taken away. I can’t recall the painful things from my life.”

  “Yeah. That would be an advantage.” But forgetting was something he’d never been able to do, something he wasn’t entitled to do.

  Silence dropped like a leaden weight between them. Mary picked up her fork and toyed with her potato.

  “They were killed in an automobile accident.” Cole forced himself to speak, to try to ease the tension and help her relax.

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, it was.” She had no idea how terrible, and he wasn’t about to tell her. Even if he’d wanted to…and he didn’t…he wouldn’t. She was already teetering on the edge. That could be just what it would take to push her over.

  He was glad she’d elected to stay in Billy’s room rather than the room he’d shared with Angela. He couldn’t get over the feeling that that room might still hold some of Angela’s essence and that essence would not only reveal to Mary his shortcomings, the truth about the accident, but would prey on her mind, blend with the dark fears that already filled the spaces where her memories had once lived and make everything worse.

  “How old was Billy?”

  “Eight.” He picked up his empty beer can then set it down again. “I’m not doing too good at this conversation thing, am I? I guess it’s just been too long.”

  She gave him a stronger smile then, albeit a sad one. “And I can’t remember anything to make conversation about.”

  “Nothing at all? It’s still a complete blank?”

  She chewed her bottom lip as anxiety replaced the smile and creased her forehead. He resisted the urge to reach over and smooth away the creases. He might be able to make the physical gesture, but he couldn’t smooth away whatever caused them.

  “A couple of times I’ve had flashes, but I don’t know if they’re memories or just fears.”

  “What sort of flashes?”

  “Upstairs when you first opened the door to yours and Angela’s room, for an instant the room looked dim with dark, heavy furniture.” She shrugged. “It was probably just my eyes adjusting to the brightness.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe that was a memory of your bedroom.”

  She shivered. “I hope not, because I was terrified to go into the room.”

  “What were you terrified of?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Had he been right? Had something of Angela remained behind to infect Mary, to make her paranoia worse?

  Her chin lifted almost imperceptibly and her thin shoulders straightened though she clenched her hands on the table. “That’s not the only time. When Officer Townley called about the body, it brought up images of a knife and blood.” She swallowed. “What if I did kill someone? What if that’s why I can’t remember, because I can’t face the fact that I’m a murderer?”

  Cole studied her in silence for a long moment then shook his head. “No way. You couldn’t possibly have such a drastic personality change. I can’t imagine you killing somebody, not even in self-defense.” Actually, he couldn’t imagine her defending herself. “Pete told you about a guy who’d been stabbed, and you had a wedding dress with blood all over the front. Seems to me it would be pretty normal for that combination to bring up images of a knife and blood.”

  “I hope that’s all it was.”

  “Maybe you ought to talk to a shrink, see if he can hypnotize you or do something to help bring back your memory.”

  She looked down at her plate. “Maybe. The doctor at the hospital said I should check back with him in a couple of days, but I’m not sure I need to. I feel okay physically.”

  He wasn’t surprised at her response. How could he expect her to have the courage to face her past when she didn’t even have the courage to face the present?

  Not that he had any right to be passing judgment. He couldn’t face his own past.

  He pushed back his chair and stood, gathering the dishes.

  She rose also. “Let me clean up. I can probably remember how to wash dishes.”

  “I have a dishwasher, but I haven’t used it since…since Angela died. It probably still works, though.”

  They carried the dirty dishes over to the sink and while Mary rinsed them, he went out the back door to check and be sure the charcoal he’d doused with water had stopped burning. Satisfied it had, he returned to the door, switched off the outside light, then stood for a moment before going in. The soft darkness with its chorus of tree frogs, crickets and other insects was soothing and suddenly he wanted to share that balm with Mary.

  He stepped inside, closing only the screen door. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said. “Want to sit on the patio for a while?”

  She looked up from adding detergent to the dishwasher an
d bit her lip.

  Of course she wouldn’t. That was dumb of him. Angela would never go outside after dark either. She said it made her feel too vulnerable, not being able to see what or who was around her. Naturally Mary would feel the same way.

  But Mary’s full lips firmed. “Yes,” she said. “I’d like that.” She closed the door to the dishwasher and adjusted the dials.

  She started toward him, and the first cycle began with a click followed by a purring growl. She halted in midstep, her gaze becoming unfocused as a gentle dreaminess settled over her features.

  Then she blinked away the fog, straightened and looked at him. “I think I almost had something then. I saw a big, sunny kitchen with yellow curtains at the windows. We were happy because the dishwasher worked.”

  “Who is we?” Her fiancé? Was she going to remember the man who’d given her the ring, the man she loved? An inexplicable tension gripped him at that thought.

  “I’m not sure. I think it was my mother and father. I think my father had just installed the dishwasher.” She laughed self-consciously. “I guess that’s a pretty silly memory to retrieve.”

  “No. It sounds like a good memory to retrieve.” Beat the hell out of blood and dark rooms. The wispy remnants of the pleasant memory clinging to her face beat the hell out of her usual pinched, fearful expression.

  Even the harsh overhead light couldn’t mar the soft blue of her eyes or the translucent blush that suffused her cheeks. The corners of her wide mouth tilted slightly upward and her white floral fragrance drifted to him. It must be a part of her since it was unlikely she’d remembered what kind of perfume she wore.

  She’d always been beautiful, but now she was irresistible.

  They stood scant inches apart, and all he would have to do to touch her was lean forward. He wasn’t going to do that, of course. No matter how much he wanted her, he had no intention of doing that.

  But he did.

  Without quite knowing how it happened, he found himself reaching for her, pulling her slim body into his arms. She came to him without hesitation or surprise as if she, too, knew that this was the moment the whole day had been building toward. She fit perfectly against him, her breasts touching his chest, her heart beating against his. Her head tilted upward, lips slightly parted, eyes smoky and half-closed with desire. It was that last that stole any remaining fragment of common sense he might have had left.