A Little Bit of Déjà Vu

by Laurie Kellogg

  The strange affinity he felt to the machine suggested it might have belonged to him. If so, he had great taste in cycles. Somehow he knew he’d ridden a hog. It mystified him that the heady feeling of whizzing along the open highway with the wind in his face managed to filter through his subconscious even though he couldn’t recall a freaking thing about his life or family.

  Since he had no memory of his parents, he hadn’t felt up to talking to them yet. But in good conscience, he also hadn’t been able to allow the people who had raised and undoubtedly loved him to continue believing he’d died.

  After arriving at the Philly VA hospital with Dr. Grant yesterday morning, he’d called directory assistance to make sure his parents still lived at the address in the personal information file he’d been given with a copy of his birth certificate. He’d spent the previous evening writing a long letter to them, explaining his situation, and asking them to be patient while he worked some things out for himself. He’d promised to get in touch in a week or two and begged them not to contact Abby.

  By the time he’d finished his letter, his roommate was ready for lights out, so Matt hadn’t had an opportunity to read much of the information in the his paperwork. He needed to study his personal file before he could fill out a job application.

  The moment he knocked on the back door, Abby swung it open. “Come on in. Dinner will be ready any minute now.”

  “You really shouldn’t invite me into your home. For all you know, I could be a serial killer. It’s no problem for me to eat out here at the picnic table.”

  “Don’t be silly. You saved my son’s life. Besides, if you were a member of the Manson family, I’m sure you’d find a way to hurt us, regardless of whether I invite you in or not.”

  “The Manson family?”

  “You know, Charles Manson. Helter Skelter, August of ‘69.”

  He stared at her in complete ignorance.

  “The Tate/LaBianca murders. Everyone has heard of Charles Manson. It happened with everything else that summer.”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea what else happened.”

  Abby looked at him as if he had three heads. “We landed on the moon. Ted Kennedy’s car went off the bridge on Chappaquiddick Island. Woodstock.”

  Major news stories had filtered into the POW camp through recently captured prisoners, but he was totally in the dark about more minor events. “I heard we landed on the moon, but what’s Woodstock?”

  “I thought you said you were in Vietnam. You sound more like you were on Mars. Woodstock was a three-day rock concert in Bethel, New York. All the biggest artists performed.”

  “It sounds great.”

  “It was hippie heaven. Thirty thousand people were expected, and they ended up with nearly half a million. They had to shut down the New York Thruway. How could you have not heard about it?”

  “I guess I had a little trouble with my paperboy that summer.”

  She released a light snort. “Sure, blame it on the poor paperboy. Next you’ll be telling me you’ve never heard of Watergate.”

  “No, that I’ve heard about.” Tricky Dick Nixon was all they were talking about on the news.

  She motioned him inside. “As long as you promise not to commit any heinous acts while you’re here, you can eat with us.”

  He left his duffle bag next to the back door and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad for my sake you’re so trusting, but you really should be more careful.”

  “You sound just like my brother. There’s a fine line between caution and paranoia. I suppose I’m one of those people who believe in the innate goodness of man.”

  “You’re lucky no one’s ever taken advantage of you. Take it from a guy who’s seen a whole lot of bad, if you’re not careful, one day someone will exploit your faith in mankind.”

  She stepped aside for him to enter the large sunny kitchen filled with a mouthwatering aroma. The room was decorated in varying shades of gold and green, and a good portion of the spacious dining area was taken up by shelves and a built-in work station holding a couple of expensive-looking sewing machines.

  While he leaned on the counter and watched Abby mash the potatoes, her cheeks flushed to a deep pink.

  “Do you mind if I use your bathroom to wash up?” he asked, acutely aware that his presence unsettled her.

  “No, not at all. Down the hall, first door on the left.”

  He took his time using the facilities, and when he returned, she was stirring fresh mushrooms into a pan of rich homemade gravy. His mouth flooded in anticipation.

  She pointed to one end of the small table. “Take that seat. The boys always sit on either side. If anyone takes their chair, they throw a conniption.”

  “I imagine that’s a major calamity to a six-year-old.” Matt noticed the bowl of potatoes and another filled with peas on the counter and carried them to the table. “Can I pour the kids’ drinks?”

  “Thanks. They get milk. Help yourself to whatever you prefer.”

  He pulled open the gold refrigerator’s door. “How about you, Abby? What would you like?”

  Her spine stiffened as if rigor mortis had set into it. “How’d you know my name?”

  He froze, holding the milk carton poised over a glass. Great. She had him on that one. “Umm—I saw some magazines in the bathroom with your name on the mailing label,” he ad-libbed, praying she had a subscription.

  “Oh, right. I’ll just have ice water, please.”

  “You don’t mind if I call you Abby, do you?”

  “No, of course not. I just realized I’d been rude and hadn’t introduced myself.”

  If he could get her talking, maybe he could learn something about himself. “So, are you widowed or divorced?”

  “My husband Matt was killed in Vietnam right before Tommy was born.”

  He shot a glance at the kids as they slipped into their seats at the table. “Tommy?” Matt frowned. “What about Royce? Aren’t they twins?”

  The two boys giggled hysterically.

  He peered at them sideways. “What’s so funny, guys?”

  Abby chuckled. “What they find so hilarious is you think they’re brothers. They’re not even distantly related.”

  Not related? A wave of disappointment surged through Matt. He wanted Royce to be his son, too. “But you act as if they’re both yours.”

  She placed a helping of mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and peas onto the boys’ plates before adding a squirt of ketchup. “Well, I’ve taken care of Royce since he was born, so I pretty much feel like he’s mine. His mother Lucy and I were roommates in the hospital when we had the boys. The house next door went up for sale around the same time, and it was exactly what she and her husband were looking to buy.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded. “You’re just babysitting.”

  “Sort of.” She cast a reassuring smile at Royce. “I’ll explain later.” Her rose-garden scent stirred something deep inside Matt—not a memory, but rather a comforting sense of familiarity.

  He pulled out her chair and sat across from her. “So—was the Harley I saw in the garage your husband’s?”

  “Yes.” She looked down at her plate. “It hasn’t been ridden since he left. I was always terrified he’d kill himself on it. Matt was a real adrenaline junkie.”

  “You wouldn’t be interested in selling it, would you?”

  “Uh—gee, I don’t know. I guess it’s a little silly not to, huh? I just haven’t been able to make myself get rid of any of his things. It was already really old when Matt rode it, so I can’t imagine why you’d want it.”

  Obviously, she had no idea it was nearly old enough to be classified as an antique or how much a cycle enthusiast would pay for it.

  Abby glanced at the kids. “Okay, whose turn is it to say grace?”

  The boys argued for several moments until Matt held up his hand. “Hey, fellows, I’m hungry. How about I do it?” He bowed his head, said a short blessing, and then l
ooked up at Abby. “I need a set of wheels, and a bike is about all I can afford.”

  He should feel lousy not disclosing the motorcycle’s potential value, but what the hell, it was his, right? He felt ridiculous buying something he already owned regardless of the price, but he had no choice if he was going to continue the charade. “So how much do you want for it?”

  “I don’t know. It hasn’t been run in over six years.”

  Taking a bite of the meat loaf drenched in mushroom gravy, he rolled his eyes in ecstasy. “Man, this is good.” He sipped his ice-cold milk. “If your husband knew anything about mechanics, he would’ve known what to do to protect the engine. It looks like he took good care of it.”

  “I’m sure he did. Matt always did his own tune-ups and oil changes. He carried a double major in electrical and mechanical engineering and took a bundle of science courses, so he was a stickler about maintaining equipment.”

  Lifting his eyebrows, he swallowed a mouthful of potatoes. “Really? Small world. I majored in engineering, too. Where’d he go to school?”

  “Princeton.”

  He blew out a long, low whistle. “He must’ve had some pretty good grades to get in there.”

  “He did. But not quite good enough to go without accepting an ROTC scholarship. Once he was there, though, Matt buckled down and graduated summa cum laude. He was interested in designing medical equipment. He believed that sector of technology would skyrocket in the next thirty years.”

  From the advances he’d seen in diagnostic equipment at the VA hospital, it looked as if his prediction was on target.

  “In fact, before Matt even finished college, he had a patent on some new component for a cardiopulmonary bypass machine. Before going overseas, he sold the rights for enough to buy me the GTO in driveway.”

  Hot spit. Those brains hadn’t kept his life from getting totally fucked up. She talked as if he were a superhuman combo of Thomas Edison and The Lone Ranger.

  “So what do you say? Will you let me buy it?”

  “Umm....I can’t explain why, but it would bother me to sell it. I know he’s dead, but....” She shrugged. “I’d feel better just giving it to you.”

  That would be great, except he didn’t want Abby to think he was some low-life who would mooch off a widow. It was bad enough he was keeping her in the dark about the Harley’s worth.

  “No. I’d feel like a sleaze, taking it for nothing. How about I do some work for you in exchange. The house could use some paint.”

  She wiped a milk mustache off Tommy’s lip with her napkin. “My brother Peter was planning to paint while he’s on leave. But I’d be just as happy if he doesn’t have to. He recently moved in with his girlfriend, and he’s already given up one evening to sit with the boys.”

  Matt scooped a forkful of peas into his mouth and grimaced at the flavor and texture. He should’ve trusted his instincts and gone light on them.

  As he shoveled them in to rid his plate of the vegetable, Abby pointed at his dish. “I see you really like peas. My husband despised them.” His stomach sunk when she handed him the bowl. “Here, why don’t you finish them off?”

  Talk about killing a guy with kindness.

  Rather than give Abby one more coincidence to question, Matt dumped the unappealing contents onto his plate. “So how about it? I’ll paint the house in exchange for the Harley. ”

  “Mmm....I don’t know. That’s a lot to do for just a broken-down motorcycle.”

  “Throw in three squares a day, and it’ll be more than a fair deal. I need to eat a lot to put some weight back on.” And spending mealtimes with Abby and the kids would give him a chance to get to know them.

  “Okay. But it still doesn’t seem like enough.”

  “Don’t worry, it will be.” He shuddered, choking down another mouthful of the peas. “To do the job right, a lot of scraping, caulking, and priming needs to be done. So you’ll be feeding me for well over a week.” He placed another helping of meatloaf on his plate. “And I’ll also have to take time off to look for a permanent job.”

  As he watched the tines of her fork slide between her luscious lips, he shifted uneasily in his seat. What he wouldn’t give to be one of her utensils for just ten minutes.

  Abby frowned at Tommy’s plate and huffed. “Matthew Thomas, would you pleeease eat some of those peas.”

  “I can’t.” The child wrinkled his nose. “I hate ‘em.”

  Apparently, their son had inherited Matt’s distaste for the vegetable. Matt arched one eyebrow a fraction. “If you’re hungry enough, Buddy, you can eat anything.”

  Speculation shadowed Abby’s green eyes. “You sound as if you’ve gone without food quite a bit. Matt’s letters led me to believe our government kept our soldiers pretty well fed.”

  He stared down at his plate, avoiding the questions in her gaze. “The guards at the camp weren’t quite as accommodating.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Were you one of the POWs they just released?” When he simply nodded, she sucked in her lower lip, tears shimmering in her eyes. “How long—”

  “Almost seven years.” Okay, so he’d tacked on a few months to throw her off. It’d felt at least that long. Considering he had no memories before that, it was a lifetime to him.

  “Did you—”

  “Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped.

  “I’m sorry. I was curious. For years, I wished my husband was being held as a POW. But some of the stories I’ve heard made me pray he’d died as the Army said.”

  “Let’s leave it that he was probably lucky he did.”

  His chest constricted at the injured look on Abby’s face. It was only natural for her to want to know something about the man she’d agreed to hire. He reached across the table and took her petal-soft hand. It fit so neatly in his palm—as though it’d been shaped and sized specifically for him.

  Damn. If her knuckles were this smooth, how much softer would her breasts feel? “I’m sorry.” He stared into her watery gaze. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just that I—”

  “It’s okay, I understand.” She gently squeezed his fingers.

  His body snapped to attention. Her compassionate gesture transfused him with a need to touch a lot more of her—a desire so strong it stole his breath.

  He didn’t want her damn pity. He wanted to see the same intense longing on her face that gnawed at his control.

  “Mommy?” Tommy tugged on Abby’s sleeve and broke the spell between them. “Will you play Sorry with us after supper?”

  As she yanked her hand back and lowered her gaze to her plate, a paradoxical urge to kiss his son and simultaneously shake him left Matt’s emotions in a baffling tug-of-war.

  “I can’t, Sweetie, Uncle Robert will be here soon.”

  The child hung his head and sighed.

  Matt scrutinized his son’s face. “Don’t you like your Uncle Robert, Tom?”

  “Yeah. I guess he’s okay. I just wanna play a game tonight.”

  Abby shook her head. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t believe the way Tommy is talking to you.” She smiled at her child. “He’s usually shy around adults. He barely speaks to Royce’s mom or even Robert.”

  “Really?” Two points in his favor. “So what’s your fiancé do for a living?”

  “Rob’s a dentist. His practice is about ten minutes from here. I met him when I took Tommy for a check-up.”

  Great. So it was Doctor Mercedes. If it came down to a contest for Abby’s heart, her good-looking fiancé was definitely in the catbird seat. The dentist could provide the world for both Abby and Tommy. Whereas, at the moment, Matt couldn’t support a family if his life depended on it.

  A soft poof escaped from the stove. Abby jumped up from her seat. “Darn it, I forgot to turn off the oven.”

  Matt glanced at Tommy still gagging down his peas. While Abby’s back was turned, he took his son’s dish and scraped what was left onto
his own plate. When the boys giggled, he held his finger to his lips and washed the peas down with the rest of his milk like a mouthful of pills.

  Abby returned to the table and smiled at Tommy’s empty plate. “Hey, you did a great job. I think that deserves a kiss.”

  The child’s mouth trembled a second before guilt got the best of him and his confession tumbled out. “M-Mommy, I didn’t really eat them.”

  She turned to his friend. “Rooooyce—did you eat Tommy’s peas for him again?”

  “I’m sorry,” Royce mumbled down at his lap.

  Matt’s heart ached for the little guy who was willing to take the heat to keep their secret. “Royce didn’t eat them, Abby, I did.”

  She scowled at him. “If you’re going to work around here, I’ll thank you not to undermine my discipline.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand watching Tommy suff—”

  “As a single parent, I don’t have the luxury of playing the nice guy.”

  Damn it. She was right. She’d had it tough raising their child alone. And from all appearances, she was a great mom. The last thing she needed was Matt making her job harder by setting himself up as a hero to his kid.

  “I’m sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  Once the boys ran off to play, Matt sipped a cup of coffee while enjoying half a dozen of Abby’s delicious homemade cookies. “So what time do the kids have breakfast?”

  “I only have Tommy in the mornings. Lucy doesn’t leave for work until after the boys go to school. Breakfast is normally about eight, but since tomorrow is Saturday, it’ll probably be closer to nine.”

  “But I saw the kids come home on the afternoon bus. Are they in first grade already?”

  “Yes—although they’re not supposed to be. They just turned six in February. It’s been an interesting year for them. When they started kindergarten last fall, they disrupted their class. Even my shy Tommy found ways to get into trouble.”

  “Those two?” Matt glanced over his shoulder toward the living room where Tommy and Royce were playing. “They seem like such well-behaved kids.”

  “They are. When the school tested them, they discovered the boys are both way too bright for their own good. The teacher couldn’t keep them busy enough. Of course, Lucy and I can’t afford private school, so the administration agreed to push them up to first grade. The plan is to move them back if the work becomes a struggle. But I can’t see that happening. Not with the way they drive each other.”