As much as she loved the bungalow, she regretted not saving more of her money. Of course, she hadn’t planned on becoming a single mother—especially not to a child with special needs.
She feared the only way she’d be able to leave Ronnie would be through the sale of her house. Something she didn’t want to think about, but enough was enough. She couldn’t live like this anymore. The life of a mistress was too lonely—not to mention immoral and degrading. Tonight, she’d give Ronnie one final ultimatum—either his wife or her. He couldn’t have both. Not anymore.
The sound of a car pulling into the garage sent Avery dancing around the room. “He’s here, he’s here!”
“Don’t open the door,” Lyla warned.
“I know, Mommy.” Avery pressed her hands to her face and lifted onto tiptoes, a skill she’d recently mastered. Several excruciating moments later, the door connecting the garage to the study opened, and Ronnie entered the house pushing a bright pink bicycle with training wheels and plastic streamers on the handlebars.
“Daddy!” Avery squealed.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
“Mine?”
Ronnie laughed. “Of course it’s yours. Mommy and I are too big to ride a bike this size. Plus, it’s pink. Your favorite color, right?”
Avery, who was dressed entirely in pink, from the pink barrettes in her hair to her pink shoelaces, smiled with her whole body—mouth, eyes, arms, and legs. She hugged the bike then flung herself at Ronnie.
“That’s my girl.” Although Avery was heavy for her age, Ronnie effortlessly lifted her into a great big bear hug.
“Who’s the greatest kid in the world?” he asked, his vibrant voice booming.
Avery leaned back and flung her hands in the air. “Me!”
“Who’s the greatest daddy in the world?”
“Daddy!”
“And the greatest mommy in the world?”
“Mommy!”
Ronnie set Avery on the ground and softly cupped her face. “You are so smart, so beautiful, and Daddy loves you very much.”
“Wuv you.” Avery hugged him tight as Lyla pushed down feelings of love toward this man she needed to leave.
Ronnie helped Avery climb onto the new bike. “I’ve got you,” he said, helping her balance as the bike tipped from one training wheel to the other. He winked at Lyla, but when she refused to smile, he asked Avery to get off the bike and help him with something.
“What?”
Ronnie bent down so he was eye level with his daughter. “Well, when I was on my way here with your birthday present, I thought, ‘You know who else needs a present?’”
“Me!” Avery said.
“No, you already have the bike. But I thought I’d better stop and get Mommy a present.”
“Mommy?” Avery scrunched up her face and glanced at Lyla, who refrained from rolling her eyes, knowing what was about to happen.
“Yes, you see, Mommy works very hard taking care of you. She does all the work—walks you to school, helps you with your flashcards, washes your clothes, and makes you peanut butter, lettuce, and raisin sandwiches. All I have to do is show up and have fun. So on your birthday, I thought Mommy deserved a present, too.”
Reaching into his breast pocket, he removed a little black jewelry box and whispered, “Go take this to Mommy.”
Lyla closed her eyes, knowing already what the box contained—something sparkly and expensive that couldn’t possibly make up for their situation. She didn’t care about the presents, but how was she supposed to leave when he was so good to Avery? So good to her? And how would she make it without his financial support?
Like it or not, her life was intricately tied to Ronnie’s. Until she found a deeper source of strength and conviction, she would remain under his thumb.
Chapter 7
Keith
I slept most of the day, but in the afternoon, I sifted through the backpack Jillian had found in my truck. Looking at my possessions was like looking at a stranger’s life. I didn’t recognize my clothing, books, or any of the technological gadgets that supposedly belonged to me.
It’d been forty-eight hours since the shooting, and I still hadn’t regained any of my memory. Frustrated, I entered another password for my laptop, only to have the thing buzz and flash “Incorrect password.” Anger took hold of me, and I wanted to hurl the device across the room. How was I supposed to remember my password when I hadn’t even remembered owning a computer?
The hospital room door opened, and Drew bounded in laughing, followed by Matt who looked even madder than he had the other day. I surveyed Matt’s long hair and ripped jeans, wishing I could drag the kid to the barber and find him some decent clothes.
“How’s it going, Dad?” Drew asked.
I groaned and gestured to the computer. “I can’t remember the password.”
“Ah, that’s no problem.” Grinning, Drew glanced expectantly at his older brother. “Matt can help you.”
“No, I can’t,” Matt said, his voice irritated.
Drew turned back to me and gave a conspiratorial smile. “If Matt hacks into your computer to reset the password, do you promise not to punish him?”
I studied my oldest. “Can you do that?”
“No.”
“Yes, you can.” Drew motioned for Matt to come closer. “Come on, you’re not going to get in trouble. You need to do this for Dad. You’re his only hope, Obi Wan.”
Matt rolled his eyes and tried to hide the smile tugging at his lips. He’d always had a weakness for all things Star Wars. My chest clenched with fondness as I thought of Matt and Drew whacking each other in the backyard with their light sabers.
I gestured at my laptop. “Would you, Matt? Please?”
“Fine.” He took the computer from me, and in less than three minutes, he’d assigned me a new password and updated my software.
I gave an approving whistle. “That’s amazing. Have you thought about pursuing a career in military intelligence?”
“Like the army?” he asked, his contempt obvious.
“Sure, or one of the other branches. But—”
“The army’s the best!” Drew said.
Matt sneered. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
I tried not to be angry at his disdain for me and my career, but it was impossible not to take his attitude personally. There was a time when Matt wanted not only to join the army but wanted to imitate everything I did.
Returning to the computer, he moved the cursor over an icon at the bottom of the screen. “These are your pictures. I linked them to your cloud so they’ll sink automatically, and you won’t have to worry about losing them.”
“My cloud?” I asked, completely clueless.
“Yeah.” He tapped the screen and several photographs popped up, including one of my mother fishing from the bow of my boat. Jillian had shown me a picture of the boat yesterday when she’d talked to me about my mother’s passing. My mom had bought me the boat on the day she learned her illness was terminal. Although she didn’t look well in this picture, I was grateful she had a smile on her face and seemed to be enjoying herself.
Drew pointed to the tall reeds growing along the shore. “This is at Lucky Point where Grandma Linda always caught more fish than all of us combined. I wish I knew how she did that.”
Sad that I’d never see my mother again, I reached out and touched her image. Despite her health issues, I’d never expected to lose her. The lump in my throat felt like a boulder. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“She passed in her sleep,” Drew explained. “It was sad, but Mom was with her and said Grandma went peacefully.”
I sincerely hoped my mother’s dying had been that easy. I owed her so much. I couldn’t stand the thought of her suffering. She’d raised me on her own as my father hadn’t been very helpful. Jillian had claimed I’d followed in his footsteps with my own drinking, but I couldn’t believe I’d ever been as bad as him.
The boys and I c
ontinued scrolling through photos, and although it didn’t cause my memory to magically return, I was happy to find several pictures of me with Matt and Drew enjoying the amusement park, attending the baseball game, or just hanging out on the boat. Apparently, I hadn’t been the worst father in the world. Just a horrible husband.
Afterward, we looked at the Internet. Drew showed us some funny video clips of cats even Matt found entertaining. I made a mental note that collecting humorous cat videos might be a way for me to reconnect with Matt.
“Do you want to check your e-mail?” Matt asked.
“Sure.”
He showed me how to do that, and I was overwhelmed by how many people had written, expressing their support. My new commander was flying down from Fort Hood next week and would stop by to see me. The Army Chaplain gave me his personal cell phone and said I could call anytime I wanted to chat. Mac Baumguard, the man Jillian had insisted was my friend, hassled me about going to extraordinary lengths to extend my weekend. Although he was currently deployed, he promised to personally hassle me as soon as he returned.
“That’s from Aunt Anna.” Drew pointed at one of the e-mails.
I automatically opened the e-mail before considering it might be best to wait and read Anna’s words when I was alone. Although Jillian had insisted Anna held no resentment toward me, I was nervous about why she’d written.
Dear Keith,
I talked to Jillian about the shooting, and I’m so relieved your injuries weren’t more extensive. I’m sure the amnesia is tough, and that’s why I want you to know I’ve never blamed you for what happened to Marcus.
I honestly believe God can take a horrible event and turn it into a positive. I’m not saying I’m glad you got shot or I wouldn’t trade everything to have Marcus back, but things have a strange way of working out.
Please remember, you’re not alone as you heal. And please don’t let guilt consume you. Marcus’s death was not your fault.
My new husband and I are bringing the kids to the island next month. Perhaps Travis and I can see you and introduce you to Nick, Hailey, and Gabby. Can you believe I’m a mother of three now?
Well, take care, Keith. You’re in our prayers.
All the best,
Anna Peterson
At the bottom of the e-mail, there was a picture of Anna and Travis with a man and two little girls.
“That’s Nick, Hailey, and Gabby,” Drew told me.
I nodded and stared at the picture. “Captain Peterson. I’ve actually met him and he’s a good guy. It’s just weird to think of Anna married to somebody else.”
“Nick’s cool,” Matt said. “Anna posted this funny video of him with Travis on Facebook. Here, I’ll show you.”
He pulled up the video, and despite my melancholy, I smiled as I watched it. “Did your mom ever break down and open a Facebook account?” I asked, acting like I didn’t care one way or the other.
Matt shot Drew a look I didn’t understand. “I guess.”
“You guess? What does that mean? Either she did or she didn’t.”
Matt gave an apathetic shrug. “She did, but you don’t want to see it.”
“Come on, show it to me.” I already knew the worst. Marcus had died, Jillian and I were divorced, and my wife—or rather, my ex-wife—had a boyfriend. What could be worse than that?
Reluctantly, Matt opened Jillian’s Facebook page. Immediately, I saw a picture of some slick lowlife standing with his arm draped around my wife and kids! I leaned closer to the screen as rage consumed me. The picture was taken at the Houston Space Museum and even Matt was smiling.
“That’s Bryan,” Drew said. “Mom’s boyfriend.”
“Bryan.” My gut churned. Jillian’s fingers were laced with this Bryan’s, and her mouth was open, laughing like it was the best day of her entire life. Everything inside me exploded.
“Okay,” Matt said, taking over the laptop. “Let’s look at something else.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, even though I knew looking at something else would never erase the image of another man taking my place with Jillian and the boys.
Chapter 8
Jillian
“You want me to do what?” I paced Dr. Jacobs’s office and stared at him in disbelief.
“It would only be until something became available or Keith was well enough to stay on his boat,” the doctor insisted. “Our social worker has been looking, but given the Island’s housing shortage, she hasn’t found anything suitable.”
“So your solution is to have my ex-husband move in with me?”
“Just for a few weeks during his convalescent leave.” Dr. Jacobs moved side to side in the swivel chair behind his desk. “Matt mentioned a garage apartment in your backyard.”
“Have you already talked to the boys about this?”
“No.” The doctor appeared taken aback by my harsh tone. “It’s nothing like that. I was visiting with Keith and the boys the other day, and Matt told me about the apartment in your garage because he’s planning on moving out there when he turns sixteen.”
I scoffed. “In his dreams.”
Dr. Jacobs smiled, easing some of my tension. “Well, what do you think about letting Keith stay there? Just for a little bit.”
“What do I think? I think that’s a ridiculous idea.”
“I certainly understand your hesitation—”
“I’m not hesitating. I’m telling you outright. There’s no way I’m allowing my ex-husband to move in with us. Not even to the garage.”
Dr. Jacobs drummed his fingers on the desk. “So, that’s a no?” he asked, his voice slightly humorous.
“Yeah, that’s a no.”
“Okay. We’ll keep looking. I’ll see about sending him back to Fort Hood or having him admitted to the residential rehab facility north of here, but it’s my professional opinion that staying close would increase the chances of recovering his memory.”
Refusing to feel guilty, I focused on the tabletop waterfall sitting on Dr. Jacobs’s desk. Although it was plastic and I could see the electrical cord running down the side of the desk, I found peace in the sound of trickling water over the polished rocks. Maybe I should buy something like that for my office at work. I didn’t exactly need something else to take care of, but if it relaxed me, it might be worth a try.
I moved my attention back to Dr. Jacobs. “Do you honestly believe Keith will recover his memory? It’s been a week, and there doesn’t seem to be much change.”
“At this point, I don’t know. I’d like to believe therapy and support will help, but there’s no guarantee. Look, I want to ask you about something.” Dr. Jacobs riffled through Keith’s medical chart. “Earlier, you said his issue with alcohol contributed to your divorce.”
“That’s right.”
“I can’t find anything in his records about a drinking problem. Am I missing something?”
“No, you won’t find anything in his chart because he’s never sought help for his drinking. His friend Mac doesn’t think Keith is an alcoholic. Just a binge drinker. He said Keith never drank on the job or around the boys and just uses alcohol as a way to dull the pain of a high-stress job.”
Dr. Jacobs set the folder aside and studied me carefully. “Don’t you think using alcohol in that manner signifies a problem?”
I nodded, conceding his point.
“You said Keith doesn’t remember the drinking. Is this a recent problem?”
“It began after my brother died. Before that, he never touched alcohol. When he came home from that deployment, however, he started going out at night and getting drunk.”
“He never drank before then?”
“No, his father was an alcoholic. When Keith and I were in college, his dad ran over someone with his car. The woman ended up being okay, but it caused Keith to swear off alcohol.”
Dr. Jacobs made a few notes. I felt like a traitor for revealing such personal information, but I told myself this was something the doctor needed to know in o
rder to help.
“I’m not surprised his memory lapse starts shortly before your brother died. Did Keith ever receive counseling for PTSD?”
I gave an incredulous look. “No. When we started having problems in our marriage, I begged him to see someone, but he refused. He’s a tough soldier who doesn’t need to talk about his feelings.”
Dr. Jacobs’s face softened. “A lot of soldiers feel that way, but as our society becomes more educated on mental health issues, counseling is losing the stigma it once had.”
I knew he was only trying to help, but my mind raced with a million thoughts. It was all coming back. The desperate attempt to convince Keith to talk about what had happened in Iraq, his excessive drinking, the emotional distance between us.
Whenever I’d tried to talk to Keith or suggest he seek help, he’d shut down. He’d come home late at night, smelling of booze, refusing to admit there was a problem. He’d insist having a drink helped him relax and bond with the other soldiers.
“What about bonding with your family?” I’d asked one night.
“The army is my family. You and the boys can’t possibly understand . . .”
“Understand what?” I’d demanded. “I’ve been an army wife since the day we married. I understand the sacrifices. I understand the job is stressful and painful. I’m hurting just as much as you, so why do you keep pushing me away? Why won’t you talk to me?”
He’d answered by storming out of the house and not returning until late that night only to sleep in the garage.
Dr. Jacobs tapped a pen on the edge of the desk, bringing me back to the present. “I’ll address both Keith’s PTSD and his drinking in our sessions. So far, he hasn’t asked for anything stronger than a Dr. Pepper, but as his memories return, it will be important to discuss ways to deal with stress that don’t involve alcohol.”
I nodded, suddenly exhausted. Although Dr. Jacobs’s office was small, it was warm and inviting. I sank deeper into the couch, wishing I could snuggle into a soft, fleece blanket and take a long nap. Work, taking care of the boys, and this trip down memory lane with Keith had drained me.
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