She breathed out a sigh, smiling at him. “And I feel better already.”
Coop closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. He felt dazed, as if reality had taken a holiday and left him scrambling. “Good. Now tell me how you really feel.”
Her smile stiffened a little. She really didn’t want to tell him her head throbbed and the ache in her leg was slowly driving her crazy. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Really. Especially now that you’re here.” Uncomfortable, she changed the subject. “Tell me, how did they finally track you down?”
Coop sat up. “Track me down?”
“Yeah, I told Dad if Doris didn’t know where to find you, no one would know.”
“Oh, right,” Coop said with a nod. “I got tied up with the rescue teams out on the rigs. They took some big hits during the storm. Things were a real mess for a while. I, uh, didn’t have a chance to check in.”
Kelsey laid her head against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, right, the storm.”
Coop saw the tiny line between her brows deepen. He remembered that tiny line. It had always been a sure sign something was bothering her.
“It kind of shut everything down for a while,” he explained, doing what he could to keep his tone conversa-. tional. “Communications have been a real problem. I came as soon as I heard.”
She turned her head, giving him a sad smile, making the tiny line deepen. “You knew I’d be waiting.”
He nodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, I knew.”
Her smile slowly faded. “Have you had a chance to talk to the doctor?”
Coop nodded. “I talked with Dr. Cohen before I came in.”
“He told you, then?” she asked hesitantly, glancing away. “About the memory loss? How mixed up I get?”
She didn’t have to tell him how frightened she was—it was there in her eyes and in her voice. He found himself leaning close, gathering both her hands in his. “We talked about it, yes.”
“You know, it’s nothing to worry about,” she said, struggling to sound convincing. “This sort of thing happens all the time.” She pulled against his hold and struggled to sit up. “I’m going to be all right, though. Dr. Cohen said I would, so you don’t have to worry. I’m going to get better and remember.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Coop insisted in a soft voice, hearing the panic in her voice. He guided her head carefully onto the pillows. “What Dr. Cohen said was that you needed rest. We can talk about all this in the morning. Right now, I want you to close your eyes and get some sleep. You look exhausted.”
Kelsey sank back, her eyes filling with tears. She was exhausted—her small burst of energy was gone, and suddenly she felt drained and weak.
“I... I hate this,” she confessed, her bottom lip quivering. “I hate feeling useless and weak all the time.”
He leaned down and gathered her close. “You’re not useless, and you’re weak because you need rest. Give yourself some time, give yourself a chance to get your strength back.”
She was quiet for a long time, but Coop could feel the tension in her body, felt the force with which she held him. She was terrified, and struggling desperately against it.
“You know,” he whispered, responding as a husband comforting his wife, “we’re going to get through this. It’s going to be all right.”
“But, Coop, it’s...it’s so awful.” Like water bursting through a levee break, she collapsed against his shoulder and allowed herself to cry for the first time since she woke up and discovered her whole world had changed. “I—I get so scared, so mixed up. Some things don’t seem to make sense. There are details I can’t remember. I feel so alone, so scared.” She clutched at the worn leather of his flight jacket. “What am I so afraid of?”
It seemed natural to hold her, to stroke her long, silky hair from her face and to soothe her with soft words in her ear. She needed support, needed reassurance, needed soft, soothing words. It didn’t matter at the moment what was real and what wasn’t. What mattered was that she needed comfort, and he could give it to her.
“You’re frightened because you’re tired,” he whispered, feeling her body tremble beneath him and wanting nothing more than to take away the fear. “You need to go to sleep, and I promise you will feel better in the morning.” His arms tightened around her. “We’re going to get through this, I promise. I’m right here with you, and everything’s going to be all right now.”
Gradually, bit by bit, the trembling stopped. He could feel her body relax, could feel the tension slip from her muscles.
“Don’t leave me, Coop,” she mumbled sleepily against his shoulder. “Don’t leave me alone.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
He hesitated for only an instant. “I promise.”
She was quiet for a long time—so long he began to think she’d fallen asleep. Suddenly she lifted her head.
“Don’t tell anyone, promise me?” she pleaded. “Dad, or the family—don’t tell them I cried, that I was afraid.”
Coop smiled, stroking her long hair. It was so like her to be worried about everyone but herself, for her to be the little mommy again.
“It’ll be our secret,” he whispered, emotion making it difficult to get the words out.
She drifted to sleep then, her body growing limp and relaxed in his arms. He didn’t want to think too hard about how natural it felt to soothe and comfort her—not now, with the darkness surrounding them and her sleeping so peacefully in his arms. He couldn’t afford to, couldn’t risk reflecting on why there had never been another woman, why he hadn’t remarried and started a new life with someone else. This wasn’t the time for him to speculate on how he could live in a separate world from hers, lead a separate life and yet still feel a bond.
He’d given his word, had promised to do what he could to help her get better. There would be time later to debate the wisdom of that decision, to argue the pros and cons, to contemplate his misgivings. Right now he was content to be where he was—holding her, giving her comfort where he could.
He sat in the darkness, listening to her steady, even breathing and the quiet purr of the monitors around the bed. She might have been the one suffering from amnesia, but he was discovering there were gaps in his memory, as well. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel needed by her. He’d forgotten he could bring her comfort and solace by his mere presence.
She stirred against him, murmuring his name in her sleep. It had been a long time since he’d held her, since they’d touched and kissed and behaved like a married couple.
His hand paused as he stroked her hair. Except they weren’t a married couple any longer, and it was important he remind himself of that. He was going through the motions, doing and saying the things he had to in order to keep up the pretense, to prevent reality from crashing down on her and destroying any chance she would have of getting better.
He shifted, feeling the hard metal frame of the bed cutting into his back. He suddenly felt restless and uneasy. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when she regained her memory, didn’t want to think about what her reaction to him might be. How would she feel when that door in her brain finally opened, when the memories came flooding back? Would she think of this night? Would she remember how he’d held her and kissed her and acted out a lie?
She murmured his name again, and he pressed a gentle kiss into her satiny hair, whispering soft, soothing words. Would she be willing to listen, would she appreciate and understand? Or would she want him out of her life forever—again.
“It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Kelsey folded her arms across her chest and gave him a killing look. “You tell me I sold my Bug and I don’t have even the vaguest recollection of any of it. You don’t call that a big deal?”
Coop slowly lowered his coffee cup to the narrow table that separated them, wishing there was some way to start the morning all over again. He’d stayed in her room until she was soundly asl
eep, then joined Mo in the waiting room where they’d spent the night talking and trying to get some sleep. Just before dawn, after Mo had left for home to get a quick shower and shave, he’d returned to Kelsey’s room to be there when she woke up and to share a breakfast tray.
It was obvious she was feeling better. Her color was good, and she looked rested and beautiful as they sat on the bed together and talked. Things had been going fine until the subject of her VW came up.
He still remembered when the men from the junkyard had arrived to tow the thing away—Kelsey had cried all morning. She’d had the car since college and had stubbornly refused to let him replace it. When the car finally gave out about six months before the divorce, he’d almost been grateful. He’d hoped the new luxury car he’d bought her to replace it would boost her sagging spirits, maybe start some good feelings between them—but it had been too late.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he insisted, pushing the table to one side.
“No?” she said stiffly. “Then how did you mean it?”
“I just meant I don’t think you should let it upset you.”
“Well, it does upset me. I loved that car. How could I have just sold my car and not even remember?”
“You didn’t just sell it,” he insisted. “It was old, it died. We had to replace it—there was no other choice.”
She knew she was overreacting, knew she was making too much of it, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Maybe it could have been fixed.”
The feeling of déjà vu was hard to ignore. He’d had this conversation before. “Kelsey,” he said in a carefully controlled voice. “It wouldn’t run, it couldn’t be fixed. There was nothing else to do but tow it to the junkyard.”
The moment the words were out, he regretted them.
“The junkyard?” She gasped. “I sold my Bug for junk?”
He scooted closer. She was so upset, so agitated, and it made him feel helpless and awkward. This had happened so long ago, it felt strange rehashing it now. He had to keep reminding himself the past was her present, that what he’d had two years to come to terms with was all new to her.
“If it’s any consolation, it was my idea,” he said, pushing a strand of hair from her forehead. She tried hard to mask her fear with anger, but it was there in her eyes—the same fear he’d seen last night—and it touched at something deep in him. “You didn’t want to do it.”
She looked at him, feeling like an emotional wreck and hating it. “I don’t even remember. How could I not remember something like that?”
A hard knot of emotion twisted tight against his heart. There was so much she had to remember, so much she would have to face and learn to deal with all over again.
“The doctor said there would be gaps. He told us both to expect them,” he reminded her, pulling her arms loose from across her chest and gathering a soft hand in his. “This just happens to be one of them.”
“One of them?” she snapped, struggling to pull her hand free. She didn’t want to be comforted, didn’t want to be treated with kid gloves. She wanted out of the bed and out of the hospital. “You make it sound like I forgot to jot something down on my shopping list. Coop, huge portions of my life are gone, and damn it, I want them back. I want them back.”
“I know you do,” he said, ignoring her protests. “I do, too. But getting angry and upset isn’t going to bring them back.”
“No? Then what, Coop? Tell me, what will make me remember? Tell me and I’ll do it—I’ll do anything.”
As elusive as her memories were, his were flying at him with breakneck speed. He remembered her temper, her flashes of anger and how she could come out fighting when she felt herself backed into a corner. It was part of what had made them such a good balance for one another—her fire a complement to his steady, more sedate disposition.
“Filling in the blanks,” he said, bringing her hand slowly to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on each fingertip.
“You make it sound so easy.” She sighed.
The brilliant flash of anger had died as quickly as it had flared, and the fear was once more evident in her eyes.
“What’s so hard?” he asked simply. “We come across something you’ve forgotten, I’ll fill in the blanks—and I’ll keep filling in the blanks until you know everything.” It shouldn’t have pleased him so much to see the tension slip from her body, but it did. It made him feel better knowing he could comfort her, that he could make a difference in how she felt. It made the deception more palatable somehow, made it seem less like lying and more like helping. “And one of these days, we’re going to fill in a blank, and it’s going to bring all of it back.”
She looked at him with such large, hopeful eyes, it made him want to believe, too.
“You think so?”
“I really do,” he said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.
Kelsey slumped against her pillows, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ve been such a pain. I’m sorry.”
“Stop it,” he insisted. The thought of her apologizing to him made him uncomfortable. He quickly released her hand, reaching for the table and sliding it in place. “What have you got to be sorry for?”
“For brooding about everything,” she said with a tired sigh. “For fussing and whining like a baby.”
Coop picked up her fork from the breakfast tray and handed it to her. “Well, you have been kind of whiny,” he conceded, hoping to tease her out of the mood.
“No, I mean it,” she insisted, taking the fork from him and dropping it on the tray next to her plate. “You’re tired, and you’ve been through a rough time yourself, and yet you rush up here to be with me—and what do I do? First I cry all over you like some kind of emotional basket case, and then I bite your head off.”
“Yeah,” Coop agreed, grabbing a slice of toast from the tray and taking a bite. Crying had always embarrassed her. To a little girl who had convinced herself at the age of eight that she had to be strong for the sake of everyone else, tears were a cardinal no-no, a sure sign of weakness. “You know, now that I think about it, you have been kind of a pain in the neck.” He took another bite of toast. “I take it back. You should apologize. I mean, you’d think you were flat on your back in a hospital or something.”
Kelsey laughed at his teasing, giving him a playful swat over the table. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”
Coop popped the last of the toast into his mouth and gave her an innocent look. “No?”
“No. You’re supposed to object and tell me I’m all wrong, that I’ve been nothing but charming and could never be a pain in the neck.”
He considered this. “In other words, you want me to lie to you, is that it?”
In a move that seemed to defy her impaired condition, she reached across the table and grabbed his shirt, pulling him toward her. “Actually, I just want you.”
Coop looked into her clear blue eyes and swallowed hard. Suddenly everything had changed. The light banter, the teasing, the easy conversation were gone, and the border between past and present blurred. “Is—is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. And when it comes right down to it, what are a few gaps, a few blank spots? I remember you, that’s all that’s important. The rest is mere details.” She pushed her mouth to his in a kiss that was as passionate as it was sudden. “Coop,” she whispered against his lips. “Let’s make love.”
Chapter 4
Emotion tightened thick and hot in Coop’s throat, and he experienced one moment of sheer, absolute, unadulterated panic.
This wasn’t what they’d agreed on, wasn’t part of the bargain he had made with Mo and Dr. Cohen. It was a far cry from helping a sick friend. This was real-life husband and wife material, too personal and too intimate for playacting.
There was such love in her eyes—real love—and it tore at his soul. He had to look away, knowing one day she was going to wake up and remember the love she was feeling didn’t exist any longer. Holding her in the
darkness had been one thing, but it was daylight now, and there were no dark corners to hide his feelings.
“H-here?” he stammered, feeling a little like he did when he was fifteen and the college coed who lived across the street had invited him in for a soda. “In a hospital bed?”
Kelsey laughed, arching a brow. “We’ve done it in a lot stranger places than this.”
Coop closed his eyes, not even wanting to think about that right now. “Yeah, but not with you recuperating from major injuries.”
“Worried I won’t be able to keep up?” she asked with a small laugh, brushing her lips against his.
His mind scrambled, like a computer sorting through a million bytes of information, searching for a reasonable explanation, some kind of believable excuse.
“You’re not very nice to tempt me like this—especially since I can’t accept,” he said, but nerves robbed his words of any teasing affect, leaving him feeling awkward and embarrassed. Clearing his throat, he pulled away a little. “But you’re going to be out of commission for a while, I’m afraid. Doctor’s orders.”
Her smile faded. “Dr. Cohen said that?”
“Yeah, last night,” he lied.
Kelsey’s blue eyes narrowed. “What else did Dr. Cohen say that you haven’t told me?”
He looked at her, startled. “Nothing.”
“Cooper, is there something you’re not telling me?”
There were a million things he wasn’t telling her, and guilt beamed across his face like the beacon of a lighthouse. In a feeble effort to distract her, he picked up the fork and offered it to her again.
“Why would you say something like that?”
“Because of that—” she knocked his hand away and gestured to his face “—that look on your face.”
“Look?” he asked, awareness causing his already stiff expression to become even more rigid. “What look?”
“That look,” she said, gesturing again. “That hand-inthe-cookie-jar look.” She leaned forward and grabbed him by the arm. “What are you keeping from me, Coop? Did the doctors tell you something? Is there something I don’t know? Because if there is, I want you to tell me. I want to know—right now.”
Mind Over Marriage Page 5