If She Only Knew

by Lisa Jackson

  “Hold on Marla, for God’s sake, hold on,” Nick ordered, as her jaw began to loosen. “Shit!”

  Marla convulsed, certain she was dying, her lungs bursting. The world turned dark.

  Wires snapped. Pain shot through her mouth. “For Christ’s sake call the paramedics!” Nick bellowed. “Where’s the damned nurse?”

  She couldn’t breathe . . . it was so dark . . .

  Snip! Snip! Snip!

  “Hang in there, Marla, just hang the hell in there,” he said and she was vaguely aware of his face, all tense angles, sweat running down his jaw as her body wracked and the blackness of unconsciousness swept over her. “For the love of God, Marla, hang in there!”

  With his hands, Nick pried the broken wires open and forced her jaws apart. He turned her on her stomach where she retched, choked, coughed and lost the contents of her stomach all over the carpet.

  “Oh, my land!” Eugenia’s voice came over the frantic clip of her footsteps. “What happened oh, my—”

  Boots rang down the back stairs, echoing from the servant’s quarters. Marla gasped, coughed, thought she’d be sick all over again. From the corner of her eye, through the dimness of her vision and the horror that she was lying in her own vomit, Marla saw Tom, Fiona and Carmen rushing to her. Her jaw ached, her stomach still twitched and for the first time since she’d gained consciousness she wanted to give herself into the comfort of a dark, black void.

  Nick shook her. “Stay with me,” he ordered. “Marla, stay the hell with me.”

  “Get out of the way. I’ll see to her,” Tom commanded and his boots came into view. “Mrs. Cahill?” He was leaning over her, his hand on her shoulders. “Let me help you . . .”

  No! She wanted Nick. She didn’t want this man, this stranger touching her.

  “Call 911,” Nick screamed at Eugenia. Then to Marla. “You’ll be all right.” His gaze held hers as if he were willing her to stay conscious. “You’ll be okay.”

  “I said I’d take over,” the nurse insisted.

  Nick didn’t budge. “I’ve got her.”

  Blackness oozed in from the corners of her vision.

  “Breathe, damn it. Open your mouth!” Nick’s strong hands wedged her jaw open again and she coughed and heaved again, curling into a ball and retching until there was nothing left but pain.

  “I’ll call the paramedics.” Carmen’s voice was clear over the sounds of Cissy sobbing and Marla’s own rasping breath. She opened her eyes, the hallway swam, then came into sharp focus. Nick was still straddling her, though his weight wasn’t pinning her down as he balanced on his knees. His face grim, his intense blue eyes searching hers. “Marla?” Carmen had disappeared, but Eugenia, Tom and Cissy were standing around, needing to fuss.

  “Oh . . .” She could barely speak, her mouth bruised and aching. “I . . . I’ll be all right,” she lied, the words hard to form.

  “The ambulance is on its way.” Carmen appeared from the suite.

  Marla shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “The paramedics will take her to Bayside,” Carmen added.

  “We’ll have Phil Robertson meet her there.”

  “No.” Marla struggled with the word. At the thought of being hospitalized for even a few hours, Marla panicked. She couldn’t, wouldn’t go back to the hospital again, not to that place where she had no control of her life, no answers to the questions plaguing her. “No . . . I’ll be . . . I’m all right.” Still coughing, she dragged herself to her knees. Her stomach was quiet, she’d quit heaving, but the pain in her mouth was excruciating, the clipped wires cutting her lips, her jaw not working right as atrophied muscles refused to come alive.

  “You’re not all right. You just got out of the hospital a few days ago,” Nick insisted, getting to his feet and regarding her through dark, worried eyes.

  “And I’m not going back.” She knew the sane thing to do would be to be examined at the hospital, and yet she felt that it would be a vast mistake.

  “Marla, don’t even argue.” Nick’s voice was firm, his jaw tight. “Look at you.”

  She couldn’t see the mess she was; didn’t want to. Leaning against the rail, she tilted her head to stare up at him. She knew she was a horrid sight with splotchy skin and vomit staining her pajamas, but she didn’t care. Didn’t care that the servants and her mother-in-law saw her in such a state. She took in another long breath and coughed for a second. Her mouth tasted horrid, her nose was filled with the acrid scent.

  “Here.” He sat her on a chair in the hall. “Let me see if I can help.” Again he worked on her mouth, removing the remaining pieces of jagged wire, extracting any tiny piece of metal, so that there was nothing left but the pain of atrophied muscles and cut flesh. “Now when the ambulance gets here—”

  “Just take me to a doctor and have him look me over,” she insisted.

  He hesitated. “I think—”

  “Please, Nick, can you do this for me?” she asked and saw raw emotion darken his eyes. A muscle worked in the corner of his jaw. Blade-thin lips flattened as he studied her.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” She was in no mood for arguments. She could barely speak her mouth hurt so badly. “If . . . if I thought there was any danger, believe me, I’d have you take me back to Bayside.”

  “You nearly died,” he insisted.

  A chill swept through her. “I know,” she whispered. “Now please . . .”

  “For the record, I think this is a big mistake.”

  “She should be hospitalized,” Tom interrupted and there was an edge to his words as he leaned down to look at her mouth. Marla didn’t trust him. Not for a minute. And yet she could use the fact that Tom was on the payroll.

  “If anything happens again, you’ll be here, won’t you?” she asked. “That’s why my husband hired you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, his eyes narrowing a fraction, “but I’d like you checked over by a doctor.”

  “I’ll go see Dr. Robertson. At his house or the clinic.” God, it hurt to talk.

  “The ambulance is already on its way,” Nick said.

  “Then cancel it.” Marla insisted just as she heard the first scream of a siren, far down the hill. Her eyes beseeched Nick’s and she tentatively touched the back of his hand. “Please.”

  “For goodness sake, I’ll do it,” Eugenia said. “And then I’ll call Alex and have him meet you down at the clinic. I’m sure Phil won’t mind.” She glanced at the stains on the carpet. “I’ll have this mess cleaned up while you’re gone.”

  Marla hadn’t expected an ally from her mother-in-law, but was grateful for the older woman’s support. For any support.

  Eugenia fluttered commanding fingers at her son. “Nick, you can drive her to the clinic and I’ll have Alex meet you there.”

  “For Christ’s sake—”

  “Just do it, Nick. For once, don’t argue.”

  “That okay with you?” Nick asked, swinging his head back to Marla.

  “Yes.” Anything but the hospital.

  “Good. Then we’re in agreement.” Eugenia sent Tom a glance daring him to argue, then marched down the hallway to Alex’s office, withdrew a set of keys from the pocket of her jacket and unlocked the door. In a few seconds her voice could be heard through the door she’d left slightly open.

  “I guess we’re gonna do it your way,” Nick said as he straightened.

  Was it her imagination or had she seen a glimmer of tenderness in his gaze, a shadow of compassion? “Just give me a second and I’ll try to look decent.” As if that was possible. Damn, but she felt awful.

  On wobbly legs, Marla made her way to her room, turned on the overhead light and saw the mess near the bed. Skirting the shards of glass and stain of water, she made her way to her bathroom. Grimacing, she splashed cold water over her face, rinsed her mouth gently, blew her nose, then stripped and gave herself a hasty hit-and-miss sponge bath.

  She heard the ambulance’s
wail scream ever louder, then fade in the distance. By the time she’d thrown on a jogging suit, the sirens had stopped. Her stomach was still queasy, her mouth on fire, but she knew she wouldn’t throw up again and she cringed at her hair and face in the mirror. Not that it mattered. She just wanted this ordeal over with. Nick was waiting for her in the hallway, but the servants had dispersed.

  “The ambulance?” she asked, forcing her jaw to work.

  “I sent it on its way. The paramedics weren’t happy.”

  “Neither am I,” she threw back.

  “Let’s roll.”

  “Just a minute,” Marla said and made her way to Cissy’s room where her daughter was lying in her bed, her arms holding a stuffed lion cub missing a set of whiskers as if her life depended upon it, her upper teeth worrying her lip. “Are you okay?” Marla asked though the inside of her mouth felt as if it was hamburger.

  Cissy rolled her eyes. “Sure. Just great.” She blinked and struggled against tears.

  “I mean it.”

  “Then, no. I’m not. Okay? This is all so weird, Mom,” she said, her chin wobbling and Marla glanced at the vanity where smears of purple nail polish still lingered. “Why can’t you just be the way you were before . . . before you got pregnant?” she demanded. “That’s when it all started, all this strange stuff. Before that . . .” her voice drifted off and she clamped her jaw shut, as if she’d said too much. “I . . . I just want you to be normal again.”

  Marla’s heart cracked. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she fought the urge to break down. “Believe me, Cissy, I’m trying.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Sure.” Cissy squeezed her eyes shut, hugged the lion fiercely, and sniffed as tears drizzled down her cheeks.

  Marla started for the bed, but, as if she sensed the movement, Cissy opened her eyes and whispered angrily, “Just leave me alone, okay?”

  “Honey, please—”

  “Don’t, Mom. Just . . .” She dashed away her tears with the back of her hand, leaving dark smears of mascara on her cheek. “Just . . . go.”

  Marla didn’t. She couldn’t. Not yet. When the rift between them was growing wider by the minute. She sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and smoothed Cissy’s bangs from her eyes. The girl stared out the window at the black night, turning her head and lifting a shoulder, silently ostracizing her. Marla plunged on, vaguely aware of Nick waiting on the other side of the threshold. “I know this is hard. For you. For me. For Dad . . . but I’m trying, honey, I’m trying really hard, and soon things will be better. I’ve been remembering things. Just today I remembered James’s birth.”

  Cissy stiffened. “Did you?” she sneered, still clutching the stuffed animal and staring out the window.

  “Yes.”

  “What about mine? Did you remember that, too? I was your first.” Gold eyes dared her to deny the truth.

  Marla felt a jab of guilt and wanted to lie, but didn’t. Cissy would see right through any fabrication and it would only make things worse. “Not yet.”

  Cissy sent out a short disgusted breath. Her lips twisted as if at some private, painful irony. “You probably won’t. Not ever,” she said.

  “Of course I will. Just give me time.” Marla touched Cissy’s cheek again but the girl winced as if she’d been burned.

  “You know you came running in here a little while ago. You . . . You were like some kind of maniac, acted like you’d seen a ghost or something and scared the crap out of me.”

  “Oh, honey—”

  “And then,” Cissy cut in, her voice rising an octave, “and then . . . and then . . . I found you in the hall puking and crying and . . . Mom . . .” her voice suddenly cracked.

  Marla’s heart bled. She wanted to gather her daughter in her arms and hold her fiercely and promise never to let go, but as she reached for Cissy’s arm, the teenager scooted to the far corner of the bed and Marla, sighing, rolled to her feet. She was getting nowhere with her daughter, was only making a horrible situation worse.

  Nick was waiting for her, one shoulder propped in the doorway to Cissy’s room. He fell into step with Marla in the hall.

  “She hates me,” Marla whispered as he walked her to the elevator.

  Nick held the door open and Marla stepped inside to sag against the back wall of the small car. “She’s a teenager. You’re her mother. All teenagers act like they hate their mothers.” He pressed the button for the first floor.

  “No, it’s more than that.”

  “Don’t worry about it tonight.” He touched the bottom of her jaw with one finger and lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to his.

  “You think I have more important things to do?”

  “Concentrate on getting your memory back.”

  “Believe me, there’s nothing I want more.”

  He glanced down at her lips and for a second she thought he might kiss her bruised mouth. The air in the little car was suddenly thick, hard to breathe. The elevator stopped. Nick dropped his hand.

  The door opened and Eugenia stood waiting in the foyer. Bony fingers fiddled with the strand of pearls at her neck. She glanced from her son to Marla and censure tightened the corners of her mouth. “I’ve called Lars. He’ll drive you.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Nick insisted, helping Marla with a raincoat from the front closet.

  “But he’s already got the car warmed up and—”

  “I said I’m taking care of it,” Nick stated more forcefully, then threw on a battered leather jacket, helped Marla into a long coat, then, with a strong hand on her elbow guided her out the door and along the brick walk to the circular drive where his beat-up truck, an old Dodge that probably leaked oil and God-knew-what-else, was parked.

  “What is it with you?” Marla asked. “Why are you such an outsider?”

  One side of his mouth twisted up. “That’s the way I want it.” He helped her into the cab, then climbed behind the wheel. With a flick of his wrist and a double pump on the gas pedal, the old engine sparked to life.

  “You like being the outlaw.”

  “Love it.”

  “Why?”

  He eased to a post supporting a keypad, pressed a series of numbers and the electronic gates hummed as they opened. “I never was one to follow the beaten path.”

  “The black sheep. Rogue. Maverick.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. Never thought about it much. Just did my own thing.” He sliced her a look. “It seems to piss people off.”

  “I imagine.” The truck’s cab seemed suddenly too close. Intimate. The glass fogging to block out the rest of the night, the rest of the world.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like hell and don’t tell me I look worse. I know.” Aching all over, Marla cast a glance over her shoulder and through the back window to the house. A golden patch of light streamed from the sitting room windows and Eugenia’s dark silhouette was visible. Two floors above, in Cissy’s room, another light burned but the window remained empty. Marla’s daughter didn’t bother to watch them leave and Marla wasn’t surprised. Their relationship was tenuous at best. What kind of mother was she? Why couldn’t she remember a child who had been a part of her life for nearly fourteen years?

  God help me.

  Resting her head against the passenger-side window, Marla sighed. Her jaw ached, her head pounded and she was alone with Nick. Again. He shifted the gears, his thigh, so close to hers, flexing as he pushed in the clutch, the fingers of his right hand gripping the gearshift and nearly brushing her leg.

  He was near enough to touch. But she didn’t. Would never. Or so she told herself as Nick maneuvered the truck, changing lanes on the shimmering wet streets. Raindrops splashed the windshield, the wipers slapped them away, and some kind of country music wafted through the speakers.

  “So what was it that made you get sick?” Nick asked as he shifted down and braked on the steep grade that cut between skyscrapers and smaller buildings, the lig
hts of the city blazing bright. Pedestrians hurried in the rain, traffic rushed through puddles and a deep mist seemed to creep through the alleys.

  “I don’t know. Bad soup? Nerves?” She lifted a shoulder.

  “You didn’t feel it coming on?”

  “A little. I thought it would go away.”

  He sent her a look that called her a dozen kinds of fool. “So you just woke up and—”

  “No.” She stared at the taillights of a minivan as it rounded a sharp corner. She decided to tell him the truth. “I didn’t wake up because I felt ill. There was more to it.” She slid a glance in his direction, saw his fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “I woke up because I thought I heard something.”

  “What?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought fatalistically. “I know this sounds completely wacko—paranoid—but I woke up because I felt, I mean, I thought someone was in the room with me. A man. He was hovering over the bed and he said something like ‘Die, bitch!’ ”

  “What? Jesus Christ, Marla, are you serious?” His head jerked and he stared at her hard. He took a corner too fast. The back tires slid before catching. “There was someone in your room?”

  “It’s crazy, I know, I know,” she said quickly. “Of course no one was there when I turned on the light and I walked, well, ran around upstairs, checked on the kids—that’s what Cissy was talking about. But I didn’t see anyone, so I told myself it was all part of a bad dream and went back to bed.” Goose bumps rose on her skin as she remembered the terror she’d felt, the conviction that someone had actually gained access to her bedroom. She cleared her throat and stared through the windshield. “I told you it sounds paranoid.”

  “You should have called down to me.” The lines around his mouth and eyes grooved deep.

  “I said I thought I was dreaming. Anyway, when I was in the nursery, I had a breakthrough. I remembered having the baby.”

  “You did? Anything else?”

  “No . . . not yet, but I felt like it was going to happen, that I was going to regain my memory, so I held the baby for a while, then went back to bed, still feeling pretty awful. The next thing I knew I was throwing up.”