“Maybe you should.” His response was sincere. I expected him to be facetious.
“That seems to be the prevailing opinion.”
“You couldn’t tell me this was the problem before you left?” A note of injured pride crept into his voice.
I looked down at my feet. No, I couldn’t. And I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud and to his face.
“I thought you went back to find the donor’s family again. Looking for some sort of connection—”
“No, not exactly.”
A puzzled frown creased his brow. “So you didn’t locate her family?”
I ran my tongue over my teeth. “Actually…”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“I met her husband.”
“Did that help?” he asked.
“No. I learned some things about him I didn’t want to know. He was…uh…cheating on his wife when she died. I didn’t need to know that. Some things should remain in the ground with the dead.” I inspected a dark spot on the countertop, not willing to meet Anson’s eyes while I talked of my humiliation at Alex’s hands. “I met his new wife and…they have nothing I need. I won’t be going back there again.” The bite in my words revealed my disappointment. The bitterness of Alex’s betrayal stung.
“You said that the last time. You promised me you wouldn’t go back.” His hurt was unmistakable.
“I don’t remember the last time.”
“Oh? Part of the memory loss?”
I didn’t want to tell him how deep my memory problems were. They were the size and depth of canyons. “I suppose. Anyway, my life is here.” Resignation permeated my declaration. His brows drew together across his forehead. My comments appeared to confuse him, so I rushed to explain. “Look, I know I’ve done some awful things. To you. To others. I think I’ve been manipulative and selfish. Spiteful. Maybe even cruel. I wanted what I wanted and everyone else be damned.” All these things I had sensed about Jennifer. “I can’t remember it all. Maybe I’m repressing it.”
He rubbed the back of his head and shifted in his chair. His discomfort was contagious. I squirmed, my reaction matching his obvious distress. But I couldn’t run. I had to finish this conversation before I turned coward. “I think maybe I married you for the wrong reasons. Hurt some people I shouldn’t have. It’s not all about money, is it?” I turned to him, face to face so he could judge my sincerity.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying life’s too short to have everyone I know hating my guts—”
“I don’t hate you, Jennifer.”
I recalled Marnie’s words about Anson worshiping the ground Jennifer walked on. “No, but maybe you should.”
His mouth curved into an odd-shaped smirk. “Maybe. But you told me how it was before we married. I haven’t expected more than you were willing to give. What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter, does it?”
I couldn’t answer that. Not yet. “Something Rhonda’s husband said made sense to me.” My name…her name abraded my tongue like grit in my mouth.
“What?”
“He suggested I find a way to reconcile myself to my life. Somehow I have to…untangle the mess I’ve made.”
He leaned a bit closer to me. He needed a shower. “Why this sudden change of heart, Jen?”
“Maybe it’s because I don’t have Jennifer’s heart anymore. I have someone else’s heart. Her husband cheated on her. His infidelity hurts me for her. I know how you…”
He smiled a tight, weary smile. “You know how I feel, do you?”
“This must sound awful. You’re probably wondering how I can say these things to your face. What kind of person expects to be exonerated with a mere confession and a belated apology?”
“So I guess this means you’re not leaving?”
Was this a question between us? “No. Not if you let me stay and try to fix things with you.” Jennifer owed him that much.
He stared at me a long time, his inner thoughts concealed behind a blank mask. I endured his intense scrutiny without flinching. I had to do this. Twice he opened and closed his mouth, perhaps attempting to vocalize his thoughts and not quite capturing the right words. He closed his eyes. Emitted several indistinguishable noises—much like a hurting animal. “I’ll think about it.”
He left me sitting alone in the dark.
****
I retreated to my hideaway on the back verandah, the soles of my shoes clunking across the treated wood deck. Moonlight shimmered off the water in the swimming pool. The heavy odor of too much chlorine assaulted my nose, overpowering the fragrance of springtime.
I grabbed a frond from the nearest hanging basket and crushed the leaves between my fingers. The knowledge that I’d managed to hurt Anson despite my intentions pained me, ripping my insides to shreds. Then the obvious twanged my heartstrings. Had Anson’s feelings begun to matter to me? At first I had focused on finding out what caused Rhonda’s memories to land in Jennifer’s body. I had been more concerned with unraveling the mystery of my twin lives than how my quest for the truth affected him. But now? Had I fallen in love with a man who would never fall in love with me? Maybe. How could I be sure? My feelings for the man were so tangled up in the past and the present, Rhonda’s memories and Jennifer’s memories. Suddenly, I wanted to have memories with Anson that belonged only to me….whoever I was.
I contemplated Anson with renewed interest—not only as the man Jennifer married, but also as the man…
If he ever loved Jennifer, he’ll never love her again. Not after this. And if he never loves her, he’ll never love me. Is it wise to allow my heart to wander into such dangerous territory?
I dropped onto the porch swing and pushed without thinking—without feeling. Numbed to the core. Stubbornly drawing each breath into my lungs. Living despite the pain of surviving.
Velvety darkness covered the landscape. Lighter shadows merged into patches of pitch black. A light breeze rustled the foliage. The sweet bouquet of verbena drifted past my senses and reminded me of better times.
When did I ever smell verbena?
My eyes popped open. The chlorine odor quickly replaced the floral scent.
Anson’s voice echoed through the night, his words rushed and anxious. I tiptoed across the porch and stood next to the open window.
“What makes you think he’ll be faithful to you?”
Who was he talking to? Oh. He must be discussing Price with Marnie.
Anson remained silent a long time. “How nice of her to back off for you. Do you really want her cast-offs?”
I winced. Did Marnie deserve his brutal honesty? He spoke the truth and she needed to hear it, but that didn’t mean the subject merited such direct, stabbing questions.
“Yes. She’s home.” Another short silence. “No. I’m not kicking her out. What kind of man do you think I am?”
I’d heard enough. Guilt over my inexcusable eavesdropping shoved me down the verandah toward the darkened corner. I pushed against the white railing, pressing my gut on the top banister, squishing the air out of my diaphragm. The heat of a body pressed against my back. A rough hand stifled my scream.
“Don’t even think about calling for help.”
I would have known Jackson’s voice anywhere.
I shook my head to loosen his grip. He pulled back, enough to give me air to breathe. “Let go of me,” I fumed and twisted, rebelling against his rough treatment.
“Stop struggling.” Hot air brushed my ear. “What did Rhonda tell you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know she told you what we did.”
“She told me nothing.” My voice shook.
“How could you know unless she spilled her guts to you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I gasped for another breath, his chokehold constricting my neck.
“When did you meet her?”
“Anson!” I managed to croak.
Jackson leaned his en
tire weight into me, pulled his arm across my neck, and jerked my head back. “Answer me!”
My neck cracked and popped but mercifully didn’t break. I wiggled, struggling to break free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. The other night you knew enough to try to blackmail me—”
“I don’t remember the other night,” I whispered, because it was the truth.
“Jennifer?” Anson called from inside the house. “Is something going on out there?” Jackson and I went rigid. The chirp of cicadas drowned out the quiet. “Jennifer?”
“Answer him,” Jackson demanded and pulled my hair. “Tell him—”
“Help me!” I screamed.
The back door slammed open. “What’s going on?”
Jackson dropped his arm and stood frozen a moment, glaring at Anson, and then bolted over the railing, disappearing into the yard. His dark shadow passed the pool and blended into the gray on the other side of the pool house. There was nothing beyond the fence line but access to a wooded area.
Anson rushed to me and pulled me into his arms. “Are you all right?”
My breath exploded from my body, one painful rip at a time. “Yeah.”
He loosened his grip and turned halfway toward the fence beyond the pool house. “Was that Jackson Prentiss?” He still pressed against my side. His body rigid. When I didn’t answer him, he turned his attention back to me. I looked into his concerned face and nodded. “What did he want?”
“He thinks I said something at the party the other night.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Something. Damaging or incriminating or scandalous. You know I don’t remember the party…or talking to him…or fainting.”
He pushed the hair from my eyes. “Something he said the other night must have upset you enough to cause you to faint.”
Didn’t he get it? I didn’t know.
“I’m scared.” He peered at me as if he suspected my memory lapses were a convenient alibi. “Please, Anson. You have to help me. I woke up one day last week and I couldn’t remember the last five years of my life.”
He released me. His fists knotted into balls. “Five years? So you don’t remember marrying me?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’ve been trying to figure out who I am for the last few days.”
“So your trip to California—”
“I thought Dr. Crane could help.”
“Let’s see if this helps your memory.” He grabbed my shoulders. His face hovered inches from mine. A hint of longing danced in his eyes. My eyelids drooped, anticipating something sweet and powerful.
His breath brushed my lips. His fingers dug into my shoulders. “You are Jennifer Cristobal, my wife, and you will stop playing games with me or you will find yourself cut off. Do you understand?”
Humiliation crawled up my neck, hot and tingling. “Cut me off if it will make you feel better, but I swear I’m not playing games. This is my stinking life and for the life of me I can’t figure it out.”
He pushed me away. I remained glued to the wood beneath my feet. Moments later, the roar of his Jag ruptured the night. My heart refused to pace itself.
How could he leave me here…alone…after Jackson just threatened me? After he almost kissed me?
Backing toward the house, I placed my shaky hand over my skipping heart. Once inside, I closed the door behind me, bracing against it while I set the lock. Sensing no other being alive or dead in the living room—other than myself—I ventured into the remainder of the house, checking every door and window. Satisfied that I had refused danger an entrance, I locked the door of my bedroom behind me.
Still wearing the clothes in which I’d traveled home from California, I dropped onto the bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. The table lamp glowed bright on the nightstand. My eyes remained open until the edges of my vision blurred and one color ran into the next, blending into a mass of brown black nothingness.
Chapter Eleven
Fascinated by the heated conversation slipping through the kitchen door, I leaned against the frame and peeked through the crack. My eyes adjusted to the dim light in the living room. Two shadows, darker against the dark backdrop, merged and then separated. I inched my head nearer, straining to hear.
“Shhh…” Alex said. “You’ll wake her.” He turned and glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen .
Jackson grabbed his elbow and spun Alex around. “Come with me,” Jackson pleaded. “I need your help. We can talk about this on the way.”
“I don’t want anything to do with this. Why did you get involved with them? You should have known this would happen. I warned you.” Alex voiced his recriminations in monotone. “Why did you bring this into my house? Where my wife could overhear?”
“Hush.” Jackson glanced my way. “I thought I heard her.”
I froze, fearful of detection. The clock ticked on the mantel. A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood. The hum of the refrigerator provided white noise in the background of our combined unease.
After a minute or so, the tension in the room diminished, and Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t do this alone. He’s too heavy.”
“I can’t help you.” Alex raised his hands, but Jackson slapped them down.
“You have to. You owe me.” His volume rose with each word.
“Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Jackson lowered his voice, but it carried nonetheless—the bane of a strong masculine timbre. “I know what a dead man looks like.”
I held my breath, waiting for Alex to mirror my revulsion. His level tone never faltered. “I won’t be involved in covering up—”
“Aren’t you already covering something up? What difference does it make if you get in deeper?” Jackson sucked air through his teeth. “You want me to tell Rhonda—”
“No.” Indignant fury radiated from Alex, quick as lightning and just as electrifying. “Leave her out of this.”
Stone-cold silence ensued while Jackson waited for his brother’s compliance. A siren wailed in the distance as if noting the sinister nature of their conversation.
“Where’d you leave him?” Alex asked.
He was weaving a trap and Jackson was flying right into it. Alex would want everything Jackson had in return for helping him. I almost bolted from behind the door. I stuffed my hand in my mouth to hold back my thoughts, to keep from alerting Jackson to Alex’s machinations. Alex wanted Jackson’s share of the family business and he’d stop at nothing to get it. I didn’t trust Alex, but I trusted Jackson even less. As much as my conscience demanded I do the right thing, common sense made me hesitate because of the possible consequences.
Jackson rubbed his hands on his jeans. “I stuffed him in the trunk. Down by the dock. That’s where the car stalled—”
“Okay. Okay.” Alex ticked off a laundry list of essentials for their endeavor. That was so Alex. Organized. Focused. Driven. “I’ll get some gloves and rope. We’ll need something heavy…like a tire or cinder blocks—”
“Okay. Okay,” Jackson repeated Alex’s words. “We need trash bags.” Neither man moved. “You won’t regret this.” Jackson’s voice broke.
“I already regret it. And you owe me more than your half-hearted gratitude.” Alex’s angry words slithered across the room like venom, coiled and ready to strike.
“I told you, I’d give you—”
“Let’s get out of here before Rhonda wakes up and catches you. She said she’d call the cops if you ever showed your face around here again.” Even as the statement left his mouth, my fingers itched to grab the phone and dial nine-one-one.
“She did?” Jackson tossed his head back and laughed hard.
From across the room, I witnessed Alex’s loss of respect for Jackson, the death of brotherly love. A glimmer of raw hate flickered in Alex’s eyes before he stopped and turned to his brother. “And when we’re done…leave.”
&nb
sp; “Leave?” Jackson asked.
“Go away. Far, far away, Don’t call me. Don’t come knocking on my door. Leave us alone.”
Floorboards creaked as Alex pushed Jackson forward. The front door closed behind them and their conversation faded. I closed my eyes and counted to ten before I dared enter the front room to peer through the blinds. Jackson got into Alex’s sporty two-seater. The engine revved and the car disappeared into the dark, cloudless night.
****
The lingering remnants of the nightmare blew a cold shiver up and down my spine. That night, Rhonda didn’t know whose murder Alex and Jackson had covered up, but time explained their behavior. Jackson had rid them of an associate with unwanted connections. The man seemingly disappeared without a trace, but Rhonda had guessed what happened. From that day forward, Alex looked over his shoulder as if a knife hovered in the air between his shoulder blades.
Did Rhonda ever tell the police about the conversation she overheard? Was she complicit in their crime? Did she have her own motives for keeping her mouth shut? For some reason, those answers eluded me. Was Rhonda not quite the innocent bystander her memories portrayed her to be?
Maybe she sheltered her motives in those two missing years her mind refused to illuminate. How long after the conversation did Rhonda die? The timeline didn’t work no matter how I juggled the events and tried to move them into place.
I couldn’t shake off the aftereffects of the memory. Rhonda didn’t have to deal with that nightmare. She was dead. Even though the emotional and mental remnants might not affect her any longer, Jennifer was alive and had to suffer the physical reactions. My hand trembled as I held it in front of me. If I went to the cops, would they believe me? My story would sound strange at best and delusional at worst. It appeared there was no safe haven—no stable psyche for my soul to inhabit.
I longed for the warmth of my robe. It lay in a heap on the chaise where I left it before my trip to California. I slipped out of bed, wrapped the terry cloth around me, and headed toward the bath. An ounce of water wet my dry mouth. I rinsed the bad taste the dream left behind and spat into the sink. When I straightened and looked into the mirror, I studied the woman I’d come to detest. I lifted the silver-plated tissue holder and drew my arm back, prepared to smash her face into a million tiny pieces. The absurdity of the gesture struck me as pathetic. I couldn’t get rid of her and her messy life so easily. The lines between her existence and mine had blurred beyond recognition.
Deceptions of the Heart Page 7