by Maggie Way
When Gretchen pulled back, she looked up at him and held his eyes. “Carl, do you think you’re telling me anything I don’t already know?”
Carl’s face clouded in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I know that the there’s a very good chance John will either get his memory back or his family will find him. I have understood that from day one. I hope it does happen, because I see how much it tortures him to think there’s nobody in this whole world who cared when he was left for dead,” Gretchen said.
Would Carl ever understand what she was saying? Gretchen wasn't even sure she understood it herself. Her own feelings were as mottled as Carl’s. She knew she wanted to help John, but how far could she let that go? Carl obviously saw a line she shouldn’t cross. If Gretchen saw a line, it was too blurry to tell where it was.
“I know John will probably leave one day and go back to his old life, but I won’t leave him alone right now. He needs somebody to care about him while he’s healing, and I can be that person,” Gretchen said.
“It’s more than that, Gretchen. Even if you don’t want to admit it, it’s there. I can see it when you look at him. You want more than to be his friend,” Carl said.
He could see it? Could John? Gretchen had to admit she could. She had refused to admit it, even to herself, but she knew the desire was there. Being with John the past few weeks, she saw what they could have together. She also saw the pain it could cause. Gretchen wanted to be his friend and help him through this, but she wanted more at the same time, and felt guilty for wanting it. In some ways, it felt wrong to even consider letting her feelings for him surface when he was already dealing with so much, but what if he felt the same? What if falling in love took away some of his pain?
“Is it really so bad if I want more?” Gretchen asked Carl, unable to look him in the eye.
Carl shook his head and frowned. “It won’t end well. You and I both know it won’t.”
“But wouldn’t it be worth it?” she asked. “If I could be happy for a while with him, wouldn’t that be worth the heartbreak later?”
“I don’t know, Gretchen. I don’t think I can bear to watch him break your heart,” Carl said.
“Maybe he won’t break my heart,” she said quietly.
Carl’s frown deepened and made her heart ache. Pulling Gretchen to him again, he said, “I would never break your heart.”
“Carl …”
“I know your reasons, but what I don’t understand is why you’re willing to give this stranger a chance to love you, but you won’t give me one.” His voice was only a whisper, but she heard every word. Unfortunately, she couldn’t give him an answer. Gretchen didn’t think she even knew the answer to his question.
Chapter Seventeen
Worth It
John heard the door open and maneuvered himself up off the couch, hobbling toward Gretchen. “Are you okay?” he called out, still too far from the door to see her.
“I’m fine,” she said, but the strain in her voice made him limp a little faster.
John rounded the corner and caught her leaning against the door brushing away tears. He covered the last few feet to her in record time and brought his hand up to her face. “Gretchen, what happened? Are you okay? What did that guy do?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she said. She tried to move away from the door, but John’s crutches had her trapped. She settled for turning away from him.
“Gretchen, you’re not fine,” John said. “What happened?”
“It’s okay, John. Really.”
“Who was that guy?” John asked.
Gretchen sighed in defeat. “He’s my next door neighbor, Carl.”
“The huge oilfield worker that has a big crush on you, and is very overprotective of you?” John asked.
“You remember all that, huh?” Gretchen said grimacing.
“How could I forget?” The fact that there was the equivalent of an angry linebacker who was ready to finish beating the life out of John living next door was pretty hard to forget. “What was he so mad about?”
“Nothing. I told you I could handle Carl,” she said.
“That doesn’t look like what happened. If you handled him, why are you the one crying?” She wasn't getting off that easy.
“How do you know he isn’t crying even worse?” Gretchen asked. Her smile was forced, though, and quivered at the corner.
“Gretchen …”
“Just leave it alone, okay? I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She pushed by his crutch quickly and slipped away from him. He had to double-time it to keep up with her, but he wasn't about to let her sneak away like that.
“He was mad about me, right?” John asked. Gretchen didn’t say anything. “Gretchen, if me being here ...” He didn’t get a chance to finish.
“Don’t even say it, John. You’re not leaving,” she said forcefully. Then she blushed with just as much force. “I mean, you can leave if you want to, I’m not keeping you captive here or anything. I just mean that you don’t have to leave because of what Carl thinks.”
John started to say something but Gretchen cut him off again.
“And that is the last we’re going to say on the topic, okay?” It wasn't a question. John nodded and followed her to the kitchen.
Sitting down at the table, John watched her pull a pair of cubed steaks out of the fridge and set them on a large cutting board. Pulling a square hammer looking thing out of her utensil caddy, she surprised John when she start whacking the meat with gusto. The hammer fell again and again. The sound started reverberating in his head, making it throb. John’s vision went dark and he could suddenly feel blows landing on his skin.
“I think you’ll like Swiss steak,” Gretchen said, banishing the bizarre pain as quickly as it had come. “It’s one of my favorites, and one of the few things I can actually make.”
“I can’t wait,” he said weakly.
Gretchen looked over at him, looking worried. “You must be exhausted by now. Why don’t you go sit down in the living room and rest? I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
Gretchen’s couch was incredibly comfortable, but John didn’t want to go. “That’s all right. I want to see how you make Swiss steak.”
She looked as though she were going to argue with him. Instead, she nodded and put the steaks into a large stew pot, pouring in tomatoes and various spices. Then she was done. She turned the stove on and went to sit with John at the table.
“What did you think of the interview?” she asked.
“It went okay, I guess. That reporter was a little over the top.” Everything about her was just too caring and compassionate. It felt very fake.
“Yeah, she was,” Gretchen said. Frowning down at the table, John felt like he hadn’t given her the right response.
Something about the interview was bothering Gretchen. Or maybe she was still upset about Angry Carl storming over after the TV crew left. John’s own thoughts suddenly meshed together and came up with a new idea. Maybe she was upset about both. Carl had come over right after the interview, looking ready to knock over a house. Something someone said in the interview upset him, which then upset Gretchen. What was it?
Most of it was just facts, nothing to get angry about. Then John remembered the chipper newswoman signing off as she talked about fairytales. She had been talking about John and Gretchen. John hadn’t been listening much by that point, but he remembered those words, thinking them intriguing and inappropriate at the same time. With the bustle of the news crew leaving right after that, he had almost completely forgotten about her comment. Adding up Carl and Gretchen’s tears, John felt reasonably sure he’d discovered the root of what was bothering them both.
“What Melinda said at the end of the interview…”
That was all Gretchen needed. A clouded mixture of hope, anger, and sadness burst onto her face. “What was she thinking, saying that?” Gretchen exploded. “She had no right to make assumptions about our si
tuation. And she said it on live TV! What was she thinking?”
Picking his words very carefully, John said, “So you thought it was inappropriate, too?”
“Of course I did! She has no idea what kind of relationship we have,” Gretchen said, “and neither does anyone else.”
John had obviously hit the right mark. The fairytale comment had gotten under Carl’s skin. The next question was why Gretchen was so upset about it. Was she angry the reporter’s attempt to intrigue her audience had led to her argument with Carl, or was she mad Melinda had inferred something she didn’t see at all. John had to choose his next words even more carefully.
“Do you know what kind of relationship we have?” he asked.
Gretchen’s head swiveled around to meet John’s. Maybe he didn’t choose carefully enough. Her shoulders suddenly released their tension and her face softened. “No, I don’t,” she said. “Do you?”
“Me? No, I have no idea.” John smiled and so did Gretchen. “Is that really such a bad thing, not knowing?” he asked.
Sighing, Gretchen rubbed her hands together. “I don’t think so, but …”
“Then what does it matter?” John asked. Her frown said it did matter. “Is that what you and Carl where arguing about?”
She hesitated. There wasn’t any real reason she should trust John enough to open up to him, but she did. “He thinks it dangerous for me to let our relationship go any further than it already has.”
John’s own fears of who he really was and whether or not he was a good person had been banging around his mind since he woke up. He wondered if Carl saw something in him that he didn’t. Did he really believe John would hurt her? “And why would that be dangerous?” John asked
“Because he thinks you’ll break my heart,” Gretchen said.
“What?” John hadn’t been expecting that.
“If you remember everything, or if your family finds you, you’ll leave.”
And crush her.
“But, I think it might still be worth it,” Gretchen said quietly.
Looking up at her, John didn’t know what to say. What was she saying exactly? Did she want more than the friendship they already had? John would be lying if he denied thinking the same thing a million times since waking up, but was that what she really wanted? John wasn’t sure himself that it was worth the risk. For John, yes. He would take every moment with Gretchen he could, and if it ended with him having to leave her behind, he would treasure every moment, even through the pain he knew he would feel.
Was John willing to put Gretchen through that? She had already done so much for him, and it seemed as though all he could give her in return was inconvenience and hurt. Holding back meant denying her the happiness he was sure they could have together. Was it even his choice?
“Are you going to say something?” Gretchen asked.
Fear that she’d just made a fool of herself shone in her eyes. John hadn’t realized he’d been thinking for so long. Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his. “I think it might be worth it too.”
Chapter Eighteen
Facing Reality
Checking the phone messages on the landline was the first thing Gretchen did after saying hello to John when she got home. Seeing if there were any new comments on the blog, or emails from readers, was the second part of her ritual. After two weeks of this, John should have been used to it, but he wasn't. The routine began the day after the interview with Melinda Velasquez. Gretchen had been convinced telling John’s story would help him find out who he was.
He’d been doubtful from the beginning, and now knew the interview had been pointless. No one called. The only comments on the blog were from sympathetic readers or lonely women inviting him to come and live with them. The ads Gretchen put in other newspapers and online a few days before hadn’t produced anything other than a few creepy phone messages. Gretchen refused to give up hope. Maybe John should have been holding onto the idea that someone would come forward, but every time Gretchen checked the messages he found himself becoming more and more irritated with her.
Hugging John quickly after getting home, Gretchen once again reached for the house phone to dial in to check the voicemail. Before John could stop himself, he grabbed the phone out of her hand and went back to kneading the bread dough he was working on.
“John, why did you do that?” Gretchen asked.
“Nobody called today. There aren’t any new messages.” She knew he’d been home all day. He was always home. Why would someone need to leave a message?
Frowning at him as John imagined she did when facing an obnoxious student, Gretchen said, “You could have just said that. You didn’t need to yank the phone out of my hand.” She shook her head as if he were the one acting weird, and turned back to the table where her laptop sat.
John heard her slip the latch to the side. The soft click grated on his nerves. They both knew there wasn't going to be anything there, but she insisted on checking anyway.
“Didn’t you check that at lunch?” John asked.
“Sure, but there might be something new since then,” she said.
“There won’t be.”
Gretchen stiffened in her chair. “There might be.
Slamming his one good hand into the dough much harder than necessary, John tried to ignore the ticking sound of Gretchen’s fingernails hitting the keys. It only lasted a few seconds. The quiet of her reading whatever useless new comments, or rereading old comments, was as bad as the typing sounds. The snap of the laptop closing signaled she had fulfilled her daily ritual.
Her chair slid across the tile as she pushed it back and stood. John kept his focus on the dough. He could feel her walking up behind him. Sliding her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, Gretchen smoothed away some of John’s irritation. His hands slowed and he leaned into her touch.
“I was thinking,” Gretchen said, “you know how supermarkets have those pictures up of missing kids? Maybe if we made up some flyers we could have stores post your picture and see if anyone knows who you are.”
Digging his hand into the dough, John forced a wave of surprising anger out of him and into the dough before he lost control of it. She must have sensed something, because her hand stopped gliding up and down his arms.
“No flyers,” John said.
There was a second where Gretchen stayed frozen, but eventually her hands started moving again. Her hypnotic motions couldn’t distract him this time.
“I don’t want to send out any flyers,” he said again.
“Why not?” Gretchen asked.
“Nothing else has worked so far, why would the flyers?”
She didn’t have an answer for that. The news was only local, but the newspaper ads had gone out to all the neighboring states, and the blog was on the internet for the whole world to see. Flyers weren’t going to do any better.
“It might help,” Gretchen finally said.
“No.”
She could do it without his permission, of course. John could hardly stop her. He knew Gretchen well enough to know she would respect his wishes.
“I don’t understand why you don’t want to try harder to find out who you were before I found you,” Gretchen said from behind John.
“I do want to find out,” he said, “but apparently there’s nothing to find.”
Pushing away from him, Gretchen turned and leaned against the counter so she could see him more clearly. “There is something to find. We just haven’t looked hard enough.”
“No. They’re the ones who haven’t looked hard enough.”
“They? Who’s ‘they,’ John,” Gretchen asked.
“The people you think are looking for me. They should have found me by now if they were really looking. Either they don’t care, or they don’t exist,” he said.
Looking completely stupefied at his outburst, Gretchen stared at him like he was nuts. “John, that’s not fair. It’s only been a month.”
“Yeah, it’s been a who
le month! Someone should have found me by now.”
“What if they didn’t know where you went? Maybe you’re not from anywhere near here like we thought,” she said.
“How many times have you taken a trip and not told at least one family member or friend where you were going?” John asked.
She had nothing to argue about there. Even her adventurous friend Desi, who loved to take off to Tahoe for the weekend at a moment’s notice, would call Gretchen and tell her where she was going. She usually invited her to go along.
Her serious expression was dangerously close to a pout. “That doesn’t mean there’s nobody looking,” Gretchen said.
“Yes it does,” John said. “And stop checking the messages and blog as soon as you get home. I’m tired of it, okay? I don’t like being reminded every single time you open your laptop or pick up the phone that I almost died and not a single person in this world cared whether or not I made it home that night. Stop reminding me of what I’ve lost.”
“I…I’m sorry, John. I wasn't trying to make you feel worse,” she said. “I was only trying to help. I don’t like seeing you give up so quickly.”
“I’m not giving up, Gretchen, I’m facing reality.”
John’s hands were covered in sticky bits of dough as they sat pressed against to the counter. He couldn’t look at her, but his frustration drew her to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder, hesitating to see if he would pull away before sliding her arms around his waist. She seemed to be trying to soak up some understanding by touching him, letting John have this one even though she thought it foolish to give up so quickly.
Finally, John turned and pulled her in closer. Holding her lessened much of his irritation and anger, his body softening against hers. Her constant optimism was a little too much sometimes, but it was the only thing capable of dragging John out of the darkness.
“I’m happy being John, now, and I’m happy being here with you,” John said. “Can’t we just leave it at that?”