I Know the Plans

by Melissa Wardwell

  “Everyone settled?” Ryder asked, holding out a mug of the dark, steaming brew to her.

  “Yeah. We are all pretty tired.” She sipped the brew, allowing the heat to warm her bones and relax her nerves.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She did, but she had questions first.

  “Not yet. How was the day? Looks like upstairs is done.”

  “It is. I hope it is clean enough.”

  “It looked to be. Did you get the bedroom clean that is above the suite?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good, I’ll be moving in there. He will need the space and privacy of the suite.”

  He didn’t say anything in response. He just sipped his coffee as he watched her. His presence calmed her aching heart. Their friendship had grown deeper than even that of hers with Jill and Emma. You share quite a bit with someone you work in close proximity day in and day out.

  “What are you still doing here, Ryder? You should have left hours ago.”

  A sheepish smirk crossed his face. “I did leave. I only stopped back by an hour ago. I had a feeling you would need a friend.”

  “I appreciate that.” A new thought came, “I can’t have you coming in and out of here as you please once Brad comes home, though. I don’t know what all happened to him and I’d hate for your comfortable presence to set him off.”

  “I understand. When the main level is done, I will turn in my key.” He took another sip, eyes still fixed on her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready to talk about it now?”

  Verbalizing Brad’s condition would make it real. She didn’t have Sergeant Moore there to talk for her. She had to acknowledge that life may never be the same. An attempt to calm her nerves with a deep, cleansing breath almost choked her. Her mind spun and her heart raced. She had to do this.

  “He… he doesn’t…. he doesn’t remember.” She gazed into the dark liquid that, at the moment, made her think of the deep brown eyes of her darling husband.

  “He doesn’t remember the event? That’s great, isn’t it?” She looked up at him wishing she had the same hope that was reflecting in his eyes.

  “No. He doesn’t remember the ordeal, his military service, his friends and family.” She paused to calm the piercing ache. “He doesn’t remember me or our life together. It is all blank.”

  Silence hung in the air as they watched each other in heart breaking awe. Before she could say a word, he wrapped her in his arms and held her as agony and pain drained from her eyes. What was she going to do? How were they going to make it through this? Much like the heavy snow now blowing out her window that reduced visibility, she had no vision of what lay on the other side of this.

  CHAPTER 6

  ON CHRISTMAS MORNING, the tree sat in the front windowed alcove of the living room with its lights twinkling their white glow, reflecting off the burgundy, gold, and deep green glass bulbs. They were a wedding gift from her now deceased grandmother. A motorcycle, a toy soldier, a hammer, and other various ornamental depictions of their lives together scattered among the antiques. It was a picture of their lives as individuals and as a couple. The memories of each moment together not only sat on the branches of the tree, but also on her heart. Each year, if Brad was home, they would put the tree up together. Each year they prayed for God’s favor on their lives and each year they found something worth celebrating.

  In years past, the tree would go up the weekend of Thanksgiving. This year, with not knowing if Brad was coming home, she delayed. At four o’clock this morning, after a restless night, she went to the garage and dragged the tree and ornaments in. She wasn’t going to bother with it, until she thought it might be a welcomed sight or even jog Brad’s memory when she brought him home later. It still wouldn’t be like Christmases past, but having him home was the only gift she needed this year when she considered the alternative.

  The scent of the steaming cocoa in her mug surrounded her as she pulled her plush housecoat tighter to block out the chill of the early morning. Seated in one of the high back chairs that flanked the tree, she sat with her knees curled up to prop the Bible in her lap. Another Christmas morning tradition they would not be enjoying this year. In years past, they would read the Christmas story to each other as they lounged in their pajamas and sipped on hot cocoa. They would talk about new revelation in the readings and pray for the coming year. This year, Tiffany struggled to see anything new. Only the uncertainty of what life will be like in the months to come plagued her thoughts.

  “Lord, show me something. Something that will give me hope because right now, I don’t have any.”

  The warmth of the sun‘s rays shown through the floor to ceiling windows on the wall beside her hitting perfectly on the opened pages of the sacred book. It didn’t shine on any one scripture like some grand message from heaven. No, it was the warmth that it offered that hugged her; like God telling her that He was with her and Brad as they walk through this time. It wasn’t what she wanted as a sign, yet she wouldn’t turn it away.

  A Christmas tune rang from the side table, breaking her concentration. Begrudgingly, Tiffany reached for the phone to see who was calling. The sight of her brother’s name brought a smile to her face.

  “Hey there big bro. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas. How are you this morning?”

  “Good as I can be.”

  “You’re not wallowing in your favorite chair by the tree, are you?’

  Did her brother know her or what?

  “I am in my chair, not wallowing. You would be happy to know that I am reading my Bible and I guess I am praying. It feels empty, though, like they’re just words. Nothing is bringing any comfort or great revelation.”

  “Like you’re going through the motions, but the heart isn’t in it?”

  Her heart had been into very little since Brad went missing. His lack of memory was like a dagger in her already battered heart.

  “You could say that.”

  “When are you headed to the hospital?”

  “In about an hour. I hope salt trucks have been out at some point. The road out front looks slick.”

  “Sis, it’s Christmas Day. I wouldn’t count on it. Are you sure you don’t need someone to ride along?”

  The last thing she needed was to be around people.

  “No. I think I’ll be okay. Besides, if I’m in a wreck, it is only one person instead of two.” No matter how off color the joke was, she chuckled at it.

  “Not cool, kid.”

  “I know. Sorry. Really though, I need to be alone for a bit longer and the family needs you there. From what mom was saying, you will have a full house. Brad’s parents stayed the night down there. They stayed a little longer at the hospital last night because they are headed back to Texas after they release him.”

  They stayed for as long as they could, but the reality was that everyone had a life and needed to get back to it.

  “Well, if for any reason you need help, call. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir. Give everyone my love.”

  A glance at the old cuckoo clock on the wall told her it was time to get ready. If the salt trucks had not made it out for some reason, she had a long drive ahead of her.

  He was going home, wherever that was. He hoped it was calmer than where he had spent the last few weeks. All the people poking and moving him grated his last nerve. Then again, he wasn’t sure he was ready to be under the same roof all the time with Tiffany. The looks she gave him each time she was in his room only invoked pity. He knew she longed for him to remember; what woman wouldn’t? He just wasn’t sure he wanted to remember at this point. If all he had to go on about his life were the pieces of revelation in his dreams, he would have rather died on the battlefield than continue on.

  “Are you ready to get out of here, Sergeant Jones?” the petite nurse asked.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  She let out a light, nasally laugh to his reply as she left his room.
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  Seated on the edge of his bed, Brad buttoned the last button on his green shirt as a different nurse fluttered around the room taking care of the IV tubes and monitors. The doctor had been in earlier and ran some physical fitness tests to see if he was still maintaining basic motor memory. “You’ve healed nicely,” he told Brad. At least he knew his body would heal. If only his mind would.

  He hoped that once he was at Tiffany’s home; well, their home, he would be able to rest and relax. Maybe then the dreams would stop. He wasn’t going to count on it. From what Tiffany told him, many of their family and friends lived nearby. At least his parents were leaving. They were nice and all but he just needed the space.

  A man named Ryan was the only family he recalled meeting besides his parents and Tiffany’s parents. Ryan sported a cane, had a mangled face and hand. Brad guessed the scars went further up the arm than what he could see. Ryan said they were in-laws and from what Brad gathered, they had a connected past. “I won’t push you, man. We just want to see you get better.” He was the only visitor that didn’t push to have him recall a memory and Brad appreciated him for that. The constant questions about what he could remember did not evoke a longing to be in a place where people would come and go to peer at the man with no memories.

  There was a part of him that just wanted to run away. He wanted to find a hotel somewhere and sleep his life away. Really, anywhere other than the house he shared with the blue-eyed beauty. What choice did he have, though? At least going home meant he had a roof over his head and food in his belly. It will work for now.

  “Are you ready to go home, Sergeant Jones?” Sergeant Moore asked from the foot of the bed.

  “You have no idea how ready I am. Just wish I knew where home was.”

  “Well, what I do know is it is a small, quiet town. That will help the stress. With all you have been through, I would not be surprised if you have PTSD episodes. You remember us talking about that?”

  “Yes, sir. I am glad we talked about that one. It puts things like the dreams into perspective.”

  “Your scans come back showing fewer signs of trauma. You’ve been here long enough to help you heal.”

  “How long have I been here?” After so long, the days began to blend together.

  “You came in about six weeks ago.” The doctor wrote in the chart some more, flipped a page and signed something. “Well, there you go. You are discharged. Your wife is pulling the vehicle around and you are on your way.”

  He was free, kind of. What if she wasn’t as angelic as she looked? What if she was a nag? What if she was a terrible cook?

  Questions scattered through his mind at such a rapid pace that he grabbed his head. A headache was creeping up the back of his head and down his forehead. If it wasn’t the nightmares it was questions that pushed him over the edge.

  “Is something troubling you, Jones?” the doctor asked as he sat in the chair by the bed.

  “Just so many unknowns that it is giving me a headache. Wow, I sound like a sissy.”

  The doctor’s hearty laugh reverberated off the walls “Not a sissy, just a confused man who has been through a lot. Your wife…”

  “Don’t call her that.” Brad didn’t know why, but having the strange woman referred to as his wife was adding to his aches. “Call her by her name. Please.”

  “Okay then. Tiffany has all your paperwork and a script for the headaches and a few others for your PTSD.” Sergeant Moore studied him, tilting his head to one side. The man’s hair seemed whiter than before. Maybe it was the lighting. “You’ll be okay, Jones. You will either come out of this fog or you will learn to adapt like you were trained to do.”

  That was it; he couldn’t remember anything before he woke up in the dirt. If Tiffany hadn’t shown him the house they owned, the grand place that it was, he wouldn’t have thought they were going to a shack of some kind. He’d never tell her that the image of her standing over him with a bat in her hand while he was tied to a bed crossed his mind. Now that he thought about it, the image seemed familiar. Like he had seen it before.

  “You look concerned, Jones.”

  “I just had this image,” Brad told him what it was. The man smiled and nodded his head.

  “I think you will be just fine. It sounds like a scene from a horror movie. Your brain just inserted Tiffany and you instead of James Caan and Kathy Bates.

  “Here, let’s try this.” The doctor pulled a cell phone from his pocket. His fingers flew over the keys. Brad watched as he scrolled over the screen. What was he looking for?

  “Ah, here it is.” He turned the phone so Brad could get a look. It was a clip of the movie. The title said “Misery”. He couldn’t help, but think that was what he was feeling about all this.

  Sure enough, the image in his head was what he was seeing. “That’s it alright. What a gruesome thing.”

  “Then don’t rent the movie,” Sergeant Moore laughed. “I will say, this gives me hope for a recovery. The fact that your mind could summon that up is telling. Just give it time, Jones.”

  At that moment, a nurse rolled in with a wheelchair. “Your chariot awaits, Sergeant Jones.”

  He gave her a look questioning the necessity and she responded with a knowing smile. Begrudgingly he complied with the order.

  Once he was settled, Sergeant Moore knelt beside him, “Don’t be afraid to live, Jones. You have been given a second chance at life. Don’t waste it lying around in self-pity. And be nice to the lady caring for you. She loves you even though you can’t remember your life together. Be good to her.”

  All Brad could offer was a nod.

  CHAPTER 7

  THE HIGHWAY PROVED to be more slick and snow covered on the way home than she anticipated. The snow fall Ryan warned her about came at her with a vengeance, causing Tiffany to keep her focus on the road instead of making sure Brad was doing okay. When the snowfall slowed down, she took a glance at her husband. His jaw was clinched, as well as his fists. Clearly he was feeling the tension as much as she was. Tiffany gripped the steering wheel and stretched out her arms in hopes to relax her muscles a bit. If she didn’t relax, she would be hurting later.

  Questions of what life might be like swirled in her head as she turned off the interstate. She read that many with traumatic brain injuries became angry, abusive, and militant. Some became depressive. Others didn’t suffer with the personality change. All things that were possible, but only time would tell.

  Each time Tiffany glanced back to check behind her to merge to the right, she scanned Brad as well. His eyes darted from side to side, taking in the holiday traffic and snowy landscape. There wasn’t much to take in, yet it all had him enthralled.

  The longing for the companionship and camaraderie they shared on trips like these nipped at her heart like a piranha. Just talk to him. Tiffany took a deep breath and gave small talk a shot.

  “What do you think?”

  She waited for him to respond as she watched the clock on the dash of their Dodge Ram change from one minute to the next. She was about to make a comment when he finally spoke.

  “People are crazy.” His answer made her snort. He shifted his focus on her at the terrible sound, “What?”

  “That is not a new idea for you. You say it every time.”

  “Really? Guess I just lost my memories but not sensibilities?”

  “I guess not.”

  That was all it took to break the ice to open him up to a little communication. She hoped that it let him know that he could talk to her. She stopped watching the clock, put the truck on cruise, and enjoyed hearing her husband’s voice. Before long, they were turning down the street to their home.

  She had only shown a picture of the place, but the whistle from the seat next to her indicated that it was more house than he expected.

  “This is our house? The whole thing?”

  “Well, technically, this is a business as well. We bought it to open a bed and breakfast.”

  “Where will I sle
ep?”

  “You will sleep in the west wing of the house. It’s on the main floor. You should be pretty comfortable.”

  “Where will you sleep?” the concern in his voice warmed her heart. She tried to ignore the feeling as she watched the garage door rise. “Am I pushing you out of your room? Well, I guess our room?”

  “Don’t worry about putting me out. There are seven bedrooms and I have all my things moved into the room above you. We don’t have customers just yet, so it won’t matter.”

  As she pulled into the garage, Brad muttered a bit of pleasure. She knew his eyes had just laid hold of their motorcycles. The matte black Harley Road King was his stress reliever. Unfortunately, he would have to wait to ride again.

  “We both ride?” he asked as she helped him from the truck. His broken leg made it hard for him to get in earlier, but getting out wasn’t too bad. Recalling all the stairs in the house, she made a mental note to have Ryder build a little ramp.

  “We do ride; you more than I.”

  “Sergeant Moore said I may have to retake my tests to drive again.”

  “If you can remember and your response time is right, you have to have an instructor run you through the paces.

  “Now, let’s get you inside and settled. I’ll give you a mini tour of the main floor.”

  “Not the rest of the house?” His eagerness to see the whole house brought a smile to her face.

  “Well, considering you have a broken leg, an arm that is almost healed, and several gunshot wounds,” she suppressed a sob at the realization of the list, “I think we will have to take this slow. I don’t want you to overdo things. Besides, you can’t climb all the stairs very well right now anyway.”

  Time dragged on as they took each of the six steps into the house, slow and steady. The last thing she needed was to have him fall. Once inside the door to the mudroom, Brad looked up and gave a heavy sigh. She knew he was taking in the next eight steps that led to the kitchen. His visible exhaustion invoked guilt at her lack of thoughtfulness to what he might need. Like a ramp.