I Know the Plans

by Melissa Wardwell

  “We’ll just take them one at a time. At least there is a railing and the stairs are wide. I’ll be right here if you need to lean on me.” She gave him her most reassuring smile, but he just rolled his eyes at her. “Just so you know; there are no stairs on the main floor. You can roam from room to room and even on the back porch without climbing another step.”

  “But if I want to leave, I have to climb a few?”

  The notion that he even thought about leaving pricked her heart. Could she let him go if he never recalled their life, their love?

  “Well, you should be back to normal in a few weeks. Worry about it then.”

  She helped him up three steps, and he took a break from the climb. Beads of sweat were pooling on his brow. His breathing was labored. This was the most he had moved in weeks, maybe months. Her heart ached at his struggle. God, he didn’t deserve this.

  “Wait, what’s down there?” he gestured to the expanse of yard that could be seen through the sliding doors on the back of the house. It had taken them ten minutes or more to finish the climb.

  “That is our yard. It goes all the way to the river. There is a bench down there that you have enjoyed in the past. Ryder, my contractor and handyman, is bringing bricks for a fire pit in the spring.”

  The mention of Ryder’s name reminded her to call him with an update that they were home and not to come tomorrow. She wanted the house quiet for Brad for at least another day.

  Minutes ticked by as they made four more stops on the way to their room; his room. One of the stops was to observe the tree from across the room. He never spoke a word, or made an indication as to his thoughts before he began to move again. Once they entered the suite and removed his jacket, she reminded him that the physical therapist was coming in a couple days. He would only grunt his understanding. Brad took in the room and followed where she pointed. He weariness was evident from the trek. His head had barely hit the pillow before his light snore graced her ears. Oh, how she missed that sound.

  She removed his boot and sock and gently placed his legs that hung over the edge on the bed. Pulling the blanket over his form, making sure to leave his cast out, she took a moment to admire him. His head slid to one side as his mouth opened slightly in relaxation. Her heart ached for the pain her husband endured. It also longed to share the love they once knew, and she hoped they could find it again. She brushed back the bit of hair that dropped over his face noting that it had never been so long. She had always known the high and tight look. The scruffy, five o’clock shadow looked pretty good on him. I’ll have to see about getting a barber to come cut it soon.

  “I don’t know what tomorrow will hold, but for now,” she bent down to kiss his forehead, “good night and Merry Christmas, my love.”

  Halfway through the night, an aching, animalistic growl traveled through the antique ventilation system right into her room. It hinted of torture and begged for relief with each cry. When Tiffany looked at the clock on the nightstand, she knew what the cause of the sound was.

  As fast as her drowsy body would take her, she made her way down the hidden back staircase that lead to Brad’s room. When she entered the room, Brad’s writhing body and his cries of pain broke her heart. It was time for his pain medication, but there was more to it. She retrieved what he needed as well as a glass of water and made her way across the cold floor to the bed.

  Beads of sweat on his face glistened in the moonlight while she gently nudged his hulking body. “Honey, wake up a bit. I have your meds.” A groan escaped his lips as he not so gingerly rolled in her direction.

  Eyes still closed, he held out his large, calloused hand to retrieve the pills and then the water. When he handed the glass back, he collapsed against the pillow with one more growl escaping his lips. Now, typically, she would put the glass on the nightstand then crawl back in bed, but she couldn’t this time. Between his leg and the memory loss, she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. She let her eye trace out the once chiseled face that now seemed more sallow and ashen, praying peace would overcome her soldier. He looked frail and weak in their king size bed and she couldn’t bear to see him that way any longer. Tiffany resolved to work on fattening him up starting first thing in the morning.

  As she went to return the cup to the bathroom, a whisper of a plea called for her. “Don’t leave.” She turned from the doorway to see his unbroken arm stretched in her direction. Common sense said He doesn’t know what he is saying. Her heart screamed HE NEEDS YOU EVEN IF HE DOESN’T KNOW YOU.

  It was his “please” that followed that broke her determination to keep a safe distance. Placing the glass on the nightstand on her side of the bed, she crawled under the covers. Before she could get settled, Brad pulled her to him and nuzzled into her like he used to. She leaned back against the headboard in an uncomfortable way. He may look gaunt, but he still held more strength than she possessed.

  Cradled in the arm of her husband, millions of thoughts and the broken dreams flooded her mind. All the things they hoped to achieve together may never happen now. Can she handle not having this man in her life? At that moment, a whimper escaped his lips and spoke right to her heart, “Don’t give up on me.” He needed her and she would not let him down.

  She ran her fingers through his hair, as she hummed his favorite hymns and prayed for his battered body and mind. She would fight for him until she breathed her last breath.

  The angelic song lulled his mind helped him to forget. The pain ceased, making the rhythmic rise and fall of the softness his head rested on, more relaxing. The warmth on his face and the gentle thump in his ear was a change from the gravel he once felt in its place. A warm breeze skittered over his face, energizing the blood in his veins. If he never woke from this place, he would be fine with that.

  Here, he found rest for the first time in weeks, maybe even months; Brad wasn’t exactly sure. His mind didn’t race, the dreams didn’t plague him. The movement was like rocking on a boat, a soft, sweet smelling boat that took away all his cares.

  The calm rhythm shifted beneath him, jarring him from the happiest place he could recall ever being. Brad opened his eyes to get a look at the beautiful surroundings, only to be met with the fuzz of cloud printed fabric. This was definitely not what he envisioned as he slept.

  Curiosity piqued; Brad slowly moved to get a better look at his surroundings. His gaze traveled over to where his head rested; buttons and ribbon edging paired with the fluffy cloud fabric. A peek of flesh caught his eye and he let the perusing continue up to a soft hallow and a slender neck. His pulse began to race as his eyes continued up the neck. Heart shaped lips was the first to catch him off guard. They were soft and inviting.

  Pulling his attention to the rest of the face, he took note of the soft round cheeks flushed with color, a perfect nose that tilted up at the tip, and lastly, almond-like eyes closed in slumber. Though the eyes were shut, he knew who this was, and his tense muscles began to relax. No matter how odd of a way to wake at least he knew he could trust her.

  Brad struggled with the decision of waking her or letting her sleep, but the shot for stabbing pain traveling up is broken leg and arm told him that maybe her assistance would be needed. He hated counting on someone to help him. He should be able to care for himself. Soon, though he would be back on his feet, not needing to count on this woman who was his wife, and then he could figure things out.

  “Um, Tiffany?” he whispered as he did his best to disengage himself. She let out a light moan and snuggled deeper into the bed and into his chest. Surprised at how right it felt to have this total stranger at his side, he let her rest for a few more minutes. He searched his mind for memories like this with her. There had to be many if they had been married for almost a decade, right?

  Odd that he couldn’t recall this woman or their life together. He’d thought it should have been easier to recall her over anything else but then again, he couldn’t recall his military career. Where did that leave him now? He might have to learn a ne
w trade, or get a hobby to figure out what he could and couldn’t do.

  Another pain nearly had Brad jumping out of the bed. That would have been bad for the broken leg. Clearing his throat to tap down the emotion the pain invoked, he did his best to rouse the sleeping beauty.

  “Tiffany. I need you to get up. Please.”

  She wiggled next to him, grumbling as she tossed the covers over her head.

  Frustrated and hurting, he summoned his most authoritative voice, “Tiffany! I need help!”

  That did the job. She was on her feet and in the bathroom without a word.

  “I am so sorry,” she proclaimed as she scurried from the bathroom back to his bedside. “I don’t know what came over me. “

  Her aversion to meeting his eyes and the rosy hue that tinted her ears did not go unnoticed. He brushed it off as the throbbing began. He will face that issue later. Right now all he needed was the sweet release that the only pain meds could offer.

  CHAPTER 8

  “SO HOW ARE things going?” Jill asked as she set her coffee on the table to better remove her heavy coat.

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Emma stated as she followed Jill to the table. “We haven’t heard a word from you since Brad came home. Ryan is getting antsy to see his brother and the kids want to see their uncle.”

  “Mike is the same way. I know the men at church have been praying like crazy at Bible study,” Jill remarked.

  “It has been a blur, honestly. There are days I’m not sure if I am coming or going.” Tiffany waited until everyone was situated in their little corner at their favorite coffee spot in town. Foster Coffee Company had been their meeting place for a year now. The owners and staff knew them all by name and their drink preferences. Jill always got a Sumatran pour-over of some kind, Emma liked the seasonal Peppermint Mocha, and because Tiffany had already downed half a pot of coffee, it was a Chai Latte for her.

  “How has Brad’s physical therapy gone?” Emma asked as she tore off the wrapper to one of the fresh made muffins.

  “Not too bad. They are trying some hydro therapy right now because he lost so much muscle mass, so that means once a week we are making a trip to Ann Arbor for that. I didn’t realize how much he had lost until I saw him in his swim shorts and a t-shirt. His size large army shirt that once fit him snug, hung loose on him. I had to leave the room for a minute. It was too much.” The memory of how well he once fit that shirt seemed to have turned up the heat in the space. He looked rather delicious at one point.

  “Has he gained any memories back?” Jill asked next.

  “He doesn’t say, really. The only time I see him for long periods of time is when we have to travel to physical therapy, which he gives halfhearted attempts while he growls at the therapist. When he is home, he stays in the suite, only coming out for food which consists of a protein bar and water. He isn’t getting enough, but I can’t make him eat what he doesn’t want to. I can’t make him move when he doesn’t want to move. I just can’t seem to get to him no matter what I try.

  “One night, I made a special dinner. It was his favorite dish – lasagna with a spinach strawberry salad. I was even sure to put the ricotta cheese in it just the way he likes. I served it to him in the little living room there, and he gave me a funny look, poked at it, and hobbled back to the bedroom. I didn’t push like his doctor instructed. I just wanted his company and maybe laugh at a funny program.”

  Silence consumed them as they all took sips of their hot beverages all at once. No one knew what more to say and it was killing Tiffany. There was no longer advice or encouragement because their friends and family felt just as lost to help as she did. From her point of view, it looked as though Brad had given up.

  “How’s it going with the business side? Have you had many guests yet?” Jill asked.

  “It’s only been three weeks, Jill,” Emma interjected.

  “Actually, it has gone surprisingly well, from a business standpoint. When word got around to his S.O., he made sure to tell as many people as possible, including a local military events coordinator. Our little B&B is on the map for couples’ retreats. Brad and I attended a few in our early years. One fee includes all expenses for the couples, except spending money, and they get the joy of reconnecting after deployments. We had a small group at the house this past weekend. They did a couple of classes and then they had the rest of the time to themselves.”

  “Not too much around here for them in the winter,” Emma remarked.

  “No, but with the river out behind the house and the somewhat mild temps we have had, they were able to stroll or make the short walk to the shops downtown.”

  “How did Brad take having all the people there?” Jill asked.

  “He didn’t even acknowledge them. He asked how long they would be there and kept to the suite. A couple of the men were from his regiment and asked about Brad. He wouldn’t come out.”

  Not knowing what else to say, the topic shifted to that of Jill and Mike’s wedding. It was to be a small, intimate affair on the grounds of the B&B in July.

  “I know it’ll be hot, but I love the idea of fireworks to celebrate,” Jill declared. Brad’s condition lingered in the back of their minds with the hope he will be somewhat back to his old self. He was a master at Fourth of July pyrotechnics.

  Tiffany, giddy at the idea of planning a wedding, gave Jill all her decorating ideas while Emma planned the menu. When it came to the attire, the chatter stopped.

  “I haven’t even thought about it,” Jill revealed with a saddened tone. “How could I not have thought about it?” she asked more of herself then the others.

  “Well, let’s make a plan to go dress shopping in the next week or two, okay?” Emma declared in her soft, mothering way.

  They each searched though their calendars to find a day that worked, set it, and went their separate ways. Looking at the time, Tiffany chided herself for staying away from the house for so long as she climbed into her truck. Was Brad wondering where she’d been? Did he really even care that she had been gone for almost three hours? Probably not. Oh, how she missed his calls of worry when they were apart for any lengthy amount of time.

  The drive back to the house was a short one, barely enough time to ponder much of anything, but a nagging voice pushed at her heart with each block. He’ll never recover. It haunted her dreams. He won’t remember you. It beat on her as she washed his laundry. He’ll leave as soon as he gets the chance. It drove a knife into her with each thought. He will never learn to love you again. He doesn’t want to. You are just his maid and chauffeur. Every time those voices spoke, the memory of their wedding day and the promises made would come back to the forefront of her mind.

  Their wedding had been a simple affair. Brad was still a corporal and scheduled to deploy within a few weeks. She was still in college but longed to be Mrs. Bradley Jones more than anything. Everyone tried to get them to wait, not knowing the secret they carried. So, in a small white chapel situated in the middle of the historical village, they promised to love one another for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, until death parted them. Their vows made no stipulations and until all battles had been fought, she would hold true to them, even if he didn’t recall their life together.

  As Tiffany walked into the house an eeriness filled the air. Unable to put her finger on it, she went about cleaning up from the weekend guests. She wiped down surfaces, cleaned the kitchen, straightened the books and magazines left laying around, and began to sweep the floors. As she made her way toward Brad’s suite, she knocked and listened at the door for any sounds. When she heard only silence, she quietly opened the door.

  She entered into pure darkness. Seeing was close to impossible so she turned on the light by the door. Every window was covered with a blanket of some kind. She half expected him to be sleeping on the couch in the sitting room. Instead, she found their wedding album on the coffee table with various pictures scattered around it. Searching the room
for any other treasures, her eye caught a mess on the small side table and found the box of baby things open. He had to have dug all over to find that one. It was placed in the top of the closet and in the back of the storage bin in the bedroom. Seeing the ultrasound image of the ten-week child undid her. She touched the image and wept.

  Once the tears dried, she picked up the rumpled blanket off the couch and stacked dishes that were deposited on the antique dinette set. She lifted a glass only to find a water ring on the table. “Well, that will need to be buffed,” she whispered to herself.

  Leaving the rest of the dishes until he woke, she proceeded to fold the blanket and reposition the throw pillows. That was when she heard a noise from the bedroom. Worried she had woken Brad, she tiptoed toward the room to give her apologies. She still wasn’t sure what to expect if he was startled from sleep.

  Turning the corner, she peeked into the bedroom, only to find Brad sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless with a towel around his waist. Even though he wasn’t as chiseled as he was, he still made her heart flutter.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” her strangled voice broke his train of thought.

  Now free to stand on his leg, he spent more time than he planned in the shower. Weeks of grime slid from his skin as he let the water pour over him. He must have been in such a daze that he didn’t even recall the details that led him to sit on the edge of the bed with only a towel on. He had no recollection of even how long he had been in the position.

  “Brad, are you okay?” Even in his dazed state he could hear the hint of concern laced in her words.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Then why are your pill bottles all over the nightstand like this?” He followed her path with his eyes, his focus landing on what she referred to.

  On the stand, the once neatly positioned prescription bottles were in a state of disarray. One even lay open with its contents next to it. How did that happen?