I Know the Plans

by Melissa Wardwell

  “I’m not quite sure how that happened.”

  He watched as she proceeded to clean his mess. “I’m going to have to hide these,” he heard her state under her breath. Indignation rose forcing him to his feet. His blood boiled at the implication.

  “Why would you have to do that?” he barked. Who is she to imply I can’t take the right pills?

  She targeted him with a steely glare that threatened to cool the raging fire inside. “Because the strongest narcotic your doctor gave you is open and sprawled out on the stand. Do you even know how many you took? You look like you are in such a daze you can’t even focus.” She looked to his right hip, her eyes growing wide. “And because of that,” she pointed to his right hand.

  Her look had little effect on him, but what he held sent a chill down his spine. Where did that come from?

  Tiffany held a shaking hand out to him as his own began to tremble. “How about you hand me that and I’ll put it in the safe.”

  Entranced by the cold, lifeless metal object in his hand, he searched harder than he ever had to remember how he obtained the gun. Like his past, nothing came to the front of his recollections.

  “I have no idea.” Fear cut his words short as he complied with her request.

  Her eyes indicated that she wasn’t sure she believed him. “How about you get dressed and come out here. We’ll talk while I help with your stretches.”

  Once he was dressed, he met her in the next room. He watched as she scurried about, setting things right. Pictures and books of various kinds sprawled from one table to the next. He left her quite the mess the night before. She wiped at her face and he heard a sniffle. He had a feeling that there was something else bothering her other than the mess and the gun. Why did I have that gun?

  “Sorry about the mess. Let me help you.” He reached for the same box as she did, barely missing a graze of her hand.

  “Please, Brad. Let me get it. It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry, really. I was just looking for something to trigger a memory last night.”

  “I understand.” She did whatever she could not to look at him.

  “I’m sorry you found me like that. I honestly have no idea how all of that happened. I hardly recall taking a shower. I only know how good it felt.”

  Brad half-heartedly followed her around the room as she opened a closet door and pulled out his yoga mat. She placed it on the floor, still not looking in his direction, and waited for him to lie down.

  He knew the routine and got into position. The exercise was not just physically uncomfortable but a bit embarrassing. Pushing past the morning’s events, he focused on her as she guided each move.

  She stood at his feet as he worked to lift his injured leg and place it in her hands. He watched her as she proceeded to push the leg back in his direction, stretching the muscles on the back of his leg. After she whispered her count to twenty, she bent the leg to get a different kind of stretch that pulled from his hip. All along he was riveted to her dazzling blue eyes. She had the kind of eyes that drew a man in and he envisioned a white picket fences and dogs running around the yard with their kids. Or a large brick house, overlooking a river. No wonder I gave into her vision to this mansion. Any smart man would do anything for the owner of eyes like those.

  “Did you find anything to help?”

  “Not much, but I learned some things about you and us.” A dull ache radiated up his leg as she lost grip.

  “And that was?”

  “We have been through quite a bit.”

  “We have.”

  “We lost something special.” Her eyes became pools of blue and her perfect button nose turned red. She could only offer a nod. “And we must have had something pretty intense for you to avoid looking at me.”

  Tiffany gently placed his leg back on the floor, stood up, and walked away, wiping her eyes again. It took time for him to rise on his own, but something intense pushed him to go comfort her even if he felt like he had no right. Before he could go to her, she turned on him.

  “Our struggles only drew us closer.” He tried to chime in, she was quick to stop him. There was more to the story than what was in those pictures. “We fought as passionately as we loved. There were no preconceived ideas about one another. We had a mutual love and respect that many search their whole lives to find.”

  Tiffany was on the edge of her emotional rope and Brad wasn’t sure he was ready to see her let go. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

  “No, you would have found it all eventually if you didn’t… if you didn’t recall on your own.

  “It’s like a knife in my heart to watch you go through all of this, Brad. I can only make guesses as to why I found you the way I did a little bit ago. I don’t know if I should watch you closer, call the sergeant at the VA, or hire a nurse to help you. I just don’t know what to do next.”

  Tiffany threw her hands up in the air and left the room. He would have gone after her, but he didn’t know either. No matter how hard he tried to push it down, he couldn’t avoid the thought that maybe he had a gun in his hand to take the pain away. He knew he would be more than just pulling the trigger on his life. He would ruin hers even more than he already had.

  He would not give in, yet. He would stay and fight.

  CHAPTER 9

  THERE WERE NO user manuals for memory loss patients. No therapist could ever understand what they went through and no family member would be able to jog memories. Brad was on his own. No matter the frustration, there was something about losing his memories that he found liberating. Besides the dreams, he had no recollection of the tragedy.

  When he suffered with another night of restless sleep, the photo albums and the box of memories proved to be what he needed. Not that they brought any recollection of his past. The happy faces and the heartache gave him insight into the people who called him friend and the woman who claimed to be his wife. The question was if he wanted that life again and did he want it with her.

  As he thumbed through the closet for something to wear one late morning, Brad searched for answers. Instead all he found was a black hole of uncertainty in a closet full of cotton t-shirts and jeans. Frustrated with his lack of decision making capabilities, he grabbed a pair of jogging shorts from the closet shelf and a t-shirt without care of matching. No one really cared how he looked anyway.

  He went about his routine questioning every move he made. He could remember to brush his teeth. He knew that the little red container with the sailboat was deodorant. He even knew how to walk and dress; just not faces and events. No matter how many times Sergeant Moore explained his injuries, it continued to confuse Brad.

  From what he was told, the part of his brain that recognized faces, as well as affected his emotions, had been affected from the injury. It was possible that he could regain the memories once the brain healed. Brad wasn't sure if he had the patience to wait.

  Wandering from one room to the next in his little apartment, the elegance and grace of the room spoke of the hidden refined taste that the designer had. She had crafted a homey space for the two of them by mixing modern comfort with pieces of mid-nineteenth century charm. The rest of the house was traditional in its stylings, giving a feminine-like feel. The little corner of the house that was theirs was a mix of masculine and feminine touches.

  When he ventured out into the rest of the house, a lemony smell hung strong in the air, almost taking his breath. The last time he was in the main part of the house, he was heavily medicated, stumbling about. At the time, the house was still in a mild state of construction and strangers moved about. White powder and tools that were scattered about now all missing.

  He stood in the middle of the large living room, taking in everything with a clearer head. He couldn’t believe the level of detail she had put into the room. He couldn’t recall the terms, but everything contrasted each item beautifully. From the antique furniture that he was afraid to sit in to the soft butter color on the walls to the hardwood floors
. It was all well thought out.

  His favorite feature in the room was the fireplace. Something about it welcomed him to sit down with a book and kick his feet up. The mantle was a masterpiece all its own. He ran his hand along the wood, feeling the grain, marveling at the light finish. The scroll work on the front was simple. The tile of rich green tones accented the walls perfectly. It was the portrait that hung over the mantle that froze him in his steps. The painting was out of place yet fit the focus of the home’s owners.

  A combat soldier, dressed in all his gear, gun in hand, and determination on his face. Across the bottom right corner was the American flag. It was the transparent figure behind the man that stopped his heart. There was something about the being that was all too familiar, like he had seen it before. The figure seemed to look right at Brad and he found himself wanting to look away, but it held him instead. Outstretched arms encompassed the soldier in a protective stance. Did he have a protector like that? Where was it when he was injured?

  Heavy footfall broke his musings. The presence of someone other than he and Tiffany made his hair stand up on the back of his neck. Instinct told him to turn his back to the wall, get in a defensive stance, and search all doorways. His heart raced in his chest as he crept to the hall heading toward the dining area. He had a straight sight line to the kitchen from there.

  When the soft, feminine laughter pricked his ear, he knew all was safe, but a warning still surged through his body. In the back of his mind, he knew he was being silly; the message was just not getting through to the rest of him.

  With a deep breath he made his way to the kitchen, doing his best to calm the rhythm of his heart. Whispered words coming from a deep male voice followed by her laughter did something to him. It was like all the air had been pulled from his lungs. Someone was in the kitchen with his angel and he was making her laugh.

  He found the man under the sink and her standing over him, hand on her chest with a smile on her face. The ease of her manner and the lightheartedness of the sound made his heart warm. She was beautiful when she laughed. It was a new sight for him, but he liked it. Did he make her laugh like that? Not that he could recall.

  “Brad!? You’re up,” her startled tone shook him from his thoughts.

  “I needed to stretch my legs and get a different view.”

  The whack of the man’s head on the bottom of the sink made Brad chuckle. Something about this intruder injuring his head felt right to Brad.

  A tall, gangly young man rose from the floor with a mass of hair pulled back in a bun like he had seen her wear a few times. What man wears a woman’s hairdo? Brad measured up the guy, taking in his tight fitting jeans and plaid button down shirt, as he wiped his hands on a dish towel and approached Brad with an outstretched hand. Is he wearing women’s pants?

  “Hello, Mr. Jones. It’s nice to meet you, sir. I’m Ryder.”

  Brad took his hand and wondered if he could get away with the rude comment about the young man raiding his girlfriend’s closet. Figuring it would be a bad idea, he plastered a smirk on his face, gave the boy a nod. “Call me Brad. Nice to meet you too.” Better watch your step though, pal.

  Tiffany held her breath as she watched the interaction between Brad and Ryder. Fear in one man’s eyes, determination in the other man’s eyes.

  She knew the look that flashed across Brad’s face and the stiff, authoritative stance in his form. It was like he felt threatened by Ryder’s presence in the house.

  She laid her hand on Brad’s arm, steeling against the headiness that hit her every time she touched him. “Brad, Ryder was the main contractor who helped me remodel the house while you were away. Now he has become a maintenance-man of sorts.”

  Brad’s eyes pierced hers, disbelief behind them. He nodded his head and moved away from her and Ryder and went to the refrigerator.

  “Do you need help with something?”

  He didn’t respond as he pulled lunch meat, cheese, mayonnaise, and mustard out. He then searched the cupboards, shutting each one harder than the one before. She could hear his level of frustration with each close of her shaker doors.

  “Brad, what are you looking for?”

  He let out an expletive she had never heard from his lips, “I’m not completely incapable of making a sandwich. I just can’t find the bread.” He punctuated it with one more slammed door.

  Ryder took hold of her arm, “I think I better go.”

  “Yeah, you better run along, boy,” Brad boomed. He was acting in a way that was completely foreign to her. One more new part of the man she loved.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  She followed Ryder out while doors and drawers opened and closed with more force than necessary.

  Tiffany closed the door to the house behind her in hopes of drowning out the noise inside. “I’m sorry about that. I am learning that I don’t know what to expect one minute to the next.”

  “Tiffany, if he gets too out of hand, call me. Please.” Concern flashed in his eyes. His finger grazed her hand. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

  Ryder was a good guy, but his concern made her pause. His friendship was invaluable; she didn’t want that to change.

  “I don’t think it will get to that level. He is just confused, probably more than I am. Until we know what his memory will do, we are in limbo.” The dawning of the situation caused pressure to build behind her eyes, “I hate limbo.”

  Ryder smiled at her words. “I know you do. Just call if you need me. I’ll be by Monday to finish off that last bathroom. I have a gig this weekend.”

  Too overcome with emotion to give him a verbal response, Tiffany nodded as Ryder took the steps down to the circle drive. Not quite ready to go back in the house, she took a seat at the little bistro set on the porch, allowing her mind to shut down for a bit as she watched cars pass by. Though the temperatures were beginning to warm, the March air still nipped at her exposed skin. The noise of the cars and the birds singing held her in place as she absorbed the peace of the normal lives happening around her.

  The street was always beautiful in the spring as trees began to form buds. Soon, all the spring bulbs she planted in August would bloom, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. During the week, the sound of the children walking by on the way to and from school would fill her heart with joy.

  This was the time of year she and Brad loved the most, but would they ever enjoy it like they did last year. “Only time will tell.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” His voice held tenderness and remorse. His downcast eyes called to her from the other side of the screen door, pleading for her forgiveness. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  There it was, the reminder that he was new to this life. The weather and his injuries kept him bound to the house. The remodel kept him to his room. Nothing happened in his little world to encourage discovery.

  “I know, Brad,” she said as she stood and made her way for the door. “How about a little expedition? Think you can handle it?” she asked as she pointed to his leg.

  “Yeah. I feel pretty good,” he told her with a grin that spread across his face.

  “Well, then be prepared to be bored out of your mind.”

  CHAPTER 10

  BRAD FOLLOWED TIFFANY around the house doing his best to keep his attention on the details she offered. The only details he found his focus drawn to were the slight upturn of her little nose, or how her eyes sparkled like sapphires in the sunlight. She wore jeans that stopped mid calf and a sweater that scooped on one shoulder. As they entered a hall that led to the back of the house on the upper level, the urge to kiss the peak of her shoulder teased him. A flash of images came to mind of him doing just that in the same hall only the walls were not painted or looking fresh.

  “Brad? Are you okay?”

  The concern in her eyes called him from the wonder of what he was seeing.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice lacked the conviction he attempted to give off.

  Tiffany
moved nearer, a hand outstretched, reaching for his arm. “Are you sure? You just stopped walking. Do you need a rest? There is a seating area just in the other room.”

  The feel of her tender touch on his bare skin sent a surge of something through him. The gesture mixed with what he imagined caused a greater feeling than he experienced since he woke in the hospital.

  She took his hand in hers, entwining their fingers, “Come on, let’s take a break.” She led him to the white room that overlooked the back yard and the river. A bed, bigger than his own, made him stop short at the doorway. Instincts were sending him mixed signals. He shifted his gaze from Tiffany to the bed and back again as warning bells rang. “There is a comfortable chair right here. Look at that view.” She let go of his hand, wandering to the large bay window. “Isn’t it a dream?”

  Sure is.

  “What was that?” Her quizzical eyes had him second guessing himself.

  He was so entranced with the beauty of her, he must have verbalized his thoughts.

  “It’s a beautiful view.” Technically he wasn’t lying, right?

  Awkward silence pricked the air around them; he could feel her questions begging to be spoken. He didn’t want to answer questions. He just wanted to enjoy her company.

  For the first time in the months he had been out of the hospital, there was a companionable feeling with her. She wasn’t playing nursemaid or cook. She was there, next to him, a friend. A friend that is making your heart race more than usual.

  “I don’t know if it was a memory or imagination.”

  “What was?”

  “In the hall. It was like I had been in that place before. You were wearing the same shirt but the walls were different.”

  Her excitement was palpable as she turned in her chair to give him all her attention. “What did you see?”

  “Um, I’d rather not say.”

  He watched in wonder as excitement changed to curiosity. When a beautiful pink blush rushed up her slender neck, over her perfect ears, across her sweetly round cheeks, to that button nose - her eyes grew wide and her heart shaped lips parted. She recalled the moment. It must have been a memory. “Sorry, Tiffany. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He reached for her hand, needing to touch her.