I Know the Plans

by Melissa Wardwell

  “I see what you’re doing Jones,” her tone was angry, but her face shone a hint of a smile. “Don’t quit.“

  “I have no intention of quitting.” He took her hand and gently squeezed until she turned her face to him. “I meant what I said three weeks ago, and I meant it now. I’m done turning my back on us. That is if you will still have me.”

  Her eyes studied him with great intensity, but he refused to look away from her gaze. Brad hatched plans for them while he paced the floor in the hospital waiting room. His plan, though, was to wait for another time.

  He held his breath in anticipation of her answer. Searching her eyes for some sort of indication of his acceptance of his words, he prayed. A few days of holding her hand in the hospital only opened his eyes to her strength and bravery in the face of despair. She had endured so much for the sake of others while losing, what he guessed, was all of her dreams. Dreams that he was sure he had shared with her at one point as well. The pain he felt in his chest as he waited for her in surgery and recovery indicated as much.

  “Brad.” Each tear that formed in her eyes felt like a punch to his gut. After all this fighting, he wondered if she would turn her back on them. “Brad, I have nothing left to offer you. I am a shell of the woman you once knew. Everything that made me who I once was is gone. I am broken and I am empty.” She tried to let go of his hand, yet he refused to let go.

  “Don’t you see? I am just as broken and empty. We are both the shells of what we once were. Your body feels empty to you and my head is empty to me. What better match could there possibly be?

  “The nights that I stayed with your brother, we talked quite a bit. First he would tell me stories of when the two of you were children and playing some game called monkey tag in your parents’ willow tree. But then he began to talk about the time he was alone in the world; the time after the accident. You know what he told me?“ Her beautiful face wet with tears gently shook back and forth. “He told me that his time away from the woman God had given him to take care of only slowed his healing. He said that as soon as he was around her again, and interacting with the children, his healing began.”

  Tucking a wayward hair behind her ear, he continued with hesitance. He searched for the right words to say; for the words that would convince her they could make this happen. At that moment he recalled the scripture that hung above the bed they had once shared.

  “I know none of this is the life that we had planned for ourselves, but I think if we let God continue to guide our plans, we can make this work. We just need to be patient and trust. So what do you say, my angel?”

  Tiffany waited for what seemed like years for those words. She spent nights crying herself to sleep in agony over not hearing them many nights. Now she only wondered why it took another tragedy in their lives to hear them.

  “Do you remember anything? Is any of the past coming back to you?”

  She watched his face twist and contort.

  “I don’t know if they are memories, or dreams. Sometimes I see flashes of things when I sleep or just stare out at the river.”

  “Is that why you are down there so much?”

  “Only part of the time.”

  “What’s the reason the other times?”

  “I cannot stand that Ryder guy.”

  The jealousy that dripped from his words put a smile on her face. He never thought much for rockers, or guys who wore pants as tight as leggings on men. His comment on confusion between dreams and memories was what intrigued her most.

  “Tell me some of these dreams. Maybe if you tell me about them, I can shed some light on what they are.” Plus, it would help her think about something besides the pain of her other situation.

  “Well, in one dream, we are riding our motorcycles on some backroads.”

  Tiffany smiled. “That was a frequent Friday night thing for us. What else?”

  “I was painting your toes another time.”

  “You did that once. I hurt my wrist trying to catch myself from falling in the gravel. We were going to a military ball the following night and my toes were a mess. You swooped in and saved the night.”

  “You wore a blue dress that year.” His statement was half question, but he was right. Pressure built behind her eyes.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” She could only nod in agreement.

  “Okay, how about this one? I hope it isn’t a dream or something I made up. It seems too real. We are in a small country church. There is candlelight all around us. Only we aren’t standing together. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. Your hair was longer, and draped over one shoulder. You stood next to Emma. Later, I held you as we danced to Christmas songs.”

  She couldn’t hold the tears back, “Brad, that was Ryan and Emma’s remarriage.”

  “You glowed. You were happy. We were happy.”

  Her own recollection of that night and the reason for their happiness stabbed at her now.

  “You were pregnant, weren’t you?”

  “I was. We didn’t want to tell anyone and take the focus off Ryan and Emma. We were going to wait for the three month mark, but…”

  “But it never came.”

  She shook her head and placed her hand on her stomach, the traitor that it was.

  “Okay, happy one. I am chasing you through this house, before the renovations with laughter echoing in my ears.”

  “That happened several times. We loved to laugh.”

  “If I can remember all these things, why do I feel like some things are staying in the background? Like they want to come out, but my subconscious will not let me?”

  Then it hit her. There was something each of these memories had in common, besides her. “Brad, do you remember when I miscarried that year?”

  “No. Your expression told me.”

  “Okay. Do you remember what brought you home the year we met? Do you recall rescuing Ryan from the burning truck?”

  “I know what Ryan told me, but I don’t remember it.”

  “Okay, do you recall any of your tours with the army? Anything from the last tour?”

  He squeezed her hand while searching her eyes for an answer. “I only hear screaming. It haunts me in the dark. I can’t see what is happening.” His breathing began to increase as he tried to remember.

  “Don’t push it, Brad. I just wanted to see if there was a pattern.” She continued to hold tight to his hand, running her thumb back and forth over the top of his hand to calm him. When his breathing eased, she continued, “One of the things your neurologist said was that you might be suppressing certain memories based upon the emotion you felt at the time.”

  “That makes sense. I almost panic when I hear those screams.”

  “Well, don’t think about it right now. We have made some headway. Now you know the difference. It sounds like your memories are coming through in your dreams.”

  “Not all of them. There have been a few that, well, um….oh, never mind.”

  The red blush creeping up his neck and looping around his ear, made her smile. “We will leave those alone.” She knew exactly what he was referring to.

  Time passed and eventually, their hands disconnected while their gazes returned to the activity passing by. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he held his coffee mug balanced just right on his knee and his fingers tapped the mug. It was a nervous twitch she noticed shortly after they met. She couldn’t help but smile at his mannerisms. He was recalling more than he knew. That was worth waiting for.

  “Hey, Tiff. Now that I am remembering, what do we do now?”

  “Let’s just take it slow.” For now.

  CHAPTER 18

  WITH ONLY A week left before the wedding, the house was buzzing with final preparations. Julie worked double time dusting and polishing while Brad took on all of Ryder’s outdoor jobs. Jill, Mike, and the girls even took a couple of days to get rooms ready for out of town guests by washing linens, and turning and disinfecting the mattresses. Emma and Ryan stopped i
n with food for everyone each night. And what was Tiffany doing? Sitting on the couch in the middle of the living room because she still couldn’t lift or climb stairs, doctor’s orders.

  Watching Jill and Mike while they worked together was like watching a sickly, sweet romance movie. He held the door for her; she would kiss his cheek as she walked by. He carried everything from the laundry upstairs to the downstairs room for her. All the while, she made flirty comments about how strong he was. It was cavity-inducing sweet.

  Early on, Tiffany decided to close the bed and breakfast down for two weeks for the wedding so that guests could arrive at any time and stay as long as they like. She and Brad were even staying with Ryan and Emma so that the suite could be used for guests. It would just mean early starts to her days for those days.

  There would be plenty to do the weekend of the wedding to fill guests’ time. If any were classic car aficionados, they would enjoy the car show and cruise downtown the evening before the wedding. If they wanted to shop the local stores, there were sidewalk sales they could visit before the wedding. If they were foodies, downtown held some amazing restaurants. Lula’s Louisiana Cookhouse was her favorite, after Foster Coffee Company of course. A low growl in her stomach reminded her that it was time for lunch.

  Not wanting to be scolded by Drill Sergeant Bradley Jones, Tiffany did her best to stay on the couch but waited impatiently for him to appear. When a growl that she thought for sure would shake the windows projected from her belly, she stood, making sure not to pull on her stitches too much.

  “What do you think you are doing, Jones?”

  His playfulness could not be hidden by his stern tone.

  She turned to face him, sure to keep her movements slow. “I was making my way to the kitchen, sergeant.”

  Concern flashed in his eyes, erasing his playful banter. “Are you okay? What can I get you? You need to stay down.”

  Irritation in the constant babying went to sky high level before she could think. “I am not a baby. I can walk. I can get my own water. I can make a sandwich. I have this, Brad.”

  The volume of her voice must have been a little louder than anticipated as an audience filled the living room. Heat warmed her face as she looked at the faces of her loved ones around her. Where had that come from?

  She wanted to run to her room to hide, but that wasn’t about to happen. It was not her room at the moment. For the first time since buying the house, she saw how little privacy the house offered its proprietor.

  Movement from the doorway to her right caught her attention. Julie stood there, searching the faces of those in the room. What caught Tiffany’s attention drove the final nail into her resolve to keep it all together. A single placement of her hand on her belly brought Tiffany’s attention and understanding as to the reason Julie moved back to the area.

  God, it isn’t fair. Why does she get a baby when I stand here, empty and barren?

  She couldn’t take it anymore. With more vigor than she should have used, she left the room, half jogging, half walking, out the door and down the limestone steps to the river. Her neighbors were about to discover what a screaming banshee really was for she was sure her scream was going to be heard for miles.

  When she reached the banks of the Shiawassee River, her lower abdomen ached and her lungs pleaded for her to provide them with sufficient air. Her lack of breath kept her from raging at the nothingness, the vacancy, and the unfairness of her life. All she could offer was a cry, and possibly a few pulled stitches.

  She made her way to the bench and allowed the sorrow to wave over her. Sitting down with a little more force than intended brought new pain to her stomach. She definitely pulled something.

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, she bent over her lap and cried out to the God she knew was there but couldn’t feel.

  “What have I done to deserve this? Why have you taken everything I have ever dreamed of from me? God, I don’t understand.”

  Movement on each side of her caught her attention, just enough to glance up, but then she placed her head back into her hands. It was all too much.

  “Tiffany, honey, what is going on?” Emma’s voice summoned her. She didn’t feel like explaining anything to her sister-in-law. She only offered a head shake.

  Two arms crossed over her back and shoulders with hands resting on her as prayers from Jill and Emma filled the air. She couldn’t make out the words, but the fact that they didn’t need her to speak meant more than anything they could do. For words were useless when pain at this level would drown it all out.

  “What was that about?” Mike inquired.

  Brad had no clue. He was just as dumbfounded as the guys were. He looked from Mike to Ryan pleading for answers without saying a thing. This was definitely one of those moments that he hated not remembering certain details of his life. Then again, something told him he would still be at a loss.

  While Emma and Jill followed Tiffany out the front door, he proceeded to the back deck. Maybe if he stepped away from watching eyes, some answers would come to light.

  He reached the railing of the deck just in time to see the three women huddle together on the bench. Emma and Jill held Tiffany like they were protecting her with their bodies as they leaned over her. They were far enough away that if any words were spoken, he wouldn't hear them. An acre of land separated them and all he longed for was to be the one protecting her from whatever it was that hurt her.

  He knew the first part of the outburst was his fault. The tides shifted in the house and he became the nagging nurse. All he wanted to do was makes things easier for her. From the look of things, he worried that he only made things worse.

  Brad leaned over the rail placing his elbows on the edge, fisting his hands together, and put his forehead to his knuckles. “I don't understand.”

  Pray.

  Just a single word came to mind. He wasn't sure where it came from, but something in him knew exactly to whom to pray.

  “What do I do for her? Help me understand.”

  He wasn't sure what to expect. Would it be a thunderous voice from the heavens that would answer his questions? Would his answer come in the breeze that blows the trees about him? What he experienced was the longed moment of silence. At least it felt that way. And then a small voice gave him his reply.

  “I think it's my fault, Mr. Jones.”

  Brad turned to find young Julie standing by the sliding glass door, tears streaming down her face with fingers and hands twisting together.

  “What do you mean? Why would it be your fault?”

  “I think she picked up on the fact that I'm pregnant. I saw the look on her face when she turned to me. She was furious when she saw me place my hand on my stomach. I've never been afraid of another woman besides my sister, until now.”

  “But why would she be that angry? So angry she would storm out of the house to get away from you and probably me?”

  “The day she hired me to do housekeeping and gardening around here, she asked me some very difficult questions that I answered honestly.”

  Normally, Brad would leave this alone and just handle the situation in front of him. He wouldn't worry about someone else's problems. Something told him that this young lady needed more than just a job.

  He motioned for her to have a seat at the outdoor farmhouse table where Emma sat out iced tea and lemonade for the group’s lunch break. He poured her a glass of iced tea while he did his best to keep the rising temper at bay. “Tell me what you told her, please?”

  “I am here because I needed a place to hide. While I was living in Detroit the last few months, I met a guy.” Brad watched enough news to have an idea where this was going. “It started off great. He took me out for dinner, bought me nice things, supplied whatever drug I wanted, and even paid for this really cool tattoo I have on my lower back. I lived with him in his fancy apartment in Rochester Hills; life seemed to be going good.”

  She paused as tears began to fall. He wasn’t sure what to d
o, but a nearby napkin gave him an opportunity to show some kind of compassion. When she pulled herself together, she continued with her story.

  “After four months, the truth about him began to show. Many of the women that came to the apartment with his friends warned me about him. They told me that I needed to carry a small knife with me when he was around. But they would never tell me what he had done.

  “One day he came home, yelling through the apartment, telling me to pack my bags because we were moving. When I asked him where, he slapped me in the face and told me not to question him. While I packed, I asked him what happened to make him angry; he followed that with a shove into the wall and another slap to the face.”

  Anger at this man began to build and the tension in his body forced his hands to clinch. What kind of man treats a woman that way?

  A glimmer of fear flashed in Julie’s eyes and he quickly took a breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry. Please, tell me more.”

  She nodded her understanding and proceeded. “I’m not sure if you recall much about the Detroit area, but much of it is overrun with homelessness, drugs, prostitution, and every other terrible thing you can imagine. Well, he took me from his fancy apartment to a rundown house in the heart of the roughest neighborhood. He left me on the steps of a house that some of the most vile sounds came out of. I am sure some were having a good time, but others, not so much. I was pulled into the house where I was swarmed by men. Well, there were only five, but they were close and in my face. One even checked my teeth. Another grabbed my chest. I didn’t understand what was happening until one offered five thousand for me.

  “I was close enough to the door that I darted for it and jumped over the porch rail. For the first time, my track and cross country skills came into good use. I found a house, just a few blocks away, and asked to use their phone. I heard men outside, yelling for me. One gave orders. I just stood there and shook while the little old lady called the police.