The Memory of You

by Laurie Kellogg

  “Ivy League schools aren’t cheap. Even though I had the grades to get into Princeton, they weren’t quite good enough to get a full ride.”

  “So I guess you needed financial help as much as Pete did.”

  “Yup. He’s the one who pointed out that, if we applied for ROTC scholarships, not only would Uncle Sam write checks to Princeton for us, the Army would also be forced to wait four years and would induct us as officers. We gambled the shooting would be over by now. I’ll be graduating with Pete in May, so you could say we lost.”

  Wow. Matt looked young enough to be starting college instead of finishing.

  “If nothing else, it’s a cheap way to see the world.”

  Not to mention a dangerous way. Everyone knew the enemy always targeted officers first. She snatched the cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out in the glass ashtray on the sideboard.

  “Sorry.” He dug a roll of mints out of his pocket. “Your brother said your mom wouldn’t care if I smoked in the house.”

  Of course Pete would say that, seeing as he and their mother both puffed their way through a carton a week. “If you really like breathing, you’ll give those up. Or haven’t you heard they cause cancer?”

  Darn. She winced inwardly, shaking her head to refuse the mint he offered her. Why had she done that? Now he really would think she was a doofus.

  “Oh?” He peered down at the top of her head. “I thought they just stunted a person’s growth.”

  “What we short people lack in height, we more than make up for with brains.”

  Matt tipped her chin up, a mischievous twinkle glittering in his gaze. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me what I’m wondering right now.”

  “I may be intelligent, but I’m not a mind reader.”

  “Sweetheart,”—he popped one of the mints into his mouth—“if you’re really as sharp as you claim, you’d know exactly what’s on my mind.”

  This guy was no angel—fallen or otherwise. “Well....” She gulped. “I guess I’m not as smart as I thought. So if you’ve known Peter since high school, why hasn’t he brought you around before?

  “Probably ‘cause he knew I’d hit on you.”

  “Typical. My brother likes to forget I’ll be eighteen in June.”

  “So maybe you are psychic. You just answered my question.” He stepped closer and took her hand in his, caressing the back of it with his thumb. “I was wondering whether you’re old enough to go out with me tomorrow night.” His gaze moved slowly over her face, an untamed longing flaring in his eyes. “I’ll take you for a spin on my Harley. We can do whatever you like. Maybe a movie?”

  She didn’t want to admit he was out of her league, so her safest move would be to suggest something a guy would hate—like say, a musical to discourage him. “Umm, The Sound of Music is making a second run after winning Best Picture. I missed it last year, so I’d love to see that.”

  He laughed. “I’ll be happy to take you, but I have no idea how you’re going to see the sound of music. Most people hear it.”

  So much for discouraging him.

  “Is it a date?” he asked. When she hemmed and hawed, hesitating, he coaxed softly, “Come on, what do you say?”

  “I say, I’ll be asking for trouble if I go out with you.”

  He leaned closer and gently threaded his fingers through her long hair. The mingled scents of his tangy aftershave and tobacco wafted around her like a seductive cloud. His mouth came within inches of hers, his warm, minty breath tickling her face and making her heart leap. “I know,” he whispered roughly, “but do it anyway.”

  Chapter 2

  Friday, April 6, 1973

  Philadelphia VA Medical Center

  Matt strolled out of the Philly veteran’s hospital right after lunch lugging a duffel bag which contained the few things he’d bought at the Clark PX using the allotment the Army had given him.

  In addition to three sets of civilian clothes, underwear, toiletries, and a pair of black basketball sneakers, he’d bought himself a watch and a wallet. Somehow, those two simple possessions made him feel like a free man with a new lease on life. And practically no money to pay for that lease.

  The major had told Matt it would take a while to straighten out the accounting nightmare involving his back pay, the benefits his wife had already received, and whatever disability compensation he was entitled to. In the end, he’d probably get something. But considering the bureaucratic red tape, it could be several months, and he had no idea how much it would be.

  The month’s pay the army had disbursed to tide him over wouldn’t go far, seeing as he had no car, no job, and no home. And he’d been worried about providing for a wife? More likely she’d need to support him.

  Rather than wasting his cash on train fare, he walked to University Avenue and stuck out his thumb. Fate smiled when one of the nurses who’d cared for him stopped and agreed to give him a lift to the address in Matt’s file since she was on her way to New Hope to visit her sister. During the ride, a peculiar sense of familiarity nagged him. He knew every curve in the road, yet he had no memory of ever being there.

  Arriving at the quiet residential cul-de-sac, Matt sank onto the curb across the street from his wife’s property under a large maple tree garbed in green buds.

  He breathed in the fresh scent of the hyacinths and daffodils blooming in the nearby yard and studied the small white rancher and its breathtaking view of the countryside. The house desperately needed a coat of paint.

  Obviously, Dr. Grant knew what she was talking about. His wife must have some sort of a job. She wouldn’t be able to afford to live in such a nice area on only his army benefits. Nor would she have what appeared to be a brand new Mercedes-Benz and a ‘66 GTO parked in her driveway.

  When the front door sprang open, Matt jumped up and ducked behind the tree. A brown-haired man in his early thirties stepped out of the house, followed by a tiny woman whose head would barely reach Matt’s chin.

  Blonde waves cascaded down her back, brushing the come-hither strip of flesh flashing between her pink tie-died T-shirt and faded bell-bottom jeans. Her curvy figure matched the faceless woman’s who previously existed only in Matt’s dreams. High, full breasts and a slender waist topped a gently rounded bottom accentuated by her low, hip-hugging pants.

  No way could this young girl be his wife. She would’ve been just a baby when they got married.

  The man brushed a kiss across her lips before striding to the silver Mercedes and calling, “Love you, Ab.”

  Damn. She was Abby.

  “See you tonight.” Her dazzling smile made Matt’s breath hitch.

  Except for the contradiction of her sexy figure, she looked like an angel. He’d bought his jeans on the loose side with the intention of gaining weight, but after getting a gander of his erotic fantasy in the flesh, he still didn’t have enough room to be comfortable. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell for sure, but he’d give ten to one odds Abby had green eyes.

  He’d been too embarrassed to tell Dr. Grant about the intense X-rated encounters that teased the edges of his mind the same way a dream does after waking up. They were irrelevant since the woman was indistinguishable in them.

  All he remembered was burying his face in luxurious rose-scented hair, gazing into emerald eyes, and an incredible physical experience. Seeing his dream woman come to life, after spending more than six interminable years either alone or with a bunch of smelly men left his body screaming, Come on, Baby!

  What had a gorgeous creature like her ever seen in him? She could have any guy she wanted. He swallowed hard past the .45 caliber lump lodged in his throat. Even though he didn’t remember her outside his dreams, it still hurt to see his wife kiss Mr. Mercedes.

  Matt heaved a sigh. He must have masochistic tendencies. Why else would he put himself through this?

  Despite the man’s mutton chop sideburns—a style that should have stayed in the Victorian era—he seemed like a decent guy. And
his luxury car proved he could provide for Abby a helluva lot better than Matt could. He should just write her a note and bow out of her life gracefully.

  After the Mercedes sped off, instead of going back into the house, his wife strolled the thirty yards to the corner. She stopped and stood there for several minutes.

  Hearing the fellow tell Abby he loved her had settled things for Matt. As he turned to walk away, a school bus pulled up to the corner and two little boys scrambled off, one with sunny blond hair and the other with a windblown mop the same shade as toffee. They both ran to Abby, their arms outstretched for a hug and the shower of kisses she rained over their faces.

  When they trooped back toward Matt, he jumped behind the tree, his gut in a knot. The boys appeared to be about six, so he’d bet everything he had—which, granted, didn’t amount to much—he was their father.

  Once they got closer, he studied the blond child’s face. The kid didn’t look anything like Matt, although he did have Abby’s coloring. The other boy grabbed a paper out of the towhead’s hand and sprinted off as if a starter pistol had been fired.

  “Tommy!” The blond little boy chased after him.

  Abby planted her hands on her hips and hollered, “Matthew Thomas Foster, Jr. give that back to Royce. Right now!”

  O-kaaay. That settled any question about who’d sired the twins. Matt watched the two boys race each other into the house. Anguish clogged his throat. He might be able to walk away from this sexy woman. But not from his sons.

  He rubbed the tightness in his chest as six years of fear became reality. He really did have something worth remembering.

  ~~~

  Abby munched on the remainder of the buttery popcorn she’d made for the boys and listened to them chatter about their day in school. “As soon as you two finish your OJ, I want you to play outside. I have to cut the grass.”

  Normally, a landscaping service cared for her lawn, but they were so busy with the early spring rush, they couldn’t get to her for another week. If she waited, the grass would be up to the kids’ knees.

  Tommy and Royce drained their glasses in a race to be the first finished, then dashed out to the front yard and chased each other around the large apple tree.

  She followed them, heaving a weary sigh. She dragged the lawnmower out of the garage to the driveway and repeatedly yanked on the starter cord. When the mechanical beast sputtered for the fifth time, she kicked its wheel and rubbed her throbbing shoulder.

  “Can I help?” a deep voice asked from the sidewalk.

  She glanced up at a tall, bearded man leaning against the telephone pole. “I don’t know, can you?”

  Her instinctive response sent an eerie feeling of déjà vu washing over her. Her heart tap-danced while his intense Hershey gaze caressed her from head to toe. Dark eyebrows perked up in a hopeful arch. “Should I give it a try?”

  The sexy glint flickering in the stranger’s eyes generated a warm shiver, making her breasts tighten. Crossing her arms over her chest to hide her stiff nipples, she squinted at the man. His eyes seemed so familiar. “Have we met before?”

  “You tell me. Have we?”

  She blew out an exasperated huff. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “Hmmm....” The man stroked his salt and pepper beard. “Do I?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess I’m guilty as charged.” The fellow’s forehead and mouth puckered simultaneously. “Does that bother you?”

  Another question. She rolled her eyes as Royce dashed up to her and tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. “Tommy needs you!”

  “Just a minute, Royce. It’s not polite to inter—”

  “But he’s stuck in the tree!”

  A shrill shriek rent the air, jerking her gaze to her son hanging upside down by one foot that had lodged in the fork of two branches. “Oh, dear God! He’ll fall on his head and kill himself!”

  Her shorter legs lost the race as the man sprinted across the yard, reassuring her son in a calm, soothing voice, “Relax, Buddy, I won’t let you fall.”

  Her child screamed hysterically and squirmed like a worm on a hook as the stranger stretched to reach him. Tommy’s frantic twisting wiggled his foot loose from his sneaker, and he fell into the man’s arms, sobbing.

  “Shhh—you’re okay, I’ve got you.” He rubbed Tommy’s back while her son, in turn, strangled the man, burying his face in the guy’s broad shoulder.

  A breath of relief rushed out of her. “Thank God, you caught him.”

  Watching the fellow console her child made her throat ache. He gently inspected Tommy’s ankle. “Just a little scrape. Nothing to cry about, right, Buddy?”

  Her child’s tears instantly subsided, and the stranger set him down. She grabbed Tommy and squeezed him to her chest. “How many times have I told you to stay out of that tree?”

  “That’s like telling a monkey not to climb.” The man snorted, hoisting himself up on the lower branch to retrieve Tommy’s sneaker. “That’s what little boys do. You might want to get them a jungle gym set.”

  “We got one.” Royce grabbed the fellow’s hand and tugged him toward the yard. “You wanna see it?”

  “Royce, remember our talk about strangers?” Abby reminded the child.

  “But he’s our friend.” Tommy sniffled and wiggled his foot into his sneaker, flashing his toothless grin at the man. “Right?”

  She did a double take at her painfully shy son who rarely spoke to anyone but her and Royce—and certainly not someone he’d never met before. Still, the man had saved her child’s life, which apparently made Tommy comfortable with him. But even though that might be a commendable act, the kids needed to understand that was no reason to invite a person they didn’t know into their backyard. “Oh, really? So what’s your friend’s name?”

  The boys stuck their lips out in thoughtful pouts and looked at each other. Royce crinkled his brow and gazed up at the tall man. “What is your name, Mister?”

  When he didn’t answer, Abby peered into the stranger’s eyes. They seemed oddly familiar. He stared right through her as if he were in a hypnotic trance, prompting her to wave her hand in front of him. “Hey? Anybody home?”

  The man flinched. “Huh?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Oh, uh, sorry. It’s Mac. Paul McCartney.”

  “I suppose you’re pretty tired of people asking when the Beatles are getting back together, huh?”

  His jaw hung open for a moment. “The Beatles broke up?”

  “Uhh....yeah. Like almost three years ago. You of all people should know that since you have the same name as one of them.

  “That’s why I go by Mac. I’ve been a little out of touch the last few years. I was passing by and noticed you need some help. I could cut the lawn for you. I’ll work cheap. A hot meal would be enough.”

  He looked awfully thin and hungry—as if he’d been sick. His neatly trimmed beard made him seem decent enough. The silver sprinkled through his hair gave him a distinguished appearance, and apart from being too thin, he was good looking in a rugged sort of way. After what he’d done for Tommy, she felt obligated to help.

  “I just got back from ‘Nam, and I haven’t found a job, yet,” he explained.

  “I was under the impression the army didn’t allow beards.” Her brother had told her it was because facial hair interfered with sealing a gas mask against the skin.

  “Well, I haven’t been on active duty in a long time. I was just released from the veteran’s hospital today.” He gestured to a duffel bag she hadn’t noticed at the edge of her lawn.

  That explained the lack of meat on his bones.

  “What do you say? I could really use the work.”

  She stiffened at his persuasive tone and the expression that reminded her so much of her late husband. The man’s pleading gaze bored into her heart. She really did owe him. Other than spacing out on her, Mac didn’t seem particularly dangerous.

  Then again, weren’t most
serial killers average, white males in their mid to late thirties? Bingo! This guy won on all three counts.

  ~~~

  Matt never considered his wife might not recognize him. Why that should surprise him, he couldn’t say. Especially seeing as not one person at the hospital had been able to identify his induction picture as him. The timbre of his voice had probably matured with the rest of him.

  In a way, it was a stroke of luck. He didn’t like deceiving Abby, but he also didn’t want to tell her who he was until he was sure they could care for each other again. He hated the idea of his wife staying with him out of obligation or pity.

  Even though she might be furious when she learned he was her husband, she would thank him in the end. He wasn’t the same man she’d married, and maintaining his anonymity ensured she would listen to her heart and make an unbiased choice between him and her boyfriend.

  Her lip-gnawing suggested it made her nervous to have a stranger working around her house. The abuse puffed her mouth up, making her look even sexier and more vulnerable.

  “I understand your reluctance to hire someone you don’t know. After all, you have the boys to think about.”

  “I’m pretty transparent, huh?” Her thick lashes lowered over cheeks that blushed a beautiful shade of pink. “I suppose you can cut my grass.”

  He caught a whiff of buttery popcorn on her breath. Oddly enough, the mouthwatering aroma gave him a strange ache in his chest and made him hunger for a taste of her rather than the salty snack.

  The kids followed them to the driveway, and Abby swept her hand toward the rear yard. “Why don’t you two go play in the back while Mac mows the front lawn?”

  “But we wanna help.” Tommy sidled up to Matt’s side.

  Matt hunkered down between the boys. “I know you do, Buddy. But it’s not safe to get too close to the lawnmower while it’s running.” He ruffled both boys’ hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you guys after I’m done.”

  “You have a way with kids,” Abby said, watching Tommy race Royce into the backyard.