The Memory of You

by Laurie Kellogg

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I dunno. My dad hits me.”

  The ache in her throat turned to a solid lump.

  “He does?” Tommy’s voice held a note of disbelief. “Really hard?”

  “Sometimes. Don’t tell anyone, ‘kay?”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t think Rob’ll hit us.

  “I hope not.” Royce’s voice shook. “I bet Mac wouldn’t hurt his kids.”

  “No. He’d walk ‘em to the school bus and let ‘em paint.”

  “And play baseball,” Royce added.

  “Yeah, he’s the best. My dad was just like him.”

  “How do you know? Your dad died before we was born.”

  “I know.” Tommy yawned. “But he can be just like Mac if I say he was.”

  ~~~

  After cruising around the block several times with Peter, Matt turned into the driveway. They spent a few minutes adjusting the carburetor before he switched off the engine. Abby strolled out the back door, smiling. “You got it running. You missed saying goodnight to the kids. They’re already asleep.”

  “I’m going to look in on them, anyway.”

  He headed inside and covered both boys back up. Tommy sighed and hugged his shabby little bear tighter. Matt’s chest ached. He’d missed so many nights tucking his son in. He’d never gotten to watch him sleep as a baby. And there were no do-overs in life.

  He choked back a sob and kissed each of their foreheads. The moment he knew whether things would work out with Abby, he was getting her pregnant again. He couldn’t wait to experience everything he’d missed during her pregnancy with Tommy.

  On his return to the kitchen, he discovered Abby had made a pot of coffee and put out some cookies. While the three of them talked, Pete lit a cigarette. Matt stared at the glowing tip while the pungent smoke drifted into his nostrils.

  Perspiration gushed from his pores, and his chest seized as the room spun around him in a dizzying vortex. Oh, no, he was going to pass out. He sprang from his chair and bolted out the back door, gasping for air.

  Abby stepped outside and watched him wipe the sweat from his face. “Mac? What’s wrong? You look as if you saw a ghost.”

  “The smell of cigarette smoke....”

  Her gaze dropped to his forearms and horror twisted her beautiful features. “Oh, dear God. I’ll ask Pete to put it out. He’s been trying to quit since our mom died, but he keeps backsliding.”

  Matt could suggest burn therapy to cure Pete’s addiction, but he wouldn’t recommend that torture to an enemy, let alone a guy he liked.

  He stayed outside in the fresh air for a few minutes before he returned to the kitchen where the faint odor of tobacco lingered. To Matt’s great relief, Pete let the incident pass without more than a few pitying glances.

  While they finished their coffee, the three of them talked about the old radio shows they’d loved as kids and the early TV shows. It continued to astound Matt that he could remember the families from Father Knows Best, Donna Reed, and Leave It to Beaver but not his own.

  At nine o’clock, Lucy came for Royce, and Peter stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, I’d better get going.” He dropped a kiss on Abby’s forehead. “Carol should be home from school by now.”

  Matt tiptoed into Tommy’s room to get Royce and carried the sleeping child out to the kitchen. “Okay, Lucy, let’s go. I’ll try not to antagonize Bill tonight.”

  When they walked into the living room next door, just the sight of Matt incited the man. “I thought I told you to wake the kid up!”

  Ignoring him, Matt tucked Royce into bed. On his way out, Bill stepped in his path. “I don’t want to see you in my house again.”

  Even though the guy had thirty pounds on him, Matt stared him down. “Then I suggest you close your eyes. Or carry your own son home at night.”

  “Why the hell don’t you butt out of my family’s business?”

  “If you took care of them, no one would have to butt in.” Matt narrowed his eyes. “If you didn’t want to be a husband and a father, why did you marry Lucy?”

  Bill tossed his hands up. “I’ll be damned if I know. I ask myself that same fucking question a hundred times a day.”

  “Then do them a favor and leave. Because if I find one more bruise on that child, I won’t bother notifying the authorities.”

  ~~~

  Excruciating pain popped his eyes open with a start. His face felt as if an elephant had stepped on it. He looked up in a daze at a uniformed officer standing over him, pointing a pistol at his head, and gasped.

  “You talk, now, Lieutenant?” the man snarled.

  Disoriented, he looked around at the cement walls and realized the man had to be addressing him. “Talk about what?” Where the hell was he? Prison?

  “I ask one more time. What your orders?”

  God, please don’t let him shoot me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where am I?”

  The officer snickered. “You like to play games? We play, too. We see how much you remember after men get done.” The bastard left and sent two guards in. They stripped every stitch of clothing off him. Then, while one held him, the other used his body as a punching bag and whipped his back until everything went black again.

  He had no idea how much time passed before the squeal of the steel door nudged him awake again, and the officer appeared, his mouth twisted in contempt. “You don’t take much pain, do you? Maybe you will talk now.”

  Cowering against the clammy walls completely naked, he trembled. “I don’t understand what the fuck you want. I can’t tell you what I don’t remember.”

  The officer peered into his eyes for several moments until something in his gaze must have convinced the man it was the truth. Astonishment swept over the officer’s face as he shook his head. “You really don’t remember.”

  What did the son of a bitch think he should remember? He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to recall something....anything.

  The man spit on him and headed for the door. “You Americans are useless. Your weak minds snap like dry twigs.”

  A short time later, two armed guards came in and yanked him to his feet. They threw a set of clothes similar to a surgeon’s scrubs on the pallet and motioned for him to put them on. Wincing, he pulled the shirt over the deep cuts on his back.

  The brilliant sunlight blinded him as they dragged him outdoors, his legs buckling like a couple of pipe cleaners. How long had he been in the cell? The jostling of the truck they loaded him into sent agonizing pain shooting through his body.

  The man who had questioned him called him Lieutenant. Apparently, he was an officer. And, since it seemed he was also a prisoner of war, probably not a very good one. His head pounded from trying to remember how he’d come to be there or anything about himself. Had his mind snapped like the officer said?

  They rode for a tortuous hour before the truck finally screeched to a stop. The guards dragged him to a new cell much like the one they’d taken him from earlier. Violent shivers wracked his body covered in cuts and burns. He hated to think how many were infected.

  For some strange reason, every time he closed his eyes and tried to remember something—anything— the Beatles’ song, In My Life, kept running through his head.

  Why could he recall that song and not anything about himself? And wasn’t it just too ironic that the opening lyrics to the tune were ‘There are places I remember,’ when he couldn’t recollect a blessed thing about his life.

  The lock on the cell door suddenly slid open and a fierce looking man with a giant mole in the middle of his forehead strode in. Cyclops grabbed him by the shirt and groped his chest. “They tell me you Lieutenant in U.S. army. Where are identification tags?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The man scowled. “What is your name?”

  Name? His heart rat-tatted in his chest like a machine gun. “I don’t know that, either.”

  “Others may believe you no memory,
but I do not.” Cyclops squeezed his neck in a vice-like grip and drew his side arm. “Answer the question.”

  He was a dead man if he responded with I don’t know, again. The first names that popped into his mind were John, Paul, George, and Ringo. What was with him and the Beatles? And if he could remember their names, why not his own? With his heart in his throat, he blurted out, “Paul McCartney.”

  ~~~

  Abby bolted upright, jolted out of a sound sleep by a tortured scream. She threw back the covers and dashed into the next room, flipping on the light. Mac thrashed under the sheet, his face contorted in agony. Drenched in sweat, he howled, “Please, stop. I dunno what you mother-fuckers want from me!”

  His arms flailed as she shook him. His elbow slammed into her face.

  She sucked air through her teeth from the pain, which brought tears to her eyes. As much as her cheek hurt, it had to pale in comparison to what Mac was obviously enduring in his dream. She held his shoulders and pinned him to the bed with the whole weight of her body. “Mac, wake up.”

  He stilled beneath her, gasping as if he couldn’t breathe. His eyes opened, and he stared at her. She rubbed her aching cheekbone. He reached up and tenderly stroked her face, whispering. “Oh, dear God. Please, tell me I didn’t hit you.”

  “It was an accident.” She smoothed his sweat-drenched hair.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her down until she rested on top of him. He squeezed her close and pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m so sorry, Abby. Please forgive me.”

  She curved her hand around his bearded jaw. “Mac, there’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t do it intentionally.”

  He turned his lips into her palm. His hands molded her body to his and roamed over the bare skin revealed by the low-cut back of her thin nightgown. His stiff arousal surged into her belly as if it had a life of its own, making her intensely aware of his nudity beneath the sheet.

  Ever since she’d seen him naked that morning, she’d been unable to push the image of his swollen penis out of her mind. The void inside her throbbed in response, aching to be filled. The thought of him thrusting himself into her, stretching her to accommodate him, elicited a flood of moisture between her legs.

  She pushed against his chest, but his hold tightened. He buried his face in her neck. “You smell and feel so good. Please don’t go. It’s been forever since I’ve held a woman.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she steeled herself to the torment and need in Mac’s pleas. “I’m sorry. I have to.”

  “Please.” He groaned, kneading her bottom. “Just a little longer.”

  Mac pressed her head down to his chest and caressed the length of her naked back, making her shiver. There was no question that she should go, but it felt so awfully good to be touched and held. To feel his hot flesh prodding her under the thin sheet.

  She rubbed her cheek against the coarse hair on his chest and whispered, “I really shouldn’t do this, Mac.”

  He placed a soft kiss on the top of her head and murmured, “I know. But do it anyway.”

  A strange sense of familiarity washed over her, leaving an ache in her throat. Matt had said those exact same words to her the first night he’d asked her out. She lifted her head and gazed down into dark brown eyes so much like her husband’s. Was that why she was so attracted to Mac?

  She stroked his neatly trimmed beard. She didn’t usually like facial hair on men, but he looked good with it. Probably because he was so thin. Staring up at her, he gently pulled her mouth down to his. “Mac, please.” She turned her face away. “I’m getting married.”

  As she moved off him and stood next to the bed, he groaned, locking his hungry gaze on her breasts. She glanced down at the shadow of her distended nipples straining against her thin white gown. Heat flared in his eyes, and his attention dropped to the silky fabric clinging to the apex of her thighs.

  She nervously licked her lips, disturbed by how the blatant lust hardening his face tempted her to stay. “Are you okay, now?”

  “No.” He closed his eyes. “So you’d better get the hell out of here. Otherwise, you’re going to get a crash course in what holding a woman who smells like you does to a man who’s been a prisoner for nearly seven years.”

  ~~~

  Matt inhaled deeply and groaned. Coffee....sausage....and something else. Pancakes? If he could smell them, they were almost ready. He glanced at the bedside clock. If he didn’t hurry, he’d miss seeing Tommy before he left for school.

  It had taken him hours to fall back to sleep after Abby left his body throbbing for her in the middle of the night. The intense need in her gaze had told him he could’ve seduced her with very little effort. However, he’d already messed up her life once. It would be wrong to do it again by sleeping with her before he knew for sure how he felt about her.

  By the time Matt finished dressing and got to the kitchen, his son was just finishing his breakfast. Matt rubbed the child’s shoulders. “Don’t forget to drink your milk, Buddy.”

  “Do ya know what?”

  “What?” He took a mug out of the cupboard and poured himself some coffee.

  “Mommy says Uncle Rob is gonna take us to Disney World.”

  World? Apparently his son was confused and meant Disneyland.

  Matt forced a smile to his mouth. “That’s great, you should have fun. Send me a postcard with Mickey Mouse on it.”

  “Don’t you wanna come, too?”

  Abby chuckled, clearing their son’s empty plate from the table. “No, sweetie, Mac is leaving as soon as he finishes painting.”

  “No-o.” The child shook his head. “I don’t want him to.”

  Matt rested his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I have to, Buddy. I need to get a job and a place of my own.”

  “Why can’t ya just live here?”

  Abby’s face tightened into a tense mask.

  “Because I can’t. Don’t worry. You and I will still be best buddies, and you can come visit me. After your mom and Uncle Rob get married, he’s going to come live with you.”

  Tommy looked up at Abby. “Is he, Mom?”

  “Yes. I thought you understood that. When people get married they live and sleep together.”

  “I forgot.” The child shrugged. “Why can’t you marry Mac and sleep with him, instead? Then he could live with us.”

  Abby avoided Matt’s gaze and sighed. “Because people don’t get married unless they’re in love. You like your Uncle Rob, don’t you?”

  Tommy frowned and stared at his plate as if trying to work out another solution.

  Matt ruffled his hair. “You’d better hurry and get your shoes on, or you’ll miss the bus.”

  Once his son skipped from the room, Matt tipped Abby’s bruised face toward him. “Damn it. I really hurt you last night, didn’t I?”

  She poured more pancake batter onto the griddle. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  Tommy returned ready for school a few moments later, and Matt scooped up his son’s lunch box. “I’ll walk him to the bus.”

  “But your pancakes will get cold.”

  “They’ll be okay. I want to go with Tommy.”

  His son continued to gripe all the way to the corner about not wanting his Uncle Rob to live with him. Matt mussed Tommy’s hair. “Come on, Buddy, what’s so bad about him?”

  The little boy pouted. “Nothing, but I’d rather have you live with us. You read to me, and ya play ball with me, and ya let me paint. Uncle Rob never takes me to the school bus. He never does nothin’ with me.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t had the chance to walk you to the bus.”

  “Uh-huh. He comes to see Mommy in the morning lots of times. He just eats breakfast while she brings me.”

  Matt hugged him. “Don’t you want your mom to be happy?”

  His son scraped the toe of his sneaker against the pavement and hung his head. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, then give your Uncle Rob a chance, and some afternoon, I’ll take you and R
oyce fishing.”

  “Really?” Tommy saw Royce coming up the street with Lucy and raced off to tell his friend about the fishing trip.

  Lucy waved and smiled. “Hi, Mac, I’ll stay with them.”

  “Thanks.” He squatted down and gave both boys hugs. “You two have a good day. When you get home this afternoon, put your painting clothes on. I’ve got work for my two helpers.”

  On Matt’s return to the house, Robert’s car was parked in the driveway. Tommy had given it to him straight. He slipped in the back door and found the dentist eating a stack of pancakes.

  “I gave Rob your breakfast.” Abby smiled apologetically. “I figured I’d mix up another batch and make you hot ones.”

  “No, don’t go to all that trouble. I have to get moving if I’m going to the employment agencies.”

  “But you can’t go to interviews on an empty stomach.”

  She had no concept of the profound hunger he’d endured and how trivial one missed meal seemed by comparison. “I don’t think going hungry for one more morning is going to kill me.”

  ~~~

  Abby sat in Rob’s lap while he nuzzled her neck. Mac cleared his throat in the archway to the kitchen, and she jumped up, feeling guilty.

  He wore the charcoal suit she’d helped him pick out and looked every bit the successful executive. “I should probably be back by lunchtime to paint.”

  Stepping close, she straightened Mac’s slate blue tie. “You look very handsome.” She handed him a paper napkin with a warm cinnamon roll from the day before. “Eat this on the way.”

  “Thanks, you’re a sweetheart.”

  Rob scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “So how long do you think the painting will take you?”

  Mac chewed and swallowed. “A lot depends on the weather. If we get the rain they’re forecasting, it’ll slow me down. The house needs to dry out after a storm or the paint will peel. I also have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

  Abby frowned. “Don’t you feel well?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just a follow-up at the VA hospital.”