by Janet Eaves
What had surprised her, after getting to know him, was she found that he wasn't as bad as he'd allowed others to believe. He'd even liked the idea that she hadn't had any experience with boys. And he'd asked her to marry him, much to her father's horror, at a friend's graduation party the night they got their high school diplomas. He told her he'd take care of her. That he was already enlisted with the Marines, fulfilling a dream he'd always had. That he was going to see the world and she'd get to see it with him.
She'd bought into the dream. Lock, stock, and barrel. She was going to get away from her strict parents. She was going to see the great big world outside of the dinky little town of Legend, Tennessee. She was going to have adventure and love and nothing was going to hold her down, and no one was going to smack her for a moment's pleasure. The fantasy of physical love with a boy, the escapades they would have, the life of a grown-up, were going to be so perfect.
It hadn't quite worked out that way. He'd gone off to basic training the morning after their wedding night, and came back larger and tougher than when he'd left. More than his size and demeanor had changed. He'd grown up in those weeks. The country boy had turned into a serious, focused man. A man who had been given a special place in the Marines since his years of hunting on the farm proved him a crack-pot shot.
He was assigned as a special-ops sniper. One of the guys that would be sent into a city or bunker to take out the sentinels that could, and often did, fire at the American or allied troops that had been sent there to free the people from a repressive regime, or protect American interests either directly or indirectly, in times of threat, or actual war.
As there were always wars, or the threat of war, Johnny had immediately left basic training for parts unknown, eventually winding up where the bulk of America's troops converged in Middle East.
Other than the short leave-of-absences, he'd never really made it back home to Legend to live with the wife he'd installed on his family's farm, nor with the daughter that resulted from their wedding night. By the time he went missing, he was a Sergeant, and the leader of a small group of men who had distinguished themselves, as Johnny had years before, with their shooting abilities.
"Christina?"
"Yes?” she asked, swallowing.
"Look. Maybe we could just give this some time. Christmas is in a couple of weeks. You need time to adjust to my being here and I have nothing but time. Tell me what you want. I'll go. I'll stay. I'll do whatever you want. Just say the word."
She looked at him, studying every feature, every nuance of a much older version of the boy she'd once idolized. In the end she really had no choice. If he was Johnny, she needed to give him a chance to recover his memory and tell her what he'd been doing all this time. If he wasn't, she had nothing to lose. Lisa would be with her grandmother in Florida. People in town, those who might see him and wonder, would just have to wonder. She couldn't turn him out. Not only because he might have once been the only man she'd ever loved, but because it was Christmas. For whatever reason, he'd found his way to her door, her daughter's sweet but foolish dream in hand, and he had no recall of his identity. Only a mean woman would send such a man on his way.
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Chapter Seven
Jack spent the better part of the next four days sleeping in the small office/guest room though his feet hung out over the futon's thick mattress by a good twelve inches. The times he was awake he worked with her, or for her, feeding the lazy chickens, and Mr. T, who had decided he liked Jack better than her. She could understand Mr. T's affection as she too was rather enjoying Jack's easy manner, helpfulness, and complementary nature. Not to mention the man was eye candy, smelled sinfully delicious, and nearly melted her knees every time he smiled at her.
Since Johnny's disappearance she'd all but eliminated anything remotely farm-work related by leasing out her tobacco allotment, having a neighbor mow the fields in the summertime in exchange for the hay he'd feed his cattle over the winter months. She'd leased the remainder of the farm out to the same neighbor, knowing full well he was making a wonderful living while paying her very little for the use of her land.
She didn't mind. With the land paid for, the utility bills minimal, and the income she still received as the wife of a missing soldier, Lisa's and her needs were more than met. With Jack there, willing to cut and stack cords of wood, feed the few animals she still had, and be company that she thoroughly enjoyed, she was more content than she ever remembered being. The only things missing were his memory, her daughter, and a response to the growing attraction she felt for him.
Christina bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should wake him to get him to join her for dinner. He'd been napping since chopping wood for an hour following lunch. She knew he was still weak, but he was gaining strength daily, and hadn't touched his cane since two days before. She'd already started the meal on the stove, and only had a second before she needed to return to the kitchen, but she was starting to worry about him. If he didn't stop taking those pills, she was afraid he might become dependent on them.
She approached him slowly, trying to ignore the bare, heavily muscled chest and arms, the rippling stomach, and the thin stream of black hairs that ran from his navel down a long line to his low riding boxer shorts. At the hip, there was the beginning of a tattoo, but she would have to lower his underwear to get a look at it. That, of course, was out of the question.
Johnny hadn't had any tattoos. At least not the last time she'd seen him disrobed. But that was a long time ago, and she was beginning to believe she may have been wrong about so much.
Clearing her throat loudly, she waited a beat, then cleared it again.
Nothing. The man was like the living dead.
"Jack?"
Still nothing.
"Jack?"
Frowning, she approached the open couch and tapped his shoulder with her index finger.
Nothing.
She tapped harder. “Jack!” she said, louder.
Blowing an exasperated breath which sent her bangs flying upward, Christina placed her hand smack-dab in the middle of that hard chest and shook. Before she knew what happened, she felt a tug on her arm, then she was flying over him, only to find herself under him, looking up into his face.
Jack blinked slowly several times, clearly befuddled and trying to wake up. “What? What happened?"
Christina couldn't find her voice. Not only had his quick reaction stunned her, the hard erection poking her mound completely stole her tongue. Or so she thought. Until his was capturing it, taking it hostage, as he ground the evidence of his aroused sex against her.
There was no logical way she could explain what was happening to her as she kissed him back, even if her brain would start functioning again. He tasted so good. Being touched, touching, letting it all happen instead of analyzing why it was wrong to be doing what she was doing didn't come into play. Primal urges, needs, desires that had never been a part of her before, surfaced to take over the woman she faced each morning in the mirror.
Jack released her suddenly, his eyes wide open, his mouth hanging as if in shock. He backed away awkwardly, nearly stumbling to his feet. “Oh, hell! I'm sorry.” Panting, he stared at her as she lay there, breathing equally as harshly, on the mattress. “I don't know what to say."
Christina licked her lips and pulled herself into a sitting position. She didn't know what to say either. Needs, desires, had never been like that for her. Her mind had never allowed for thoughtless spontaneity. Her body had never turned on with a flick of a switch. Until now. She slowly moved to climb off his bed, still watching him, still wanting him.
What was happening to her? Who was she? Where was the woman who could barely tolerate the thought of being penetrated? The woman who still couldn't touch herself again after all this time because of the shame she felt whenever such a thought formed? Now, all she wanted was that connection, that fulfillment, that ... something that his actions had promised.
She swallowed hard as
she made it to her feet. “Dinner will be ready soon."
Off balance, she avoided him as she left the room, wondering what in the world just happened. Wondering if she'd be able to respond in the same way if it happened again. Surely not. Her fantasies had always been better that any reality, something she needed to remember. But it had felt so good, so different...
* * * *
Christina couldn't help but slide repeated glances towards Jack as she fried the chicken breast and test-speared the boiling potatoes she planned to mash. He had stopped using the cane and seemed to be getting around pretty well, though there were times he grimaced when he wasn't aware she was looking.
She studied him covertly as he set the table then carefully sliced the fresh apples she'd laid out. He'd removed the Velcro closed, hard plastic half-cast after chopping the wood, but was very careful now with his injured wrist as he sliced the fruit. Looking at him from across the room made her feel weird. Almost disconnected from herself. Like she was having an out of body experience.
He could have so easily passed as a slightly older version of the man she had promised to love ‘til death did them part. But there were things that just didn't mesh, beyond the fact that she'd never reacted to Johnny like she'd reacted to Jack only moments before. Though that in itself was a difference of major proportions.
Jack's black hair was longer than Johnny had ever allowed his to grow. Her husband hadn't liked that the loose dark curls that formed when his hair was longer emphasized his Hispanic heritage, so he'd kept it cropped close to his head in school, then the military had all but shaved him bald thereafter. Something that had suited Johnny just fine.
She'd loved his dark looks, had indeed been attracted to him because of them, had even gotten a little pleasure from the fact that her “I'm not prejudiced” prejudiced father had sputtered over discussing their differences when he'd tried to dissuade her from marrying Johnny.
And she'd always envied that he had a perpetual all-over tan year-round. But not Johnny. He hadn't made a big deal of it most of the time, but he'd avoided discussing his ancestry as if ashamed that way back when, a couple of generations before, his maternal great-grandmother had been a pretty little Puerto Rican named Amelia Maria. Something Christina had only learned when she was carrying Lisa and they were trying to come up with baby names. Johnny had only mentioned it then to let her know that their own daughter would have a simple American name. His attitude had annoyed her, on many levels, something she was only now remembering.
Christina frowned. She hadn't allowed herself to think of the things about her husband that weren't perfect since he went missing. Whether consciously or unconsciously, it seemed disrespectful to let her mind wander in negative directions when the man had died serving his country. But Jack's presence, his looking so much like the man she hadn't really been all that happy with—had in fact barely known—made her realize that the memories of Johnny, while not horrible, hadn't deserved the pedestal she'd build for him in her imagination over the past couple of years.
There had been many things that had irritated her, now that she thought about it. Like his avoidance of Mexican restaurants because once in high school a waiter had approached him and addressed him in Spanish, assuming he'd understand. He hadn't, and had been embarrassed and angry, telling her they would never go to another one. He hadn't even cared that she loved Mexican food, and she hadn't ever told him that she went to the one in town whenever he wasn't home.
Memories that made her angry flooded her. Johnny had always dictated what she'd worn, who she associated with, how often she could have desert because he'd liked her thin body and didn't want her gaining weight. He'd told her what to do and when to do it, much like her strict father had before her marriage, and now that she was taking a walk down memory lane, she realized that he'd treated her like a child more often than not.
It was startling to think suddenly that, in some ways, he'd been a bully. Dictating and expecting her to respond immediately and obediently to any and every thing he wanted. It was his way or no way. Which meant it had always been his way.
Though hurt at times, she'd kept her own council and her mouth closed and had done as she was told, telling herself it was more a reflection of his own insecurities rather than anything to do with her. But it still took a toll on her self-esteem, and had made her feel inadequate in so many ways, though she'd done just fine on her own when he was on a tour.
He'd once told her he wanted to be nothing more than just another American man. White. Middle class. Live the American dream without people seeing him as anything different. His attitude about his looks had confused her. He was handsome. Every girl she'd encountered back in school thought so, too. Even those who had thought him a jerk.
She'd always wondered why he'd felt slighted, as Legend was like the rest of the nation—a melting pot of citizens. And she'd never once seen him treated any differently. Not even her by father. Publicly, he'd made it clear, loud and clear, that they were too young to wed and barely knew each other. But her father had never had the guts to say anything to Johnny about the one thing that probably would have sent him packing before they could marry.
It was ironic, really. Johnny and her father, and maybe even her mother because her mother never thought for herself but always deferred to her father, were the only people on the planet that she knew of that even noticed that he had a touch of Spanish ancestry.
A little befuddled by her musings, Christina licked her lips, sliding Jack another glance. He was even more attractive than the husband she remembered, if she was honest. He had every feature she'd loved about the boy, but the jaw line was more defined, the cheekbones higher, the nose was the same, though slightly larger. This was not the face of a boy. This was a man.
Whether it had to do with his loss of memory, his injury, or that he wasn't her husband, the biggest difference between the two men was the silence. Johnny had been loud when he'd been home on leave. Sometimes obnoxiously so. Thinking his dirty jokes at her expense were really funny. She'd been too young in the earlier parts of their marriage to understand that he'd actually been making fun of her. Her lack of experience. Her lack of reaction. Her lack of everything he could get somewhere else from someone else.
They hadn't made love on his last leave after he'd confessed he'd had a brief affair with a woman in Iraq that had resulted in a curable but contagious STD. The betrayal hadn't hurt as much as it should have, which, in a way, hurt even more. But it had hurt enough that she'd thrown hateful, hurtful words at him. Words that hadn't ever passed her lips before. Words meant to sting, to injure. He'd left, returning to his unit before he'd had to, and she'd been glad to have him out of her sight, until only a few days later, men had arrived to tell her he was gone.
Tears smarted at the long buried memories, but she blinked them away. How had she allowed herself to worship him these past two years as if he'd been a saint? How had she suppressed all the hurt and loneliness of a marriage to a man who had really been nothing more than a self-centered boy who probably hadn't really loved her?
He'd wanted her, at least at first, and she'd wanted to marry him and leave her strict father's house, but the truth was they'd barely known each other, and he hadn't been around enough for them to get to know more.
It hadn't been all his fault. She'd known absolutely nothing about what to expect from marriage, short of her father telling her to obey her husband as she had her parents. She knew she had failed him just as he had failed her, but he never gave her a chance to learn. Anything.
She'd had no sexual experience and being barely eighteen when they married, she was still just a kid herself. To Johnny, sex was a kiss, forcing himself into her over and over until he ejaculated, and falling fast asleep within seconds. He'd never touched her in the way she'd dreamed of. He'd hurt her more often than not, and she'd started stiffening up any time he would join her in bed.
The immediate pregnancy after their marriage had thrilled her as it had been,
to her, that magic indication that she was truly a grown up, and it had stopped Johnny from touching her. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't so sure about Johnny's feelings about being a father. They hadn't ever discussed them. Though he'd been very clear about his feeling about her getting pregnant so soon after they'd married.
He'd been angry. Angry that she was going to get fat. Angry that her body wouldn't look the same when it was all over. Angry because he had no desire to put his penis inside a body where a baby was growing.
Shocked by the recollections, Christina backed from the stove and leaned against the opposite counter. She covered her mouth, as if she could hold in the shock of remembering so much that she'd obviously repressed.
What a fool she'd been, walking around, heartbroken, lost, acting like the child Johnny had treated her like. She was a woman now. A woman living on a farm she didn't want to run. A woman with a child who needed a better example than the sullen, grieving one she'd set. A woman who had ignored her body's needs. Yes, needs! Needs that had never been met.
"Have I upset you?"
Christina shook her head, startled, as she'd forgotten Jack was still in the room. He was so gorgeous. So tall. So masculine. And she was free. She was truly free. “Would you make love to me?"
Her eyes widened as she realized she'd actually spoken the thought out loud, but she couldn't make herself retract the request. She'd been lonely—no, she'd made herself lonely with a memory that wasn't real. She'd pined away the last two years for a man she'd barely known. Their quick high school romance and always separated marriage had been replaced in her mind with a great love that had never really existed. Now that the real memories of her married life were surfacing, she wasn't entirely sure she and Johnny would have made it once he left the Marines and came home to stay.
The thoughts felt like a betrayal, but were perhaps the most honest she'd been with herself in all these years. She smiled at Jack, at herself, realizing she had really grown up over a skillet of frying chicken.