Returning Home

by Karen Whiddon

  Closing her eyes, Hope tried not to think about how he never got to hold Alisha that way.

  “Are you all right?” Charlene whispered. “You look awfully pale all of a sudden.”

  “I’m fine.” If she could forget the past and stay focused on the present, she would be. “Hi, Jeff.” He searched her face for a moment before he nodded. He set Derek down, placing him gently on the ground. “How are you?”

  Though he didn’t remember it, Jeff had always been attuned to her mood. Hope shook her head and said, “Fine.”

  “Good,” Charlene’s cheerful voice cut through the awkward silence. “Did you bring the yearbook, Hope?”

  Her insides churning, Hope held it up. “Here it is. Our senior yearbook.” It was the same one Charlene had given her to look through with Jeff. She’d never opened it. And, though she still had hers at home, she hadn’t looked at it since the year after she’d left Dalhart. It was tucked away in a closet somewhere.

  In unison, they all looked at Jeff.

  “What is this, old home week?” he joked. His smile didn’t reach his beautiful, blank eyes.

  For no reason, Hope found herself blinking back tears.

  “Hey, buddy,” Clay’s too jovial voice seemed loud in the quiet room, “we’re only trying to help.”

  A look of intense weariness crossed Jeff’s handsome face. “I know, I’m sorry.” He held out his hand to take the yearbook. “I’ll bet we had some good times, didn’t we?”

  “We did,” Hope managed to say.

  With a wry grimace, Jeff started to open the yearbook.

  “Wait!” Charlene cried. “Let’s all look together. We can all fit on the couch.”

  Derek scooted up next to Hope. “Me, too,” he insisted. Clay scooped him up on his big lap and nodded.

  When everyone was situated, Jeff on Hope’s left, Clay on her right, with Charlene next, Jeff traced the year emblazoned on the front of the book—1988.

  “Is everyone ready?” Jeff looked at each one of them in turn.

  “Yep,” Charlene and Clay said in unison. Hope simply gave him an encouraging nod.

  “All right then.” With a grimace, he proceeded to turn the page.

  Oddly enough, the first thing that assaulted him when he saw die black and white photos was scent When they showed him the page devoted to the football team, a page in which he was featured prominently, he fancied he could somehow smell the long forgotten bite of morning air. He remembered— yes, remembered—the way his every breath had been visible in the chill, the sense of camaraderie, the jokes, the feel of the cold, smooth football clutched securely in his hands. He could remember the thrill of a pass completed, his favorite receiver, Bobby ... The last name eluded him. The Wolves had been a force to be reckoned with, and he had been an integral part of it all.

  Careful not to show his elation at the fragmented memories, Jeff nodded. Watching him expectantly, Hope turned the page.

  This page was devoted to the Dalhart High cheerleaders. This was Hope’s page. As head cheerleader, they’d placed a large, grainy photo of a smiling Hope in her uniform in the center of the page.

  Jeff stared at the photos, examining them closely, and waited to see what he remembered. He was conscious of holding his breath.

  Nothing came.

  “Go on.” Impatient now, he waved Hope on. He heard the small sigh she gave and sensed the sudden tension in her. She flipped past photos of the freshman class, the sophomores, then die juniors, stopping at last on the larger photos of the Dalhart High senior class of 1988.

  “Our class,” she murmured.

  He felt an irrational flash of anger. “I realize that,” he drawled, his voice tight Charlene and Clay both shot him looks of surprise.

  “Take it easy, buddy.” Clay shifted his massive bulk in the chair. “There’s no pressure here. We’re just having fun reliving our past, that’s all.”

  Jeff wished that were the case, wished he could laugh and cut up and make crude jokes about things they’d all once done. He knew, too, that they were holding back, keeping their silence in the hopes that something would come to him, some memory that would make him speak out.

  And he said nothing. How could he speak, when he didn’t want to give anyone, especially the woman who watched with big, sad eyes, false hope?

  “Look,” Hope pointed at the photos of a blond girl with a narrow face, “Misty Chalmers. I wonder what happened to her.”

  “She went to California.” Charlene’s dry tone contained a hint of laughter. “Last I heard she was waiting tables, still trying to break into the movies.”

  Jeff turned the page.

  “There’s Randy West,” Charlene sighed. “He was so fine.”

  Clay laughed. “Last time I saw him he wasn’t fine.

  He was on his second divorce. He works at a used car lot down in Amarillo.”

  Jeff tried to appear interested, but he hated the way they all kept shooting hopeful looks at him, hoping he would comment. He found himself studying Hope while she pored over the yearbook. It seemed this wasn’t easy for her either.

  “Say,” Clay punched him lightly on the arm, “are you two going to the reunion? Did Charlene tell you about it?”

  “I did,” Charlene spoke quietly. “They’ve agreed to go.”

  “Good.” Clay seemed relieved. “Did you tell him that we—”

  To Jeff’s amazement, Charlene flushed a deep red. “Clay and I are going to the reunion together,” she blurted. “For moral support, just in case Diane and my ex show up.”

  “Hey,” Jeff said slowly, trying to be tactful, “you don’t have to explain it to me.”

  “Unca Jeff”—Derek tugged on Jeff’s sleeve, breaking his train of thought—“do you have any ice cream? I’m hungry.”

  Clay gave him a playful swat. “We just ate.”

  “So?” He patted his daddy’s big stomach. “You got room.”

  “I’ll look.” Charlene got up gracefully, holding her hand for Derek to take. “Come with me.”

  With a sheepish grin, Clay rose also. “I want to go, too. I’ll be right back, guys.”

  “Well he hasn’t changed,” Hope said wistfully. Jeff started to shrug, then saw the frustration in her liquid eyes. A flash of anger went through him. He was getting damn tired of disappointing them all. Did they think he liked living in the black hole that

  was his mind? “I guess not,” he muttered, glancing away.

  Hope shook her head. “You are hopeless, you know that?” She punched him on the shoulder, bringing back a glimmer of times when they’d been close. He struggled to hold onto the memory, to expand it, but it vanished as quickly as it had come.

  Searching Hope’s face, he saw only friendly amusement and a genuine desire to help. No deep emotions here, not this time.

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t help it, he smiled. “But I’m trying.”

  Charlene and Clay returned, each holding one of Derek’s hands. They looked, Jeff thought, awfully pleased about something.

  “Sit,” Hope ordered. “I want to finish looking at this yearbook.”

  Everyone resumed their places.

  “You haven’t got your dress yet for the reunion, have you?” Charlene asked.

  Hope shook her head no. For the first time, Jeff found himself wondering if she really wanted to go.

  Charlene beamed. “Then we’ll go shopping together. Do you want to drive down to Amarillo?”

  Clay gave Jeff a look that said “women and their shopping.”

  Jeff found himself grinning.

  Hope leaned forward and ran a hand through her silky, thick hair. Watching her, Jeff found himself wishing he too could thread his fingers through it.

  “Sure, when do you want to go?”

  “How about we try for next Saturday?”

  “Okay.”

  Jeff heard the lack of enthusiasm in Hope’s voice. He felt a sudden urge to go buy the dress for her. With startling clarity, he envisioned the exact d
ress

  he would purchase: deep green, form-fitting, with a low back. His thoughts stunned him. How did he know this?

  “Turn the page,” he said, his voice savage and curt. They all looked at him, their faces registering individual degrees of surprise. Without another word, Hope did as he’d requested, her long slender fingers trembling.

  The next page had been devoted to the Homecoming Dance. In the center of the page was a photograph of the King and Queen, arms around each other, beaming into the camera.

  He and Hope.

  Hope made a sound, a small gasp. Immediately, Charlene patted her shoulder. Clay squirmed in his seat, looking away.

  Jeff grabbed the book away from Hope, holding it closer to study it. The photograph showed him beaming proudly down at the petite girl under his arm. She’d worn her black hair up, her shimmery gown hugging her sleek curves. The emotions she’d felt at that moment showed clearly in her lovely face: pride mixed with love, delight, and sheer joy. In the next instant, the instant after the photographer had snapped the picture, once the flash had blinded them, she’d laughed and hugged him. Somehow, he remembered that.

  She’d worn a form-fitting dress of deep, mysterious green.

  “You were beautiful,” he told Hope slowly, his gaze lingering on her downcast head. Her hair, still as black, still as shiny, barely touched her shoulders now. Back then it had hung nearly to her waist

  “Thank you.” Her chin came up. Clear and guileless, her amber eyes hinted at a deep, deep sorrow.

  For him? He felt an instant’s confusion. He didn’t

  need to understand, after all, she’d been the one who ...

  He drew a blank. She’d been the one who .. . what? Like smoke, the thought vanished.

  Clay and Charlene watched him with unabashed curiosity.

  “Did you remember something?” His sister’s voice sounded overly bright and eager.

  After a moment, Jeff shook his head. The tiny flashback of memory he’d experienced seemed hardly worth mentioning.

  “Man, I’m sorry.” Clay stretched a bit and got up. “You look like you’ve had enough for one day. I think it’s time I head home.”

  Charlene stood, too. “Before you do, come into the kitchen. I need to talk to you and this munchkin here.” She gave Derek a loud kiss.

  Jeff started to stand. Hope waved him back down. “Sit, please. I’d like to finish looking at the yearbook.”

  With a start, he realized he was still holding the damn thing. “I don’t—”

  “Come on,” Hope gave him a wan smile. “We haven’t finished our trip down memory lane.”

  Was that sarcasm he heard in her voice?

  Why?

  Reluctantly, he sat down beside her, his weight on the cushions causing her hip to brush against his. Muttering an apology, he handed her the book.

  They looked at more pictures, some occasionally bringing a smile to her pale face. Watching her, Jeff found himself wishing she would smile more often.

  She pointed out people, naming names and telling Jeff about their personalities, nicknames, and habits. Though Jeff knew he should remember, he didn’t.

  “So,” Hope asked finally, closing the book, “did anything, anything at all, jog your memory?”

  He noticed she’d stopped a few pages short of the end. Curious, he flicked back the cover, thumbing through the pages until he reached the page that she’d forgotten—or avoided.

  “Graduation,” he breathed, staring at a picture of himself, much younger, twirling around an oddly sullen Hope, still in their caps and gowns.

  Images exploded in his mind. He heard angry words. He felt accusations. He sensed hurt and rage at a time when life should have been just beginning. The scenes came, fragmented, lightning fast, too quick for him to assimilate and analyze.

  He stood still and let them wash over him.

  Hope’s tears. He’d done ... he’d done .... It was there, just barely out of reach.

  Clenching his fists, he closed his eyes and let his mind try.

  Graduation. Pride. Empty, hollow, foolish pride.

  And pain.

  Then nothing.

  Chapter Six

  Furious with himself, Jeff kept his body rigid and tried to think. Tried to remember.

  Nothing.

  He wanted to pound his fists into the wall in frustration.

  “Jeff?” Tentative, Hope’s voice reached him through his fog. “What is it? Are you all right?”

  Sagging in defeat, he opened his eyes. “I thought I... remembered something,” he told her haltingly. “Something that happened between you and me.”

  Hope drew in her breath audibly. “Did you? What did you remember?”

  He saw and noted the barely hidden panic in her eyes and voice. Searching for words to describe the disjointed images he’d seen, he found none. “Nothing,” he made himself say. “Nothing that made sense, anyway.”

  She nodded. He saw disappointment mingled with relief in her face. She was hiding something that he intuitively sensed was of critical importance.

  But what? More than anything, he wished he could remember.

  “My sister had a reason for sending for you, didn’t she?”

  Startled, Hope’s gaze flashed to his, then away. “What do you mean?”

  Shifting his weight, he took both her hands in his, forcing her to look at him. “We have some sort of unfinished business, you and I, don’t we?”

  Though he could tell she wanted to, to her credit she didn’t try to pull away. He watched as she composed herself; then, when she had the serene mask back in place, she smiled.

  “No, Jeff. I think we finished it ten years ago.” Gently, she tugged her hands from his. “I’m very tired. If no one else would mind, I’d like to go lie down.”

  As if on cue, Charlene and Clay, with a sleepy Derek in tow, appeared. “It’s late,” Charlene said, her sharp gaze missing nothing. “Clay needs to get home and put Derek to bed.”

  “Clay, it was good to see you again,” Hope said as she stood.

  Belatedly, Jeff did, too, noting the genuine pleasure in her husky voice.

  The two hugged, then broke apart.

  With an awkward grin, Clay held out his hand. “Good seeing you, buddy.”

  Though Jeff knew he had big hands, Clay’s engulfed his. They shook, neither of them sure of what to say.

  “Thanks,” Jeff finally said, following Clay to the door and watching as his friend loaded up his son and drove off.

  Suddenly, he understood Hope’s desire to be

  alone. He felt like a wounded animal, wanting to lick his wounds and hide.

  “Come on.” Squashing his impatience, he took Hope’s arm, trying to ignore her soft skin and feminine scent. Ignoring his sister’s curious gaze, he steered Hope down the hall to her room. Hesitating in the doorway, he found his eyes drawn to the wide bed with its bright, floral spread.

  “Thank you.” Wide-eyed, she looked up at him.

  “I—” Another flash of images roared through his brain. He saw himself and Hope, their limbs entwined. He felt silky, sleek skin, and searing heat He sensed carnal images, arousing. But, there was more than just mere lust. There was much, much more.

  With stunned shock, he realized he saw himself with Hope, making passionate love on this same bed.

  Arousal shot through him, fierce and commanding. He swayed with the force of his desire, struggling to get himself under control.

  As if she could read his mind, Hope scooted away. “You’d better go,” she said, her voice trembling.

  She was right. He turned blindly to leave before he gave in to the urge to taste her lips, to see if she felt as good as his fragment memories promised.

  At the doorway, he stopped, knowing she could hear the harsh sound of his breathing. He kept his back to her, his shoulders stiff. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “Things are coming back in bits and pieces.”

  She made no comment There wasn’t the exclamation of
delight that he half expected, not even polite interest. Turning back he saw why. Nothing but fear, stark and real, shone in her eyes.

  She was afraid he was remembering only the wrong things.

  He was half afraid of that himself.

  With a muttered curse, he strode from the room.

  After he’d gone, Hope let out her breath. He said he was beginning to remember. She knew, somehow she knew, exactly what he’d remembered as he stared down at her on the bed. She’d seen the desire in his face, felt the power of it herself.

  Raising a shaking hand to her mouth, Hope touched her lips. For a second, she’d believed he would kiss her. And she’d wanted him to. Heaven help her, she’d wanted him to. She’d never forgotten his kiss, the way his mouth fit over hers, the way he tasted. There had never been another man who’d been able to stir her with a mere kiss.

  She didn’t dare even to think of the way they’d made love together. If she did, she would be lost Clumsily, she pushed herself back, plumping the pillow against the headboard. She hadn’t even told him that she wanted to leave. She’d been here less than a week of her promised month. Should she stay and see it through, or leave? Already, Jeff was remembering. Bits and pieces, he had said.

  Hope rubbed her aching temples, trying to think, to decide. She knew that once Jeff’s memory started to return, it would only grow stronger. This was a good thing, she reminded herself. This was why she had come. But she had to face the facts, no matter how much it might hurt, no matter how badly the thought terrified her.

  Jeff would eventually remember everything, right up until graduation, when she’d left. He would remember what he had done, how his betrayal had caused her to flee Dalhart

  He would remember and question. This time, there would be no escape. This time, she would have no choice but to tell him of the terrible thing she’d done to both of them, to their child. She would have no choice but to tell him of the daughter he had never known, the daughter whose brief life had been like a bright ray of sunshine. The daughter Hope had loved with all her heart—but Jeff hadn’t even known of her existence. This time, she would make damn sure he hated her before she left. And this time, it would be for good.

  She’d just dropped off to sleep when a light tap on her door woke her. Smiling an apology, Charlene perched on the edge of her bed. “Do you want to talk?”