Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel)

by Tina Wainscott

  Jesse poured two glasses of orange juice and put them on the table as she moseyed into the kitchen. She dropped down into the chair and took a sip, testing. After a moment, she dared another sip. So far, so good.

  At those words, her gaze drifted to Jesse, cracking eggs one-handed into a pan like he knew what he was doing. She found herself studying his broad shoulders and the faint spray of dark hair that sprouted from the indent in his chest. With every movement, his muscles rippled beneath his tan skin. She used to enjoy watching Jamie swim his laps, marveling at how beautiful the male body could be. Now she marveled at Jesse.

  “Do you work out?” she asked.

  He gave her an odd look. “I don’t lift weights at the gym, if that’s what you mean.” He flipped the eggs, a perfect toss that landed them back in the pan. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Just wondered. You’ve got a nice build.”

  He shrugged. “Working on engines and pushing cars into the garage are my weights.” He lifted hands cleaner than most of the pampered men she’d known had, though they had their share of calluses. “My boss gives me hell for putting more effort into washing my hands than anything else.”

  Good grief, let’s stop talking about his body, Marti. Food’s safer. “You’re not making grits, are you?”

  “Not unless you want ‘em. I hate ‘em.”

  “I thought everybody down South liked grits.”

  “I guess I’m not everybody then.” He leaned on the counter separating the kitchen and eating area. “And speaking of cooking, my gourmet abilities end with breakfast.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I could use your help in the kitchen.”

  “Well, as far as cooking goes, I’m useless. I forget about boiling water and it all burns out. I can’t even get Jell-O to set.” She gave him a smile. “We could eat out a lot.”

  Jesse smirked. “In case you haven’t noticed the fine selection of restaurants Chattaloo offers, we have one pizza place, two diners, and a deli. I think we’d get tired of that real quick.”

  “I’m telling you, I cannot cook.”

  “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

  She did not want to cook, did not even want to talk about it. Time to change the subject again.

  “I want to go back to work,” she told him as he set down a plate of toast and jam in front of her, waffles and bacon in front of him.

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He shrugged. “When? Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I don’t suppose you could give me any training tips on the waitressing part?”

  “Oh, that’s right. A model from California wouldn’t know much about that working-class thing.”

  As if he really believed her. “My experience ends with a six-month stint at a beach-side burger joint, and the customers came to me for the food and threw away the plates and utensils when they were done.”

  “Being on the receiving end of the restaurant process, I wouldn’t be much help. Caty’d be your best bet. I could stick to the story I already told them, which is you don’t remember much since the assault. I was going to ask you if you wanted to have dinner over at Ma’s tonight anyway. She and Caty have been asking to see you.”

  “Might as well get it over with.” As if meeting his family wouldn’t be hard enough. Now she was facing her first speaking part as Marti May West.

  As they drove over to Jesse’s mother’s that evening, the tension coiled tighter inside Marti. Money, escape. She kept telling herself that she had to go through this process before she could get back to California.

  “Does your mother like Marti? She probably hated the woman who trapped her son into marrying her.”

  He shot her an odd look, then shook his head and concentrated on his driving again. “I don’t know. She’s definitely not used to the idea of me being married and expecting a kid. Heck, neither am I.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Besides, couldn’t prove you got pregnant on purpose.”

  “Now we’ll never know.” She turned down the radio. “Can’t we listen to something other than country music?”

  He turned the volume up again, giving her a stern look. “Never, ever, turn down Kenny Chesney in my truck.”

  “Well, excuse me. I didn’t know the rules.”

  He gave her a sharp nod. “Now you do.”

  How was she supposed to discern between Kenny Chesney and all the other crooning country singers? Katy Perry, Adele, Lady Gaga, all artists she could intelligently discuss. She wondered if her fidgeting hands in her lap betrayed her nervousness.

  He took the curve rapidly, his hands firmly on the wheel. Strong hands and long fingers. Hardly nothing sexier than strong hands. Except for a guy wearing jeans and nothing else, like he had while making breakfast. She averted her attention to the dirt roads that spread out like fingers to the right. On the left was a golf course.

  “I wouldn’t expect to see a golf course around here,” she said.

  “Didn’t think country hicks liked golf, did you?”

  She shot him a look. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Well, she did, sort of.

  “Mark, Alan, and I play golf there in the summer, when the snowbirds go back up north.”

  “You play golf?” She tried to picture Jesse teeing up in yellow pants and a green-checkered shirt and almost laughed.

  His tone dropped to a low, Southern drawl. “Yep, ‘magine that, a redneck like me playin’ that there golfin’ game. ‘Course, for a while, we thought hittin’ a birdie was aimin’ fer a blue jay. Poor birds didn’t know what hit ‘em. H’yuck, h’yuck.”

  She nudged his arm, trying to keep the smile from her lips. “Yeah, yeah.” She still couldn’t see him playing golf. Nor could she figure out why her fingers tingled where they’d touched his bare arm.

  So not her type.

  When he stopped at the one traffic light on the main road, he turned to her. “I’ve heard of strokes damaging the memory areas of the brain. Do you think that being strangled deprived those parts of your brain of oxygen too long? I’m serious, Marti,” he added at her impatient expression.

  “Have you ever heard of those people remembering pasts that were not their own? I know you’re looking for some logical explanation; I was looking too, that whole time I was in the hospital. But I remember my other life, right up until the time my brain felt like it exploded.”

  He bit his lower lip, tapping a beat on the top of the steering wheel before shaking his head. “I know a way to tell if you’re Marti or not. It’s an instinctual kind of thing. If you’re game.”

  “What is it?”

  “Uh uh, can’t tell you. You’ll have to go along with it. That is, if you want me to believe your story.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. What could it be? Probably taking her to the place Marti had been attacked to see if she had any reaction.

  “Fine, do what you have to.”

  As she prepared for him to continue driving, he leaned forward and kissed her, pressing her right against the window. His mouth engulfed hers, his tongue teasing its way inside her mouth. For a moment she felt dizzy, and her stomach did flip-flops. As her mind told her hands to push him away, her mouth responded to him in exactly that instinctual way. A warmth spread where his hand rested on her thigh. Why was he kissing her like this? her mind asked. Who cares? her body answered, drowning in the sensations.

  In a second Jesse leaned against his door with a resounding thud.

  She didn’t wait to catch her breath. “W-why’d you do that?”

  He rubbed his fingers across his parted lips, still moist from their kiss. “The test.”

  She straightened, stiffening her shoulders. “That was your test to see if I’m really Marti?”

  “I wanted to compare how you kiss now with how you used to kiss.”

  “So, did I pass?”

  He ran his fingers over his lips again. “Inconclusive. It was differen
t, but I have to take the element of surprise into account.”

  “Don’t tell me you have to kiss me again.” She hoped he didn’t pick up that ridiculous tremor in her voice.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, tightening her stomach. “No, I’d better not. I mean, I don’t think it would do much good.”

  Marti held onto her seat as the truck lurched through the green light. How dare he tell her that kissing her again wouldn’t do much good! How dare he kiss her like that in the first place. Who cared if he believed her or not? She crossed her arms over her chest and ignored him… and the tingling of her mouth.

  She studied the scenery as though her life depended on it. The tension inside the cab eased. She studied the houses, most of them small and quaint. One had a swamp buggy named “Troublemaker” out front.

  Marti saw the Bad Boys Diner before Jesse pointed it out. It was an old building, and the lines of brick showed through the once-white paint. On the sign that stood high next to the road was a pudgy boy in a cowboy hat with a devilish grin. In a small corral, five mannequins clad in vests and ten-gallon hats were in the middle of an old-fashioned shootout. One had a missing arm, but she doubted it had been shot off by the cowboy holding the six-shooter across from him. She wouldn’t have thought about eating at a place like that, much less working there.

  “It’s been around for as long as I can remember, although Chuck’s only owned it for a couple of years now since he moved into town. He bought those cowboys from some barbeque place up north, and he’s proud of ‘em. When people talk about Bad Boy’s waterfront dining, that’s because the parking lot gets flooded after a good rain.”

  Downtown quickly dwindled after the Chattaloo River Hotel. Stands of pine and oak trees with the occasional farm dominated the landscape for a few miles. Jesse pulled onto a dirt road into a quiet area that was less developed than the one in front of his house. Oaks and maples overshadowed the driveway that led to a small, two-story house.

  “This is where I grew up,” Jesse said as he got out of the truck. As he looked around, he seemed to inhale a hundred childhood memories. From the smile on his face, she could only guess they were happy ones. She envied him that, for she could hardly bring herself to think about her childhood at all.

  Two beagles jumped off the front porch and lazily made their way to the truck, barking with tails wagging. Though they were smaller and not ugly like Bumpus, she still moved closer to Jesse.

  He crouched down to greet them. “Hey, fellows. Come out to greet your ole’ buddy?” Turning to Marti, he said, “This one’s Trick, and the smaller one’s Treat. Aw, don’t look at ‘em like that. They’re so old, they’d have to take a nap before even chomping at a fly. They used to jump all over me when I’d come home. Now they just bark and wag their tails.”

  She sensed melancholy in his voice but couldn’t imagine why he’d want them jumping on him. Must be something a pet owner would understand.

  She followed Jesse into the cozy home, feeling like an outsider. The wooden floors creaked beneath the braided rug inside the front door. A game show blared from the television.

  “Hey, Ma,” he called out.

  “In the kitchen, hon.”

  He nodded for her to follow. The tall, curvy woman at the sink had to be Helen West. He walked over to her, wrapping his powerful arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. Why did that make her heart swell when it didn’t even involve her? She bit her lip and stifled a smile.

  After a second, his mother patted his arms and pulled out of his embrace to walk toward Marti. Helen was attractive in a way that Hallie’s mom hadn’t been, her designer jeans and lacy, long-sleeved cotton blouse her only adornments. She needed nothing else, with soft blonde hair and round brown eyes.

  She took Marti’s hands in hers. “I’m so glad you’re here, darling. Jesse said you needed some time alone, but it was everything I could do to keep myself from rushing over to check on you.”

  Marti vaguely remembered seeing her at the hospital when she was fitfully dozing. “I—I appreciate your concern. I’m okay now.”

  Helen placed a pink, manicured thumb to Marti’s cheek. “The bruises are getting better. You poor baby. It’s scary, something like this happening here. I’ve always felt so safe. Are you all right, really?”

  Marti nodded, a lie. Helen had her soft, warm hands around Marti’s. She wasn’t at all what Marti had envisioned when they’d pulled up: a haggard woman with gray hair tied up in a bun and hands shriveled from cleaning.

  “Stop it, Billy!” a voice ordered from outside the door.

  When it opened, two calm people stepped through. Based on Jesse’s descriptions, the man was probably his brother, Billy, and the girl had to be his sister, Caty. She was Marti’s height, with a mane of golden curls. Her eyes were sea foam green, bright, and fringed with long golden lashes. She came right over and hugged her hard. Marti hesitantly put her arms around her slender frame.

  After a moment, Caty stepped back. “I was so worried about you! Then Jesse wouldn’t let us come over”—she shot him a dirty look—“and we thought the worst. But you look okay, considering. It must have been awful. No, don’t tell me about it. Unless you want to.” Caty’s energy spilled over, filling the room.

  “There’s nothing to say, really. I don’t remember a thing.”

  Caty’s hair washed over her shoulders, and coming from it was a skinny, white rope that hung down amongst the curls. Marti was considering asking what it was when the “rope” suddenly moved up to form a mustache above Caty’s lips.

  Caty laughed, pulling the tail from her upper lip. “Jed, how rude.”

  Marti was sure her eyes were wide enough to allow aircraft landings. The “rope” disappeared, and from inside Caty’s hair appeared a little gray face with quivering whiskers.

  Marti pointed. “Th—there’s something in your hair!”

  Puzzlement tinged Caty’s smile. She reached in and disentangled a furry black and white creature from her hair. “Don’t you remember Jed?”

  Marti glanced at Jesse, chastising him for not warning her about this—this thing she was supposed to remember. He was merely amused, and she turned back to Caty, who was holding it out, its four tiny feet and tail extended in all directions. Marti moved away, hoping Caty wasn’t handing it to her.

  “She doesn’t remember some of her past,” Jesse said.

  Caty looked confused. “How could you forget this cute guy?” She nuzzled the creature.

  “What is it?” Marti asked, trying to keep the disgust from her face.

  “Jed’s a rat. Not like the ones that live out in the fields or in the attic. Or from that creepy movie, Ben. He comes from a pet store.”

  It was then that Marti noticed Billy still standing by the door. He wasn’t as tall as Jesse, and in fact didn’t look much like him. He had beady brown eyes, a thin mustache, and long wavy hair that was receding in front.

  She turned back to Caty and tried to force a smile. A rat. For a pet. God, get her back to California. Sure, they had pet iguanas out there, but not rats.

  Helen stepped in, her hands clasped together. “Put Jed away, dear. It’s time to eat.”

  “Dean’s coming over tonight,” Caty announced after dinner. She glanced at Marti. “Hope that’s okay.”

  Jesse leaned back in his chair. “Why?”

  Billy wiggled his arched eyebrows. “They’re gonna neck on the front porch.”

  “Billy, shut up! He’s helping me study for my test next week, as if it was any business of yours.”

  “What kind of classes are you taking?” Marti asked.

  “Don’t you remember?” Caty smiled with pride. “I’m getting my Associates degree. Someday I’m going to be a veterinarian.”

  Marti hoped to have that same look in her eyes when she figured out what she wanted to do.

  The sound of the beagles barking outside made Caty jump up and head over to the door. A tall young man with a medium build walked in. He
had dark, curly hair and eyes that looked warm and mischievous at once. Dean, Marti surmised.

  “Howdy, Caty,” he said with a drawl more pronounced than the Wests’s. He nodded toward Billy, Jesse, and Helen, but his expression changed when he saw Marti.

  He loped over and gave her a hug. “I heard somebody hurt you.”

  “Uh … yeah.” His forwardness threw her off, but the sincerity in his brown eyes made her feel more comfortable.

  Caty strode up next to Dean. “You remember Dean, don’t you?” To Dean she said, “She lost some of her memory.”

  Marti shook her head. “No, I don’t. Nice to see you again, though.”

  “I heard you was attacked,” Dean said. “I had an aunt that was attacked, too.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Marti said.

  “It was by a herd of bees, though.”

  Marti’s gaze dropped to the floor for a minute to gain composure. “That’s… terrible.”

  “Yeah, it was. She had stings all over her body, all puffed up and red.” Dean demonstrated by puffing out his cheeks.

  Jesse interrupted him. “Dean, that’s a real interesting story, but I’ve got to”—he looked around the table, then grabbed a handful of lettuce from the salad bowl—“feed Jed.”

  Dean scratched his chin. “Is that a herd of bees, or a pack?”

  Jesse shook his head as he escaped to the living room to drop the lettuce into Jed’s cage. His mother’s computer, on a desk in the corner, caught his eye. He didn’t have much use for surfing the Internet, wasting time sitting on his butt, but now it drew him.

  He knew enough to find a search site and type in the names Marti had given him. He tried a couple different spellings before he got what looked to be viable hits.

  The most interesting headline was on YouTube, a clip from a show called, “Americans in Trouble Abroad.” He clicked on the link, and the screen popped up.

  A thin man in a dress shirt and tie looked incongruent amidst tropical foliage and people in bathing suits lounging around a sparkling pool. “On our story today, Californians Jamie and Hallie DiBarto ran into some serious trouble in paradise last weekend. I’m here on the Isle of Constantine, just east of Jamaica. Fellow Californian Mick Gentry flew to Caterina, the resort the DiBartos own, stalked the couple for several days, then broke in and viciously ripped Mrs. DiBarto from her bed while she slept.