Eli’s money? How does he afford all this?
His tattoo and scar – related? Did he see action?
Have to stop someone – a memory? Just a bad dream?
The shower turns off and I close the notebook and slide it between the box set and mattress before hurrying out of the room.
***
I’m showered, dressed and ready to go shopping with my husband. A day in the life of a typical American housewife.
Because that’s what I am. A housewife. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one. It feels very foreign, and I’m trying to imagine what I will do all day, every day. I know most wives and moms have a ton of work to do—laundry, cooking, cleaning, planning, coordinating, helping with homework or taking care of a baby, or both… But it’s just Eli and me, and he’s doing the cooking, cleaning, and laundry.
Maybe once I’m up to speed and take over the housework, he’ll get back to work on the house, and then I’ll be strong enough to help with that too. I just wonder if this will be enough.
He said I could go to college or start a business. “Anything you want.” He’s so supportive that I feel sick, like I’m a horrible person for ever feeling anything but overwhelming love for him.
There’s a growing attraction there. I have to admit that because I have to fight it every time I see him. Like now, when he walks into the kitchen, his hair damp and his skin glowing clean from the shower.
“Ready?” he asks.
I’ve been poking around the kitchen to see where everything is, so I close the cupboard I was looking in. “Yup.”
He’s in jeans and a nice forest green sweater with a subtle texture that fits his trim figure in a way that I don’t want to notice. He pauses just before pulling on his low top hiking boots to yank his shirt sleeves up. Even his forearms are taut with muscle.
“I guess those boots are typical Oregon?”
“I should throw on plaid and call it hipster,” he says with a flash grin.
I pull on a pair of Uggs, the fuzzy inside of the boots hugging my feet. They were at the house already, in my size. We pull on our coats at the same time and walk out.
“Let me start the car and then I’ll show you where the cameras are.”
I try not to look too interested.
“That’s the first one to watch the drive.” He points up to the top corner of the house. There aren’t walls or a roof, but somewhere right there, is a camera?
“I can’t even see one,” I say, gazing at the shadow under the corner where the boards come together.
“That’s the point.”
“But it’s not,” I argue, surprising myself. “Cameras act as a deterrent.” Inwardly, I wonder how many more are around here.
Eli pauses, his brows coming together. He knows I’m right… and I think maybe we both know there’s something fishy about his security system. Slowly, he nods. “I guess I could move some…” he looks around. “Near the front. As a deterrent, like you said.”
I’m spooked but I cover it. I think.
“Come out back,” he says and leads the way. There’s a camera on the storage shed, again hidden, that points toward the river and trees. There’s also a covered area with a weight bench, weights, and a hanging boxing bag.
“I didn’t see this before,” I say, and find myself eyeing him. It explains the impressive build. “You don’t go to Nick and Sabrina’s gym?”
“I plan to, yes, when you’re doing better.”
I’m not doing bad. I don’t say so, though.
He waves a hand across the makeshift training area. “I brought all this with me. It’s nice having it here, especially for when you can get back into the swing of things. But I’d love to go downtown too. It’s named after them, right? O’Dalaigh Fitness?”
I nod because that seems about right. I only glanced at her business card.
“So these cameras… a company monitors the surveillance?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t say which or how, or any kind of explanation. I think he regrets mentioning the cameras at all.
The car is warm when we get in, and Eli tells me it’s less than half an hour to Gresham, the suburb closest to us.
“Really?” It feels like a world away.
“So I was thinking we could finish off the living room area for Thanksgiving. I have the wiring almost finished. But I think we can get the walls up and painted. What do you think?”
“Sure… there’s time?”
“I think so. It won’t be the end of the world if we don’t get it painted. I thought you might be ready to help with some of it.”
“I’d like that.” I have been wanting to do more.
“Then we’ll have a place for a couch.”
Eli fills the rest of the drive by talking about what furniture can go where.
“Why did we want to build out in the country like that?” I ask, looking at him.
He throws me a quick frown. “The view of Mount Hood… the river right behind the house…the cute town. We wanted to live in the country.”
A new realization creeps over me as I look at Eli… it starts somewhere in the back of my brain and rolls forward, the way clouds do on fast forward in a documentary. I try to gather it all together because it’s more than just one simple fact.
First, it strikes me that Eli is way smarter than he lets on. I’ve seen a hint of that intelligence lurking in the background. It’s like an ace in his pocket.
Second, I knew that already. The next part teases at the edge of my conscious… He’s really good at deciphering complicated situations. A group of people? Leading them? There’s something there, some knowledge, but all I can firmly hold onto is a feeling that he’s the go to guy for sticky, covert problems.
The third part, the big thing all of this leads me to, is that I knew him before.
I knew him.
Pressure squeezes in on my brain. I can feel it rearranging itself, trying to adapt to this can’t-be-true information. Could I be generating that to make myself feel better about this situation?
He’s maneuvering through traffic but flicks me a look. I turn my face away like I’m watching the cars and shops outside.
I’m grasping at an oiled string. It’s right there but it slips out of my hand with every try.
What does this mean? Come on, think!
Then it clicks.
I knew him but not like he says. Holy shit. Why did it take me so long to think of that?
“Meg?”
I jerk and look his way, simultaneously noticing the car is turned off. We’ve parked.
“Sorry.” I try for a shy smile. “I got lost in my thoughts.”
He gets out and I follow. Over the top of the car, he asks, “About what?”
We meet at the front of the car and I note the furniture store window. It’s huge inside, with setting after setting of sofas and other furniture, a hundred little living rooms.
“Oh, I was trying to picture you in uniform.” That pops out and I hear the innuendo in it. I correct with, “Trying to picture your life a little. Our life too.”
He opens the door for me. Warm air flows over us as we walk inside. Eli leans close to my ear. “You rather liked the uniform. I did put it on for you on more than one occasion.”
He’s giving me a suggestive smile when a man about our age approaches.
“Welcome to Harding’s. I’m Jason. Looking for anything in particular?”
Eli extends his hand and introduces us. They fall into easy conversation and I realize Eli’s a people person. Figures. Of course he’s gorgeous, smart and good with people.
I walk a circle, looking at the pretty furniture, and analyze where that bitter thought came from. Am I an outside-looking-in kind of person?
“See something you like?” Jason calls.
“There’s just so many.”
Eli comes my way. “Let’s walk around. It might take a while to figure out what we like.”
So we stroll aroun
d like a normal young couple with a new house that needs furniture. Eli finds several large sectionals that will be perfect for the finished den. He sprawls out on one, his arms on the back, his head thrown back. “Ahhh, this is the life.”
“So this den is a bit of a man cave?”
“Babe, could you get me some peanuts?”
“What?!” I almost smack him before I realize he’s pulled me into his joking.
I sit down on another couch to try it out when Eli’s phone rings. He glances at the screen, then says, “Hi, mom… we’re in Gresham, looking at furniture for the house…. No, most of it isn’t ready…”
So how did I know Eli before? I try to picture any scenario where I knew him, but wasn’t with him, that would have us end up in this situation. So, let’s say he was a stalker and kidnapped me, erased my memory somehow, and is playing this farce now to keep me with him.
Except… I run my gaze over his long legs and that nice ass, and decide that’s crazy. Why would Mr. Magazine Cover need to kidnap someone, and especially someone like me?
“Is that all right?” Eli asks as he turns my way, assuming I listened. I raise my eyebrows because, actually, I didn’t. “If my mother joins us for Thanksgiving?”
“Of course.”
Eli ends his call and sits down next to me, putting a hand on my knee. “You really don’t mind if it’s not just us?”
Why would I mind? I shake my head. “It’ll be nice to catch up with your mom and the neighbors.”
He’s watching me but I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“I like this couch.” I pat it with my hands on either side of me.
“This one?” He looks it over. It’s a soft mauve color, maybe a little too pinkish for a man’s taste but I suddenly want something feminine in the house.
“All right. Let’s order it.” He stands and motions to Jason. I made him happy for a change.
Chapter Thirteen
“Let’s have dinner in the city,” Eli says in the car. He flashes me a melt-my-heart smile. “We’ll call it our official first date.”
My smile fades a bit. Maybe he’s serious about that—maybe we haven’t gone on a date before.
“Sounds great.” I look down and decide it’s an okay outfit for eating out, if we don’t go anywhere too fancy. At least I wore the leather jacket. I like it—it’s something that I actually feel fits my personality.
Nix that. Eli wants an uptown Italian place with tiny white lights twinkling in the all the windows. It was converted from an old building so it has winding stairs that lead to more dining. The decorations are ornate antiques, down to the copper plated ceiling. We end up at a small table by an antique, lacy lamp. Soft Italian guitar music plays over the system, mingling with quiet conversations. The low roof, dim lights and candle in the middle of the table make it especially intimate and romantic.
Two tables over, a tall redhead with long, spiral curls turns her head to openly stare at Eli for a full minute. Then, slowly, she runs her gaze disapprovingly over me. I stare right back but I have to fight the urge to lift an eyebrow. Wow, look at me. I want to pick a fight with her and put my fist through that pretty little nose.
“You look amazing, Meg.”
“Hmm?”
Eli is watching me and the candlelight makes his face glow. God damn he’s hot, and I’m an idiot. I should just be happy that I woke up to a sex god for a husband.
“Thanks.” I say it a bit late and pick up my menu to cover. A young female server in a starch white shirt and black glasses comes with crusty white Italian bread and a plate containing a dot of balsamic vinegar in olive oil. We both tear off a piece of bread to dip. I savor the tangy vinegar on my bread. It mixes with the oil and tastes oddly sweet.
“You’ve been thinking a lot today.”
“There’s a lot to think about,” I say, partway agreeing with him. It’s also a vague answer. I start to read the menu again and change my mind. “What do you think of all this?”
“This?” He gestures in a rainbow.
“No, not here, where life has taken us.”
The light expression eases off his face, and he takes a sip of water.
I fiddle with the bread piece in my hand and boldly say, “Where life has taken you. I want to know what you think about that.”
The white shirt comes back. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.
Eli doesn’t look at her. I can’t pull my eyes off him either.
“Okay, I’ll be back.” She graciously steps away, not even sounding offended.
We watch each other in the candlelight. Soft music playing in the background. My heart going staccato on me. This is important to him. I asked the question expecting a certain answer. Not this.
“I’m happy.” He still doesn’t look away or blink. “I was terrified I lost you in that accident… and then to a coma. I wasn’t sure what would happen, and the hours turned to days, then weeks.” His voice cracks on the last word and he shakes his head, looking away.
How could he possibly make this up?
“And now you’re awake and here.”
Only when the waiter comes back do I look around. That redhead is gone. I grab my menu because Eli is ordering, but he orders for me before I can find anything. Seafood ravioli with a white garlic sauce. It sounds perfect.
***
Maybe two glasses of wine was a bit much after a two month hiatus. Surely I could handle two glasses before? We’re walking to the car and I’m laughing because, I think, the phrase this crazy life struck me as funny.
Our breath makes clouds in the streetlight. I wave my hand through one. Eli turns to me and slides a hand along my waist and pulls me to him. We’re at the car, I see, and then I look at him, noticing the way he’s looking at me. I think we both hold our breath. His other hand moves up my jacket and around my neck. One second he’s looking into my eyes and the next he’s kissing me. I melt into him and kiss him back. No thoughts. No worries. No anything except his mouth and hands, and the erotic heat spreading through my body.
A horn goes off a street back.
“Want to go home?” Eli asks, a loaded question.
I nod.
Sometime later I wake up in bed with Eli spooning me, his erection pushing against my lower back. His mouth nuzzles my neck while his hand runs up my arm. At first I’m so surprised I don’t move—were we that friendly tonight? Then something about the way he’s moving tells me he’s half asleep.
I must have fallen right to sleep too. I’m in my bra and panties still, an odd outfit for sleeping.
Now what?
I slide away from him. His hands follow me at first, before he wakes up. Then we’re both stone still.
My earlier buzz completely evaporates. In fact, I’m alert and probably not getting back to sleep anytime soon. Maybe I should say something. But he doesn’t either, so we lay still, listening to each other breathe.
***
I jolt awake from a dream. It’s dark still. I calm my breathing and get my bearings. It was just a simple image but this time it means much more than any of the previous pictures.
I was stitching the wound in Eli’s lower side.
That’s all I have of the memory, if it is one, but I do realize I know how to treat a deep cut or even a bullet wound. What does that say about me?
Just as I roll toward the outside edge of the bed, Eli’s hand slides up my back and massages my shoulder.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s just a dream.”
I relax back into his hand as he rubs my muscle. His movements slow until just his thumb is rubbing a circle… it feels like he’s making a small electrical current that carries heat throughout me.
I close my eyes, repeating his words, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
***
“Morning Mrs. Hawthorn.” Eli is smiling at me and holding out a cup of steaming coffee. He’s rather perky for someone who didn’t get lucky last night, and surprisingly not angry as I expected. I rub
one eye and shuffle to sit up in bed. It was a long night of not talking or touching.
“Thank you.”
“It’s jump out of bed and work day!” He sits down on the edge and I notice he’s showered, shaved and ready to go in an old gray t-shirt and a worn out pair of jeans.
The coffee is good and strong and brings me around. It’s black, the way I like it when I need a bigger pick me up.
“Starting to wake up?” he asks. I nod. “Good. I’ll scramble some eggs. I got the rest of the wiring done so we can put up walls and plaster.”
“Sounds like a blast.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Odd. Well, not so odd for Eli. I’m starting to get that about him. He didn’t say anything to me after I ran off in the hospital either.
An hour later I’m with him in the living room, looking through to the bare part of the house. I hold the sheetrock in place and he wields the screw gun, systematically pushing in screws in all the right intervals. Despite all my misgivings about him and this life, I enjoy watching him work, the way the muscles in his arms move.
“I built my first house as a teenager,” he says, pausing between words to press the screw gun to the wall. “Well, I helped with a crew. I was hooked right away, watching it all come together.”
“And that’s what you’ve mostly done, besides the Air Force?”
“Yeah.” He pushes in the last screw on that board of sheetrock. A fine layer of sweat on his forehead catches and sparkles in the flood light. “You doing okay?”
“Fine.”
He stands, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, to survey the room.
“And now we put that plaster on?”
“We’ll mud it first, cover those lines and screw heads. Once it’s all dry, we can sand it down and paint, or let it be for a few days and finish it after Thanksgiving.”
My stomach growls. It’s eleven or so but we got an early start. “What about paint?”
“Want to eat lunch in town and stop by the paint store? You can pick the color.” He brushes his hands together.
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