Her Eyes

by Jennifer Cloud, Regan Taylor

Suddenly, the room grew chilly, and he felt like he wasn't alone. The hairs on his arms stood on end, gooseflesh rushed over him. He stood, looking around the room but no one was there, not even at the window to the hall. But he couldn't shake the sense that he was not alone. Unseen eyes were on him.

  One of the beeping monitors spiked, lines topping, and then it grew quiet and steady once again. Catherine sat up in bed, her eyes wide looking to the ceiling. Her left hand rose upward as if reaching for someone or something. She grabbed at the air, yet didn't close her hand around it. A small sound like a hiccup escaped her lips, and she fell back down on the bed.

  Just as she fell, the doctor came rushing in, crash cart in tow. Pushing Frank out of the way he went to set up the AED paddles only to discover, it seemed to Frank, that she was breathing. Her eyes were open, panic in their mixed depths, as she clawed at the breathing tube.

  "Easy now, Mrs. White, easy, we'll get this out. Easy. I want you to breathe in and then cough out, and when you cough, I'm going to pull it out."

  She obeyed, keeping the same horrified expression as the doctor removed the tube from her mouth. A nurse wiped her lip. Frank couldn't get closer to the bed. The doctor checked her eyes with his light while the nurse took her blood pressure, comparing the numbers against the machine at the wall.

  Finally the small crowd stepped away from the bed. One of the nurses left, shaking her head as she exited the room. The doctor looked pleased with himself, as if he just performed a miracle. Frank looked at the doctor who shook his hand.

  "Frank?” He turned his head to find Catherine looking at him. She struggled to sit and he wasn't sure she should be doing that, but when she tossed the blanket to the side it was too late to ask. “Is that you?"

  Her voice was different, softer, but the tube being down her throat could have done that. “Yes.” Frank came closer and touched her hand. They'd always been cool before but this time her hand felt warm. “I'm here."

  "I've missed you.” Tears filled her eyes as she spoke. “I can't believe you're here with me.” She pulled his hand to her face, touching his palm against her undamaged cheek. “I love you so much."

  "Do you really? What about..."

  "Why am I in the hospital?” Catherine looked around the room and back at him. “Was I injured? Why is this bandage on my face? Frank? What's going on?"

  "You don't remember?"

  "The last thing I remember was a car spinning out of control. There was a tree. I remember being in a bed while people whispered I might not recover from the impact.” Her gaze grew distant. “Was I in a car accident?"

  Chapter Four

  Catherine stayed in the hospital for another week. The doctors couldn't explain her memory loss, unless some brain damage had occurred when her breathing stopped. Nor could they explain the flip-flop in her personality, or that she suddenly started to use her left hand instead of the right. The psychologist had come in to talk about her, and Catherine couldn't believe she would have tried to take her own life. She insisted it had to be a mistake. Her memory loss encompassed much of their marriage. She spoke of things that almost sounded like someone else's life. When it came down to it, all Catherine seemed to know for sure was that Frank was her husband and that was enough for him.

  They pulled into the drive of their house, a house Frank had built from the ground up. Frank parked in front, then ran around the side to open her car door. Catherine took his hand, and he led her to the porch. She kept the same content smile on her face, not the disapproving glare Catherine usually held.

  "This is our home.” She said it as if reassuring herself of a questionable fact. “Yes. I think I remember it.” She followed him inside, looking at everything as if seeing it for the first time. “Bits and pieces are there, like parts of an old movie."

  Catherine walked through the house, touching things, staring at photographs for too long. A look of confusion crossed her features when she looked at one taken of her shortly before the accident. When her inspection took her to the backdoor at the kitchen, she stopped, then touched the door knob. She pulled her hand back, nervous, and Frank opened the door for her. It led to the back deck, where he'd made most of his improvements. Frank spent a lot of time here, pouring himself into things he could control with his hands. He enjoyed it, but Catherine never understood his pleasure in creating.

  He carved intricate designs in the posts, picked out the perfect landscaping, ending in a small rose garden. At the time, he rationalized that he'd done it all for Catherine, when actually he had needed something to do to take up his time. Seeing the look on her face made him glad he'd done it though. He worked for years to see that honest sincere smile on her face.

  "This is new, right?” She touched the banister, ran her fingers along the edges.

  "Yes. You were in the hospital for quite a while, and I didn't know what to do with myself."

  She reached up, tracing the outline of the bandages still on her face. It was a thin pad of white now, carefully taped to hide the healing scars. Sadness passed over her face. She pressed against the gauze until she winced in pain.

  "I don't know why you waited on me. How can you love someone so messed up?” She relaxed, and she flopped her hands at her sides. She'd gone through so much, but the disgrace over her physical deformities seemed less for vanity and more for him this time.

  "It will heal.” He didn't know what else to say. Not only was he stymied by what to say to someone who went through all the pain she had, but he also wasn't sure what to say to the woman who had for so long tormented his existence, the woman who cheated on him. The woman he thought he loved. “Don't worry about it."

  Catherine seemed so unsure, nervous to disappoint him. He searched desperately for some gentle words to ease her pain. None would come. This was foreign territory. She never needed reassurance before and never cared about anything he said. He pulled her into his arms and held her, wondering what new trials were coming into their lives and when her caustic remarks would return.

  "The backyard is beautiful. You are very talented."

  She pulled away, stepped into the small rose garden and sat on the bench he had placed in the middle. Her arms wrapped around herself and she rocked back and forth like a small child. Odd, that was something Pam did when she was worried about a test. The day before her driving test she rocked so much he told her she was going to start an earthquake. He'd never seen Catherine so vulnerable. And why was he suddenly thinking about Pam?

  "Would you like to be alone, or may I join you?"

  "Only be with me if you want to, not for pity.” She looked at him, tears in her mismatched eyes. “I'm not just talking about now. I want you, but only if you really want me for a wife, not for some vow or some sense of loyalty."

  Frank sat next to her and put an arm around her. She leaned against him, gave into his presence. The sensation was unlike any he experienced with Catherine, yet reminiscent. A pull kept him in place, and he could swear a bond developed between them.

  In his mind, an image flashed of a carnival he'd gone to with Pam years before. Sitting by the pond, sharing a hot dog, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. Warmth filled him, and for once in many years, he enjoyed his wife's company. This was the Catherine he had always wanted to be with.

  They sat there in silence for hours, and then Frank noticed the time. His stomach gave a second opinion on the late hour. Touching Catherine may be nice, but he needed food.

  "I'm starved. How about some dinner?"

  "What would you like?” She asked him, another rarity.

  "I don't know."

  She stood and started into the house, going through the back door and into the kitchen. There she opened the refrigerator, made a face, then opened the freezer. Very odd. He'd never known Catherine to cook. Now I'm being silly, looking for ghosts when there isn't anything but my wife struggling to recapture her life.

  "You don't have any food here. Poor guy. What did you do while I was in the hospital?”
She looked in the pantry, jostled a few cans around, then turned to look at him.

  "The same thing I did before.” He scratched his head, wondering if he'd missed some joke. “Ate out or had a frozen dinner."

  "What? I'm a great cook. Why would you...” Catherine's face turned white.

  "What's wrong?"

  She gripped the edge of the counter. “It's like a bad dream.” She reached down, pulled her shirt free from her pants then looked at her stomach, running her fingers over the smooth skin. “This doesn't make sense."

  "What?"

  "This may sound weird, but did you ever try to hurt me? Stab me?” Her stomach was smooth, perfect, not a scar or scratch and this seemed to amaze her. She kept looking at it, pulling at the skin as if checking for something.

  Frank took a step back, confusion and horror washing over him. “No. Never."

  "I didn't think you had.” Then she closed her eyes. “No. He was smaller, dirtier. Always smelled of greasy car parts."

  "Who?"

  "What?” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, what?"

  "Who are you talking about?"

  "I don't know.” She tried to smile, but it was a poor effort. “I keep having this bad dream."

  "Tell me about it."

  A knock at the door startled Frank as it echoed through the house that had grown too quiet. He stood, glad for any excuse to get away from this conversation for a minute. When she told him her dreams, his skin turned to gooseflesh, especially when he knew part of it wasn't a dream.

  He walked away and glanced back, happy she hadn't followed him. Another knock hurried his steps through the house. He pulled open the door to find his neighbor Jim standing there holding Win's leash tightly and a box tucked under his arm.

  "This a bad time?” His Southern drawl always relaxed Frank.

  "No. Come on in."

  He opened the door wide, and Win bolted inside. The dog sniffed Frank, then stood on his back legs and gave him a big wet lick down his cheek. Frank patted him softly. He loved the old dog.

  "I saw your truck and thought you'd want Win back over. My wife also fixed you two supper."

  "Hello,” Catherine appeared at the edge of the room.

  Win ran to her, stopped, and Frank watched Catherine visibly steady herself against the dog. He sniffed her feet, then sat on his haunches, lifting one paw. She bent slowly, holding out her hand for the dog. He licked it then they shook as if meeting for the first time.

  "Well, aren't you friendly?” She got down on her knees and petted him. “What's his name again? Oh wait. I remember, Win."

  "Well, Catherine, you're looking well.” Jim had his old dirty ball cap on.

  "Thank you. It's good to be home and out of that hospital.” She stepped towards the door. “I think I remember you. Jim? And your wife is ... Mary? Right, Jim and Mary?"

  "That's right.” Frank reached down and gave the dog's head a rub.

  "Glad your memory is coming back.” He handed her the box, one of those that Jim brought home from the grocery store. “My wife fixed ya'll some supper."

  "That is so sweet. She didn't have to do that."

  "Our pleasure."

  "Why don't you join us?” She peered inside. “There's enough food here to feed an army."

  "No. No. My wife is setting the table right now."

  "Well, thank you. Next week I expect you and your wife over for a dinner. It'll be fun. Maybe we'll play some cards afterward."

  She turned and carried the box back into the dinning room with Win on her heels. Frank watched her leave and was surprised to find Jim doing the same. The old man just shook his head, brows furrowed, a serious expression plastered on his wrinkled face.

  "She was nice to me?” Jim posed a question that Frank wasn't sure if he should answer.

  "Catherine's different. I can't get over how well Win took to her. That dog never liked her, and she wasn't crazy about him either."

  "Are you sure you brought the right woman home from the hospital?” He scrubbed his scraggly gray chin then looked toward the kitchen again. “Catherine ain't actin’ like herself."

  "I've noticed.” The same thought had entered his mind, but he was starting to like the changes he saw in her. If only they were permanent. Yes, Catherine had changed. “Sounds like she's invited you over for dinner and cards. That could be fun."

  "I didn't know she cooked.” Jim looked back toward the dinning room. “What kind of cards?” He scratched his head. “Weird. Really weird."

  "It truly is.” For the time being, Frank wasn't sure if the weird behavior was good or bad. Cooking, playing cards, being nice to the neighbors. Pam used to like to play rummy ... and why was he thinking of Pam again. He kind of liked this version of Catherine.

  "We'll come by. Just call me with the day and time.” While holding that serious expression, he added, “find out what kind of cards we'll be playing. I ain't doing no strip poker."

  "Believe me, Jim. I don't want to play strip poker with you."

  Jim laughed heartily then patted Frank on the back. “Call me. Even if it's just to talk."

  Frank let him out the door and waved goodbye. He tried not to let Jim get to him but in truth, Catherine never liked their neighbors. Not once had she invited them to dinner, nor did she ever stop to speak to Jim when he visited.

  "Can I help you with that?” Frank asked as he went through the house and saw Catherine setting dishes on the table.

  "No. I like doing routine things. Sort of helps me feel like I'm at home."

  She tore off a couple of paper towels and folded them, placing each beside the plate. For a minute, she seemed to have trouble finding the silverware, then her slack memory caught, and she found the forks. She seemed to have the same momentary loss for the glasses, and then she found them and put them on the table. She'd chosen wine glasses, although there was no wine.

  "Sweetie, do you have everything you need?"

  "Sure.” Her face nearly glowed. She seemed content to set the table. “You know I don't drink, but I thought we could use the wine glasses since this was a special occasion.” She pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and poured it in the glass. “Oh, wait, you prefer beer, don't you?"

  "Whatever you're having is fine."

  "Are you sure?” She never offered to get him a drink before today. She might've in the early months of their marriage but that was too long ago to remember.

  "Absolutely. Water is fine."

  Catherine not drink wine? That was the first Frank had heard of it. Catherine drank, and often passed out on the couch. She wouldn't drink water under any circumstances. In fact, he remembered her complaining that it didn't have any taste.

  He was being silly. Catherine looked like the same woman he'd married. Her body was perfect, the long blonde hair was brushed the same way. Nothing physically had changed. Then he noticed her hands.

  "Sweetie, where are your rings?"

  "I took them off. They felt weird. I hope you don't mind.” She shrugged. “I think a nurse ran off with one of those rings anyway."

  Catherine was never without her jewelry. From the moment she woke, she wore some ornaments. Special occasions had never been special unless he shelled out a small fortune for some gold or diamonds. Only one ring adorned her hand now, a plain gold band. The one he'd given her on their wedding day. The one he had to replace with something fancier before her nagging drove him insane. “I'll call the hospital right now."

  "Don't bother. It's only rocks, right? Maybe the nurse needed it.” She glanced down at her hands. “I hope you don't mind, but I found this one in the jewelry box a few minutes ago when I put up the others. It fits better."

  "I don't mind.” He'd always preferred the plain band to the showy crap. “It looks perfect on you."

  Emotion swelled in his gut. The mix of pleasure and pain brought tears to his eyes. Something amazing had happened in that hospital, something wonderful. As he watched Catherine serve dinner, he couldn't help wond
ering if and hoping that she would stay this way.

  "Here, boy.” Catherine took a bit of sausage from the ziti Mary had prepared and fed Win. Win wagged his tail, also content with this new version of Catherine.

  "You're amazing.” Frank sat down, unable to stop staring.

  They sat to dine, and Catherine lifted her glass. “A toast. To us.” She brought the glass to her lips, and all at once, she turned pale. Her mouth tightened in a straight line. The glass broke in her hand, water covering her lap and the table while shards littered the floor. Win started howling, and the room grew cold, as if someone had turned on the air conditioner.

  "Catherine?"

  He reached toward her, but she was unresponsive. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her body jerked, Frank grabbed her before she hit the floor. Win stopped howling and went to her. Frank almost stopped him until he saw the dog licking her face, as if trying to wake her.

  "What happened?” Catherine leaned into Frank, broken glass falling from her clothes and clinking around them.

  "I think we should take you to the hospital. It looked like you were having a seizure."

  "Please, Frank, no more hospitals. I can't stand to be locked up in that place again.” She sat up and saw the mess she'd made. “Oh, no. Look what I've done."

  "It's nothing. I'll get it."

  "No. I'll get it.” Her hands shook. “I'm so embarrassed.” She tossed a few of the bigger pieces that had landed on her pants into the trash. “I've ruined our lovely dinner. I'm so sorry."

  "You didn't ruin anything."

  Together, they got on their knees and started cleaning up the broken shards. Win, in his very unique way, helped by dragging over a dust pan, and Catherine got the broom. In a few minutes, everything was back to normal. They sat back at the table, Catherine with a fresh glass. This time when she brought the glass to her lips, Frank held his breath, but nothing happened.

  "Catherine, promise me something."

  "What?” She looked at him, nibbling her bottom lip in an odd way Catherine never had. In fact, only Pam ever nibbled at her lip that way.

  "Never mind."