by Linda Bleser
I nodded. I had to know what someone could love about me, since I’d never been able to love myself.
He took my hand and led me to the couch, then sat beside me, one arm draped around my shoulder. The warmth of his body was inviting. I wanted to melt into his arms.
“First of all,” he said, “what’s not to love? You’re everything I could ever want in a wife, lover, and best friend. You’re smart and sweet, charming and generous. You put everyone else’s needs before your own, sometimes to your own detriment. But I can’t complain. That’s the nurturer in you.”
I dropped my gaze, knowing I didn’t deserve the love in his eyes.
He reached out and ran a fingertip along my cheek. “Not to mention you’re gorgeous with a banging body.”
This time I had to laugh. “Banging, huh?”
He raised an eyebrow and let out a low, playful growl. “You know it, babe.”
I picked up on his playfulness. “So you married me for my body?”
“No, I noticed you because of your body. I married you because I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”
I let out a slow, wistful sigh. I wanted to be that woman who inspired love and adoration. I wanted to be the kind of woman a man couldn’t imagine living without.
His voice grew serious. “You helped me through some of the worst times of my life. You were my strength when Brett died.”
“Brett?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I forgot that you don’t remember. Brett was my brother. He and his wife were killed in a plane crash.”
I squeezed his hand in understanding. I knew how it felt to lose someone.
“You were my strength. You took care of everyone, including their daughter. You took her under your wing and helped her deal with her grief. I don’t know how any of us would have coped without you.”
I wanted to ask more about this side of the family that I had no memory of, but I could see that the wound was still fresh, and the last thing I wanted to do was dredge up more pain.
“So,” he said, “is it any wonder I love you?”
Something inside me shifted as I began to see myself through his eyes. Was I that person? Did I deserve to be loved?
He leaned over to press a kiss to my cheek, but I surprised us both by turning to meet his lips with mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and savored the sweetness, pressing my body against his with a languid stretch. His heartbeat quickened against mine. When my lips parted to explore the contours of his mouth, he let out a soft moan. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
“I’m here now.”
He tore his lips from mine and searched my eyes. “Are you? Are you really here now?”
I looked away. I couldn’t lie to him. “I’m trying to be,” I said. He had no idea how much I wanted to merge the life I remembered with the life he was ready to give me.
“What if we’d never met?” I asked him.
“We were meant to be together,” he said with a genuine smile. “Somehow we’d have found each other.”
Yes, one way or another. It gave me hope for all those other lives where we had yet to meet. Maybe destiny would find a way for us to cross paths, even if it was in some dim and distant future.
“Come on,” I said. “Dinner is ready.” I stood up, missing his closeness already. Bob set the table, giving me time to collect my thoughts while I put the finishing touches on the salad. There was something so natural about the way we worked together, like a perfectly choreographed team. I suspected we’d played these roles a hundred times or more, but for me it was brand new. So was the undercurrent of seduction in the seemingly casual movements—a touch, a glance, the brush of his hip against mine. I hoped the flush rising to my cheeks would be blamed on the heat of the oven. But I knew better.
I watched Bob over dinner. How easy it would be to settle into the comfortable role of loving wife. It was so tempting to stay here where I was loved, to ease back into the safety of his arms. But that would mean accepting a love I hadn’t earned. It would be like living a lie. A sweet lie, but a lie all the same.
I pushed my food around the plate. I’d lost interest in eating. All I could think about was how it felt to kiss Bob. I glanced up and caught him staring at me. I felt warmth rise to my cheeks. Was he thinking what I was thinking?
I reached for a biscuit and took my time spreading butter from one edge to the other. I cleared my throat and tested my voice. “So, how long have we lived here in the House of … this house?”
“Only a few years,” he replied. “We fell in love with the place the moment we saw it. Funny thing, it had been sitting vacant for a few months but had only gone on the market the week we started looking for a house.”
“Curious.”
“Yeah, almost like we were meant to be here.”
That didn’t surprise me. I was starting to see that no matter how much the different life paths diverged, some things remained constant, circling back and around as if they were meant to be. Maybe certain people, places, or events were touchstones that intersected each reality. Maybe Maya was one of those touchstones.
Bob cleared his throat. “What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, not much,” I replied. “Life, death, and eternity.”
He chuckled. “Nothing too deep, huh?”
I had a sudden thought. “Bob, do you know a woman named Maya? An older woman, about my height, maybe sixty years old?”
“Maya?” He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Like the poet?”
The poet? Of course, Maya Angelou. Why hadn’t I made the connection? “Yeah, like the poet,” I said. Was it a coincidence that I’d replaced one mother figure with another who just happened to share a famous poet’s name? Even more reason to believe Maya was simply a figment of my imagination. A psychologist would have a field day with this.
Bob thought about my question for a few moments. “No, can’t say I know anyone by that name. Why?”
“I don’t know. I just heard it somewhere, I guess.”
He stood up and began clearing plates from the table. “Maybe that’s a sign you’re getting your memory back.”
I helped clear the table. “I think you’re right.” We worked together side by side at the sink, washing and drying in tandem. It felt natural, like a nightly routine.
“You’re good at this,” I said. “You should do it for a living.” It was meant as a joke, but then I remembered the conversation I’d had with Bob in my last reality. “Have you ever thought of opening a bed-and-breakfast?”
He tipped his head and gave me an odd smile. “Funny you should say that. It’s a dream I’ve always had, but …” He looked away.
“But what?”
“But it would be risky. There’s no telling how long it would take to get off the ground. We probably wouldn’t have a regular income for a while.” He dried the last dish, then draped the dish towel over the sink. “It would be one thing if I only had myself to worry about, but I have a wife to consider, and possibly a family on the way.”
A family. Now there was something to think about.
“Speaking of family,” I said. “I found out some things about my mother today.”
“Oh?”
I took a deep breath and told Bob everything I’d learned from my father, letting the words tumble out in one long, rambling sentence. “All these years we never knew.”
“That’s incredible,” Bob said, rubbing my shoulders. “Do you want to find him? I can hire a private detective. Or maybe we should start by searching on the Internet. I bet there are websites that deal with reuniting adoptive siblings.”
God, I wanted to hug him. His first instinct was to figure out how he could help me, and he was ready to jump right into the fray. How had I gotten so lucky?
I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
He held me close. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. It triggered a flurry of sensations, from my chest all
the way to my core. I pressed my body against his, and the sensations swelled and deepened. His response was immediate, letting me know just how much he missed his wife.
I knew I shouldn’t, but it didn’t matter. My body’s needs outweighed my brain’s discretion. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. It curled along the base of his neck, as if he’d gone a little too long between haircuts. I slid my fingers into the thick, dark waves and tugged gently. He moaned in response.
On some deep, instinctive level I knew all the places to touch and kiss and fondle to bring out the beast inside him. He responded with an ardor that had been held in check for too long, sweeping me up in a passionate embrace and clutching me tight against him. I knew his body as well as my own, from the wide expanse of chest to the curve of his abdomen and the tight, hard swell of his groin. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did, and that knowledge came with a sense of possessiveness. This man was mine.
The knowledge that my time here could end at any moment only fueled my desire. “I want you,” I said, a husky edge to my voice. “I want you now.”
I didn’t have to ask twice.
*
I lay awake long after Bob had fallen asleep. My body felt limp and languid, like warm taffy. I stretched and let out a slow, satisfied sigh. If Bob hadn’t been perfect for me in every other way, I’d marry him all over again just for the sex alone.
I rolled over and braced myself on one elbow, studying his face. His mouth was slightly open, his breath soft and warm. He looked so vulnerable in sleep. “I’ll find you again,” I whispered. “I promise to find you, no matter how long it takes or how many lifetimes I have to search for you.”
He mumbled in his sleep, then turned and settled into his pillow. I leaned over and brushed my lips along his temple, then climbed out of bed. I stood naked in the dusky darkness and ran my hand down my belly. We hadn’t used protection tonight. I wondered if we’d made a baby. Surely in one of my lifetimes there would be children to raise, a family to love.
Up until this moment I hadn’t realized how much I wanted a family. Suddenly it was all I could think about. A little boy with Bob’s strong jaw and dark hair, a girl I could dress in pink and have tea parties with.
I slipped on a robe and headed for the bathroom, padding quietly in the dark so as not to wake Bob. I wondered if he, too, wanted a family. I’d ask him in the morning. There were so many things I wanted to know about him. I wanted to learn more about his family, the niece he tried to be a father figure to. Where was she now? What about his parents? Were they still alive?
I wanted to make love to him over and over again—day and night, night and day. I wanted to ravish him in the living room, seduce him in the shower, and savor every inch of him in the kitchen.
*
Maybe it was because I wanted it so much that everything else began to fade into the background. As weeks drifted by, I slipped into the routine of daily life easily, comfortably. I thrived on married life as if I were born to be half of a couple. Thoughts of finding Parker fell by the wayside. Eventually all thoughts of my prior lives became misty and dreamlike. Days would go by when I didn’t think of my past at all. Why would I when the present was everything I could ever have imagined?
I sat at the bedroom window. A shadow seemed to form just out of my vision. I tried to focus, but it was gone. Bob caught me staring out the window. “Hey, sleepyhead. Time to get dressed. People will be arriving in a few hours.”
I turned and smiled. Our anniversary.
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around me. “Can you believe we’ve been married five years?” I nuzzled my face against his neck, inhaling the scent of him. Starch on his collar, the tang of his aftershave, so familiar, so dear. My heart still fluttered when I looked at his face. I remembered the first time I saw him standing in the doorway of … what? That wasn’t right. I shook my head. We had met at Diane’s wedding six years ago, the night of Cassie’s accident. How could I have forgotten?
And yet another image overlapped that one: Cassie unscarred and smiling, introducing me to Bob at the House of … House of … something. I shook the false memory away. All that mattered was that I was here now, in the arms of the man I loved and about to celebrate our anniversary with friends and family.
I took my time, steaming under a long, luxurious shower. I took extra care with my hair and picked out one of Bob’s favorite outfits to wear. When I came into the kitchen, I noticed a vase holding five pink carnations—one for each year we were married.
When Cassie came to the door carrying a large sheet cake, the sight of her scars caught me by surprise.
“Why do you always do that?” she asked, standing in the doorway with the cake.
“Do what?”
“Act like it’s the first time you’ve seen my face like this.”
Why? Guilt maybe. But there was more to it than that. Those scars didn’t belong there. Each time I saw them I was overcome by a sense of wrongness. I started to explain but was distracted by a shadow lurking in the distance. “What was that?”
Cassie turned to where I was pointing. “Where? I don’t see anything.”
Too late. The shadow had melted into the distance. But something told me it wouldn’t be the last time I’d see it. And whatever it was couldn’t be good.
Cassie brushed by me and placed the cake on the countertop. She gave Bob a kiss on the cheek. “How have you put up with her all these years?”
He chuckled, but I suspected Cassie was only half joking. Some part of her must still blame me for her disfigurement. It was something I couldn’t take back, no matter how many times I apologized.
There wasn’t time, however, because Diane and Dean were at the door. Diane carried a bottle of wine. “It’s all yours,” she said. “I can’t drink while I’m breastfeeding.”
Dean trailed behind, carrying the baby in an infant seat. Bob reached for the baby, but Dean pushed him away. “Don’t wake her up,” he shushed. “She may look like an angel, but she screams like a demon. Enjoy the silence while you can.”
“I’ll get to hold her eventually, though, won’t I?”
Dean placed the carrier gently on the table. “Nope. She’s mine. Go get one of your own.” He glanced knowingly at me, and I felt the color rise to my cheeks.
Bob laughed. “This from the guy who painted ‘No Girls Allowed’ all over the tree house.
“Yeah, well, that’s when we didn’t like girls.” He gazed lovingly at the rosy-cheeked angel sleeping soundly in the infant carrier. “My job now is to keep her away from guys like us in the future.”
The rest of the day went smoothly. We ate cake and reminisced and took turns playing with the baby. I couldn’t wait to have one of my own, but until then I’d enjoy playing godmother to Diane’s child.
When everyone left, Bob began emptying the dishwasher while I picked up. Again I noticed a shadow standing in the yard. Only this time it took form, and I saw a face. A name floated into my memory.
Maya.
“Bob, I’m going for a walk. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure, hon.” He turned and gave me a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I just need a little fresh air.” But that was a lie. I wasn’t all right, and I suspected once I faced the specter outside nothing would ever be all right again.
I caught up with Maya just beyond the garden. Her face was soft with sympathy, and she felt as light as smoke. “I know you, don’t I?”
“Of course you do, child.”
“But … I’ve forgotten.”
“The longer you stay, the more you’ll forget. Soon I’ll be gone completely, along with any memories that don’t belong to this branch of your life.”
I tried to pretend I didn’t understand, but it was all coming back to me. The longer I stared into Maya’s eyes, the more I remembered.
I could have everything I wanted here: a devoted husband, a beautiful home, and even the promise of children. But at what
cost? Could I choose my own happiness over the promise I’d made my sister?
“You’re free to stay,” Maya said, as if reading my mind. “But the longer you stay here, the more you’ll forget. It’s only natural. No one can hold the knowledge of each parallel life for long. It’s natural to choose one to hold your consciousness. That’s how people exist.” The hand she placed on my shoulder was lighter than a feather. “It’s your choice, Jenna.”
I gazed back wistfully at the house. This was where I wanted to be, but it wasn’t where I needed to be.
“I can’t imagine my life without him,” I said, turning back. But Maya was gone. All that was left was the knowledge that I was about to give up everything I had with only the slimmest hope that I’d be able to find it again.
One more night, I pleaded silently. One more night to spend with the man I love.
I went back inside and stepped into my husband’s embrace. “Happy anniversary,” I whispered.
“Mmmm … happy anniversary, my love.”
He leaned in for a kiss that was long and hard and full of promise. I arched against him, feeling the heat of his arousal pressed against my body. “We can clean up tomorrow,” he said. “I have other plans for tonight.”
I gave him my best come-hither smile. “Give me five minutes to get ready.”
“Three,” he said with a wolfish grin. “I can’t wait any longer than that.”
I turned and walked away, exaggerating the swing to my hips. I opened the bathroom door and stepped inside, but the room was all wrong. Before I could pinpoint the differences, the familiar vertigo hit me, and the room began to spin.
“No!” I cried, trying to step back. But it was too late. The secret room already had a hold on me. The room that shouldn’t be there pulled me inside. I heard a soft rustling, like the whisper of lost souls. I felt they held the wisdom of the universe and the answers to questions I couldn’t voice.
I couldn’t move forward and couldn’t retreat. The room held me suspended, as if waiting for permission to drag me forward into the unknown, away from this life I hadn’t known I wanted and a man who couldn’t imagine his own life without me. “No, not yet. Please …” But the words were powerless. Even as I cried out, I knew that I couldn’t stay. I had to find my way back to the world where I belonged. With that thought alone, I surrendered and gave myself up to the inevitable.