Chapter 12
I have weird dreams.
I hear a man's voice. "Andrea. Wake up honey. Open your eyes." I feel a hand on my cheek.
Not Doyle’s hand. His fingers are always cold. These are rough and warm. Someone strokes my hair gently.
I sit straight up and gulp in air! There is no one near me and a show consisting of little furry puppets is playing on the TV. I shake my head and tell myself I was just dreaming. I think about the rough fingers on my cheek- it was so real!
I check my watch. It's 4:30. Wow. Doyle's pills sure did do the trick! I'm cold. I think I'm really sick. I watch TV. They're doing sand art on one of those light tables. It' so relaxing that I close my eyes.
I hear the voice again- I’ve heard that voice… recently. It feels so familiar that it envelopes me like a warm blanket. "Andrea. Please come back to me. There isn't much time."
Much time for what?
I feel a nudge. My hand slips under the couch and my fingers close around the edge of the knife.
I jump up. Doyle looks at me in horror- like he's on the verge of a heart attack.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" He asks with his hands on his hips. "This is two nights in a row. And this time you've got a knife." He glares at me. "What's next? Sleeping with the gun?"
My head jerks up and my eyes narrow. "We have a gun?" I blurt and feel a little betrayed- he’s been holding out on me!
An icy glare is my only reply along with some muffled comments in German. I hate it that I can't speak German. He could be talking about me all the time.
"Just... it's creepy being alone here at night." I tell him as I wring my hands. His eyes narrow and I can tell he's not convinced.
"Uh- huh." He says, but in a tone that is not affirmation.
I rub my neck. "Is there a walk in clinic nearby? I think I'm sick. I might to need to go to the doctor."
"You're married to a doctor." He points out irritatedly.
Oh, yeah. I forgot.
He sits beside me on the couch. "What's the problem?"
"Stuffy, sore throat." I tell him.
"Allergies." He says. "You get this way every fall." He motions for me to follow. "In the restroom. You should have some medicines." He plunders through the medicine cabinet and finds an empty pill bottle. He shows it to me. "The pharmacies don't open until nine." I can see the prospect of his going out in full sunlight is unappealing. "I'll have to stop by and get you some tonight."
"Or I could go."
He looks at me warily. Like he's trying to decide if he should leave me with the keys to the car or not. Finally he relents.
"Okay. Only to the closest one. I don't want you driving all over town by yourself."
"You don't trust me?" I ask and bat my eyelashes.
"You can never find your way home without help." He reminds me.
"But we have GPS."
He runs his fingers through his hair and finally gives in. "Okay." He tells me. "To the closest one."
Yes!
Freedom!
I want to jump up and down but I'm supposed to be sick so I follow him dumbly.
He stalks back to the kitchen where he rifles through our mail. I make him a glass of this vitamin juice drink that he likes and I hear him call me.
"Andrea. What the hell is this?" He holds up a piece of mail.
I bring him his vitamin drink and look over his shoulder. I see the envelope from the charity that I donated to.
"Oh!" I exclaim. "It's a charity that helps people with albinism in Africa."
"I see that." He says as he opens the envelope. "Wait. You donated to this charity?" He asks incredulously.
"Yes!" I tell him. "You see--People with Albinism in Africa are often mistreated and killed..." I never get to finish because he interrupts me.
"You gave money without asking me?" He crumples the paper in his hand then turns to glare at me. "Number one: Do you have a job?"
My mouth hangs open. I never considered he could be so attached to fifty bucks before.
He steps closer. He looks almost dangerous. "Number two: Have you not noticed that this is a Christian charity?"
"Well--yes but-- it was the only one I could find." I stammer. I thought he'd be pleased.
"Don't you ever." He makes these words sound like a threat. "Throw away my hard earned money to trash like this!"
"But Doyle!" I stammer. "It's to help people--like you!"
He regards the pictures on the letter and his face shows near disgust. It is almost like he is looking at pictures of amoebas or something. He turns to me then and shoves the paper in my face. "These are not my people!" He shouts and I don’t know if it’s my imagination or if his eyes really do turn that strange color of red again. He stalks closer to me until I back against the wall. He seems... bigger suddenly. Definitely more dangerous. "You--” He hisses. I don't like the way he says 'you' like he's dumping all of human kind in a rather unlovely heap. "You know nothing about my kind!" He growls. “And you don’t ever spend my money without asking!”
He throws the papers on the kitchen floor and stalks away. I take an unsteady breath and bend down to pick up the crumpled papers from the floor. I am struck again with how little these other people with albinism look like Doyle. One photograph shows children with their arms wrapped around each other; one without albinism and the other with albinism. The caption says they are brothers.
Then I notice.
They are outside.
In the sun.
Something Doyle claims he cannot do.
"These are not my people!" He had hissed. "You know nothing about my kind!"
But I never said anything about "His kind." I said "People with Albinism." A chill creeps up my back and neck. My hairs stand on end. I had assumed "His kind." was my kind. The same as everyone else.
Perhaps not.
"Andrea!" He shouts. "Come upstairs. Lie with me until I fall asleep."
It is not a request. I tremble a little as I throw the papers in the garbage. The last thing I want to do is spend time with him but I don't want to anger him further.
"I had a rough night." He informs me.
No duh, Sherlock. I want to tell him.
"Come, lie next to me." He pulls the covers back for me. "Just until I sleep, and when the pharmacy opens you can get your meds." I oblige him and he spoons against me, his stomach against my back.
"I lost someone." He says. "A child. Killed in a drive by shooting."
I can feel the tension and I turn to him. The look in his eyes scares me a little. “You.” He pronounces carefully. “Will never have anything to do with God…or religion… or church. You want to know why I do not believe in a loving God, Andrea? The fact that children die every day proves that He does not care.” His face twists like he is trying to compose himself. “I want no part of Him. Do you understand?”
I swallow and turn my back to him again.
"I'm sorry. I should have asked." I say and he kisses my shoulder but doesn't reply. I suddenly feel like I'm being pulled into a vacuum and fall into a deep sleep almost instantly.
I wake around ten thirty and pull myself out of bed. Doyle doesn't seem to notice that I am gone so I take a shower and dress. The prescription bottle is still in the kitchen where we had our earlier argument. The pictures of the children with albinism stare up at me from the garbage can and I cover the picture with another sheet of paper, lest they remind him.
“These are not my people. You know nothing of my kind.” His words echo in my mind.
I slip the prescription bottle in my purse, grab my keys and take off. I can’t spend a minute longer in this house with him.
The late October sun is bright as I back out of the garage. I slip on a pair of sunglasses and roll the w
indow down. It's been so long since I've seen bright sunlight I'd almost forgotten what it looked and felt like. I kind of like it so despite my promises I decide not to hurry back to Doyle and our dark house.
There's a Walgreen's down on the corner. I drop my prescription off and am told it will be a forty five minute wait. I look around. It's almost empty. I tell her fine and go back to the car.
I slump down in the front seat with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Now what? On impulse I start the car. It buzzes to life and I pull out into traffic. I have no idea where I'm going.
No. Wait. I do.
Almost like drawn, I know where to pull off the street, and what side street to take. I pull out in front of a large church. I blink a couple times. Did I go to this church? It doesn't seem especially familiar. Instead, I feel drawn to a simple frame house on a hill next to the church. There is a sign out front. I squint in the sunlight. It reads "Heavenly Joe" written in loopy blue font. Down below it reads "Coffee and Christian bookstore."
I laugh to myself. Leave it to me to find a coffee shop, even with amnesia.
I stop for a second before I take my keys out of the ignition. This is a Christian bookstore. What would Doyle say if he found out I was here? He would not like it, not even a little bit. I know that, but my deep and urgent need for coffee is much worse than my fear.
Besides. If I want to believe in God, how can he stop me? I mean, this is America. We have freedom of religion. Right? So… I suck in my breath and set my jaw. My eyes narrow in defiance. I’m going to get some Heavenly Joe and there ain’t a dang thing he can do about it!
I check my watch. Half an hour before my prescription is ready. I pull my purse out of the passenger seat and head inside.
The door jingles and people look up from bookshelves and coffees to give me polite smiles.
I wander around for a few minutes. It's just an old house that has refurbished in this kind of artsy/hippie/ thrift store/ retro-cool interior. The walls are lined with row after row of books. There are several sets of cafe tables and chairs and a counter in the first room and in the second there is a shaggy couch and some comfortable chairs around a fireplace.
“Of all the Joe joints in all the towns, in all the world, you had to walk into mine.” A strangely familiar voice quotes a famous line from a movie I no longer remember the name to.
The sound of it runs over me like warm honey and leaves me with the feeling of snuggled on a warm blanket on a cold day. I know that voice! I heard it the other night!
I spin quickly to see who this mystery man is and smile.
“Josue Mendez!” I say happily and he returns my smile with one of his own. He steps around the corner and holds out his hands in welcome.
Instead of wearing hospital garb, this time he’s wearing a crisp white shirt rolled up at the elbows, a pair of jeans and some kind of hiking boots. He looks rugged and clean and outdoorsy and strikingly masculine in spite of the half size white apron hangs at his waist.
He is beautiful and familiar and he feels like home! My heart speeds up and I don’t understand why I want so badly to run to him and throw myself into his arms! I can almost feel myself, at some other time, being embraced by him. I don’t remember it but my body seems to. I know I must have felt those arms around me in my past life. I remind myself I don’t know this man, so I hold back and he catches my hands in his.
He looks into my eyes and smiles like he’s been expecting me.
“I was wondering when you’d find your way back here, Andrea Bradley.” He says and holds out his hand to a table. “Have a seat. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I take a seat at a café style table and he sits across from me.
“I thought you worked at the hospital.” I say, flabbergasted by the fact that I’ve just met him here.
“Yeah, well. I have a lot of jobs.” He says nonchalantly. He leans his elbows on the table and clasps his hands. His dark skin and white shirt contrast each other. “You know. I’m good at cleaning up messes, fixing things, making coffee and listening to people talk about their problems.” His dark curls bob as he talks. He is absolutely adorable and I can’t stop smiling at him. Why can’t I stop? It’s embarrassing. I look away and act like I’m interested in the décor.
“So? How have you been?”
I want to lie to him and just say fine. I’m fine Josue, how are you? But I can’t. I look up into those clear blue eyes and I find I can’t lie to him. I can’t make the words come out of my mouth.
I sigh in desperation. What are you supposed to say when you can’t lie and tell them everything’s fine? What am I supposed to do tell the truth? My life is a wreck. I have no family to speak of. My house is haunted. My husband is a vampire. I can’t tell him that!
And I just can’t lie to the man.
A squeak comes out but that’s all. I cover my face with my hands to hide the tears.
“I figured as much. Tell me about it then.” He says and gives my shoulder a comforting pat.
“I don’t know where to start.” I tell him.
“At the beginning always helps.” He says but then gets a sudden idea. “I’ll make you a cup of your favorite. French vanilla cappuccino with extra fluff and then we’ll talk.”
I smile. “Is that my favorite?” I ask him as he disappears around the counter. The machine is too loud for me to hear anything but directly he appears with a dark frothy paper cup and a glass of ice water.
I sip it and it’s just the right temperature. Not lava but just hot enough to not scald me. I wonder how he could have got it just right. I close my eyes.
“This is—” There aren’t words to describe.
“Heavenly?” He asks and raises his dark eyebrows. “Hence the name. Heavenly Joe.”
“And you’re Joe.” I say and he laughs.
“Josue.” He pronounces it slowly and gives me a wink. “I think it’s a play on words. Actually.” He says and smiles at me. I feel my heart flutter. I look away quickly and remind myself I’m married and my husband has told me once never to speak to this man. I’m in enough trouble this morning without adding flirting to the list.
“Joe’s easier to pronounce and well, people call me a lot of things, but we’ll get back to you.”
“Have you known me my whole life?” I ask him.
“Since you were a baby.” He says matter-of-factly. “We’ve known each other for a long time, yes.”
“What was I like before?” I want to know.
He sighs and leans forward. “That’s a lot to describe. You were what you are now. Except now you don’t remember. But you’re still you.”
That helps. I think to myself but I’d really like to get to know myself again. “Tell me about me.” I must sound pitiful. “Please?”
He smiles, perfect teeth flashing, he sits back and runs his fingers through his curls. “Well okay. When you were little, you had the most amazing imagination. You were always making up stories. Oh, the adventures we had!” He laughs and continues as he reaches out for my hand and catches it in his own. “And you had such a tender heart. You always stood up for the underdog. You were even afraid that you would hurt your doll’s feelings if you played with one over the others.
You were stubborn too, if anyone told you that you couldn’t do something- you’d do your best to show them that you could. I’m guessing that you are for the most part- the same person you were.”
Somehow I know the stubborn part is true. The fact that I’m sitting here in a Christian coffee shop with a man I’ve been forbidden to speak to would confirm the accuracy of that statement. To have some assurance that the real me is still in here…somewhere makes me feel better but I stifle a sob when I try to speak.
“Oh, come on now. Tell me what’s the matter.”
Oh, Josue, where could I start? I had n
o idea so I just started talking. I don’t know if any of it made sense or if it was in complete sentences, I was sure some of the time I didn’t even use actual words. I just babbled incoherently, for the most part, dispersed by fits of sobbing, lots of tissues, sips of coffee and gentle pats on the back from my friend.
Finally I look up at him, half expecting to see two attendants from Moccasin bend waiting with him. He crosses his arms and sits back and studies me quietly for several seconds as if he could see right through me. I squirm uncomfortably under his uncompromising stare and wish I had just told him ‘fine.’
“I really think you should read some passages from the Bible.” He says at last and pulls a memo book and a small pen from the apron at his waist. He scribbles several passages on a paper and then pulls it off and passes it to me.
“No.” I say remembering how upset Doyle got when I gave to the charity. Anything Christian is unwelcome at our house and I’m afraid to anger him further. “I don’t think the Bible would help me.”
Josue laughs loudly. It’s one of those “I can’t believe you just said that” laughs and shakes his head from side to side. He leans back in his chair and continues to laugh at me. People look up from their books or coffee to stare at him questioningly and I squirm uncomfortably in my seat. I am such an idiot. I should never have told him that. I wish I could leave.
I wonder what’s so funny but he leans toward me, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his rough hands he looks at me with a smile. “Lady, you take the cake! You are as stubborn as they come. I see that certainly hasn’t changed about you.”
What? I wonder.
“You just told me that A)”. He counts out on his fingers. “You think you might have swapped brains with someone in the emergency room while you were in a coma. B) Your house is haunted by a kid that plays Mario Brothers and a couple people who say ‘Wonk, wonk wonk.’ And C) You might or might not be married to a vampire.” He gives me a triumphant smile. “And you DON’T think the Bible will help you?”
I smile into my cappuccino. Of course he’s right. He hasn’t told me I was crazy, he hasn’t called the mental hospital to come and get me. He didn’t even laugh at me. All he did is offer scriptures and I told him no.
“It’s not that…” I start and then squirm uncomfortably. I don’t know if I should say this or not. I drop my voice to barely a whisper. “It’s just… I’m afraid.”
His smile disappears and is replaced with a severe look, almost angry, as he leans toward me over the table toward me. “You’re what?” He asks forcefully and I look away from him and wished I’d just taken the scriptures and thanked him.
“Doyle.” I say more to my coffee than to anyone else. “Doesn’t like anything that has to with –God.”
Josue sits back, crosses his arms across his chest and gives me an icy look. “Of course not,” He says flatly. “He’s the devil.”
“Well.” I say a little taken aback by his bluntness. “That’s a little harsh, Josue.”
“Okay. Not THE Devil. A devil. How about that?” He says.
“I get it you don’t like him.” I observe over a sip of my cappuccino.
“Don’t like him?” Josue raises his voice, and I look around the coffee shop to see if anyone else is listening to our conversation. “He ruined you! You went to church; you had a family that loved you before he came and took it all away!” He leans toward me and I see the almost same color blue eyes as Doyle has- except his are- clearer. “You have no idea what you lost when you chose him!”
I shudder and wonder if perhaps there wasn’t something more between Josue and I than friendship as he claims.
“Josue. Will you tell me the truth?”
“I always tell the truth.”
“Were we ever…” How do I phrase this without making it seem creepy? Doyle had mentioned in his fit of rage that night that my family had preferred that dumb mechanic over him. Perhaps this was Josue. “In a relationship?”
I look up at him when he doesn’t reply and my breath catches in my throat when I see the sadness written across his face. I can clearly see regret and deep hurt, like I’d just cut to the quick with that question. I feel tears sting my eyes and nose and I want to cry for knowledge that I could have caused that.
He puts his hand over mine and pats it lightly. “We almost were.” He says sadly. “But you chose him instead of me.”
That’s when I think I almost see tears in those blue eyes and I am overwhelmed with sadness. I wonder how can I feel this much regret for a man I don’t remember. It’s crazy, but crazy or not, I do. I want to fall down at his feet and beg his forgiveness. Was he “dumb mechanic?” the one I’d left for Doyle? Was it Josue that I had- in Doyle’s words- “broken his poor redneck heart and left him for the snooty, foreign, atheist doctor?” Was that what I had done? I cover my mouth with my hand and try to remember! I want to scream in frustration! Oh, if only I could remember! I look back up at Josue and despite the last few weeks of trying my best to fall in love with Doyle, I know the two of them were no comparison.
“I’m so sorry.” I choke out.
He squeezes my hand. “There’s still time.”
I look up and blink my tears away. “What do you mean? Still time? I’m married—“
“You’re not. You never married. Marriage is an institution ordained by God Himself. Doyle hates all things from God.”
Not married?
I stare at him as seconds tick by and my mind tries to wrap itself around this new revelation.
“Wait!” I yelp and my voice rises to a pitch that makes people around me look up from their books. “We’re not MARRIED?”
“No.”
No explanation. No dramatic back story. Just no.
Not married.
It can’t be! I mean I wouldn’t just shack up with some guy! I—we have to be married!
I look back up at Josue and remember what he said earlier. He always tells the truth, and though I do not remember him, I know deep in my soul that he’s telling the truth.
“Not married?” I whisper, this time, only audible to Josue and he looks at me sorrowfully.
“No.” He repeats. “You didn’t marry him. You just ran off with him. That’s why you don’t have a wedding ring.”
That’s also why my parents refuse to talk to me. Did I turn my back on them just like Josue? If he’s right, I could just leave. I chew my lip and consider it. Josue says if I had a family until Doyle came…They loved me. Perhaps they would take me back. The rational side of me tries to calm me. I don’t know my parents; they could be alcoholics, weirdoes, freaks.
Vampires? It could be worse.
Not married? How can this be? Somehow, in the depths of my heart I know it’s true. All this time I’ve been telling myself he’s not really my husband. I’ve been living with…I gulp down air in horror. Sleeping with… a man I’m not married to!
“What am I supposed to do?” I gulp.
“Walk away from him. Come to me.” He reaches toward my hand and his fingers brush mine. “Choose me.”
The Life I Left Behind Page 13
