I knew it: he was a golfer.
Jarret walked him to the door, where they exchanged a few last whispers. I thought Mike said, “Maybe you should tell her.” Then they both looked at me.
As the door closed, a dull feeling of dread rolled over me, like the shadow of a storm cloud, at the thought of being imprisoned with Jarret. He seemed different from when I knew him in high school. More devious, if that were possible.
“Maybe you should tell me what?” I said.
“Why don’t you come sit down?” Jarret grabbed a framed picture from the bookshelf, sat on one end of the couch, and propped a bare foot on the coffee table. He wore his hair in a low ponytail and had a look of concentration or a scowl on his unshaven face. Maybe it was the look he got when scheming. I’d seen him annoyed and angry, usually at Roland, with his lip curled up on one side and his eyes narrowed. I’d seen his vain and cocky look too, with his brows arched and a coy smile on his face. What would he look like if he ever really smiled? Maybe he never did. Maybe he was an unhappy man.
I dragged myself to the living room but stopped behind the loveseat. The room appealed to me. It had a fairly uncluttered, deceptively peaceful look, with splashes of dark blue and brown among paler beiges and cream colors. Light streamed in through wooden blinds over the front bay window and made stripes on a puffy brown leather armchair. A flat-screen TV hung on the opposite side of the room, by a bedroom door, two baskets of unfolded laundry under it. And a shelving unit of books, little framed pictures, and decorations lined the far wall behind the couch.
I had yet to wrap my mind around what he’d told me so far. Did I believe him? Was I ready to hear more? No. Not yet. “I think I’d like to take a shower, maybe lie down.”
He shrugged and indicated the bedroom door with a grand sweeping gesture. “Let me know if you can’t find something.”
I stopped at the bedroom door. It was a trivial question compared to the weight of everything going on now, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Do you have a dog?”
“What? No. Why? Do you… want one?”
“No, I just saw… I mean, I was just wondering.”
I spent longer in the shower than I ever had in my life. The water came down in pulsing streams, relaxing my back and neck. Our shower at home dribbled on one side and sent cockeyed streams out the other so that I had to keep repositioning my head to get the conditioner rinsed out of my hair. And here no one banged on the door and shouted, “Hurry, I have to pee!”
Goosebumps formed on my arms as I stepped out of the shower. I dried with a huge, soft, royal blue towel, then I stuffed an arm into the smaller of the two white robes that hung on the wall. Obviously, they were his and hers.
His and hers. Could I really have amnesia? Could I really be married to him? Why couldn’t I remember a single detail about what should’ve been the most important event in my life?
No. I never would’ve married a guy like him. My perfect husband would love Jesus more than me and love me because of my love for Jesus. He would be faithful and gentle and have a heart for others. Jarret was selfish, vain, and prideful. He swore and drank. And he wasn’t a virgin. But then, I wasn’t either. Anymore. Could that be true? Were we really married? I had intended to remain pure as a sign of my love for God, not to mention out of respect for myself and my future husband. I’d romanticized my wedding night, when I’d give myself to another for the first time, when two would become one and possibly create a new life!
I sighed. Had I done something wrong, made some foolish mistake that brought me to this terrible situation? If only this were a nightmare from which I could wake up.
“Wake up, already!” I said as I opened the bathroom door.
On the far side of the bedroom, the long brown curtains inflated like a balloon, twisted, then flattened against the screen. When had he fixed the screen? He must’ve been busy while I took a shower.
My gaze dropped to the bed, now sloppily made, and to a framed photograph that lay on it. Was it the one he’d grabbed from the bookshelf? Guess he wanted me to see it.
Pulling my robe closed at the chest, I picked up the picture. As the image came into view in the dim light, I gasped. A bride and groom held hands in the dark open doorway of St. Michael Church. Jarret was the groom and I the bride!
As if touching something evil, I tossed the picture onto the bed and stepped back. No! It didn’t have to be true.
Not wanting to believe it, I turned to the dresser to find clothes. The first drawer I tried held men’s underwear. I shoved it closed.
He could’ve easily used an image editing program.
I eased open another drawer: guys’ socks and handkerchiefs. With a huff, I slammed the drawer.
People manipulated photos all the time.
The next two drawers had all girl things, so I picked out what I needed and headed for the closet.
A girl simply couldn’t believe her eyes nowadays.
In the middle of the floor lay the denim jumper I’d worn earlier, stained with grass and torn from my experience with thorn bushes. I picked it up and sighed. It had been one of my favorite outfits. Maybe I could repair it.
What was I thinking? My life needed repairing first. I needed to get home.
I whipped the jumper across the room, and it landed on the box in the corner near the closet door. My gaze fastened to the ratty, two-foot square, cardboard box. It sat at a crooked angle as if it had been shoved there in a hurry, not as if it had been placed there for storage. One flap hung out, the edges were ragged, and black scribbled-over letters marked the sides. In such a tidy little house, it seemed out of place.
I knelt on the floor by the box and opened the flaps. Three shiny yellow boxes sat balanced on top of an old slide projector. I pulled out a thick stack of loose papers and manila folders, a tape dispenser, a glass ashtray, an old camera, and from the bottom corner of the box, a new digital camera.
A new camera? I took it and sat on a crumpled mess of sheets and blankets on the bed. Maybe the camera held pictures I’d remember or pictures that might explain things.
Before I could figure out how to turn it on, a light rapping sounded on the door. The door opened and Jarret stuck his head into the room.
“Hey, uh, did you want to— Is that my camera?”
I shrugged and held it out to him.
Eyes on the camera, he came over and took it. “Or is it yours?” He sat beside me on the bed.
I pulled my robe closed at the neck and curbed the impulse to scoot away from him.
He turned the camera around, examining it. “We have the same kind. I lost mine the other day. Took yours by mistake. Remember that? No, you don’t remember that. Anyway, this must be mine. Where’d you find it?”
I pointed to the box in the corner, wishing I had put all the junk back into it.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, staring at the mess.
“What is all that stuff?”
“Ah, it’s from work. We’re moving to a newer building. I was cleaning out some cabinets. Those old slides and files need to be put with their projects instead of... Well, I thought I’d bring the junk home and sort it out. I guess I dropped my camera in the box. The guys were looking for it.”
“The guys?”
“My coworkers and Mike. I gave them your camera by accident.” He stared at me for a moment, thoughtfulness and compassion in his eyes.
A rush of heat assailed me. It felt odd having him look at me like that. He’d given his girlfriend Zoë—my best friend—the same look during her pregnancy, whenever she moaned or struggled with something or simply looked uncomfortable.
“Does your head still hurt?” he said.
I nodded.
“Want something for it?”
I shrugged. “I thought you had a degree in anthropology.”
“I do.”
“Why are you working at a doctor’s office?”
“I’m not. I work for a private company that does cultural resource management. I
’m leading the field investigation at a future construction site.”
“That sounds boring.”
Irritation flickered in his eyes but faded when he spoke. “Well, I’ve only got a BA. There’s only so much I can do.”
“So, where does a doctor fit in?”
“Eh, he’s not with us as a doctor. He’s been studying archaeology. He’s getting experience.” He stood. “I’ll get you something for your headache. You get dressed. I wanna go find your car.”
“Do I have to go? Can’t I just stay here?”
He stopped in the doorway and gave a crooked grin. “Do you still want to run away?”
I opened my mouth but didn’t answer.
“Yeah, you have to go.”
CHAPTER 5
THE AFTERNOON SUN reflected off Jarret’s mirrored sunglasses. He slouched in the driver’s seat of his Dodge Ram and palmed the steering wheel, driving like a man at ease with himself, his life, and his truck.
“Where’re we going?” I couldn’t get myself to ask my other questions. What had Mike meant when he’d said Jarret should tell me? Why wouldn’t Jarret let me talk to Roland? Why did all of this feel so wrong?
“Mmm, I dunno. Just gonna drive around.” While appearing completely relaxed, he rode on the bumper of a midnight blue minivan.
I groaned inwardly, wanting to go home. I should look for an opportunity to get away.
We had left a housing area of newer, cookie-cutter homes, drove down a long road with older homes and farmlands, passed over a highway, and now headed toward a busy strip mall. Across from the strip mall, a digger dumped a load of orange dirt onto a pile of more orange dirt, carving out a foundation for a new construction. Nothing looked familiar.
“The dirt is orange.” I stared as we passed the digger. Orange dirt clouds billowed out around it.
“Yeah. We’re in North Carolina. Didn’t I tell you?” He sped up, gripped the steering wheel, and whipped around the minivan.
My stomach leaped into my chest. “Do you have to drive so fast? North Carolina? That’s clear across the country from home.”
“It’s weird, you not knowing stuff.” He slowed a wee bit and relaxed his grip on the steering wheel.
“So, what are we doing in North Carolina?”
He glanced at me before answering, a strange, irritated look crossing his face. “Don’t blame me. You wanted to be here.”
I shook my head, not believing him. I loved everything about South Dakota, its history of cowboys and Indians, its rugged landscape, prairies, and buffalo. South Dakota had inspired countless miniatures I’d painted over the years. I loved my church and neighborhood. The tiny house in which I grew up. My friends. Miles and miles away.
My heart raced as I visualized the vast stretch of land between me and all that I held dear. Why would I ever want to leave all that?
Jarret cocked his head and cracked his neck. “Look, you have an Associate in Criminal Justice and Police Science. And you found this job with—”
“I have an associate degree? In criminal justice?” The thought thrilled me but I sighed. I couldn’t remember any of it.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t remember going to college.” I gazed down at the yellow car ahead of us as its bumper sticker came into view: If you can read this... I pressed my foot to the floor as if I had control of the brakes. The truck moved too close for me to read the rest.
He smiled. “Well, you did. You and Roland got the same degree, only he’s still going, working on his bachelor’s or something.”
“Why won’t you let me talk to him?” The words flew out, emotion with them, and my hands balled into fists. “Maybe Roland can help me remember. He can tell me what happened in college and help me get to this point, my life now. With you. It’s hard for me to understand how I ended up like this.” Jarret shouldn’t have mentioned his brother. Roland’s voice sounded in my head, saying my name. I needed his help. I needed him now. He’d always been a good friend, a calming presence in my life. He could help me.
Jarret snickered. “You talk like your life’s over, just ’cuz you can’t remember how we ended up together.” He glared. “You think you would’ve married me if you weren’t in love with me?”
Turning away, I gazed at an orange dirt smudge on the window and spoke in a lower voice, more to myself than to him. “I’m not your type. And you’re not mine. How could we ever have been attracted to each other?”
He let out a long, hard sigh. “No, I am not ready for you to talk to Roland.” He tapped the brakes, glanced in the mirrors, and raced recklessly across oncoming traffic, heading for the crowded parking lot of a grocery store.
My hand shot up to the glove compartment to steady myself. I read the big red letters of the store sign. “Piggly Wiggly? That’s a strange name.”
“Yeah, for a grocery store. You used to say it sounded insulting.” He cruised from one end of the parking lot to the other, then up and down the rows, his head turning from side to side like the terminator. The truck crawled slow enough for me to jump out if I wanted to.
I laughed to myself. What a silly idea. Still, I found my fingers inching to the door handle. I would have to fling the door open and jump. He’d stop the truck and get out. But I could run to the nearest gas station and ask for help. Then again, I might get hurt trying to exit a moving vehicle. I’d feel stupid needing his help.
My finger brushed the black door handle.
Jarret’s hand slid onto my other hand. He laced his fingers through mine, his eyes shifting toward me.
Flinching at his touch, I sighed and dropped my hand to my lap. It was a stupid idea anyway. Maybe inside the store, I’d find an opportunity to get away. I had to. I couldn’t stay here with this man I’d never liked and didn’t trust. Why wouldn’t he let me speak to my family? Something wasn’t right—
He pulled out of the last row and turned toward the road.
“Wait!” I said.
He released my hand, slammed a foot to the brakes, and jerked his face to either side. “Where? Did you see it?”
“See what?”
Driving with determination, he turned the truck around and pulled into a parking spot at the back of the lot. He reached one hand to the door handle and the other to the keys in the ignition. “Your car. Did you see it?”
“My car? I don’t remember having a car. What does it look like?”
Hand sliding off the door handle, he blew air out his mouth and re-gripped the steering wheel.
“Can’t we go in?” I sounded desperate.
“You need something?” That strange look of concern came to his eyes.
My face warmed. It didn’t seem possible that he could have those feelings for me. “I—I do need something.”
“What?”
I huffed. “Do I have to tell you?” Think, think, what do I need?
He huffed. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“I’m a girl.” I narrowed my eyes, trying to appear indignant. “Sometimes a girl needs things that are private. I shouldn’t have to explain.”
“You don’t need any of that.”
“How do you know?”
He grinned in a way that made my stomach turn. “I’m your husband.”
“So you say.” I grabbed the door handle.
He latched onto my other hand again. “We’ll go in, but you hold my hand the entire time. And don’t try anything stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah, like trying to run or get attention. I know how you feel about me. I see it every time you look at me. So, if you try anything, expect me to do something about it.”
“Like what?”
The grin slithered back onto his face, and he waved his brows.
My skin crawled and I turned away.
Hand in hand, we crossed the huge parking lot and stepped into the air-conditioned store. Jarret grabbed a basket instead of a cart, and we weaved through customers in the produce department.
“Ne
ed any fruit or vegetables?” He didn’t slow one bit.
“No.” I shivered, my skin turning to goose flesh from the cool air. Wanting to fold my arms for warmth, I wrapped one arm around my waist and tried to wriggle my sweaty hand from his.
He tightened his grip. “So, what do you need?”
I clenched my jaw. My brain kept searching for an escape route, but Jarret’s words in the car made me reluctant to attempt anything. “Let it Be” by the Beatles played overheard and Jarret hummed along. While I considered myself to be a girl who trusted God’s will for her life, this just didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to “let it be.” I wanted to go home. Why wouldn’t Jarret let me go? Did I stand a chance of getting away from him in the store?
We cruised up and down the aisles. Jarret spent a considerable amount of time in the ethnic food section, comparing enchilada sauces. I grabbed random items on impulse: a can of barbecue potato chips, a can of mandarin oranges, a bag of miniature chocolate bars... olives, pickles, sardines. I didn’t remember liking sardines. Or prunes. But for some reason I had to have them.
“What’s with the shades?” Jarret said. We walked to the refrigerated section in the back corner of the store.
“I don’t know.” I stared at my reflection in the black sunglasses I’d grabbed a few aisles ago. Something about them spoke to me. They reminded me of something... gave me a strange feeling. Maybe I’d meant to buy some before. I dropped them into the nearly full basket Jarret carried at his side.
“What do you want for dinner anyway?” he said.
“Oh, whatever my mom’s making.” I flashed a fake smile. It felt good to give the snotty reply.
“Right. Knock it off. This is your home now. Give it a chance.” Jarret stopped by the meat department and set the basket on the floor. “Let’s grab some dogs.”
Give it a chance. His words echoed in my mind. Should I give it a chance? Could I give it a chance? None of this made sense. Why wouldn’t he give me some space?
No, I couldn’t do this—live with a man I didn’t like and so far away from my family. How would I ever get my memory back like this? No, this required drastic measures.
Anyone but Him Page 4
