Anyone but Him

by Theresa Linden

  His hard expression melted. “For us,” he said, his voice weak and breathy. “You, me…” In a barely-audible whisper, he added, “…and our baby.”

  Judging by Roland’s confused look, he hadn’t heard it. But an ache wormed its way into my chest. Did I really cause those feelings in him? How had he fallen in love with me?

  CHAPTER 12

  MALE VOICES, ONE soft and one loud, traveled through the closed bedroom door. I inhaled and yawned. Where was I? I sat up, got a glimpse of the gaudy room of mismatched antique furniture, and remembered. Oh yeah, the nightmare. I swung my legs off the side of the bed, stretched, and yawned again.

  “Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry I’m acting like such a heel,” Jarret said to someone in the living room. “This is hard for me too.”

  “I get it.” The second voice was softer. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can help. I’ll tell her about the summer it all started.”

  “Yeah, tell her about our summer, but don’t let her go anywhere. And when I get home, I need a shower. I’ve been washing up at the bathroom sink.”

  Who was he talking to? Wait— Remembering, I jumped to my feet and my heart started thumping. Roland!

  “Why can’t she go anywhere?” Roland came to my defense. “Don’t you think it might help? Maybe if she—”

  “Help? She wants to leave me,” Jarret whined, but then his voice turned accusing. “What are you here to help her do?”

  “Ah, she’s not going to leave you. Don’t you want to help get her memory back?”

  I went to the window and opened the curtain. Sunlight glittered through the trees. The grill was still open and a chipmunk sat on the deck.

  “And keep her from making phone calls, unless she wants to call Kelly. Yeah. Tell her to call Kelly.”

  “What? Jarret, you’re sounding like a—”

  “Just do it. You can’t let her try to call home. You know her mother never warmed up to me. She’ll blame me for this.” In a lower voice he said, “And, besides, she doesn’t know.”

  Ears perking up, I spun toward the closed bedroom door. Who doesn’t know? Me or Mom? And what doesn’t “she” know?

  “You didn’t tell her?”

  “Not yet. Let’s wait.” He paused. “I need to get dressed. I’m going to be late. If I miss any more work, I’ll lose my job. Of course, with you here, I’ll probably lose my wife. You get her to remember that she is my wife, and don’t spend all day yakking about your past together. In fact, don’t talk about it at all. Whatever she doesn’t remember about you, she doesn’t need to know.”

  “Jarret, relax. She fell in love with you. Why don’t you try to be the guy she fell in love with? The way you’re acting now—”

  Something bumped in the living room and someone grunted. Then Jarret mumbled something in his mean voice. Why did Roland put up with him?

  “I’m sorry,” Jarret groaned. “That was uncalled for.”

  I jerked back, shocked. He apologized to Roland?

  Hearing nothing more, I turned toward the bathroom.

  The bedroom door flew open and Jarret stormed into the room, the two of us colliding. “Oh, you’re up.”

  “I was just going to the...” I pointed to the bathroom. Why did he make me feel the need to ask permission to do anything?

  “I gotta grab some clothes. I really need a shower.” He darted to the closet. “But I’m running late.” He pulled his t-shirt off over his head.

  I turned away.

  Clothes rustled in the closet. “I’m going to work. I hate to leave you while you still have amnesia but...”

  Keeping my back to him I said, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  “Yeah.” He came up behind me. “I know you don’t. I mind.”

  “Well, I only...” I faced him, my reply dying on my lips. He stood so close, and he hadn’t buttoned his white dress shirt. Heat sliding up my neck, I glanced every which way, trying to avoid looking at his bare chest.

  “You’d rather be with him,” he said, wrestling a black belt into the belt loops of his beige Dockers.

  “I’m sorry.” I meant it. “I’d like to remember us. I—I remember dropping the salsa.”

  “Yeah, well, work on it.” He darted into the bathroom. The water went on, things clanked on the sink, and a minute later, he left the house.

  At the sound of the front door squeezing shut, I sighed, my body relaxing from head to toe. Then a surge of excitement put me into motion. Now to see what Roland wanted for breakfast.

  “I overheard you two talking this morning.” I poured a second bowl of Toasty O’s for myself—and the baby. I’d offered Roland everything I could think of for breakfast: pancakes, French toast, omelets, fried eggs over hash browns, and fruit cups and toast. But all he wanted was cereal.

  “Did you?” Roland spooned the last few O’s into his mouth, drank the milk from his bowl, and sat back.

  “I don’t understand why he doesn’t want me to call home.” I scooped up a spoonful of cereal, trying to conceal my intense desire to know the answer. Would he tell me something that Jarret didn’t want me to know? “And what did Jarret mean when he said, ‘she doesn’t know’?”

  Roland blinked and his gaze shifted to the glass doors. “Uh, it’ll all make sense when your memory returns. I don’t think you want to rush anything.”

  “What do you mean? The sooner I remember everything, the better.”

  “Yeah, I agree. But it’s not like we can just rattle off everything that happened in your life and you’re suddenly going to remember.”

  “But it could only help, right?”

  He took a breath. “When things happen in life, we get time to process them. If it’s all just thrown at you…” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  What had I needed time to process?

  Apparently not wanting to continue the conversation, Roland stood and took his bowl to the sink. His lack of openness troubled me. I’d have to find a way to get the information out of him later. Certainly he’d be here for a few days. I lifted my spoon to my mouth. “What day is this?”

  Roland returned to the table. “It’s Wednesday.”

  The spoon fell from my hand and splashed down in my bowl. My heart seemed to skid to a stop and nausea rippled through me. “Wednesday?” I whispered.

  One thought filled my mind, one image: the appointment written in my own handwriting in my appointment book. Wednesday at two o’clock, I was scheduled to visit an abortion clinic. It was probably a consultation, but I couldn’t squelch the feeling that this was the day my baby would have died. Had my mother known about this? Was this the thing Jarret thought I didn’t know?

  Trying to push the miserable thought from my mind, or at least get some perspective, I took my bowl to the sink and dumped out the cereal I could no longer make myself eat. Whatever tragedy had led to my amnesia, I now saw it as a gift from God, a second chance, a way to start anew. My baby would not die.

  As I washed the breakfast dishes, Roland wiped down the table. “Hey, when we’re done here, I’ve got something to show you.”

  “You do?” I perked up a bit. Roland was another gift from God, someone to hold onto in the storm.

  “Yeah, and maybe it’ll help you put the puzzle of your life back together.” Roland tossed the wet washcloth he’d been using into the sink and headed for the weight room.

  Drying my hands with the kitchen towel, I followed. Morning sunlight streamed in through the window, shining on the metallic bars of the weight-set and making line patterns on the carpet. I sat on the end of the weight bench—after spraying it with Lysol and wiping it with the kitchen towel.

  Roland had switched the computer on, and it now hummed softly. He gazed at the monitor, tapping his thumb on the arm of the chair while he waited for the computer to boot up.

  I sighed watching him. He typed a few things, slid the mouse around, and shook his head when something didn’t work out. His pale skin, smooth dark ha
ir, thick eye brows, steel gray eyes... Oh, he was handsome.

  I snapped from my thoughts. I shouldn’t think of him like that, being married and all, but having him around sure made my situation bearable.

  “If Jarret hadn’t let you stay, I was going to leave.” My hand shot up to my mouth. The words had just flown out. I shouldn’t have said it.

  Roland stopped typing and turned concerned gray eyes to me. “Aw, you can’t do that.”

  “Oh, yes I can.” Deciding that I had the right to feel this way, I jumped up. “I’m sorry, Roland, but I just don’t like him. He’s mean. He’s controlling. He’s no different than in high school. And I think he...” Gaining a thread of self-control over my speech, I choked back the rest of my sentence. He cheats on me.

  Roland opened his mouth. His brows twitched. He blinked. Then he faced the monitor again and moved the mouse. A minute later, he said, “He’s not himself right now. With you not remembering why you like him, he’s all messed up.” Another pause. Eyes still on the monitor. “I’ll admit I was shocked when it finally came out, you and him. But I knew it was right. You two needed each other.” A glance. “You still do.”

  “Why? I don’t get it.” I lifted my arms, then let them fall back to my sides. I resisted the urge to rest a hand on the back of his chair.

  “You need someone who needs you. And he needs you. He’s a totally different person with you.”

  Eyes to the ceiling, I blew out a breath and tried to avoid saying anything negative.

  Roland swiveled the chair toward me and touched me, placing his warm hand on my arm and drawing my gaze to his serious eyes, which now stared intently at me. “Do you trust me?”

  Warmth radiated from his touch and moved my heart. “Yes, I trust you,” I whispered. More than anyone, I kept myself from saying.

  “Then believe me when I say Jarret loves you. And you love him.” He spun the chair again, turning toward the monitor. “Oh, here, I got it.” He stood and motioned for me to take the chair. “These are the emails you sent me the summer you two got together. Some of them have my reply on them, but most of them don’t. I just sent you new emails, and those don’t show up in my mailbox.”

  I got comfortable in the chair, and he leaned over my shoulder, the scent of his shampoo teasing me. “You’ve kept my emails all this time?”

  His pale face flushed carnation pink. “I keep stuff. I have Peter’s too. I have everybody’s.” He grabbed the mouse and clicked on a message. “This is the first one you sent after you got to our house.”

  “Could you explain that to me again? Why was I living at your house?”

  “Uh.” His gray eyes shifted upward, then back to me. “Remember Nanny, our live-in maid? You always liked her.”

  The image of the plump, middle-aged woman with curly gray hair came to mind, and I smiled. I’d first met Nanny the day Peter and I had come uninvited to Roland’s house and I had seen the West castle for the first time. “Of course, I remember her. I haven’t forgotten everything.”

  “Well, Nanny had an operation. Papa wanted someone to live there over the summer so she could heal without worrying about cleaning and cooking. When Papa heard you were looking for summer work, he thought you’d be perfect for the job. You know how to cook and clean. You’re nice and responsible. And since Keefe, Jarret, and I weren’t expected home for the summer, it seemed like a perfect fit.”

  “Seemed like.” I shook my head and then focused on Roland’s email box, half-excited and half-afraid of what I might discover.

  CHAPTER 13

  HEY ROLAND,

  I’m here at your house. Mom, Dad, and the whole gang came to move me in. Don’t worry, I don’t have that much stuff, just two suitcases and a box. My sisters are “helping” me unpack. Mom’s trying to keep the boys out of trouble. They just want to slide in their socks down the long hallways. You probably did that when you were little.

  Your father is so nice to us. He told my family to come over any time, stay the night if they want. I hope you don’t mind, he offered them your bedroom and your brothers’ rooms. But they won’t take him up on it. Mom’s a homebody. I think Dad would do it. He’s in the poolroom right now, playing a game with your father.

  I hate to sound mean, but I can’t wait until my sisters leave. They’re playing house in the walk-in closet in my room. My dresses are in piles on the floor. I think they’re being used for beds.

  I laughed to myself. That sounded right. My sisters would’ve loved exploring and playing make-believe in the Wests’ house, even in a walk-in closet. Excitement rising by degrees, I glanced at Roland, who stood admiring Jarret’s weight-set. “I can’t believe I lived and worked in your house. I hope I didn’t break anything.”

  He dipped his head and almost laughed.

  My room is the guest room nearest the Digbys’ suite. Do you like how I call it “my room” already? Your father wants me close to Nanny in case she needs me at night. I’m excited about staying here. I’ve always loved your house, or should I say castle? I shall pretend I am the maid of the West castle. All the princes and knights are away.

  Well, Sir Roland, I hope your summer will be as fun as mine. I must go now. I guess someone ordered pizza. Looking out my window, I see the delivery boy outside. His mouth is hanging open, and he’s gawking at your house. You’d think he had never seen a castle before.

  Bye! Caitlyn

  In the next email, I claimed everything was going fine, I enjoyed working hard and trying to make Nanny happy. I liked feeling needed. And I also admitted that I hadn’t broken anything.

  I exhaled. “Oh good. My question answered.”

  The weights clanked, then Roland came over and looked at the monitor over my shoulder. “What?” He squinted. “What question?”

  Shaking my head, I decided not to explain. I hadn’t outgrown my klutziness yet, so I should probably keep my mouth shut. Chances were, I’d broken something.

  I read a bit more. Mr. West had asked me to call him Ignatius, but I couldn’t get myself to do it. And he also told me to take more breaks and relax in the evenings. He thought I worked too hard.

  I looked up, turning from the monitor to Roland, who leaned against the wall. “I admit it sounds incredibly fun. But where were you this summer?”

  “Me?” Still leaning against the wall, Roland crossed his legs at the ankles. “I was still at SDU, taking summer classes and hanging out with Ling-si in my spare time.” A smile passed his lips, and his eyes held a sweet look I’d never seen before. He lifted a shoulder. “Keep reading. Maybe you’ll find something.”

  Taking a breath, I got back to work. The subject line of the next message showed that several replies were in one email. Roland must have replied to my emails and I’d replied back. My heart pitter-pattered with excitement at the thought of getting to read his responses, but I scrolled to the first message to read them in order.

  Roland,

  You’ll never believe who showed up yesterday. Okay, maybe you already know, but I don’t think so. You would’ve warned me. Yes, I’m talking about Jarret.

  My heart skipped a beat. This was it. Jarret had now entered the picture.

  I was strolling down the front hallway on my way from Nanny’s room to the kitchen, when the front door flew open and Jarret, carrying two suitcases, stomped into the foyer. When he noticed me, he dropped the suitcases and shouted toward the staircase for you. I told him you weren’t here. His mouth fell open and he said, “Keefe?” in a whispery, wishful way. I giggled and said, “Doesn’t he live in a monastery?” Then his eyes narrowed with suspicion and he said, “So what are you doing here?” I just said, “Nanny,” because I figured he knew her situation. And I politely asked what he was doing here. Boy, did he flip out. “It’s my house!” he shouted. Then he stomped back outside and dragged in more suitcases, piling them up in the hallway.

  Picturing it in my mind, I sat back and folded my arms. “Look, Roland, he doesn’t seem any different to me. I can�
�t understand how I could’ve possibly…”

  A silent moment passed, the two of us staring at each other.

  “Well, you did,” Roland said, matter-of-fact. “You fell in love with him, so keep reading.”

  When he dropped the last suitcase onto the pile, he walked away, leaving his blockade of luggage behind. I stopped him and offered to move it all upstairs. He said no. Can you believe it? I guess he wanted poor old Mr. Digby to do it. But I didn’t want it blocking the hallway. I needed to get Nanny in her wheelchair to the dining room for lunch in an hour. So when I heard the shower go on in the upstairs bathroom, I lugged it all upstairs and piled it in the hallway, between his bedroom and the bathroom. I mean, I left him a little path. But, boy oh boy, was he mad. He hunted me down, fire in his eyes, and barked, “I told you to leave it.” He could’ve been talking to a dog. Then he asked me twenty questions and gave me his opinion about my living and working arrangement.

  I noticed something odd while he was ranting. A brown tag peeked out the front of his shirt at the collar. If it wasn’t Jarret, I would’ve thought it was Our Lady’s Brown Scapular. My scapular tends to hike up whenever I’m behaving badly. Any chance Jarret wears the Scapular? No, never mind. I’m sure that’s a silly question.

  I hope this email doesn’t make you worry. Maybe I shouldn’t send it. Really, I’m not worried about him being here. I’ve hardly seen him in the house, except for those two encounters.

  Don’t worry, my prince. I can handle the dark knight.

  Caitlyn

  I scrolled up, anxious for Roland’s reply. Then seeing how short his message was, I sighed. Oh well, he’d always been a man of few words.

  Caitlyn,

  What’s Jarret doing there? Is he going to stay? He won’t answer my calls. I thought he had field study. If he stays, are you going to? Papa’s not going to like this. Email or call. Just call. Roland