“Exactly why I didn’t want to call,” I whispered. Jarret’s jealousy outweighed every consideration. I needed to get out and forget everything. Kind of ironic considering that my forgetting everything was the problem.
Roland sighed hard. “She wanted me to ask you.” He gave me a glance. I responded with a guilty smile. “She’s probably afraid you’ll get mad at her. She doesn’t want you mad at her... I don’t know... I don’t know... All right. We’ll try to catch an early one... Okay. Thanks.”
He stuffed his cell phone into the holder on his belt. “Okay, it’s a date.”
Elated and tempted to clap my hands, I grinned over my shoulder and shoved the key into the ignition. “You told him it wasn’t a date.”
“What? I didn’t mean— It’s not a date. It’s a go.”
~ ~ ~
After a relaxing dinner at a barbecue joint, and a good hand- and face-washing to remove excess sauce, we found a nearby movie theater and a movie that had potential. Roland was less selective than I was. He didn’t want to see a romance. I didn’t want anything too violent or with constant swearing or with nudity or... We settled for a remake of Sherlock Holmes.
I gazed at the wide movie screen, paying little attention to the preview of yet another unrealistic, plot-less, violent movie with scene after scene of a bald man running, jumping, shooting, and shouting. My mind drifted elsewhere.
“Roland, I need to tell you something.”
One hand in the tub of popcorn, he stared at the screen.
“And I don’t want you to tell Jarret.”
That got his attention. He dropped his handful of popcorn back into the bucket. “What?”
I took a deep breath and leaned closer. The volume in the theater boomed. The employee in charge of it must’ve thought we were all hard of hearing, or maybe he was hard of hearing, or maybe he wanted us all to become hard of hearing. Maybe he had a second job selling that medicine I’d seen advertised for incessant ringing in your ears.
“What?” Roland repeated.
“Sean told me something disturbing the other day.”
“Sean? What?” Roland whispered as if we were in a library. I could feel him say “what” more than hear him.
“Promise you won’t tell Jarret?”
“I didn’t hear what you said.”
“I didn’t say it yet. You have to promise.”
“Okay. You know me.”
I nodded. In my present condition, he was the only person I did know. Sometimes I didn’t even know myself.
“Sean said we kissed.” Unfortunately, I spoke as a train blew by on the big screen and a man with a semi-automatic shot at it.
“Sean said we missed what?” He spoke louder this time.
“No. Not missed. Kissed.”
“What?”
“Kissed! We kissed!” Typical of my luck, I shouted as the preview ended, my voice carrying to the far ends of the silent theater.
“Shhh.” Roland glanced nervously around us. “Who kissed?”
“Sean kissed me,” I whispered, shrinking down in my seat and burning with embarrassment. A group of girls in front of us turned to look at me. If there was going to be gossip, they wanted it. Who cared that they didn’t know me from Nancy Drew.
“What? When?”
“Oh, a couple weeks ago, I guess.” With my mouth to his ear, I quickly rehashed the story while the notice to silence your cell phone showed for an unreasonably long time on the screen. “I want you to find out if Jarret knows but without telling him.”
He huffed and his head lolled back. “And how am I going to do that?”
“I don’t know. Hint around. Ask him what he thinks about Sean. Maybe he’ll say something negative and you can draw it out of him. If he knows. But don’t tell him if he doesn’t.” No point in adding more tension between us.
“Wow.” Roland looked me in the eye, mouth hanging open. “I can’t believe you’d keep that from him.”
His words cut through my soul, convicting me. At the same moment, the movie began, so I had an excuse to face forward and stop talking. I was keeping things from my husband. Was this something you kept from your spouse? What if a girl at his workplace had kissed him? Would I expect him to tell me? What type of person had I become? Of course, maybe I hadn’t kept it from him before.
I should talk to him about it, not Roland. And not tonight. In the morning, when we’d both had a good night’s rest.
CHAPTER 25
THE FRONT DOOR slammed, jarring me from sleep. For a moment, I gazed at the sliver of night sky visible between the bedroom curtains, then I closed my heavy eyelids.
“Ahhh, there’s my dear brother, come clear across the country to help out, workin’ hard at it too, spendin’ all day and night with my wife.”
Hearing the sly tone of Jarret’s voice through the closed bedroom door, a warning flashed inside and my eyes popped open.
“So, you’re sleepin’ on the loveseat? That’s good. Dinner, a movie... I’z worried you might take your date to my bedroom.” He spoke slowly, slurring every few words.
“What time is it?” Roland said through a yawn.
“Time for you to go, little brother.”
Eyes wide and ears straining to catch every word, I bolted upright.
“What? It’s after two in the morning.” Roland sounded more awake now. “Where’ve you been? Have you been drinking?”
“You shouldn’ta come here. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“What’s your problem, Jarret?”
I grabbed my robe from the bottom of the bed and sprinted to the bedroom door. Hand on the doorknob, barely breathing, I resisted the impulse to yank open the door, deciding instead to eavesdrop. Maybe they’d sort it out quickly and go to sleep.
“My problem? My wife’s in love with my little brother, don’t want nothin’ to do with me, can’t even bring herself to kiss me.”
I winced, recalling how I’d pulled out of his arms and fled. I should’ve kissed him. What kind of wife was I? One who didn’t even know her own husband!
“On top of that, I’m gonna lose my job ’cuz I ain’t going to work tomorrow or the next day, or the next day, or the next day...” His voice trailed off to a low mumble.
“Why don’t you sleep this off?” Roland said. “Things aren’t as bad as they seem right now. Let’s talk in the morning.”
The couch or loveseat squeaked, Roland getting up or Jarret sitting down. Then the sound of car keys plunking onto the coffee table.
“What’re we gonna talk about? How you plan to get my wife to remember that she really loves me? Or why you left your Chinese girlfriend, dropped everything for your ex? How’s she feel about this?”
“That’s a load of bullshit!”
I blinked. Roland said “bullshit”?
“Bullshit? No, I’ll tell you what’s a load o’ bullshit. My brother’s help is pushing my wife farther away from me.” Emotion flooded out with every word. “I know I never deserved her. And you did. But you had your chance. You didn’t want her but I do. I want her and I want my baby. Don’t...” His voice cracked and he continued in a desperate, pleading tone. “Don’t you take her from me now.”
Heart thumping and all my senses on high alert, I reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly. I should try to calm Jarret, keep him from doing something he’d regret. In a way, this was my fault. It wouldn’t have killed me to kiss him. It might’ve brought a memory back. And maybe I shouldn’t have gone to the movies with Roland. I should’ve respected Jarret’s feelings, even as insecure and unfair as they were. Even though I couldn’t remember, I was his wife.
“Jarret, I’m not—”
Something crashed.
My heart leaped to my throat. I cracked open the door. Roland lay sprawled out on the clean coffee table, the clutter that was on the coffee table having been cleared—by his body—to the floor. Jarret stood over him, shaking out his hand. Roland rolled over and dropped off the cof
fee table. As he righted himself, he stumbled away from Jarret, but Jarret grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him back.
A jolt of anger shot through me. This was the Jarret I remembered. Angry. Violent. How could I have married him?
Roland spun to face him and lunged. He flung his arms around Jarret in a great bear hug and forced him backwards.
Shocked speechless, I gasped. Roland fought back?
They landed together on the floor at the end of the loveseat. The coffee table moved. A pillow flew. Jarret wrestled his way to the top. Someone grunted. A second later Roland rolled to the top and Jarret went down. The coffee table slid into the couch.
In the next instant, Roland clambered to his feet and retreated behind the loveseat. “What are we fighting about?”
Jarret pulled himself up using the couch and the coffee table. His ponytail had come down and his hair fell in long dark curls that hid his face. As he lunged for Roland, I saw something in my mind’s eye, everything else fading away.
I had just stepped out of my car. As I slammed the door, I caught in the side mirror the glimpse of a man. He hurried toward me. Dark hair hung in his face. Black sunglasses hid his eyes. His face was all white where there should’ve been a nose and mouth. Did he wear a bandana over his mouth? Sensing danger, I bolted into the woods. Footsteps pounded behind me...
Panic-stricken, I shrieked.
Jarret spun to face me, eyes wide with shock and worry.
~ ~ ~
“Maybe Jarret’s right. It’s better that I go.” Roland stooped over his suitcase, which lay on the floor where Jarret had tossed it—at the end of the skewed coffee table. The zipper wouldn’t budge. Roland had collected and shoved into the suitcase all his toiletries from the half-bath and a plastic grocery bag of dirty clothes that I wished I’d offered to wash. I’d been so self-involved lately.
I shook my head and scooted to the edge of the couch. “I don’t want you to go.” Emotion escaped with my words. Was he really going to leave me alone with Jarret? I shot Jarret an angry glare. “I don’t want him to go!” Yes, having Roland here made things harder on Jarret, but I didn’t know this Jarret—he was a stranger to me.
Jarret paced from the kitchen to the weight-room door, holding his forehead, his long curls draping over his hand.
“Don’t worry, I’m not flying home, yet,” Roland whispered. The suitcase zipper finally moved but got stuck halfway around. “I’m still going to help you. I’ll just stay at a hotel. What’s near here?”
“What’s the name of your hotel?” I shouted to Jarret with a smarmy attitude. “Do you have a frequent-customer discount?”
We exchanged disgusted glances.
“Never mind. I’ll find someplace.” The zipper unhitched and sailed around the suitcase. Roland began to straighten, and I caught sight of the pink fist print on his jaw.
I slid off the couch and grabbed his arms, keeping him from standing. “Wait,” I whispered, glancing to see if Jarret paid attention.
He didn’t. He had extended the length of his pace, walking now to the patio door. His hand went up to his forehead, down to his chest and to each shoulder. Did he just cross himself?
I turned back to Roland. How should I word it to gain his support and not evoke his brotherly-protection impulse? “I was thinking and, um, I want to go back home. To my family.”
Trouble flickered in his gray eyes. My words were like pebbles disturbing calm waters.
“I’m not giving up on my marriage.” I rushed my words, anxious to reassure him. “But I need to take things slow. What if my memory never returns? I can’t just throw myself into this relationship without the feelings I should have as his wife.”
“Marriage isn’t only about feelings, is it?” He pinned me with a hard stare.
I sucked in a breath. He was right. But how could I live as his wife when I didn’t remember falling in love? I remembered nothing but his bad qualities. I didn’t even know how to talk with him or deal with his temper—which I always seemed to make worse.
Roland watched Jarret pacing and rubbing his face. Was he building up for an angry outburst or a display of remorse? I searched Roland’s eyes for the answer. He would know. But his eyes showed only sympathy... for him, for me.
He leaned to whisper. “Give it a few more days. If I can’t help you regain your memory, and you still want out of here, we’ll go back together. But you’ll have to give me time to help Jarret—”
“Are you still here?” Jarret stood in the empty dining room, his arms hanging at his sides like a gunslinger ready for a showdown.
Peeling my hands from his arms, Roland straightened. “I need to call a cab.” He reached for the cell phone on his belt.
Jarret shook his head and approached, shoving a hand into his front pocket. “You can take my truck. I won’t need it.” He held his keys out to Roland.
Roland didn’t take them. “Why won’t you need your truck?”
Jarret tilted his chin toward me. “I’ll just use her car.” Grabbing Roland’s hand, he slapped the keys into them and mumbled, “Take it. Go,” both sounding and looking defeated.
Roland nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll talk.”
Head down, Jarret nodded. “Okay, yeah, sounds good.”
“And... you should probably get some sleep now.” Roland gave me a long look before leaving.
The front door clicked shut and my heart sank. Jarret leaned back against the door and dropped his head forward. With his hair draped over his face, I couldn’t erase from my mind the image of the man who had chased me. He lifted his head and looked at me. “I’m sorry. I know you must hate me.”
“Why would I hate you?” I said, my voice harsh. “Because you throw out the one person who makes me feel safe right now? Or because you keep me here like a prisoner?” Frustration made me want to go on, but a twinge of guilt put my anger in check and I whispered, “Of course, I don’t hate you, Jarret. I don’t hate anyone. But are you really so jealous and insecure?”
He shook his head but refused to look at me. A sulky child. What could he say? It was all true. Jealousy must’ve burned inside him and kept him from seeing straight. Maybe he’d been jealous Friday. Maybe he had seen my and Sean’s cars parked outside our workplace after everyone else had gone. Maybe he had followed me to the park.
Gaining a burst of courage, I stepped toward him. “Where was my car found?”
His gaze lifted to meet mine.
I took another step. “It was a park I typically go to, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you want me to go there with Roland?” Something told me I shouldn’t have asked, especially not now that we were alone.
He stomped to me and stared down through glassy eyes. “You can go to the park. You can go with me.”
I shuddered and stepped back.
CHAPTER 26
A JUMBLE OF thoughts kept me from sleeping. Rubbing my arms, I wandered around the dark bedroom. Jarret’s jealousy knew no bounds. And what a temper! Why did he have to send Roland away? I needed Roland’s help. I felt comfortable with him around, safe. And like Jarret had said earlier, Jarret and I didn’t even know each other. He was a stranger. Or worse, he was the manipulative, selfish, womanizing bully I knew in high school.
The image of the dark-haired man in the sunglasses moved to the forefront of my mind. I remembered the moment, but only that moment, with clarity. Panic had raced through every nerve, but I knew I had to act. Should I jump back into my car, fight him head on, or flee? I remembered making a snap decision. I ran.
What led up to it? What happened next? Was it a memory from last Friday? From the night I’d bumped my head and gotten amnesia? It had to be. But was the man Jarret? Mike had told me memories might come back disjointed, not reflecting reality. But it seemed like Jarret was after me, and I’d desperately wanted to get away.
Maybe Sean was wrong about someone being after my camera. And maybe he was right about Jarret, my jealous husband, following me to the park. Maybe
something so terrible happened that Jarret had even blocked it out. If so, my camera would’ve gotten lost incidentally and I should be able to find it at the park. I just needed to find out which park and sneak away or convince Jarret to let me go. He said I could go to the park with him. Should I take him up on it?
I shuffled toward the dresser. The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock showed 4:33 a.m. As drunk as Jarret seemed, he had to be sound asleep. I cracked the bedroom door.
Dressed in the same khaki pants and tan work shirt he wore yesterday, he lay on his back on the couch, one hand on his chest and one bare foot on the couch, the other limbs dangling to the floor. Moonlight streamed in through the front window and reflected on something, the only thing on the coffee table.
I squinted. Keys? Yes, my keys!
Before thinking it through, I yanked open the bedroom door and—careful to avoid the mess of papers, plastic bottles, and broken glass on the floor—tiptoed to the coffee table.
With closed eyes, a relaxed mouth, and dark curls surrounding a face free of the wrinkles of worry and agitation, Jarret looked as peaceful as a sleeping lion. One I would not want to wake.
Holding my breath, I reached for the keys. They scraped the table then clanked together as I lifted them. Keys held aloft, I froze. Now was not the time to do anything clumsy. I tiptoed backwards. My foot bumped a plastic bottle. Careful! With more caution, I picked my way back to the bedroom and eased the door shut.
I changed out of my nightgown and into one of my old favorites: a faded brown denim skirt and a chocolate t-shirt. Then I put on white crew socks and white tennis shoes, and I grabbed my purse and a denim jacket. I stuffed the car keys into the jacket pocket, lugged one of the antique chairs to the window, and stepped up.
The first time I’d attempted to escape through the window, Jarret had been sitting on the deck. He wouldn’t even hear me this time. He’d sleep right through it. By the time he awoke in the morning, I’d be hours away. How far could I get on his eighty dollars? The credit cards would be useless. He’d said he canceled them because he thought my purse had been stolen. Was that the real reason? It would make it difficult for me to travel home without them. Oh well. I’d get as far as I could and figure the rest out from there.
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