"I'm afraid," she whispered.
"Of who?"
She shook her head and swallowed. "Afraid if you know—"
"I'm not telling anyone. You have any secrets, they're safe with me. I'm not the narc type."
"It's not prosecution I'm worried about," she whispered. "It's what you'll think of me."
He chuckled. "Jilly, sweetie, whatever it is, it's not going to change how I feel about you. I'd think you know me well enough by now to realize that."
When she lifted her lashes, he was gazing into her eyes.
"Just tell me. You'll feel better; I know you will."
Her lower lip trembled as she slowly revealed to him what happened in the dreams and what she thought it all meant. She told him about her conversation with Jenkins, too, and how he thought she needed to confront her past and own up to the wrongs she had committed.
Ty turned the light on beside the bed, got her a bottle of water, and then climbed in beside her, still dressed in shorts and his wrinkled tee.
"Jilly, I don't know why you didn't tell me this crap sooner. I can't believe you've been holding this all inside."
She was still trembling, but she felt better. Stronger. "And you don't hate me?"
"Sweetie, I don't care what you did."
"But, Ty, I told you, I think he was my best friend's husband. You don't care if I was screwing my best friend's husband?"
"That's not you," he answered calmly.
"But it was me."
"Nope. This is Jillian Deere." He drew a finger between her breasts. "Jillian who works at a funky art shop on the boardwalk and likes vintage motorcycles. Jilly who can swim half a mile in the ocean and not get tired. Jilly who can kung fu my ass to the ground any time she wants. Jilly who's as sweet as Tupelo honey," he crooned.
She laughed, and a tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away. "You don't care that I was such an evil, conniving bitch that someone shot me?"
"Not really. But you don't know that that's what happened."
She looked up at him.
"You don't," he said, gesturing with one hand.
She slid over to lie in his lap between his legs with him resting against the old headboard and her resting against his chest.
"Look, you said the doctors told you that the mind as a weird thing. That you had to be careful about what you interpreted as memory when it first started coming back."
"I know it's real. The details never change."
"But what if this memory is all something you saw in a movie?" He kissed her bare shoulder. "What if it's something that happened to someone you knew?"
"Ty..."
"The fact is, this is just silly. Whoever you were, whatever you did, it doesn't matter anymore. You're not that person anymore. Why not just forget it? The board is wiped clean. Talk about second chances. You've sure got one here."
She pressed her lips together. Closed her eyes. "You think I should just forget it all? Stop trying to figure out who I am? Who I hurt?"
"You were the one with the gunshot wound, the one who ended up in the hospital in a coma."
When she didn't respond, he went on. "Look, you want to know what I think? I think you need to do what you want to do. Not what I think or Jenkins thinks, or anyone else. We can tell you what we would do, but we're not you. Our experiences haven't been yours so we have no way to judge what you should do."
Jillian didn't really need to think about it. She already knew her decision. "I need to know," she whispered. "Whatever wrongs I've committed, I feel like I need to face them."
As he exhaled, she felt his chest rise and then fall. "You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"You want my help?"
She turned in his arms to look up at him. "How are you going to help me?"
"I don't know. Go on the Internet and start looking at missing persons lists?"
"Angel said I don't fit any of the descriptions. I'm not there."
"So a few weeks have passed and the lists have changed. Besides, you know more now."
"Know more?" She turned on the bed, kneeling between his legs to face him. "Ty, my dreams are all in that same nameless bedroom. I think it might even be a hotel room. I don't know anything."
"Sure you do. You know you're a kung fu expert and you don't like vinegar on your fries."
She couldn't not laugh. "Talk about crazy."
He raised one shoulder. "It's a place to start."
She glanced away, then back him. "My doctor is having my records faxed to the hospital. I thought I should have them in case I don't go back to Virginia. I never really looked at them. You think there could be anything in there?"
"Might be."
She slipped her hands over his shoulders. "It's late. You should go home."
"I don't have to."
"I ran into your cousin Kristen on the boardwalk today. She said your mom is really angry with you about spending so much time here."
He gave a wave. "Kristen exaggerates."
"I don't think so," she whispered as she brushed her lips across his. "I mean it—go home, Ty."
"Now?"
"Yes, now," she breathed.
He met her lips as he drew both hands over the bare cheeks of her derriere, stroking her. "Right now?"
"Okay," she conceded, scooting forward to wrap her legs around his waist. "Maybe in a few minutes."
"Hey, I don't want to force my affections upon anyone who doesn't want them." Ty released her bare bottom and lifted both hands up in the air. "Let no one say—"
Jillian grabbed the collar of his T-shirt with both hands and pulled him toward her, covering his mouth with hers.
"That I, Ty Addison..." he mumbled against her lips.
She thrust her tongue into his mouth, drawing her hand down over his bare chest to caress one nipple. That shut him up.
Ty slid his hand over her shoulder and down her back, drawing his fingers slowly downward, sending little shivers of pleasure through her. He was such an attentive lover, especially for his age. He understood that a woman's body wasn't just about boobs.
Breathless, Jillian drew her mouth away from Ty's, across his cheek to nibble his earlobe.
"She's as sweet as Tupelo honey," he sang softly.
Already heavy-lidded with desire, Jillian gazed down at him as she grabbed the hem of his wrinkled T-shirt and pulled it over his head. "I'm going to have to get that CD." She tossed his shirt over her shoulder.
He nuzzled her neck, pressing light, teasing kisses across her collarbone. "Soon as you get a CD player."
She laughed, grabbing his shoulders and arching her back, still seated on his lap.
Ty accepted her invitation, greedily taking her nipple in his mouth. Jillian groaned, moving on his lap, grinding her hips against his.
"This would be better without the shorts," she murmured.
"She's an angel, of the first degree."
"Enough with the singing, Van." She slid off his lap and grabbed the hem of his shorts, tugging hard.
Grasping her shoulders, he stood up on the bed, letting her pull down his board shorts. She glanced up at him, to see him grinning. She couldn't resist a smile as she tossed the last vestige of clothing over her head. Then she grasped his erection in her palm and closed her eyes. "He's an angel," she sang.
Ty groaned and swayed on his feet, gripping her shoulders for balance as she closed her mouth over him. "Gotta get you a CD player," he muttered. "Van really does something for you."
A minute later, Ty tightened his grip on her shoulders and lowered himself to his knees in front of her. She rested one hand over his shoulder, using the other to guide him as she settled on his lap.
"Baby," he whispered in her ear.
Keeping her eyes open, gazing into his, she moved rhythmically. The best part about making love with Ty, besides the great orgasms, was the fact that time always seemed to stand still. For these few moments, Jillian had no past and no unknown future. It was just she and Ty and the sweet sensa
tions that rippled through her body.
As always, she tried to hold back, tried to make the moment last, but she was already too far gone. Jillian cried out, closing her eyes, resting her head on Ty's shoulder, as every muscle in her body seemed to contract and then release in pleasure.
"Jilly, I'm going to have to put a muzzle on you," Ty moaned. "You know I can't stand it when you're loud."
She laughed, lifting up, lowering herself over him, and he came with a loud groan. Still laughing, Jillian eased off his lap and flung herself backward. Ty fell on the pillow, wiping the perspiration on his forehead with his hand.
"So can I go home now?" he demanded indignantly.
She grabbed a pillow that had, somehow, wound up on the foot of the bed and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face.
* * *
The following day, Jillian locked the cottage up, taking care to be sure the windows were closed and locked and the doors were locked. She took the key with her. She had had no further indication that anyone had been in the cottage, and she hadn't even gotten the feeling for a couple of days that she was being watched. Any one of Ty's explanations became more logical with each passing day. She didn't dwell on the break-in because right now it seemed like the least of her problems.
Sitting on the front porch this morning alone, enjoying the solitude of the beach and her first cup of coffee, she had reaffirmed in her mind the need to try to figure out who she had been and what she had done. While she appreciated Ty's youthful idea of simply moving forward and being the best person she could be from this day forth, she knew that, as Jenkins had suggested, she had to face what she had done. It would be the only way she could forgive herself and truly move on.
She pulled into the lot of Albany Beach Community Hospital and parked under a shady tree. According to the weather reports she'd heard on the little radio Ty had given her, the Delaware beaches were expecting record highs today. The cottage would be stifling by midday, especially with the windows and doors locked tightly, so she intended to spend part of the day running errands for herself and Millie, the rest of it on the beach reading and swimming.
In the parking lot, several people waved to her, called out to say hello, or just nodded in greeting. It seemed that word had got around who she was, and she was now a bit of a celebrity in town.
Just inside the revolving doors of the outpatient wing, she nearly bumped right into Seth Watkins. The morning he was wearing a puke-green blazer that was close to hideous. "How's the place?" he asked, his smile way too toothy.
"Hot," she said and laughed.
He laughed, though she wasn't sure he got her reference to the lack of air conditioning.
"There's a possibility it might be available next month, too." He gestured with his hand as if drawing a pistol. "Interested?"
"Maybe." She kept walking. "Can I let you know?"
Again, the drawn finger pistol. "You bet," he called as he continued on his way.
At the front desk, Jillian spoke with a pleasant volunteer who directed her to records on the third floor. She hadn't realized the hospital was big enough to have three floors. She rode up in the elevator with a guy she thought she recognized from the diner. He was in his mid-twenties, a little scruffy, wearing a T-shirt that advertised a bar in town. His eyes were bloodshot, and he didn't look like he was quite awake.
"Somebody screwed up my blood test," he said conversationally. He was holding an unlit cigarette.
She looked at him but didn't say anything.
"Checked positive instead of negative on my hep test." He gestured with the cigarette. "Got to have a negative to work with food. I have to get it straightened out. Thinking about moving from the bar into the kitchen."
She nodded. Smiled. "Just picking up some records," she said, not really wanting to get into a conversation with him, but not wanting to seem impolite, either. The guy didn't really scare her, but she was glad when the elevator stopped and the doors opened. He stepped back to let her pass first.
Jillian stopped at the water fountain outside the elevator bay, giving the hepatitis guy a chance to pass her and go into the records office first. Wiping water from her mouth, she walked slowly down the corridor. There was a bay of windows to her left, and behind the glass was a large rectangular room filled with wheelchairs, exercise equipment, low beds, and other interesting paraphernalia. There were only two people inside—a man in his mid-thirties in a white coat and an elderly man seated in a wheelchair. The man in the white coat was lifting the older man's leg, bending it.
The strangest feeling passed over Jillian as she halted and watched in fascination as the therapist worked the old man's leg. The elderly gentleman was getting physical therapy for his recent knee surgery. He had had his knee joint replaced with an artificial one. The latest implants were made of titanium and would last the gentleman the rest of his life. Recovery time would be faster, too. With the proper care and regular physical therapy, he'd be as good as new. Better, within a year.
How could she have known all that?
Jillian brushed her fingertip against the words painted in gold on the glass, realizing she was on the brink of a major revelation.
Physical therapy.
She knew this room. She recognized the equipment. She knew what every piece was for and for the recuperation of what injuries. She had worn a white coat just like the one the physical therapist was wearing now.
She pressed her fingertips to her lips, dizzy with excitement. It was if she had opened a door in her mind and all the information was tumbling out. Physiology. Diagnoses. She even vaguely recalled a couple of patients—not their names, just their faces. Their injuries.
Tears filled Jillian's eyes as she started back down the hall toward the records office. She had been a physical therapist! That meant that eventually she could get a decent job and not be forced to rely on the good will of people like Angel. She might even eventually be in the position to help someone else who had suffered her same fate.
She wiped at the first tears of joy she experienced since she'd woken from her coma. She was foolish enough to think this would solve all of her problems. She knew the process to begin working again would be complicated. If she never found out who she was, she wouldn't be able to prove she'd been licensed, but surely there were exams that could be taken? Surely there was some way she could prove she was an experienced physical therapist. A damned good one, she thought to herself with a smile.
She pushed open glass doors to the records office. The scruffy guy was gone.
"May I help you?" A woman peered from behind half glasses.
Jillian stepped up to the desk with a smile, feeling like she was somehow headed in the right direction.
Chapter 9
Jillian glanced at her watch as she dropped a bag of items that she had picked up for Millie into her trunk. It was noon; Ty had his lunch break from twelve-thirty to one. If she hurried, she could catch him as he was climbing off his lifeguard stand. The guards switched stands weekly, so he was blocks from the cottage this week. But if she took him lunch, she knew they could sit out of the sun under one of the umbrellas at the rental stand nearby and eat together.
It was Ty's parents' anniversary, and he, his cousin Kristen, and Ty's sister, who was flying in from Texas, would be taking them out to dinner, so Jillian wouldn't see him tonight. She didn't think she could wait until tomorrow to tell him what she had discovered while picking her medical records up at the hospital.
She pulled out of the strip mall parking lot and zipped down the street. Ty wasn't into fast food, but the diner was only two blocks away. It was two-for-one burger day. She'd eat half a burger, he'd eat one and a half, and they'd share a large boardwalk fries. Jillian was feeling so good about herself that she thought she just might even give the vinegar a try.
Inside the diner, Ralph took her order. He wanted to linger at the lunch counter, stare at her breasts and chat with her, but a kid in the back unknowingly rescued her when he a
nnounced that there was a delivery to be checked in. While Jillian waited for her burgers and fries, she sat at the lunch counter and sipped her Coke in a to-go cup.
When she glanced around, she noted several people she recognized, and that felt good. She no longer felt so alone in the world. The mayor, in a green and yellow palm tree shirt, was at the register picking up take-out. He nodded pleasantly. A middle-aged couple who had bought one of Jenkins' paintings the day before was there. They waved. A guy in his early thirties who had been hitting on her in line on the boardwalk for ice cream yesterday was there, too—with his toddler and a woman who appeared to be his wife. He did not wave.
There was also a table of hospital employees, including the woman who had taken Jillian's blood and one of the men she'd met at Ty's parents' party. They were laughing, having a good time. In the very back, Jillian spotted the guy from the head shop down the boardwalk from Millie's store; he was with the police chief's daughter again. They were checking out their bill, each adding crumpled dollars to a pile on the table.
"'Afternoon."
Jillian looked over to see one of Albany Beach's policemen sliding onto the stool beside her. He had been two seats down, waiting for take-out, too, apparently, with the cop on the end who was reading a paper.
"Hi." She half smiled. It was Ryan McCormick, the one who had once dated Ty's sister. She tried not to think about what Ty had caught McCormick and his sister doing on his parents' couch.
"You waiting on lunch?" He was so close to her that the pressed long sleeve of his khaki uniform shirt brushed her bare arm.
"Um, yes." She avoided eye contact. "I'm grabbing lunch to have with a friend."
To her surprise, he frowned, the corner of his mouth turning down in almost a sneer. "Ty Addison? He's a kid." He cut his eyes at her. He gave her the impression he thought he was good-looking and assumed she thought the same. "What you need is a night with a man. A man who can show you a thing or two in the sack."
She glanced away, unable to believe that an on-duty police officer had just said such a thing to her. Ty said she was naïve in the ways of the world, especially when it came to men and women. She guessed he was right.
She'll Never Know Page 15
