Pleased to Meet Me

by J. L. Salter

  Her eyes filled. “What if it doesn’t? What am I going to do?”

  He’d never been terribly good at comforting people, particularly emotional females, so he just watched and stood ready to react if she keeled over.

  “I’m sure I’ve forgotten things before, like names, places, and dates,” she sniffled, “but I’ve never forgotten me!”

  Not much Cody could do but shrug. “Maybe some food will help. I had a grandma who cured nearly anything with a good meal.”

  Even as she nodded her head slowly, her stomach grumbled loud enough for him to hear.

  “How about you keep your seat and try to collect yourself while I make some breakfast.”

  “Sounds okay.” As she sniffled loudly, she also practically drooled. “Sounds good, in fact.”

  He took a few steps toward his modest pantry. “What do you normally eat in the mornings?”

  She closed her eyes as she strained for an inkling. “No idea. But my stomach tells me I don’t usually miss it.”

  “That could be last night’s supper your stomach is missing.”

  “Maybe so. But let’s feed it anyhow.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of each hand. “What do you typically eat?”

  “Bacon, eggs...potatoes, if I have them.” He smiled. “Which I do, today—one left over from last night.”

  “Would you like me to help?” Sounded pretty tentative.

  He thought it over. “Do you think you’d remember how to cook?”

  After her face went blank, her eyes suddenly clouded again. “I think my hands might know what to do, but my brain’s not totally connected...if that makes sense.”

  He nodded. “Well, we don’t want your hands around my sharp knives if your brain is AWOL. Just rest a bit and let me get things rolling.” He pulled a slab of bacon from his small refrigerator that operated on an allocation of stored power from a specially installed windmill and an array of solar panels on the south-facing slope of his roof. After carving off five thick slices, he positioned them in a cast iron skillet and stoked up the fire in the wood stove. “Now let’s start from the beginning. I’m Cody Wilder. Due West High is my cabin and ten acres on the west slope of a mountain the locals call Hardscrabble.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wilder.” She extended her hand.

  After wiping his own greasy fingers on his faded jeans, he took her cool, slender hand and held it firmly without too much pressure. “Let’s stick with Cody.”

  “Very well, Cody it is.” She withdrew her hand. “Wish I had a name to give you…”

  He waited to see if she’d add anything. “Are you familiar with Johnson County in east Tennessee?”

  “No.”

  “We’re in the foothills of the Appalachians in the Blue Ridge Mountains range. Some people say this area is part of the Cherokee National Forest, but we call it the Unaka Mountains.”

  “Appalachians?” She scrunched up her face as part of that description registered. “Uh, those sound familiar. Didn’t Boone cross those a few hundred years ago?”

  “Yeah, at the Cumberland Gap. But that’s way west of here, and just across the border into Kentucky.”

  Her eyes glazed over.

  “So you remember part of Daniel Boone’s story.” He took a long fork and tended the sizzling bacon. “Now where are you from?”

  She strained again, her pretty face showing the pain of that fruitless effort. “All I know for sure is I’m not from around here.”

  “As I figured.” He nodded. “But how can you be certain?”

  “Not sure, but I think I know it down in my gut.”

  Good start. “What else do you know in your gut?”

  “That I’m hungry, confused.” She looked down at her lap. “Wish I had more clothes on.”

  His face warmed a bit. “Sorry, I totally forgot about that. You said you were cold and I’ve just let you shiver. We aren’t used to having company, me and Beethoven.”

  On hearing his name, the rooster crowed, “Er er er errhhh.”

  “I thought roosters were only supposed to crow at dawn. Doesn’t he know what time it is?”

  Cody chuckled. “Most roosters crow just about all day, but he’s especially fond of hearing his own name.”

  The disoriented woman at the table stared in disbelief.

  Cody gazed toward his small, open closet in the northeast corner. “None of my stuff will actually fit you, but it would cover you and keep you warmer. Or is your clothing dry yet?”

  “Not yet. I checked the blouse and jeans a minute ago while you were outside. By the way, I couldn’t find my shoes or my, uh…” She pointed vaguely to her unconfined breasts as she scanned the cabin’s interior.

  “Oh, sorry. Shoes on the floor to the left of the sink.” He pointed to the right of the stove. “As for the other thing, I didn’t think its elastic material would respond well to direct stove heat, so I hung it on a peg by the door.”

  She scurried over and reclaimed the sports bra, hiding it behind her as she sidled toward the bed. After feeling it for dampness she tucked it beneath the pillow she’d slept on. When Beethoven waddled over to check what she’d just hidden, she shooed the rooster away and returned to the table area. “Do you have any fleece, Cody?”

  He shook his head.

  “Exercise pants?”

  When he exhaled loudly, some of the whiskers near his mouth fluttered.

  “Pajamas?”

  “Nothing like that. But I have some old cargo shorts that got a little tight for me, though they’d still be way too big for you.”

  “I’ll take them. Maybe I can borrow a belt or something.”

  After flipping the bacon pieces again, he retrieved the shorts from his dresser—adjacent to the open closet—and handed them over.

  She placed them against her trim lower body and tried to lean forward to see how they matched up.

  The large open neck of the flannel shirt drooped down so much that Cody could see her breasts, still lightly streaked with dried mud. He chivalrously turned away.

  She quickly realized what had happened and clutched the shirt under her chin as she tried again to peer down at the shorts against her frame. Too big by nearly double.

  “None of my belts would fit you without cutting extra holes and frankly, I don’t want to ruin my belts. But I’ve got an old set of sprung out suspenders that might help. They’re hanging in that closet with my other belts.” He nodded toward the doorless enclosure beyond the bed. As she padded in that direction he again noticed that her well-shaped legs, now freshly cleaned of mud, had an even, light tan. So either she went to salons or frequently did something outdoors which somehow didn’t tan her arms. Cody speared the bacon slabs and placed them on a plate from the drain board. Then he went to the small fridge for some eggs. “Fried or scrambled?”

  “Scrambled.” She clearly surprised herself by responding. “I remembered that, Cody.”

  “Well done. Anything else?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Not at the moment.” She faced away and pulled on the oversized cargo shorts, then fiddled with the suspenders.

  “Your fingers don’t remember how to work the clasps?”

  “My gut tells me I’ve never even touched suspenders before.”

  “Okay. Hang on.” He pulled the skillet off the flame and stepped around the bed toward her.

  “Oh, by the way, I’m sorry I hogged your bed last night. Where did you sleep?”

  “I bunked on the loveseat. Wasn’t too bad, but I hope to get back to my own bed tonight.” He suddenly realized the possible interpretations and cleared his throat.

  Apparently it went over her head. “So, Cody, we’ll be able to head down the mountain after we eat?”

  “Like I said before, only if the weather breaks. Plus, we’ll have to see if the road is washed out. Part of Hardscrabble is pretty steep and if you slip off the road, you don’t just roll into a shallow ditch, you tumble down the mountainside. Too dangerous. When the
sun comes out again, I’ll go check on the road.”

  She was obviously disappointed but didn’t pout. “Okay. Now how do these doohickeys operate?” She handed them back to him.

  “First, you’ll need to tuck in those shirttails or this won’t work.”

  She faced away and quickly made that adjustment...with plenty of room to spare around her trim waist and shapely hips. “Okay?”

  “Fine.” He flipped the suspenders over her head, set them atop her shoulders, and discreetly arrayed each front strap with care not to touch her bosom. Then he fastened the rear X straps on the back waistband of the shorts. “Just reach down with each clasp and pinch it onto the waistband in front.”

  “How’s this?”

  “That’s good. Let me adjust the tension in back.” He tugged a bit to get it balanced. “Now settle the waistband where it feels right and adjust the front straps to hold it there.”

  She positioned the shorts but stopped after examining the clips again. “I can’t figure out how these adjust.”

  “It’s a little slide-pressure buckle thing.” He pointed. “Oh, never mind. But if I touch anything I’m not supposed to, it’s not my fault.” He did. Both of them. And it brought back memories he’d forgotten that he’d forgotten. Cody cleared his throat. “How’s that?”

  Her face was flushed. “Uh, thanks, Cody. Guess I’d better learn how they work for next time.”

  Chapter Four

  Yeah, you’d better. Cody wiped his brow with a sleeve. “Now, while I get these eggs working, have a seat again and tell me everything you remember about yesterday.”

  “Is the coffee still hot?”

  “Sure. It stays hot on that burner. Want another jolt?”

  “Yes. I have the feeling I need lots of morning coffee before my brain starts working properly.” She retrieved her mug from the dish rack and, using a hot pad, poured for herself. The way her arm was shaking, it seemed she might drop the heavy kettle. “I think the one I use at home must have buttons to push. No lifting.”

  “So you remembered something else. Good. Now about yesterday…”

  She doctored her coffee and took a tentative sip. “I remember woods, I remember walking. It was getting dark and suddenly started to rain and I knew we ought to be heading back. Then everything went black.”

  “We. Who were you with?” He cracked the first of four eggs into a bowl.

  She shook her head slowly. “Don’t know.”

  “How many in your party?” Another egg.

  Hesitation. “Not sure.”

  He smacked the third egg.

  “My gut tells me I wouldn’t have come up here alone.”

  Cody broke the fourth egg and began beating them.

  She leaned his direction and partly rose from her chair. “I don’t believe you have to be so harsh with them.”

  “What?”

  She pointed. “You’re beating them to death, Cody. Just light whisking should do it.”

  “So you’ve recalled something else useful. Is that cooking advice from your gut, too?”

  When the lovely mystery woman smiled, very fine lines formed at the outside edges of her eyes. “It came to me like something instinctive. Is that the same as gut recognition?”

  “Not sure. I’m not a psychologist either.” He slid the skillet back to the most active burner and poured in the eggs with a loud sizzle. Beethoven flapped his wings and hurried over to check on the sound.

  “Okay if I sample the bacon? My gut also says I’m really starving.”

  “Sure. Help yourself.”

  She eagerly grabbed a piece and took a bite. Then she appeared surprised by something and seemed to gnaw a bit.

  “Problem?” He pointed with his wooden spoon.

  “Quite a difference from the store slices.”

  “Yeah. Way thicker. Probably less fat, too.”

  “Plus a lot more seasoning.”

  “Well, that’s where you might be surprised. This is cured bacon, but it doesn’t have any preservatives. Your taste buds probably never had fresh country bacon before.”

  “Possibly not. Can’t remember.” She gnawed a bit more. “It’s very good, Cody. Just takes a bit more effort to eat it.”

  “Another memory.” He grinned as he stirred the eggs. “Okay, back to the quiz. You have no identity and don’t recall your town or city, but how about an address?”

  “No idea.”

  “All right, now don’t stop to think about your answers. Just respond as quickly as possible. Can you picture anything—any detail, any image—about your...home?”

  “Fireplace.” She smiled broadly.

  “That’s a start.” He stirred briskly. “Tell me about it.”

  “Large, wide, stone...not brick. Something above it.”

  “Okay, so you have lots of memories. It’s just they’re incomplete and still jumbled up.” He made some adjustments in the skillet and then nodded toward the dish rack.

  She rose, grabbed two plates, laid them on the small table, and then rifled through the drawer for forks.

  “I’d wanted a small fireplace in this cabin, but it was already cold weather when I moved in and I didn’t want to mess with the primary structure. By the time spring rolled around, I’d pretty much decided to build a slightly larger cabin incorporating more eco-features in its construction. Plus, I’d gotten used to the iron stove by then.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “I also bought a skylight to help with the lighting.”

  She scanned the ceiling of his 24 X 26 cabin. “Where is it now?”

  “Stored in the barn still. Decided to save it for the new place. Plus, I realized I’d need somebody’s help to install it.”

  “Can’t find anybody to ask...or can’t ask for anybody’s help?”

  A very perceptive observation. “Little of both, actually.”

  “Is that why you’re up here all alone?”

  He’d have to think about that.

  Miss Mystery scanned the rustic interior. “Are you a prepper?”

  “Give me your definition and I’ll tell you.” He made a perfunctory final scramble of the eggs.

  “Somebody who stockpiles stuff,” she replied, “in case the grid goes down.”

  “Another remembered factoid.” Cody smiled and waved his hand around his 624-square-foot cabin. “Lady, I’m obviously not stockpiling anything except maybe firewood. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m already off the grid.”

  “Huh?” The announcement seemed to frighten her as though it meant teetering dangerously into some darkened abyss. “Totally off?”

  “In the sense of no power lines.” He pointed upward. “Mine’s a typical solar photovoltaic system that delivers around 2,000 watts of solar, which charges a battery bank, which then stores power overnight, and then delivers it through inverters to a few 120 volt outlets. Standard alternating current at that point.”

  “That’s it?” She had the expression of someone looking for a hidden camera.

  “Well, among other resources, I also have wood for fuel, and propane when I need it.” He scraped about forty percent of the skillet’s eggs onto her plate.

  “Off the grid.” The concept clearly staggered her. “How come?”

  “An equally pertinent question might be, why not?”

  She pursed her lips. “Okay. I get it, Cody. You’ve been asked that before. But seriously, you prefer to live off the grid?”

  “It takes some adjustment, but after you work out the kinks, it feels a lot more normal.”

  “Don’t you miss flipping switches, having instant access to satellite TV and Internet?”

  “At first, it felt, uh, unusual.” He took a bite of his eggs and then sprinkled a touch of rough-grained salt. “But I likened it to getting off a strong prescription that your body really no longer needs.”

  “Or maybe trying to quit smoking.” She started on her own plate.

  “Do you smoke?”

  “I don’t know.” She examined her
fingers. “No nicotine stains.”

  “You’ve got quite a lot of intact cultural memory.” He jabbed the air with his fork. “Did you realize that?”

  “Well, I’m new to this fractured memory business, but I think I’m catching on. Apparently most of what I’ve forgotten is essentially personal and very recent.”

  He nodded and ate a bit more before continuing. “Okay, let’s resume the quiz session. We’ll assume you’re not from around here, so you were evidently visiting or traveling.”

  She squinted. “Was there a clue in anything I was wearing?” She looked toward the drying clothes as though she could assess the fabrics and weaves from that distance.

  “I’m no expert on female clothing labels, but your stuff looked expensive to me.”

  No reaction from Madame X.

  “Are you employed?”

  “Not sure,” she said softly. “How would I know?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you accustomed to having people tell you what to do?”

  She had to think. “Don’t believe so.”

  “Then you’re probably not employed anywhere.”

  “Maybe I work at home...somehow.”

  Cody took another few bites as he considered things. “Judging from your manicure,” he said, pointing to her hands, “and what I saw of your pedicure, I’d say no. Somebody works for you.”

  She frowned. “Look, I appreciate you trying to help jog my memory, Cody, but some of this feels like reverse discrimination, like you’re peeved that I have nice clothes and take care of my nails.”

  “Not peeved.” He shook his head. “Just curious. You’re way out of place on Hardscrabble’s mountainside. I’m wondering what on earth you were doing up here to begin with, not to mention what happened to you last night.”

  She was silent for several moments. “And how I managed to reach your cabin.”

  “Right. A lot of mystery staggered through that door with you last night, and anything you can remember might help us solve it.”

  “Okay. I understand. Sorry.” She tapped his hand with a beautifully manicured nail. “I guess that hit a nerve somehow. Maybe I’m one of those women who’s touchy about certain things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Being grilled by mountain men I’ve never met. Wait!” She nearly dropped her fork. “I just remembered something else.”