by JoAnn Durgin
She shook her head. “Friends of mine? In Houston, Texas?” Her blank look told him all he needed to know.
“Sam and Lexa Lewis. Sam’s a director for TeamWork Missions. His wife, Lexa, helps him with summer work camps, and you’ve helped out with at least two of their summer work programs in San Antonio in the last few years, and you’ve worked some other New England missions, too. Three of the girls from TeamWork were in our wedding as your bridesmaids. Remember, I showed you the photos and told you about them—Winnie, Amy and Rebekah. You pointed to Winnie and said her name.”
Natalie’s eyes widened and she nodded, but didn’t speak.
“Sam and Lexa have another work camp starting in two weeks, and they’ve invited us to come along. I think we should go, sweetheart. Maybe it’ll help you recover some memories by being around people who love you, and being involved with a ministry you’re so passionate about.”
Her eyes softened when he called her sweetheart, another small victory. “Where is this camp?”
“Well, it’s not San Antonio. Apparently, TeamWork sets up a camp wherever there’s a need, although it’s primarily a foreign missions organization. On the downside, the planned work camp is much colder than San Antonio. On the plus side, it’s not as dirty and dusty as Texas.”
“Where, exactly?”
He met her eyes. “Montana. Big Sky Country.”
“At this time of the year?” She frowned and rubbed her brow.
“I know. But, hey, we live in Boston, so how bad can it be? It’s only for a couple of weeks.”
“It’ll be November. We’ll freeze to death.”
“But think of all the romantic opportunities to cuddle up together. Warm fires, hot chocolate, snowball fights . . .” He raised a suggestive brow.
“Were you always this much of a flirt?”
Putting his arm around her, Marc kissed her cheek, his lips lingering. “No, I was even more of a flirt. But only with you.”
“Let’s talk more about it tomorrow. I’m not even sure if I can take time off work yet.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll call Principal Leighton. They’re all committed to helping you recover your memories. I can be pretty persuasive, you know.” He nudged Natalie’s shoulder, feeling like a teenager.
“There’s one thing I know.” Her voice sounded small, uncertain.
“What’s that?” When her robe slipped off her shoulder, he stole a quick kiss on her collarbone before repositioning it. They’d made great strides tonight.
“You must really love me to go to Montana. The fact that you’re willing to leave the agency for a couple of weeks says a lot in itself.” A hint of a smile curved those luscious lips. “And something tells me you’re not exactly fond of the idea of roughing it out on the range.”
Marc threw his head back with his laughter. “See? The plan’s already working, and you’re starting to get your memory back.”
Chapter 15
It was two full weeks before they departed for their Montana adventure. Time to lay the groundwork and build a strong foundation for winning back his wife’s heart. Sam sent Marc e-mails, answering his questions and explaining their upcoming mission helping a former TeamWork director who owned a ranch outside Helena.
The ranch owner and a number of his regular ranch hands were called elsewhere for a couple of weeks, resulting in a need for extra hands to help with the cooking, teaching the children of the remaining ranch hands, and the general care and feeding of the horses and cattle until their return. That’s where TeamWork came in. Natalie could help the children with their schoolwork, and he’d help Sam and the other men with chores around the ranch.
His telephone conversations with Natalie were becoming more regular, and were often in the same teasing vein as before her accident even though there was plenty of routine talk about the weather, state of the economy, and the otherwise mundane everyday stuff. Deciding he wanted to try sharing joint custody—his own ridiculous, misguided term—of Elwood, Marc drove over to the apartment house one evening to pick up the mutt. What he didn’t expect was all the paraphernalia that came along with him. Who knew such a small creature needed more than a soft bed, a bag of dog food and a bone or two? Maybe it was God’s way of preparing him to be a father since babies apparently needed more than a bottle and diapers. He had so much to learn. At least Elwood didn’t seem to mind going home with him.
Natalie also gave him reports from her visits to the obstetrician and told him she’d registered them for childbirth classes. She e-mailed him a schedule so he could make sure the dates were on his calendar and clear his calendar. So far, everything looked good with the baby, and the pregnancy seemed to be progressing normally. That was a relief.
At her next doctor visit—only a few days before they were scheduled to leave for the work camp—she’d have her first sonogram where they could see their baby and hear the heartbeat.
“Will you come with me, Marc?”
“Of course, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”
For a lingering moment, he forgot her memory was gone. The idea of being a father was quickly growing on him. The last time he’d seen her, he couldn’t miss the sparkle in her eye when she talked about the baby. She was starting to make plans, but that also unsettled him since they lived apart. At least she included him. Still, he needed to increase his efforts.
“Come to dinner with me tonight,” he said. “I just signed a new superstar client. We need to celebrate.” As if he needed a reason. “Name the place.”
“Sure. How about Peppino’s?”
“Sounds great. We haven’t been there since . . .” He stopped cold. His heart throbbed as blood rushed to his head. “Natalie, do you remember Peppino’s?”
“What do you mean?”
Excitement enthused his voice. “Peppino’s is not your average, run-of-the-mill place. It’s a hole-in-the-wall, family-owned pizza joint off Boylston Street. We discovered it by accident last year after a game at Fenway. It was raining, and we ducked inside to stay dry. It’s one of the best-kept secrets in Boston. We go at least once a month, and it’s one of our favorite places in the city. The owner and some of the staff even came to our wedding.” Dr. Adams told him the sense of smell was potent and could sometimes trigger memories. Maybe the smells of garlic and other Italian spices would help.
“Wait a minute . . .”
“Do you remember something else?” This was a breakthrough moment. He could feel it in his bones.
“Did they put anchovies on our pizza by mistake once?” The rising excitement in Natalie’s voice matched his.
“Yes!” Marc pushed away from his desk and sprang to his feet. He ran his hand through his hair and grinned like a kid. Not that it was a pleasant memory, by any means. “You had a bad allergic reaction. I rushed you over to the ER at Mass General. Maybe you remember because the reaction was so bad.”
“Let’s definitely go tonight. Peppino’s, not the ER.” She hadn’t sounded so happy since before her fall. “Maybe I’ll remember something else.”
“Definitely no more hospitals until the baby comes. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something fabulous.” Hopefully, she could sense his smile. Natalie usually dressed up to go to Peppino’s, if it wasn’t after a Sox game, and he’d wear his suit. It was just one of the fun, silly things they liked to do. The thought sent his pulse into overdrive.
“I’ll look forward to it. See you tonight, Marc.”
How he loved the sound of that infectious giggle, sexy and throaty. It was great to hear. His heart pounded like it was their first date all over again, and in a lot of ways, it was. What a weird thought. He couldn’t concentrate the rest of the afternoon. Before leaving the office, Marc took time to shave in his private bath. Feeling optimistic, he splashed on the cologne Natalie gave him for his birthday. His smile lasted all the way from the Prudential Center to Newton. As he pulled the car to the curb in front of the old, two-story restored home, Natalie stepped outside the
front door, talking with one of her roommates. She turned and gave him a lovely smile. He waved, feeling silly all over again at the odd situation they found themselves in.
She wore a blue dress he’d never seen before that clung to her in all the right places, at least from what he could see beneath her lightweight coat. He whistled under his breath. How he loved every inch of this woman. While his wife dressed modestly and didn’t flaunt her curves, she couldn’t hide them if she tried. She was the essence of femininity, and he’d caught the frequent stares from other men.
Natalie was the prize he’d earned, but the gift from God he wasn’t sure he deserved.
Focusing on her as she still talked with Kim, relief flooded through him that she didn’t look as gaunt. The woman was grace personified, fluidity in motion. She’d been a dancer and, like a lot of little girls, dreamed of joining a ballet company one day. But that was before adolescence hit. The years of dance training were evidenced in the way she held her shoulders, the tilt of the head, the proper posture. Finished with her conversation a minute later, Natalie walked down the stairs, headed toward the car. It took him a few seconds before Marc realized he was staring like a teenager in heat. Get a grip. Climbing out of the car, he moved around to open the passenger door. Offering his hand, he assisted her as she settled herself in the seat. “You look gorgeous.”
She glanced up at him with that shyness so reminiscent of their first date. “Thanks. Only the best for Peppino’s.” Marc’s heart skipped a beat. Did she somehow remember how they always dressed their best for the obscure pizza joint? Her eyes narrowed, drinking in the sight of him with barely-disguised admiration. That was enough to get his pulse racing again, but in a very good way. “You’re looking very handsome yourself, stranger.”
Stranger. No matter how innocent the word, it stabbed his heart. Still, the look in her eyes made him glad he’d chosen the light blue striped shirt—one of her personal favorites—when he’d grabbed it that morning with no idea where this day might lead.
“I like your cologne, too.”
“You should since you gave it to me for my birthday.” Closing her door, he refrained from saying what was in his mind, something she’d probably find incredibly forward. But the look in her eyes was promising. All I ask is a good night kiss, Lord. That’s all. Really.
Sliding behind the wheel, he planted both hands on it. They were dating again. Although surreal, it was . . . almost like role playing. But amnesia was no game. As he drove them downtown, Marc kept up a steady stream of conversation by relaying amusing stories from his childhood and a few things from the last few years when they were dating . . . the first time around. Natalie asked questions, but none seemed to jumpstart any memories. Still, they had fun and laughed easily together. As they talked, he stole glances at his wife—the curve of her ankle, the gorgeous long legs, hands folded demurely in her lap. He was thankful she wasn’t twisting her fingers, doing that nervous little dance thing. While rather endearing, it also drove him nuts.
Her mother and sister visited the week before, and Natalie told him they’d filled in some blanks for her about her childhood. While he missed seeing them, he understood their primary focus was helping her regain her memories. Lisabeth called him several times during their visit. “Keep the faith,” she said, telling him how the family continually prayed for them. It was a comfort, especially since her father made his initial misgivings about his daughter dating an ex-baseball player painfully clear. A second-string player, he’d called him. No matter that his agency was thriving, it was his perceived failure on the baseball field that most men remembered.
He suspected her dad meant more in terms of life rather than athletics. He’d finally come around to accept him, and they got on reasonably well, but it was impossible to forget. It didn’t help that Natalie’s dad was a summa cum laude graduate of the no-man-is-good-enough-for-my-little-girl school of fatherhood.
Maybe Gregory Combs compared him to his famous father. A lot of men did. The comparisons were inevitable, and he lost to his dad every time.
What son could ever compare to a two-time NBA champion? It was better to leave others with their ideals intact. It was bad enough his own opinion of his dad had been shattered when he’d left the family and divorced his mom when he was nine. A thing like that caused the only boy in a family to grow up real fast. It would have been easier had the man come around every now and then. Periodically, he looked up his dad’s photo in a sports anthology to remember what he looked like since his mother banished all mementos of him in the house. He’d learned the hard way that bitterness could be all-consuming, often as damaging to the innocents on the sidelines.
“You’ve got that look on your face. I’ve seen it a few times lately,” Natalie said, breaking him out his thoughts a short time later as they sat in Peppino’s. She put down her fork. “You look sad. If you feel like talking about it, I’m all ears.”
Marc sighed. He didn’t wish to relive painful memories. Certainly not tonight. He’d never shared the most personal part of it with her because it wrenched him to his core. On their honeymoon, he’d almost opened up, but then stopped himself. Now, his wife had too many other things on her mind. Oh, Lord, what an ironic thought. There seemed to be a lot of those lately.
But she’d made the observation and deserved his answer. He told her how his dad always provided for them, financing his education at Yale not covered by his athletic scholarship, and his sister’s undergrad years at NYU and master’s at Columbia. Yet, given a choice, he would have preferred his father’s presence over the amenities his money could buy, the Ivy League education and the trust fund. He’d never remarried, and never had more children, as far as he knew. When Phil Thompson died ten years ago from an inoperable brain tumor, it was tragic to hear the once towering, strong athlete had been reduced to skin and bones, the life sucked out of him in mere months. As the end drew near, his dad retreated further, refusing treatment, not wanting to see anyone. Not even his children.
It was his final, deepest rejection.
When he finished his story, Natalie reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry.” Withdrawing her hand, she averted her gaze. Something was on her mind. If he waited long enough, she’d tell him.
Taking another bite, noticing her habit of cutting even pizza with a knife and fork, he raised a brow. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and met his gaze. “From everything you’ve told me, you loved your dad, but it’s like you felt this overpowering need to prove yourself worthy.”
Marc sipped his ice water. The woman was uncanny in reading him. Amnesia hadn’t altered that ability. “True enough.” If he was honest, he’d admit he wanted to best the man because he’d broken his mother’s heart. “But I failed miserably in trying to achieve what Dad accomplished in the world of professional sports.” It was his greatest achievement-to-date in failure.
“You failed at nothing.” A trace of anger laced her words. “From what I know, you were a very good player, but it wasn’t in God’s plan to send you to the majors. Look at what you’ve accomplished.” The anger faded, replaced by unmistakable pride. “You took charge of your life. You purposely walked away from professional sports and used that analytical, logical brain God gave you to full advantage. As a result, the Lord’s blessed you beyond what you could hope for. It’s a tough business, but you’re a rousing success. Not many men—including your dad—would have been able to do something like that.”
Natalie’s words reached him somewhere deep inside. “And, ironically enough, I’m now in the business of getting endorsements and exorbitant sums of money for superstar athletes. Go figure.” His laugh was bitter. It didn’t change the fact he loved what he did for a living. Still, she’d paid him a huge compliment. Marc squeezed her hand and smiled his thanks. His perceptive wife understood more than she’d actually said—he’d always been in competition with his famous dad.
&
nbsp; “Even if he never said the words—and even though you started the agency after he died—I hope you know how proud your dad would have been.”
How he appreciated her words. His eyes filled, and he lowered his gaze before clearing his throat. When she squeezed his hand again, he almost lost it. She rambled on about something inconsequential, giving him precious time to recover his sensibilities. In that moment, Marc loved her more than he thought possible. What an incredible woman. Natalie might not remember many surface things, but she had innate compassion and understood him.
He was careful not to overload her with too much information all at once since Dr. Fontaine warned it might be too much to handle. Slow and easy. He knew the wait staff and the owner of Peppino’s wondered what was going on between them, but with their customary smiles, they took expert care of their dinner needs and stayed in the background. His tip conveyed his appreciation.
“How about a walk or a duck boat ride?” He reached for her hand, thrilled when she took it.
“A walk sounds great.” After their serious, heartfelt dinner conversation, Marc kept it light. When Natalie shivered, he removed his suit jacket and draped it around her. She snuggled into it and thanked him with one of her trademark smiles. She always appreciated his chivalrous, gentlemanly gestures. As they strolled Boston Common hand-in-hand, she asked more about the dates they’d shared in the past, and he was more than happy to oblige.
It was a beautiful, star-filled night. Spying the new Red Sox relief pitcher across the way talking with a group of guys, he stopped himself from bounding over to introduce himself. It wasn’t the time. If he was meant to sign the promising athlete, it would happen. In God’s time, not yours. Pulling up in front of the house a couple of hours later, he leaned his head back against the seat. Neither he nor Natalie made a move. “I honestly don’t know what to do now.”
“Neither do I.” Her sigh was audible. “I suppose we say good night.”
“No.” He shook his head.
