A Season Of Miracles

by Christine Michels

  Weary after her daylong drive and, for some indefinable reason, suddenly near tears. Devon studied him as he joined her at the table. Taking the seat on her right, he avoided her gaze. Neither of them touched the cream and sugar Why is he doing this? The question reverberated in her mind as she sipped her coffee. His lack of acknowledgement was worse by far than the churlishness and sarcasm she’d more than half expected.

  She observed his lean-fingered hands as they closed around the cream-colored cup. The flex of a biceps muscle beneath the clinging fabric of his black turtleneck. The movement of his chest with each breath he took. And gradually. inexorably, her gaze rose to his closed face.

  Geoff was eyeing her silently over the rim of his coffee cup. The frown line between his brows had deepened, and there was a tenseness about his face that hadn’t been there scant minutes earlier. Slowly, he replaced his cup on the table “Do you have any identification?”

  Devon set her cup down so abruptly that coffee sloshed over the edges. “Pardon me!”

  His lips stretched into a parody of a smile, but there was no warmth in the gesture “Identification,” he repeated. “Anything to prove that you really are who you say you are.”

  “Who else would I be?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t care. I am getting a King Kong headache, and if it holds true to form, we have about ten minutes to finish our business here, while I can still think. Unless you have identification, this visit is over ”

  Feeling more and more as though she’d somehow stepped through a looking glass into an alter world where nothing was what it seemed, Devon reached blindly for the purse she’d set on the floor by her feet Did he truly not know her? How was that possible? An injury from the accident? But, she’d heard on a talk show once that injury-induced amnesia—differentiated from memory suppression caused by emotional trauma—rarely lasted for long, and seldom amounted to more than a few lost days or weeks. Complete amnesia was so rare that most physicians never saw an actual case in their entire lives.

  But rare meant unusual, extraordinary even, not impossible.

  Numbed by the chaotic thoughts careening through her mind, she blindly extracted her wallet and handed it to him If he wanted to see identification, then she’d darned well show it to him because there was no way she was going to let him shove her out the door until she had the divorce agreement she’d come for.

  He snapped open her wallet and began sorting through her credit cards. When he came to her driver’s license, he stopped for a moment, studying it carefully. Then he began sorting through the photos she kept: the kids’ school pictures, the most recent photo of her parents, a ten-year-old grad picture of her brother, Winston

  Geoff returned to the pictures of the children. A moment later he raised his gaze to hers. “Yours?”

  “Of course they’re mine,” Devon snapped in frustration. “They’re also yours.”

  He made no response to that, instead asking, “How old?”

  Devon wanted to scream. “Geoff, I’ve had about enough of—”

  “How old, dammit?” He didn’t raise his voice but bit the words off abruptly, forcefully, as his eyes flashed with something cold enough to send a shiver down her spine.

  Devon stared at him, for the first time beginning to entertain the notion that this man really was not Geoff. She’d heard it said that every person in the world had a twin. Perhaps this man, Jack Keller, was Geoff’s. She glanced at the picture he held. “Britanny is nine now,” she managed to say. Her daughter was a beautiful, intelligent child with a clear peaches-and-cream complexion. Devon’s translucent gray eyes and Geoff. thick, midnight black hair.

  Without taking his eyes from the photo, he nodded

  Who was this man?

  The Geoff she’d married had been a loud and happy man. The kind of man who would bellow, “Come in! Come in!” to any visitors who appeared on his doorstep whether they’d been expected or not. He’d been demonstrative and affectionate. Discounting their last six months together, she couldn’t recall a day of her marriage when she hadn’t received a bear hug and a kiss as part of her morning fare. And, he’d been a kind but firm father.

  It was only in their last few months together that Geoff had changed, withdrawn. Not simply from her. but from the children as well And they’d all been hurt by his sudden uncharacteristic distance Gone was the boisterous gaiety that had been so much a part of who Geoff was. Gone was the affection And worst of all, gone was the time he’d always made for his children It had been as though something preyed on his mind so completely that there hadn’t been room for anything else And yet he’d refused to talk about it. When she’d questioned him, begged him to confide in her, he’d shouted at her, “Just leave me alone, goddammit! Stay out of things that don’t concern you ” And then he’d slammed out of the house

  For six months, she’d hung on—living with his sullenness, his withdrawal, and his quick temper if someone dared to disturb him—all in the hope that she’d eventually rediscover the man she’d married It hadn’t happened.

  And now, in yet another incarnation, it seemed, Geoff had entered her life again Or rather she’d entered his And this Geoff seemed like another man entirely. She couldn’t imagine this man boisterously inviting anyone into his home any more than she could imagine him raising his voice in anger or slamming doors. He was too reserved, too controlled, too lacking in all the Italian passion that had made the man she’d married who he was. She sensed a coldness at the core of this Geoff that she wasn’t certain could ever be thawed

  “And the boy?” he demanded, jerking her out of her thoughts “What’s his name?”

  “Tyler He’s twelve,” Devon murmured. Her son was tall, almost as tall as she was, with arrow-straight dark brown hair and his father’s olive green eyes although they didn’t show up well in the photograph. Unfortunately though, something else did.

  “The kid has an earring,” Geoff observed as he rubbed his forehead in a rhythmic gesture that seemed almost desperate.

  Devon nodded. “Yes” She hadn’t wanted Tyler to get the earring, but as in so many things since his father had passed away...or left them.. Tyler had ignored her wishes But she refused to explain all that to this man. If he was Geoff, he’d lost the right for explanations a long time ago. If he wasn’t Geoff, then he’d never had that right

  “There’s no picture of anyone who looks like me in here.”

  “Like a lot of men, Geoff didn’t like to bother with having his picture taken, especially a studio picture. We only had two family portraits done in the twelve years we were together.”

  “Geoff?” he echoed His eyes flashed with something like triumph as he flashed her a humorless smile that bared too many teeth by far. “You’re considering the possibility that I’m not him”

  Devon shrugged as she realized what she’d said “You look like him Exactly like him. But, your personality is different somehow.”

  “Maybe I’ve had reason to change.”

  Devon stared at him “What are you saying?”

  He rubbed his forehead harder It was beginning to redden from the force of his ministrations. “Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying Look, if you want to finish this conversation, I think you’d better come back tomorrow.” He rose from the table so quickly that his chair scooted back, rocking precariously on its rear legs before slamming noisily back onto all fours.

  “Geoff—”

  “Goodbye, lady You’ll have to see yourself out.” With those words he began walking unsteadily from the room. In fact, had Devon not been there, she would have assumed he was drunk, his senses clouded by booze. His senses were clouded, she realized abruptly, but by pain not drink

  She retrieved her wallet from the table surface where he’d dropped it and, after stuffing it haphazardly back into her purse, followed him uncertainly from the room. There wasn’t much sense in forcing her company on a man incapable of carrying on a conversation. But she certainly couldn’
t head home. Not yet. Not with so many unanswered questions buzzing around in her mind like angry bees. She’d get a room in Northridge for the night and come back in the morning.

  By the time she made it to the living room and front entrance, her reluctant host was already out of sight. The sound of numerous falling objects succeeded immediately by a curse drifted down from the upper level of the cabin. It sounded like he’d dropped an entire bottle of pills into the sink. Devon surveyed the balcony overlooking the living room for some indication of which room he was in. Her eyes fastened on one doorway from which light spilled, pooling onto the gallery.

  Devon hesitated. “Geoff, are you all right?” she called

  No answer.

  “Geoff—”

  Silence. She hesitated, uncertain whether she wanted to invade this man’s privacy or not. He might look like Geoff, but his personality, his reactions, were those of a stranger.

  And then she heard a thud. A very loud thud She pictured him falling, his strong body felled by a type of pain she didn’t understand and hoped never to know, and she knew that even were there some small chance that this man was not Geoff, she had to help him if she could.

  She headed toward the stairs at a run. “Geoff—” she called once more.

  Nothing.

  When Devon rounded the corner of the upstairs washroom, she froze. It was worse than she imagined, for what she’d imagined might have been kinder. Rather than lying still and unconscious on the floor, Geoff was literally writhing in pain. He was on his knees, clutching his head in both hands as though he sought to keep it from exploding.

  And she had no idea what to do for him. No idea how to help.

  An empty prescription bottle lay on the floor by his side Had he managed to take anything? She took a step toward him. “Geoff,” she said. “Can you hear me?”

  There was no response.

  Noting a facecloth hanging above the vanity, she scooped as many of the small white pills out of the sink as possible and ran the cloth under a stream of cold water. After hastily squeezing the excess moisture from it, she went down on her knees at his side. Somehow, she had to get him to turn over.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Geoff, can you hear me?” This time she was rewarded by a groan and a very earthy curse

  “I have a cold cloth for your forehead. Can you turn over?” She pressed back as far as possible to give him space in which to maneuver. The room was of average size for a bathroom, but Geoff’s big body took up most of the floor space.

  With another groan, he fell over onto his side, pressing his back up firmly against the porcelain finish of the tub. His eyes were tightly closed, and he didn’t seem inclined to roll over any farther, so it would have to do. At least she had access to half of his forehead now.

  Devon gently pressed the cloth into place “Is there anything else I can do?”

  A moment of silence. “Pills,” he croaked. “Need two.”

  “All right ” Devon turned slightly toward the vanity and maneuvered her arm up to grope for a couple of pills from the small mound she’d scooped out of the sink She was about to hold them out to him when she realized that he didn’t appear as though he’d be particularly amenable to the idea of releasing the pressure on his head. “Open your mouth,” she said.

  The muscles in his jaws leapt spasmodically as though he was gritting his teeth, girding himself, and then he finally complied and Devon was able to give him the pills. He swallowed deeply, his throat muscles working in a manner that suggested even that small action was an effort.

  “Would you like me to help you move somewhere more comfortable?” Devon asked.

  The only response she received was a male grunt that was impossible to interpret. Since he didn’t make any effort to move, however, she took his response as a no. Not knowing what else to do, she simply stayed at his side. Gradually the twitching movements of his body lessened, his breathing grew slower and more regular, and he released the death grip he had on his head. Devon heaved a sigh of relief. Whatever the medication was that had been designed to control such a debilitating headache, apparently it was strong enough to force him into the oblivion of sleep.

  She observed him a moment in frustration. She didn’t want to leave him steeping on the cold, hard floor, especially since she didn’t know how long the medication would keep him out, but she didn’t have much choice. He was much too big and heavy for her to move. She could make him as comfortable as possible however. On the heels of that decision she rose to go in search of a blanket and pillow.

  Standing in the doorway of the room just to the right of the bathroom, she explored the wall with her hand until she found a light switch. The room revealed by the illumination was a stark masculine bedroom. A homemade quilt fashioned of dark tweeds, rusty reds, and navy blues covered the bed. The dresser contained only a comb and a lint brush. A set of four books rested on the bureau. Geoff had certainly become more tidy since she’d last seen him.

  Despite her reluctance to intrude on another’s privacy, as a curious tension invaded her, Devon found her feet carrying her toward the bureau. When she was close enough to read the titles, she heaved a sigh of relief. Mysteries and thrillers. Dick Francis and Dean Koontz. The same type of novel that Geoff always read. It might not mean much in the vast scheme of things—a lot of people read the same type of novel—but the discovery made her feel better. Turning back to the bed, she quickly removed a pillow and the quilted spread and left the room.

  Geoff had stretched out a little more fully in her absence. His turtleneck sweater had ridden up to expose an expanse of taut belly dusted lightly around the navel with dark hair. Devon was preparing to spread the blanket over him when her gaze shifted over that exposed patch of flesh one more time.

  The mole!

  Everything within her went still. She’d almost forgotten about the mole that Geoff had had a couple of inches above his navel. Where was the mole?

  With an anxious glance at his face to ensure that he remained soundly asleep, Devon squatted on her heels to raise the edge of Geoff’s sweater just a little higher. Where once a mole had been, Devon ran her finger over a jagged three-inch scar.

  She sighed in disappointment. It proved nothing Whatever injury he had sustained could easily have removed any trace of the small dark mole.

  Rising, she covered him and gently placed the pillow beneath his head. Then, she went downstairs to sit on the sofa in the deeply shadowed living room and think while she waited Questions careened through her mind. Was this man Geoff, or wasn’t he? If so, why was he calling himself Jack Keller? And why had he insisted that his name was not Geoff? What reason could a man have for taking an alternate identity? Could he have done something against the law? But as soon as the possibility presented itself, she discarded it Geoff may have been passionate and impulsive, even volatile at times—he’d loved to rant and bluster—but he’d never been violent, and he would never break the law.

  No matter how much she thought the situation through, she only came up with more questions, and no answers. Even the incredible concept of amnesia provided only a partial answer to her many questions. Maybe she should just forget the divorce and go home. After all, if she’d never seen Geoff on television, she would have married David quite happily, never suspecting that her first husband was still alive. And, she was no longer so certain that the man upstairs was the man to whom she’d been married. There was something very different about him.

  How could a man be, at once, so familiar and yet so much a stranger? It didn’t make sense.

  At some point during the tense hour that followed, the strain of the long drive combined with the stress of the situation took its toll and she slumped down on the sofa to sleep despite the chaos in her mind. But it was not a restful sleep for she was plagued by dreams. She dreamed of running down a corridor attempting to catch up with countless Geoffs all moving away from her Each time she thought she’d caught the right one, she placed her hand on his arm
to halt him, to turn him to face her, and found herself looking into a familiar face with the eyes of a stranger In another, she dreamed of the memorial service they’d had for Geoff, only this tune when she left the funeral parlor she was certain she’d seen Geoff hovering in the shadows. Watching her.

  “Devon—” The voice came from a great distance, pulling at her It was Geoff’s voice, and yet it too was different.

  “Devon, wake up ”

  She opened her eyes, confused for a moment by her unfamiliar surroundings

  “Are you all right?”

  She looked over her shoulder and saw him crouched beside the sofa. Geoff! Now she remembered. “Yes, of course Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You seemed to be having a nightmare.”

  “I did?” She searched her mind for fragments, but came up blank. “I don’t remember.” Then as the fog of sleep continued to clear, she recalled that it had been he who had been in need of aid earlier. “What about you? Are you all right now?”

  He nodded and his gaze slid away from hers almost selfconsciously. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Devon swung her legs over the edge of the sofa to settle her feet on the floor “You’re welcome” She twined her fingers together in her lap and glanced at her watch. It was just approaching 1 00 a.m., which meant she couldn’t have slept much more than three hours. “So,” she said, as she watched Geoff rise and take the chair nearby, “what now?”

  He stared at her, his eyes expressionless and indifferent. “What you really mean is, am I ready to talk about this divorce you want so badly. Isn’t it?”

  She looked at him. “Yes. I guess it is.”

  His gaze swept over her in a brief but penetrating scrutiny. When his eyes once again lifted to meet hers, there was something new in their depths Something intense and a bit feral. Something that made her breath catch in her throat “You’re a very attractive woman, Devon,” he said. “I still don’t have a clue who you are, but I concede that it is possible that you are my wife. And, if you are, I think I’d like the chance to get to know you a bit better before I agree to a divorce.”