Memory's Edge: Part One

by Gladden, DelSheree

  Fear that she’d just made a fool of herself shone in her eyes. John hadn’t realized he’d been thinking for so long. Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his. “I think it might be worth it too.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Facing Reality

  Checking the phone messages on the landline was the first thing Gretchen did after saying hello to John when she got home. Seeing if there were any new comments on the blog, or emails from readers, was the second part of her ritual. After two weeks of this, John should have been used to it, but he wasn't. The routine began the day after the interview with Melinda Velasquez. Gretchen had been convinced telling John’s story would help him find out who he was.

  He’d been doubtful from the beginning, and now knew the interview had been pointless. No one called. The only comments on the blog were from sympathetic readers or lonely women inviting him to come and live with them. The ads Gretchen put in other newspapers and online a few days before hadn’t produced anything other than a few creepy phone messages. Gretchen refused to give up hope. Maybe John should have been holding onto the idea that someone would come forward, but every time Gretchen checked the messages he found himself becoming more and more irritated with her.

  Hugging John quickly after getting home, Gretchen once again reached for the house phone to dial in to check the voicemail. Before John could stop himself, he grabbed the phone out of her hand and went back to kneading the bread dough he was working on.

  “John, why did you do that?” Gretchen asked.

  “Nobody called today. There aren’t any new messages.” She knew he’d been home all day. He was always home. Why would someone need to leave a message?

  Frowning at him as John imagined she did when facing an obnoxious student, Gretchen said, “You could have just said that. You didn’t need to yank the phone out of my hand.” She shook her head as if he were the one acting weird, and turned back to the table where her laptop sat.

  John heard her slip the latch to the side. The soft click grated on his nerves. They both knew there wasn't going to be anything there, but she insisted on checking anyway.

  “Didn’t you check that at lunch?” John asked.

  “Sure, but there might be something new since then,” she said.

  “There won’t be.”

  Gretchen stiffened in her chair. “There might be.

  Slamming his one good hand into the dough much harder than necessary, John tried to ignore the ticking sound of Gretchen’s fingernails hitting the keys. It only lasted a few seconds. The quiet of her reading whatever useless new comments, or rereading old comments, was as bad as the typing sounds. The snap of the laptop closing signaled she had fulfilled her daily ritual.

  Her chair slid across the tile as she pushed it back and stood. John kept his focus on the dough. He could feel her walking up behind him. Sliding her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, Gretchen smoothed away some of John’s irritation. His hands slowed and he leaned into her touch.

  “I was thinking,” Gretchen said, “you know how supermarkets have those pictures up of missing kids? Maybe if we made up some flyers we could have stores post your picture and see if anyone knows who you are.”

  Digging his hand into the dough, John forced a wave of surprising anger out of him and into the dough before he lost control of it. She must have sensed something, because her hand stopped gliding up and down his arms.

  “No flyers,” John said.

  There was a second where Gretchen stayed frozen, but eventually her hands started moving again. Her hypnotic motions couldn’t distract him this time.

  “I don’t want to send out any flyers,” he said again.

  “Why not?” Gretchen asked.

  “Nothing else has worked so far, why would the flyers?”

  She didn’t have an answer for that. The news was only local, but the newspaper ads had gone out to all the neighboring states, and the blog was on the internet for the whole world to see. Flyers weren’t going to do any better.

  “It might help,” Gretchen finally said.

  “No.”

  She could do it without his permission, of course. John could hardly stop her. He knew Gretchen well enough to know she would respect his wishes.

  “I don’t understand why you don’t want to try harder to find out who you were before I found you,” Gretchen said from behind John.

  “I do want to find out,” he said, “but apparently there’s nothing to find.”

  Pushing away from him, Gretchen turned and leaned against the counter so she could see him more clearly. “There is something to find. We just haven’t looked hard enough.”

  “No. They’re the ones who haven’t looked hard enough.”

  “They? Who’s ‘they,’ John,” Gretchen asked.

  “The people you think are looking for me. They should have found me by now if they were really looking. Either they don’t care, or they don’t exist,” he said.

  Looking completely stupefied at his outburst, Gretchen stared at him like he was nuts. “John, that’s not fair. It’s only been a month.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a whole month! Someone should have found me by now.”

  “What if they didn’t know where you went? Maybe you’re not from anywhere near here like we thought,” she said.

  “How many times have you taken a trip and not told at least one family member or friend where you were going?” John asked.

  She had nothing to argue about there. Even her adventurous friend Desi, who loved to take off to Tahoe for the weekend at a moment’s notice, would call Gretchen and tell her where she was going. She usually invited her to go along.

  Her serious expression was dangerously close to a pout. “That doesn’t mean there’s nobody looking,” Gretchen said.

  “Yes it does,” John said. “And stop checking the messages and blog as soon as you get home. I’m tired of it, okay? I don’t like being reminded every single time you open your laptop or pick up the phone that I almost died and not a single person in this world cared whether or not I made it home that night. Stop reminding me of what I’ve lost.”

  “I…I’m sorry, John. I wasn't trying to make you feel worse,” she said. “I was only trying to help. I don’t like seeing you give up so quickly.”

  “I’m not giving up, Gretchen, I’m facing reality.”

  John’s hands were covered in sticky bits of dough as they sat pressed against to the counter. He couldn’t look at her, but his frustration drew her to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder, hesitating to see if he would pull away before sliding her arms around his waist. She seemed to be trying to soak up some understanding by touching him, letting John have this one even though she thought it foolish to give up so quickly.

  Finally, John turned and pulled her in closer. Holding her lessened much of his irritation and anger, his body softening against hers. Her constant optimism was a little too much sometimes, but it was the only thing capable of dragging John out of the darkness.

  “I’m happy being John, now, and I’m happy being here with you,” John said. “Can’t we just leave it at that?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Subtle Sounds

  Even after John gave up on getting any responses from the interview, Gretchen kept checking. Not in front of him anymore, but at work, or after he went to sleep, she would check messages, read new comments, and hope there would be something. By the end of the fifth week, she had given up hope that anyone was going to call and fill in the holes in John’s memory. John never really seemed to have any hope, so maybe it wasn't as big of a letdown for him. It was a bittersweet realization for Gretchen.

  She kept trying to come up with more ideas to figure out who John was, but after John refused to let her mail out the flyers, she was hesitant to bring them up. None of them were very good anyway. Short of getting him on national television, Gretchen couldn’t think of anything else to do. John thought it was all pointless and ignored her any time
she tried to bring it up. Gretchen thought the stress of waiting for someone to respond was wearing him down.

  Accepting the truth that no one was looking proved harder for Gretchen than John. Her parents and sister meant everything to her. Having a loving family as she did, compared to John who had nothing like that anymore, perhaps that was why she kept holding out for hope and why he could let it go. He didn’t understand what he was missing. On one hand, John still felt so incomplete, but on the other, it did raise Gretchen’s hopes that John wouldn’t be pulled away from her. It had been on her mind since the day of the interview. The argument with Carl led to the conversation at the kitchen table. But what had the conversation led to? She didn’t know yet.

  For the most part, things were pretty much the same between John and Gretchen. Both of them admitting they were willing to let their relationship progress didn’t mean either of them was ready to jump in without looking. Wondering whether John was really a psychotic killer was a thing of the past, but the pain leftover from Steve, and the fear that Gretchen would only be crushed again, made her timid. Gretchen got the feeling from John that he didn’t want things to move too quickly either. They were both willing to let things move at their own pace. That didn’t mean nothing had change, though.

  When they watched TV together John immediately pulled Gretchen against his side. When it was time to make dinner, he joined her in the kitchen, clumsily dancing around her with familiar ease. Coming home to his welcoming hug was something Gretchen came to expect. They felt at home with each other, and for the time being, that was enough.

  Driving to the hospital to have John’s casts removed, six weeks after having them put on, stretched by in comfortable silence. At least, it was comfortable until they pulled into the hospital parking lot. John’s whole body went rigid as Gretchen brought the car to a stop. It happened every time they went back. He hated going to the hospital and being reminded of what had happened.

  At home, he could pretend living with Gretchen was what his life had always been, but at the hospital the doctors forced him to remember waking up with nothing. Just as Gretchen did the last three times they had gone back to the hospital, she took his hand and waited. They had left the house early so John would have plenty of time to prepare himself.

  “Can’t we just go home?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  Gretchen liked hearing him say that word. Home. It wasn't “Gretchen’s house” any more, it was just home. Their home. “You can do this, John. Just take a deep breath and think about something else. Think about the smell of the bread you made the other day or the lasagna we had for dinner last night.”

  For some reason, food really helped calm him. It wasn’t a comfort food kind of thing. It was more of a control mechanism. He could taste something new and immediately know whether or not he liked it. He was reclaiming part of himself with every bite. It made him eager to explore new tastes, and led to Gretchen being practically kicked out of the kitchen. Which was hardly a bad thing. John loved cooking new recipes, and he was getting pretty good at if they didn’t count a few of his more interesting flavor experiments. They had to order in those nights.

  As John thought about the foods he loved, Gretchen got out of the car and went over to his side. He didn’t move when she opened the door, but he did slowly get out when she grabbed his hand and pulled on him gently. John let Gretchen lead him all the way through the hospital, to the unpleasant Dr. Marshall, with his eyes half closed. He stayed nice and relaxed until the screeching whirr of the saw snapped him out of his thoughts.

  “Hold still,” Dr. Marshall said. “I’m going to start with the cast on your hand, so put it up on the table.”

  He was so polite. John didn’t seem to notice. Even with having to visit the hospital again, his excitement to get his casts off was quickly taking over. Propping his hand up on the table, John watched the saw slowly slice into the hard plaster. The cast cracked open and John was quick to wiggle his fingers around.

  The leg cast was off a few minutes later, and John eagerly slipped off the bed only to stumble when he tried to put his weight on it. Between Gretchen grabbing one arm and John catching himself on the bed, they managed to keep him from falling.

  “Oh yeah, your leg is going to be very weak at first. The muscles have atrophied from not being used,” Dr. Marshall said, amused. It was the first time Gretchen had seen him smile. At least he was enjoying himself. “You’ll want to start exercising the leg so it can regain its strength. And don’t forget that you have an appointment with the physical therapist next week.”

  Dr. Marshall stood up then and brushed away the white dust from cutting off the casts. “And now you’re free to go,” he said. He looked pleased that this was the last time they would have to meet with him. Gretchen didn’t know why he was so happy. She and John were perfectly nice people, unlike him. Dr. Marshall seemed oblivious to that fact. He nodded to them both and walked out.

  “So, how do you feel?” Gretchen asked John. He was still having fun wiggling his fingers and toes.

  “I feel great,” he said excitedly. “We should do something to celebrate.”

  “Already covered,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.

  ***

  An hour later, they were seated at their table. Live piano music filled the room, enhancing the atmosphere. Little candles flickered on their table. The crystal bowls they were in broke up the light and scattered it around the table.

  John poured over the menu, clearly excited to try something new. “I think I’ll try the salmon,” he said. “I haven’t tried salmon yet. Does it taste anything like tuna? I didn’t like tuna very much.”

  “I don’t think salmon tastes anything like tuna. I think you’ll like it.”

  He didn’t just like it, he loved it. Gretchen had never met a person who got so excited about food before. Every new taste was an adventure for him. She spent most of the meal just watching him eat. Then to see him get excited again, Gretchen offered to let him taste some of her garlic shrimp. Not surprisingly, he loved the shrimp too. He rambled on about the different herbs and spices in each dish and how he would have done them differently. Gretchen had no great love of cooking, but she enjoyed listening to him. The rich deserts they ordered afterward kept him quiet for the first time that night. He was enjoying his chocolate lasagna too much to speak.

  When he finally laid his fork down, John looked happy. Truly happy. There was no sign of the lingering uncertainty and pain Gretchen usually saw in his eyes. He looked comfortable, at peace. She doubted it would last much past that night—there was still too much that haunted John—but it was a good look on him. She would have to try to bring it out more often.

  “Hey, do you want to dance?” John asked suddenly.

  Glancing over at the piano, Gretchen noticed that there were actually a few couples dancing in the empty floor space around it. “Are you sure you want to dance right now?” she asked. Her eyes fell on the cane he had to use to make it out of the hospital. “Your leg might not be ready for that yet.”

  “My leg will be fine. Come on,” John said.

  Gretchen wasn't convinced his leg would hold up, but she nodded anyway. John used the table for support as he stood, but held a hand out to her once he was standing on his own. She took it, holding tightly to make sure he wasn’t going to stumble when he took his first step.

  Leaning on Gretchen heavily, the two of them made it to the edge of the dance floor, which was thankfully near their table. Gretchen supposed she should have felt nervous, dancing with John for the first time, but she only felt comfort. The way her skin tingled at his touch when he put his hands around her waist nudged her heart rate a little faster.

  They stood close together, and only partially because John might have fallen over if they hadn’t. Settling into an off-balance slow dance, Gretchen felt tingling pleasure spread through her skin when she laid her head on his chest. She could feel John’s heart beating faster at her touch. His reaction
brought a smile to her lips, and Gretchen snuggled against him even more.

  They stayed there through several songs. She could have fallen asleep in his arms, feeling so calm and wonderful, if it weren’t for the fact that she was helping him stand up. Gretchen wanted the piano to keep playing forever. A break in the music wasn't what brought her head off John’s chest, though. It was his voice.

  “Gretchen, thank you for tonight,” he whispered.

  “You don’t have to thank me, John. I did it for me as much as I did it for you,” she admitted. She laid her head back down, wanting to recapture the quiet peace of hearing his heartbeat.

  “Gretchen.” She looked up at him again. “Thank you,” he said. Then before Gretchen could lay her head against his chest again, he leaned toward her.

  Gretchen’s whole body reacted, feeling every sensation tenfold. His fingers trailing across her cheek felt like ice on her skin. His warm breath on her body melted Gretchen’s fears. She was trembling by the time his lips finally fell against hers. The piano music disappeared. Background noises faded away. The subtle sounds of John’s breath and heartbeat were all she heard. They were all she ever wanted to hear again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Accidental Bruises

  Letting go of Gretchen was harder than keeping himself from falling over, which was getting more difficult by the second. Her body pressed against his felt more right than anything he had experienced since waking up. John pulled away from her reluctantly, ready to get out of the restaurant, but a sharp pain behind his eyes stopped him.

  Muffled voices played in his mind. Flashes of color jumped back and forth. For a moment he thought he saw a woman’s face, but it was gone too quickly to identify. John tried to push the voices and colors away. They lasted a few more seconds before everything disappeared. The pain, the colors, and the voices all vanished.