Home For Christmas

by Patricia Potter

  “I understand. And thank you.”

  “Goodbye.” The phone clicked as he hung up

  She went into Nick’s room. He’d gone to bed thirty minutes earlier and was already deep in sleep She bent down and pulled the quilt around him, then leaned over and kissed him There could be no sweeter sight, she thought, than a sleeping child, no feeling as tender as the one she hugged to herself while she watched him She loved Nick with all her heart and soul. She touched his cheek for a second, pushed back an unruly lock of fine taffy-colored hair She wanted him this way forever, safe and protected and happy. Was she robbing him of some of that protection by helping the man who saved his life? Or was she hopefully teaching him a lesson of compassion and honor and loyalty? She hoped the latter.

  The soft nnging of the phone in the other room pierced her mood. She would bet almost anything that it was Dan. She sighed, then went to pay the piper.

  Ryan read the newspaper headline with a sinking heart.

  Attorney Saved By Convict

  To Represent Him At Hearing

  Local attorney Julie Farrell, who along with her four-year-old son, was rescued from a burning car four weeks ago by Ryan Murphy, former police officer convicted of killing his partner ten years ago, has been listed as attorney of record for Murphy’s latest bid for parole.

  Mrs Farrell is a former assistant district attorney. She resigned three years ago after a man she prosecuted was found to be innocent Her husband, prominent attorney Douglas Farrell, committed suicide five years ago during an investigation linking him to a money laundering conspiracy.

  Ryan read on, but he felt sick inside. He’d known little about Julie Farrell, though he’d sensed a sadness about her. Now he knew why And he felt sick that because of him her life had become public fodder He folded the paper and allowed it to fall on the floor. Dammit.

  He was still fuming when Dr. Dailey entered his room and gave him more bad news. “I’m being pressed to release you,” the man said “The prison authorities want you.”

  Ryan was silent. He had been expecting the news for several days He’d been conscious now for two weeks and could have been released a week earlier, according to the doctor treating his physical injuries Only Dailey’s fascination with his amnesia had kept him here this long.

  “I’m fighting to keep you a few more days, but I think you should be prepared to leave by the end of the week.” He paused “They’re sending you to Reidsville.”

  Ryan’s gut tightened. He had nearly gone crazy being chained to the bed, and the thought of being caged behind bars was devastating. But he apparently had survived ten years of it and could do it again. He tried to shrug indifferently “Thanks for everything you’ve done.”

  “I’ll be sending along all your medical records and some recommendations Dr Edwards is doing the same. You’ll be all right.” It was as if he were reassuring himself rather than Ryan

  The end of the week. It was Wednesday now. So he had two days at most. Would Mrs Farrell come by?

  “You still don’t remember anything? Anything at all?” the doctor said hopefully. He’d predicted that Ryan would start remembering bits and pieces

  “No,” he replied, seeing the doctor’s disappointment. Minutes later, Dr. Dailey left, leaving him alone again

  He didn’t want to think about losing the one thing that gave him hope Julie Farrell’s visits He’d seen her only once, and briefly, after the time their hands had touched in an explosion of heat. She had been very careful not to allow contact that next time. She stayed only long enough for him to sign a legal paper, which apparently concluded the process of making her his attorney

  He hadn’t had to ask how to spell his name He’d just been able to write it, though neither writing it or seeing it created any sense of familiarity. He wrote it again when she had left, staring at it, willing a piece of memory back Who was he? What was he? What kind of man had he been?

  What kind of man was he now?

  Only Julie Farrell seemed willing to help him find those answers, answers that might confirm his worst fears that he was a cold-blooded murderer and drug dealer. She should run like hell. He really didn’t understand why she hadn’t. He couldn’t even understand why she felt she owed him anything when he couldn’t remember a damn thing.

  But then, he didn’t understand much of anything. He kept grasping for something. At times he felt near to clasping a piece of information, a bit of himself, but then he came up empty yet again, the feeling of frustration overwhelming him. And that damn loneliness that left him gasping for breath.

  He had read the clippings about himself; he knew he had fathered a child He wondered bitterly what she thought of him. Did she know her father was a convicted killer? Had she ever come to see him?

  Why couldn’t he even remember his own child?

  None of the clippings gave him much more information than he’d already learned from his guards and doctors about his crime. But reading that he had admitted in open court to killing his own partner made it somehow more real. Still, he didn’t feel capable of it.

  Or had he become a completely different person? Dr. Dailey said it was a possibility But even he had sounded none too sure.

  The questions in his head wouldn’t go away. They pounded at him day and night.

  He had to have answers or he would truly go crazy.

  Most of all, he felt he had to have some before he was returned to prison

  He was reading, his mind preoccupied with hopes that Juhe Farrell would visit, when he heard a knock before the door opened Julie?

  But instead, a man in a suit appeared. Dressed in slacks, coat and a tie loosened at the throat, he strode over to the bed and thrust out his hand.

  “Jack Banyon,” he said, light blue eyes studying him

  Ryan wasn’t sure what to do with that hand. No one else had offered a hand to him before Finally, he stuck out his own, and his visitor’s hand tightened around his.

  “You don’t recognize me,” the man said.

  Ryan shook his head

  “I’m Jack Banyon, lieutenant with the police department. I used to work with you. I was a friend. I never did believe that garbage about drugs.” His eyes seemed to watch Ryan carefully. By now he was used to scrutiny. Everyone looked at him as if he were hiding something. He wished to God he was

  “I seem to have pleaded guilty,” Ryan said.

  “You don’t remember anything? You really don’t?”

  “No,” Ryan said flatly

  “They wouldn’t let me in to see you before now,” Banyon said awkwardly. “But I just wanted to tell you not everyone believed you went dirty.”

  “Why?”

  “Just out of character, buddy,” Banyon said.

  Ryan looked at him just as carefully as Banyon had studied him. He was a big man, but Ryan didn’t think any of the bulk was fat. His movements were curiously graceful despite his size His blue eyes were shrewd, and little real warmth accompanied the friendly words And yet, in the four weeks he had been in the hospital, this man was the only one from his past to visit him.

  He was grateful. Grateful but wary.

  “Did you know my wife?” he queried.

  “Mary Elizabeth? Hell, yes ” Banyon’s eyes narrowed “Do you remember her? I was told. ”

  Ryan shook his head It was as if the question came out of thin air. And he knew just as suddenly the reason for it. A friend would know his wife. He didn’t know, though, why he had asked it of this particular person.

  Banyon pulled something out of his pocket. “Brought this for you. Remembered you used to like them on stakeout.”

  Ryan took the package It was filled with wrapped candies.

  “Butterscotch Nothing but butterscotch,” Banyon reassured him.

  Ryan stared at the small wrapped candies. Butterscotch It meant nothing to him. Even a flavor of candy meant nothing, recalled no warm memory Not even a cold one “Thank you,” he said

  “Thank you?” Banyon mocked.
“That must be the first ” He studied Ryan with hooded eyes “I don’t think I ever came across anybody who had a real case of amnesia before. Heard of temporary amnesia, but the doc said you might never get your memory back.”

  The reminder was like a knife in the gut God knew he had heard the diagnosis before. Knew it as well, or as little, as his own name. Yet he hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped, expected, that something would come back, some flash of familiarity

  He said nothing.

  Banyon hesitated, then said, “Heard your attorney’s gonna try for parole. Don’t count on it. The district attorney’s fighting your parole So are the police. Ain’t gonna happen, buddy, no matter what that woman lawyer tries.” He coughed. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “I’d better go.” He disappeared out the door before Ryan could say anything He puzzled over the conversation. A friend? A warning?

  Julie hesitated outside Murphy’s room As his attorney, she could now see him anytime she wanted.

  Dan had been furious when he’d learned that she was now Murphy’s attorney of record. “You should have told me what you planned to do,” he’d said.

  “Then you wouldn’t have let me see him ”

  “You’re damn right.” It was only the second tune she’d ever heard him swear. The first time was when she’d called him after her husband’s death. She knew it indicated the depth of his disapproval. “If you thmk that’s going to change my position on his parole—”

  “I think no such thing I do hope you will listen, however.”

  “We’ve made our decision,” he said, his voice hardening.

  “Dan, there was something odd about his plea. You didn’t have the evidence to convict him. Even that trace of cocaine could have been the residue from an old bust.”

  “He confessed, and that’s enough for me,” Dan said.

  “Will you at least talk to me about it?”

  “You won’t change my mind,” he warned her.

  At least he hadn’t said no. And she hoped Jerry would provide her with enough ammunition to indeed change his mind.

  But she could say nothing of that to Murphy. She wouldn’t get his hopes up. She had already been told he would be removed tomorrow to Reidsville. That meant a six-hour round trip drive to see him And she would have to see him often to prepare for the hearing scheduled in late November, just four weeks away

  By then she would have more information. But now she had a little. Just a little

  The officer outside his room had risen from the seat he usually occupied. She had brought him some coffee and a doughnut, just as she had two days earlier Sugar, she’d discovered long ago, could be a very effective tool. She was now greeted with a smile.

  “Mrs Farrell,” he acknowledged “He’s better. Word is—”

  “I know,” she said. “He’s being moved.”

  “Can’t say I won’t be pleased,” he said “This is not the most interesting duty I’ve ever had.”

  “Well, I’ll miss you,” she said, as he preened slightly.

  “I’ll miss you, too, miss,” he said as he opened the door.

  The beat of her heart speeded as she entered Murphy was reading a tattered magazine. She saw it was an old copy of Tune Magazine

  He looked up, saw the direction of her gaze and, without smiling, explained, “Dr. Dailey brought me some old copies.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  His dark blue eyes searched hers. They seemed darker today, almost as dark as his hair They were also shrouded. The confusion was gone As were bewilderment and resignation

  “Well enough to leave, I’m told,” he said without any kind of emotion

  Self-protection, she wondered. “They’re moving you tomorrow.”

  A muscle moved m his cheek, but he said nothing.

  “I have a private detective digging around in your past,” she said without preamble.

  The muscle moved again

  “He found your ex-wife and child She married again and lives in Macon, about seventy miles from here. Your daughter is fifteen.” She didn’t tell him that his daughter’s last name was no longer his.

  He absorbed the news without comment. She wondered what he was thinking. She kept trying to put herself in his place—if he truly had amnesia—and she couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be told she had a son she didn’t remember.

  She forced herself to continue. “There’s no record of any other family members,” she said. “Your employment records say both your mother and father died before you joined the police department. You’ve never listed next of kin other than your ex-wife.”

  “That’s fortunate,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” she replied.

  “How would you like someone like me hanging around your family tree?”

  She smiled at the sudden image of him enmeshed in a tree “It would make for a much more interesting family,” she said

  A glimmer of interest suddenly shone in his eyes. “Is yours not interesting?”

  She shook her head. “Not big. There’s only Nick, myself and my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “She lives in Rome, Georgia. It’s one reason I moved to Atlanta.” She didn’t add that they had seen little of each other the last several years Susan’s husband was a consultant who spent months in Germany. Susan was there with him now.

  Murphy was watching her intently He had propped the pillow behind his back, and his fingers combed his dark hair. The hospital gown looked incongruous on him, the worn cotton at odds with strength it couldn’t conceal. His arms were lean but muscled, his chest clearly outlined under the thin cloth. A sheet covered his legs, but she could see the length of them. One of them moved, bending at the knee; the other was held stationary by the chain she knew secured him to the bed. She knew the power of that body. It had been strong enough to pull her from the car and throw her well out of the force of the explosion.

  And from the moment she had first visited him, she sensed the vitality in him. As his injuries had healed, she had noted his increased restlessness, the energy that he channeled into learning everything he could. Dr Dailey had told her that he had an insatiable hunger for knowledge, that he continually asked for reading material, that the guards said he watched television far into the night

  Yet despite his obvious need to learn everything he could, there was a dignified reticence about him, a reserve that affected her deeply. She wondered whether he had the same reserve before the accident, before prison What kind of man had he been then?

  She had learned a little more about him. He had been one of the department’s marksmen He was also skilled in the martial arts. His file was filled with contradictions. He had one of the highest arrest and conviction records of any detective, but his record also included negatives. “Doesn’t work well with other detectives; disrespectful to superior officers,” etc. These were apparently overlooked because of his effectiveness, but they had also stalled any promotions

  Jerry was now interviewing officers who had worked with Murphy. Julie herself intended to talk to his ex-wife. She felt that a woman would be more effective in gaining her trust.

  “You played baseball in college,” she said as if she were reading a résumé. She had memorized the psychological and physical evaluations of Murphy that Jerry Kidder had found. “You had a scholarship. You were a pitcher, but you broke your wrist sliding into base Your pitching was never the same and you lost the scholarship. You dropped out of college after your junior year. You enrolled in the police academy, where you graduated at the top of your class.

  “Your arrest records were excellent Your people skills seemed somewhat lacking,” she said wryly.

  He listened intently, but his face showed little reaction.

  “You apparently met your wife at college, but didn’t marry until a year after you joined the police force.”

  He looked expectant, his eyes asking for more.

  She spread out her hands. “That
’s it, Mr. Murphy That’s all I have right now. Did anything ring a bell?” Mr. Murphy. She refused to think of him as Ryan. It was too intimate, too personal. Murphy was a client. Ryan? She was very much afraid he could become something else

  She sensed his disappointment, but he didn’t show it. She sensed altogether too much about him. It was as if some invisible bond connected them. That when be had saved her life, he’d also given her a piece of his soul, or he had taken part of hers. What was it they said about someone who saved a life? That then they were responsible for it forever? Or was the responsibility that of the person saved? She didn’t know. She just knew a connection existed.

  “Someone came by earlier,” he said “A police lieutenant named Jack Banyon. He said he was a friend, that he never believed I was guilty of the charges.”

  She was intrigued. She took a pad and pen from her bag and wrote down the name “Did he say why’ ”

  Murphy shook his head.

  “He brought some candy. Little butterscotch balls He said I used to eat them all the time. I tried one. I hated it.”

  Her gaze suddenly met his. They weren’t shuttered now. Or empty. She saw agony there. Raw pain, and she found herself leaning down and grasping his hand, feeling his fingers lock around hers with a need so strong it made her tremble. It was almost as if she were his lifelike in a rushing, storm-tossed sea

  Just as suddenly as his hand had clasped hers, he tried to let it go, and she found herself clinging to it, A strong hand with callused fingers—tong and capable and strong Just as she found him. Despite everything that had happened to him, despite his confusion and bewilderment or even resignation, he radiated an independence and strength that she couldn’t help but admire He wasn’t hiding from the truth, or using his current condition to excuse himself from it. Instead, he was seeking it, and devil damn the consequences.

  She swallowed hard to bypass the emotions welling in her throat, the need to comfort even though she realized comfort wasn’t wanted. The only thing he had asked of her was information.