by A K August
During Anthony’s coma, I’d been living in Fantasyland. I moved into his house, painted his walls, rearranged his furniture, and even moved in a few pieces from my apartment that so fit perfectly in the house, it strengthened my belief that we were meant to be together. I pretended that we were a couple, building a life, and I was keeping that alive for him, so when he awoke, we could move forward together.
I was elated when he opened his eyes, my emotions overflowing as I clutched his hand and smiled at him.
I was used to my hospital visits being quiet, just Anthony and me, and I talked a lot. I told him everything. Living in that fantasy world, Anthony and I were together, in love, building a family.
Now, he was awake and it was very different. He didn’t remember me, and I remember how we left things. He’d lied to me, and I moved out of his house. That was our reality. Yes, he also took a bullet for me—several in fact —that made me grateful and a little guilty. If I hadn’t run off half-cocked on my own, I wouldn’t have put all of us in danger; I got Anthony shot.
But this was not a movie. Our time together was a whirlwind, and now the chaos has passed. The past week in the hospital reinforced that. It was no longer Anthony and me against the world. Doctors and nurses and physical therapists and family members and colleagues; every time I went to see him, it was a flurry of activity. I was only in the way. I don’t even think he noticed I was in the room.
Things were different now. He no longer needed to be my protector. And I am pregnant. I don’t know if he wanted any part of me, much less a baby. He broke down my walls, loved me, sacrificed for me. He made me love him. I knew he cared for me at one point, but not enough.
The reality was, we didn’t know each other. We forged a partnership during a time of crisis; that crisis was over, the partnership dissolved.
Time for Katie to get back to her real life.
“What do you want to do, Katie?”
Thomas’s words pulled me out of my downward spiral. “Of course, I’ll talk to him.” This could be our closure; as much as it would pain me never to see him again, I had to end my torment of what might have been.
◆◆◆
Walking up to the door, I resisted the urge to use my key. I had to keep reminding myself I didn’t live here anymore. I shouldn’t have stayed here while Anthony was in a coma; it was never my home. I steeled myself to see Anthony and rang the doorbell. Thomas answered and smiled big, enveloping me in a hug that seemed to circle my body twice.
“How’s the Ladybug?” He asked in a low voice.
“Good. Only a small tumbling routine this morning; I swear I am breeding a gymnast.”
Thomas laughed as he patted my stomach and paused.
“You can say it. I’ve grown.” He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. I laughed enthusiastically.
I woke up this morning and swore my belly had doubled in size overnight. Nothing fit. I pulled out dozens of options before settling on a maxi dress with a lot of gathered material at the waist. My boobs grew in tandem with my belly, so a light sweater over the top kept the dress from being risqué. Luckily the weather was mild, so I was comfortable, although I couldn’t wear this dress every day. I’d need to go shopping for proper maternity clothes soon.
Thomas wrapped his arms around my shoulder and escorted me into the house. I stiffened when we came around the corner and I saw Anthony standing by the French doors.
“Hi,” he said and lifted a hand from the walker to wave.
“Hello. I’m Katie.” I’d rehearsed all possible greetings in the car on the way over and decided I’d treat this like an interview. I may know things about Anthony, but I’d pretend it was the first time we met. Hopefully, that would keep me from getting too personal and revealing something I probably shouldn’t.
I walked closer to Anthony and extended my hand. He reached out and clasped his fingers around mine; the contact sent a rush through me and had me clenching my thighs.
It was like the first time all right.
Same pulsing between my thighs. Same urge to push him into the bathroom and have my way with him.
How was I to get through this?
ANTHONY
I struggled to maintain my posture as I heard her approach, but with her hand in mine, I felt strength her flow through me, a weight lifting from my spine like invisible hands, holding me up, spreading heat over my back. I didn’t want to let go; yet I knew the surge was temporary, and I should sit before my legs gave out.
“Do you mind if we sit outside?” I turned to direct her through the doors but faltered as my balanced shifted. Katie was quick to place her hands along my ribs and righted me.
Another image flashed in my head, Katie, with napkins, pressing on my chest, and my pants. A wave of desire rushed south, almost doubling me over.
“Are you okay?” She asked, at the same time looking over her shoulder at Dad. “Thomas, can you help us?” Dad took my other side and I leaned on both of them as they lowered me into the Adirondack chair. I loved these chairs. You settled in, your whole body excellently supported, the wide arms perfect to rest your coffee or a book. I looked over as Dad asked Katie if she’d like some tea. I pictured Katie sitting in the chair with a coffee cup between her hands, the morning sun highlighting the golden tones of her hair.
My image morphed with the real Katie as she slipped into the chair, sighing. I didn’t say anything, just watched her. She was radiant. Her hand rested on her belly, highlighting her advanced pregnancy.
Her husband was one lucky guy.
“How far along are you?” She tensed at my question and I cringed inwardly. “Sorry. Was that too personal?”
She turned and looked at me for a beat before replying. “It’s okay. I have a few months to ago.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say. Thankfully Dad returned with a couple of iced drinks and we sipped in silence. Déjà vu hit me again, the quiet comfort of sitting here with Katie. It was familiar. I stole another glance as her and needed to know.
“Have you sat in that chair before, Katie?”
Her breath hitched and I knew the answer before she softly spoke. “Yes.”
“So, in addition to taking you to my Uncle’s farm, I also brought you to my house?”
She nodded but didn’t add anything.
It was at the tip of my tongue. I felt like I should know this woman; she clearly knew me. Relationships develop quickly under extraordinary circumstances when you need to trust in each other. People tend to get personal, share deep thoughts. I think that happened with Katie and I. Hell; I brought her to my childhood home.
“I’m sorry, Katie.”
You would think she shot out of a cannon; her head turned so fast. “What?”
“I think we became friends and shared details about our lives and now I don’t remember. That would hurt me if the situation reversed. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes welled, and I think she stopped breathing. I definitely touched a nerve. I hated that I’d forgotten our time together. What did we do? What did we talk about? How could I ever forget her? I wish I understood. But that didn’t need to be the end of our story.
“I’d like to get to know you again, Katie, if you are open to that.”
She finally took a deep breath and let it out. The air around us was heavy and stifling, like an invisible yet dense fog in the middle of summer, the moist air so thick it makes breathing difficult.
I needed to lighten the mood. “I think I liked you. I’m hoping you liked me enough to start over without the drama of a killer chasing you?”
I waited for her response like a death row convict waited for the phone to ring at the eleventh hour. From the moment she walked into my living room, I was unconsciously angling to find ways to keep her here. I didn’t understand why, but it was essential to spend time with Katie. I could feel it. God help me if she said no. It would be as if she’d plunged the poisoned needle in my vein personally.
Keeping with the levity of my qu
estion, I shot Katie a small smile with an upturned brow and watched a multitude of emotions swim in her eyes.
KATIE
The teasing tone of Anthony’s question reminded me so much of the Anthony I loved, My Anthony; it was hard not to tell him.
I choked back my emotions.
The minute I saw him tuck his chin and look at me over his raised brow, he had me. He always had me. “I’d like that,” I finally said.
Anthony let out a deep breath and the tension released from his shoulders. Had he been afraid I would say no? Why? He didn’t remember me, so why was my friendship so important to him?
“We have a connection, Katie.”
His words jolted me from my thoughts. It was like he could read my mind, and so like My Anthony, I wanted to believe he knew the significance.
“We experienced a traumatic event and that brings people close. Normally after a case is closed, the witness goes back to her normal life, and I’d move on to the next case, but we have been given an opportunity and I’d like us to be friends.”
“Right.” This was FBI Anthony. Mr. Hottie. He wasn’t My Anthony. Who knows if that guy would ever return? I wanted to run out of the house I’d painted and decorated and planted herbs in the backyard and go back to my dingy apartment where I’d finish off the carton of Chunky Monkey in my freezer and cry myself to sleep.
But I couldn’t. I rubbed my belly. I had a little one who deserved to know his or her father, even if it was only as an adult friend of mommy’s.
Now what?
“Why don’t you stay for lunch?” Anthony asked, hopefully. “We have leftovers from last night, my mom’s spaghetti—which is to die for—or we can warm up some stroganoff.”
I bit my lip. All those meals I prepared for them and he thinks Thomas made his mom’s recipes. I didn’t know whether to be pleased that he likes them or pissed to have the credit taken from me.
“Sure. Let me help Thomas in the kitchen.”
We tried to stand up, each of us challenged in different ways by the low-slung chairs, which made us crack up laughing as we observed our unsuccessful attempts. Thomas finally came out and laughed with us before assisting.
“Dad, Katie’s going to stay for lunch.”
Thomas’ twinkly eyes met mine and he grinned broadly. “Katie, do you like stroganoff?”
I’d hope so, considering I only made it a dozen times after Anthony taught me.
I remembered standing in the kitchen and chopping mushrooms the first time we made stroganoff.
The knife slipped and sliced into my forefinger, taking a little bit of skin with it.
“Shit!” I exclaimed. “Now, they’ll be blood in the sauce.”
Anthony peered over my shoulder and saw the evidence as blood pooled around the wound. “Just a little flavor,” he said, right before sticking my finger in his mouth.
I chuckled, “what are you doing?”
With his tongue wrapped around my finger, he replied, “swaffing ta bwood fow.”
“Oh, really. That works?”
“yeff! Awfu cweans ta woun.”
I’m laughing as his tongue circled my finger, then it was his full mouth sipping and sucking on my digit. I suck in a breath, and he tips my chin up, the pain and humor of the situation shifting with the desire in his eyes. Dinner is forgotten as he slowly pulls my finger from his mouth, his lips tugging on the digit the entire time.
It’s as if all my nerve endings were in the tip of that digit, and his sucking and his tongue toying with it was endlessly mind numbing. My body tingled as it heated.
I can’t wait.
At once, my mouth replaces my finger and we’re kissing madly, my body flung against the pantry door as clothes disappear and we devour each other. We come up for air only because my stomach started rumbling and wouldn’t stop.
Anthony settles me in front of the stove to brown the beef while he takes charge of the cutting board. It’s quicker and somewhat safer this way. I cut myself at least once a week while chopping while I’ve only burned myself twice on the stove.
Throughout the rest of dinner prep, we still can’t stop touching and kissing, practically taking the pasta to bed with us.
I smiled at the memory. Cooking stroganoff became a euphemism for foreplay. We never got through all the prep for that dish without jumping each other. It may be one reason I made it so often.
“Yep. Love it.” My lips smacked together as I counted to ten, blowing out my breath and holding off the dam of tears that just overwhelmed me—damn hormones. I never knew when they’d hit.
“You okay?”
I looked at Anthony, his expression devoid of the memory. “Yeah, I get emotional about food. It’s a pregnancy thing.”
I moved ahead and held the door as Anthony pushed his walker into the living room.
Lunch was surprisingly pleasant once I stopped thinking about sex with every bite and worrying about what would or wouldn’t happen between Anthony and I. Thomas was charming; interested in sharing stories about Anthony and Anthony was equally resistant to letting his father embarrass him. The father-son dynamic enthralled me and provided new insights into Anthony. I couldn’t help compare it to the lunch we shared with Claire when we first arrived on the farm.
It was a little like déjà vu.
Or a new beginning.
ANTHONY
Throughout the afternoon, I kept having flashes of Katie at the farm, in my house. Her smile lit up the room. I wish there were more to the visions, but all I got was a collection of stills that made me smile. Good memories, I assumed. I wanted the story behind the pictures. I was so frustrated, like being forced to put a puzzle together with only half the pieces.
I tried to visualize Katie at the farm or in my house, knowing we had been to both places. I latched onto the images of Katie, replaying them in my head, hoping it would trigger my memory, but nothing. It seemed the harder I tried the darker the tunnel.
I tuned into my father's story and groaned. Dad was telling Katie about my Captain America phase. I don't know what's worse: not remembering a chunk of time or having your most embarrassing childhood moments retold to strangers.
In third grade, I decided I wanted to be Captain America and took my stars and stripes shield everywhere I went. I was the crime fighter in our neighborhood; at least for the three square blocks I was allowed to walk without an adult. The shield presented a few challenges, especially in class. I didn't want it far from me, feeling vulnerable without it, but there wasn't a lot of space around the desks to store the shield, so I had to sit on it.
"Which made Anthony's head peer over the top of everybody else, not to mention that his feet couldn't touch the ground…"
Katie's peals of laughter triggered a memory—Katie doubling over at my Aunt's kitchen table as Claire told her about Stephanie Chamberlain. I was equally excited about recalling the memory as I was mortified that my relatives seem hell-bent on embarrassing me at every turn.
After lunch, we continued talking. I sat at the table while Dad and Katie cleaned up. They moved about the kitchen with ease; Dad rinsing the dishes as Katie put away the leftovers. My eyes clung to Katie. She was luminous. I assume part of this was the "glow" that pregnant women get. But there was something else. As she laughed and butted shoulders with my dad, I realized that she just fit.
I had no idea what had happened between Katie and me, but I could feel the connection we'd made. A week in the hospital with my family and friends who'd visited, and I had no recall. But after just a few hours with Katie, memories we're coming back. I just wish I had more time with her. I felt sure she was the link I needed to remember everything.
"Katie, are you working now?"
My question seemed to startle her and she stumbled over her reply. "Ah, well, yes and no. I've recently gone freelance and am working on a few stories."
"Stories? I guess I never asked what you do."
She chuckled in that way that suggests she's just as surprised.
"I'm a journalist, a media producer."
"Wow! That must be exciting. What are you working on?"
She'd been tense when I asked about her job but relaxed as she rattled off a few stories she was researching. "We're looking into a rash of businesses in a small Virginia town that has failed in the last six months, all within a five-mile area. The economy is good; people are working, the businesses have been around for years; there doesn't seem to be a logical explanation for why they'd go belly up. It's almost like the town is dying, but we don't know from what disease."
My investigative instincts were peaked. "Yeah. Sounds strange. Have the businesses been sold? Or are they all underwritten by the same bank?"
Katie chuckled. "No and no. No new investors or high profile moneyed interests have moved into the area, no big developments on the horizon." She held up her hand. "And before you ask, no, I haven't interviewed anyone from the area or asked any questions. Right now, we're gathering information. I won't be pursuing it until after Ladybug is born."
"Ladybug? Is that what you are going to name your child?"
"No!" She smirked. "That's just what I'm called the baby. It feels like there are multiple arms and legs and wings tickling me from the inside. Reminds me of a ladybug."
I looked at her, so vibrant with life, quickly morphing from a career she so obviously loves to protectiveness, not wanting to take her unborn child into an unknown environment to joy, talking about her baby's nickname. I suddenly had the urge to reach out and touch her stomach. "So, it's a girl."
"I don't know the gender," Katie replied quietly.
I sat back and pondered her response.
"What?" she asked.
"It just seems strange to me." I let that hang out there for a moment, watching Katie think through all the possibilities of what I found strange. When she cocked her head at me like she knew I was just torturing her with silence, I laughed. "For someone who likes to investigate and know all the information, it's strange that you'd be willing to wait six months for this answer to reveal itself when you know you could easily find out whenever you want."
