Memory's Edge: Part One (10 page)

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.