Memory's Edge: Part One (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

A Saint

John
couldn’t blame Gretchen’s dad for falling asleep on the couch. If fact, he
wanted to follow suit. Even his good leg was throbbing by the time the last
couple of guests finally left. Carl and Desi were the last to leave. He watched
them go, hopeful Carl would soon be out of their hair. Every time he thought
about the way he looked at Gretchen in her new dress, or how close his mouth
was to hers when he saw them before the party, John had to stifle an urge to
punch him in the face. Carl knew Gretchen wasn't interested. He had no right to
look at her like that.

Gathering
dishes from around the room helped John calm himself down. He had barely gotten
a quarter of the trash cleaned up when Gretchen came back in from walking Desi
out. She swept up behind John and hugged him tightly.

“Don’t
worry about that now. Let’s get my parents to bed first. They’re probably
beat,” she said.

“Your dad
crashed an hour ago, but your mom’s cleaning up the kitchen. I tried to tell
her to leave it alone, but she insisted,” John said. “Apparently she doesn’t
believe in going to bed with a dirty house.”

“No she
does not,” Gretchen said, “but this isn’t her house. It’s ours, uh, mine. I
mean it’s not her house.” Spinning away from him, Gretchen hurried off toward
the kitchen.

John let
her go without commenting on her confusion. She had been acting strangely
during the party. Maybe she was just tired, but John feared pushing her about
calling him her boyfriend and then being faced with the pressure of the party
had yanked her out of her comfort zone. He hoped she wasn't regretting all of
it.

A few
minutes later, he had a little more of the living room cleaned up and Gretchen
had succeeded in getting her mom out of the kitchen.

“Really,
Gretchen, we can just sleep on the couch bed. You don’t need to kick John out
of his room, although I’m surprised to hear he has his own room,” her mom said.

“Mom,”
Gretchen groaned.

“Mrs.
Gesner. I will be fine on the couch bed. Gretchen mentioned Mr. Gesner has some
back problems. He’ll be much more comfortable in my room,” John said.

“Mom, the
room is already made up for you and Dad. John and I will take care of the mess.
You guys need to get some rest if you’re going to drive to Phoenix tomorrow.”
Gretchen turned to John and asked, “John, would you mind helping my dad to the
room?”

Setting
down the plates he was holding, John walked over to the couch, hoping he wasn’t
going to have to carry her dad to their room. He wasn't sure his leg could
handle that. It was already begging him to sit down and give it a rest.
Thankfully, when he tapped him on the shoulder, he woke right up and followed
John back to the room. Gretchen showed them where the guest bathroom was and
left them to finish getting ready for bed.

When she
got back to the living room, Gretchen grabbed John and pulled him onto the
couch with her. He flopped down, happy to be off his leg. Stretching out, John
got comfortable and pulled Gretchen down next to him. She laid her head on his
arm and seemed to deflate.

“Tired?”
John asked.

“Exhausted.”
Rolling her head, she looked up at him. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Aside from
Carl…. “Yeah, I did. It was great to finally meet your friends. I was beginning
to think you were embarrassed of me.” John was teasing, of course. Gretchen
knew that and smiled.

“What about
my parents? How did you like meeting them?” she asked.

“They’re
great. Your dad’s a little quiet, but he seemed to like me. I think he did
anyway. It was hard to tell,” he said.

“He loves
you. They both do.” Gretchen put her head back down and relaxed.

Her words
really hit him. Her parents loved him. Until she said it, John didn’t even
realize how much he had been worrying about whether or not they would. For now,
they were the closest thing he had to parents, and they actually seemed to like
him. Maybe his real parents were looking for him, maybe they weren’t. Maybe
they were already dead. He had no idea.

Over the
past two months, he had thought about his family a lot, but as the days went by
even the idea of them was starting to fade. Gretchen had been slowly filling in
the empty places in his heart.

He loved
Gretchen.  He knew she wasn't ready to hear that from him yet, so he kept
it to himself, but John felt it. Being around her and making her happy were his
only goals in life. He thought if he could make her feel as loved and complete
as she made him feel, nothing else would matter. Not what he lost, not
anything. Even though getting Gretchen to call him her boyfriend was hard
enough, John thought she loved him, too. He was willing to wait for her to
admit her feelings. She would see it in her own time, when she was ready to let
go of past hurts and trust in their future.

Gretchen
was John’s family now. He would have been happy with that, but now he felt he
could include her parents in his little circle of people who knew he existed
and cared about what happened to him. John felt so incredibly lucky to even
have Gretchen that he hadn’t really hoped for anyone else. But there they were.
The more time that passed, the less sure John was he even wanted to find out
who he used to be.

“What?”
Gretchen asked with a smile as she watched him. She was looking up at John
curiously.

“What do
you mean ‘what’?” he asked.

“You have
this goofy smile on your face. You should be about to fall asleep, not smiling
at the wall,” she teased. “What were you thinking about?”

“Just about
you and your parents. Whether or not anybody from my past cares what happened
to me, I know there are at least three people who care about me now,” John
said. “I’m starting to feel like it doesn’t matter so much what I lost because
I’m finding it again with you.”

Joy
sparkled in Gretchen’s eyes. Her chest bobbed up and down as she tried to keep
herself from crying, drawing John’s eyes to the way her collar lay partially
open. Her top button had come unbuttoned, tempting him to pull the fabric back
and see what it was beneath. Suddenly the warmth of her body seemed to
intensify where it touched him. Promises of “later” crawled back into his mind.

“You know,”
he said, pausing to brush his lips against Gretchen’s forehead, “I never got
the chance to tell you how beautiful you looked tonight. I love your dress. I
think you should wear it every day.”

“Oh, do
you? Yes, I’m sure the teenage boys I teach every day would like it too,” she
said.

“Okay,
maybe not every day, but definitely more often. You looked amazing tonight.”
This time John’s kiss went right for her lips. She accepted him willingly.
Reaching up, she pulled him closer, deepening their kiss. All of John’s
weariness sprinted away. His leg felt like it could run a marathon without
getting tired. His skin was alive, and everywhere she touched him sent waves of
pleasure coursing through his body.

This was
what John wanted. In that moment, he could let go of everything else as long as
he had Gretchen in his arms.

Shifting
his weight so he was poised above her, John started at the top of her head and
gently kissed a trail down to the button that had come undone. Her soft flesh
begged him to keep going. Gretchen sighed with pleasure at his touch. John
gently pulled her collar back, kissing her shoulder and moving back down.

“John,”
Gretchen breathed, “wait.”

He pulled
back reluctantly and looked up at Gretchen.

“My parents
are just down the hall, and…” She looked away embarrassed.

“And what?”
John asked softly. She buried her head against his shoulder, hiding her face.
He could take a hint. Gently, John backed away and helped her sit back up. She
wasn't ready for more. He understood. John wanted to keep going, but as he
began to cool down, he wasn't sure. Behind his love for Gretchen, there was
still a river of anger for what he had lost. Even if he were ready for more,
there was no way he was pushing Gretchen about this. She smiled and leaned
against him.

“I guess we
should get the rest of this cleaned up then,” John said. There were still
plates and cups and trays of food all over the room.

“Yeah, I
guess so,” Gretchen said.

Leaning
over the arm of the couch, John grabbed what used to be his sweatshirt from its
now customary place in the basket of throw blankets. He handed the sweatshirt
to Gretchen. “But would you do me a favor and put this on?” he asked her. She
took it with an embarrassed smile and slipped it on.

John understood,
but he wasn't a saint.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Gigi

The
horizontal bar under the couch bed’s mattress digging into John’s back all
night wasn't the only reason he didn’t sleep well. Safely tucked away in his
own room, there was a bathroom, a linen closet, and two doors between him and
Gretchen. Lying on the couch in the living room there was less than twenty
feet, and only Gretchen’s bedroom door between them. Knowing she never locked
her door at night only made the hours even more excruciating.

The pink
light of dawn eventually crept through the window and John was glad for the
excuse to finally get up. His back
twinged
and
cracked as he stripped the sheets and blanket off the bed and shoved it back
inside the frame. After replacing the cushions, he leaned back and forth,
trying in vain to stretch out his cramped muscles.

The next
time he and Gretchen had company, John would just sleep on the floor. There was
no way it could be any worse than that bed. As he quietly stepped into the guest
bathroom to brush his teeth and hair, John thought about the idea of “he and
Gretchen” having company. The assumption that they were both hosting her
parents, not just Gretchen, inevitably got him thinking about her slip the
night before when she had said it was
their
house.

She’d
realized what she’d said right away, and became flustered when she did, but the
comment had made John smile. On the inside, of course. She would have been
annoyed if she thought he was laughing at her. Perhaps she didn’t mean to say
it out loud, but it showed John she was thinking about it. Did she think of it
as their house all the time, or was it just that night with them hosting their
first party together? John wanted to know, but he was afraid of pushing her
away.

Creeping
out of the bathroom, John felt a warm sense of familiarity as he walked into
the kitchen. It was his favorite room in their house. Laughing to himself, he
realized he was doing it too. Maybe it was easier for him to fall into that,
though. The house was the only one he had ever known. He loved being there with
Gretchen.

Mixing eggs
and milk in a bowl, John barely thought about what he was doing as he stirred
in the mushrooms, onions, and spinach for a frittata. He knew where everything
was, and he grabbed things without having to think about it anymore. John had
even moved a few things around to make it easier when he cooked. Pausing for a
moment, John wondered if he should have asked Gretchen before doing that. Had
she even noticed that the spices were next to the stove now instead of on the
shelf above the glasses? With how little John actually let her cook…probably
not.

Gretchen
juggled a million things a day, but she had no clue how to organize a kitchen.
She owned one cookbook her mother had given her when she moved out. Based on
how crisp the pages were when John first opened it, he didn’t think she had
ever used it. Gretchen’s deficient cooking skills didn’t bother him in the
least. He loved cooking for her. He loved doing anything and everything for
her, really, but he especially liked cooking for her.

The
frittata mixture went into a pan and into the oven before John started mixing
up some drop-biscuit batter, throwing in sage and lemon to make it pair with
the frittata better. A puff of flour spouted out of the bowl as he started
mixing, dusting the countertop. Gretchen hadn’t even had flour and sugar in the
house that first week. John had to drag her to the store and show her what
baking supplies he’d needed. Now she let him make the shopping lists.

Plopping
the biscuits down on the baking tray, John popped them into the oven and
checked on the frittata before ducking back to the fridge to grab the fruit.
Gretchen had tried pulling out the strawberries and blueberries the night
before, thinking John had meant them for the party, but he had been quick to
snatch them away. The party menu was all finger food.

Her parents
were only in town for a short visit. John wanted to make sure they knew that
even though he hadn’t been well enough to work up until a few days ago, he was
still doing what he could to thank Gretchen for everything she’d done for him.
Plus, John thought as he sliced the strawberries, he wanted to impress them
with how good of a cook he was. It was pretty much the only thing he knew how
to do well, so he wanted to shine for them.

John was
tossing the washed blueberries into a bowl when a bleary-eyed Gretchen wandered
into the kitchen. Her dark blonde hair was smashed against her head in strange
places from her pillow, and she still had remnants of makeup on from the party,
but she looked gorgeous. Stepping away from the counter, John wrapped her up in
a hug, lifting her feet off the floor in the process.

She looked
up at him in disbelief. “What are you doing up so early? It’s only six-thirty.”

John
stifled a laugh before she saw it. It amazed him that Gretchen had chosen a
profession which made her get up even earlier than the normal eight-to-five
crowd when she despised mornings so much. She must have really loved teaching.

“For your
information, your pullout couch is incredibly uncomfortable. I was flopping
around trying to find a comfortable spot all night,” John said. Grinning
devilishly, he knew he shouldn’t, but he said it anyway. “I was about ready to
sneak into your room and crawl into bed with you.”

“I
appreciate that you didn’t,” Mr. Gesner said suddenly, appearing right behind
Gretchen and making her jump.

“I…just…uh
…” John’s brain and tongue were suddenly frozen in horrified embarrassment.
Gretchen smirked at him and jabbed his shoulder.

“He’s just
kidding. Daddy knows I’m not a little girl anymore,” Gretchen said, eyeing her
dad pointedly. She led him to a chair at the table and sat down next to him.

Suddenly,
John’s mind seemed to unfreeze and he desperately tried to apologize. “I’m
sorry, Mr. Gesner. I was joking, and, uh…” His apology trailed off. He didn’t
want to lie and say it would never happen. Never was a strong word. Actually,
he was hoping someday his bedroom would go back to being a guest bedroom and he
could move his stuff into Gretchen’s room. John didn’t know what else to say.

“Gretchen…”
Mr. Gesner said, still eyeing John. “John seems like a nice young man, but you
two haven’t known each other that long.”

Gretchen
eyed him without backing down. “Come on. I would expect that kind of intrusive
comment from Mom, not from you. I’m an adult, not a goofy teenager still living
upstairs in my little girl bedroom.”

Now her dad
looked embarrassed. “Well, I just…you’re still my little girl, Gigi, and I
don’t want you getting hurt again like last time.”

“I know,”
Gretchen said. John felt he was intruding on a very private father-daughter
conversation. He tried to be as invisible as possible.

“John has
his own room, Dad. We’re comfortable with that, for now. And you don’t have to
worry about me getting hurt. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine,” she said.

Silence
fell over the room. Abandoning the finished salad, John went back to the
frittata and took it out of the oven. He was dropping hot biscuits into a
basket when Mrs. Gesner appeared around the corner, fully dressed and ready to
go.

“What on
earth are you making, John? It smells wonderful,” she said.

“Spinach
and mushroom frittata, Mrs. Gesner, along with some biscuits and fruit salad. I
hope you’re hungry.”

Taking the
chair next to her husband, she said. “I think I ate too many of your delicious
hors d’oeuvres last night to be too famished this morning, but you’re such a
wonderful chef, I wouldn’t dream of missing an opportunity to eat one of your
meals.”

John served
breakfast a few minutes later, breaking up their conversation about the wedding
Gretchen’s parents were on their way to attend. Mr. Gesner seemed to have
forgotten John’s earlier blunder, or at least he was pretending he had for
Gretchen’s sake. John sat down across from him and hoped he hadn’t ruined his
chances of being welcomed into the family.

“So, John,
now that you’re all healed up, what are you planning to do with yourself,” Mr.
Gesner said. “I’m assuming intend to get a job. What do you think you’d like to
do?”

“Dad,”
Gretchen whined, “could you please not grill John about getting a job. He’s had
a lot to deal with. He probably hasn’t even thought about it that much.”

“Actually,
I think I may have gotten a job last night,” John said.

“What?”
Gretchen asked, fork halted halfway to her mouth. “How did you get a job at the
party last night?”

“Your
friends, Melanie and Eric, the ones getting married in a couple weeks, offered
me a job,” John said. The confusion on Gretchen’s face was laughable.

“They’re
both teachers. How did they offer you a job?” Gretchen asked.

“Apparently,
the caterer they hired for their wedding bailed on them yesterday. They liked
the food so much last night, and they seemed to know I wasn't doing much else
right now, so they asked me if I wanted to cater their wedding,” John said. “I
love cooking, so why not get paid to do it?”

“That
sounds like a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Gesner said. Even Gretchen’s dad was
nodding.

Gretchen
looked worried. “Are you sure, John? Catering a wedding is a lot of work.”

“I’ll be
fine. They already have the menu planned out and the food ordered. All I have
to do is show up and cook. They said they had already planned on having their
nieces and nephews be the servers. Apparently they have a lot of nieces and
nephews.” Gretchen started to look a little less concerned.

“Well,” she
said, “if you’re sure. Just let me know what you need me do, I guess.”

“What you
need Gretchen to do is stay out of the kitchen,” her mom muttered. Gretchen
scowled, but her mother just said, “You never were much of a cook, dear.”

“It’s not
that I wasn't good at cooking, I just didn’t like doing it,” Gretchen said. The
pout on her face was adorable. That reminded John of something.

Leaning
over to her, he whispered, “Did your dad call you Gigi?”

Gretchen’s
face turned scarlet. She looked away and left John grinning. She was never
going to live that down.