Memory's Edge: Part One (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Tasting Homework

The day
passed with excruciating slowness. Gretchen bided her time by watching the
clock as impatiently as her students. John being alone all day had her on pins
and needles. He was still so weak and helpless. His pleading to let him doing
one
thing
for her had barely been enough to keep her from calling in sick.

When she
had gotten back into the house with her half melted ice cream the day before,
John had been sound asleep. He woke later that evening in pain. Stepping down
from the morphine they had him on at the hospital wasn’t an easy transition.
He’d tried to hide the pain that morning, but it was written too deeply in his
face to hide. He didn’t want her to stay, though.

By the end of
the school day, Gretchen had given up on her planned lessons and set the
students to reading the assigned chapters she doubted most of them would read
at home. Heads down to either read or sleep, they sat in silence, making the
wait even more unbearable. 3:22. 3:23. 3:24. 3:25.

The shrill
ring of the bell made everyone jump.

“Finish the
assigned reading tonight,” Gretchen said as she gathered up her things, “and be
ready to answer questions about the chapter tomorrow.”

Groans
spread through the host of exiting teenagers. Waiting for them to clear out
took an eternity. When the last one finally trudged out the door, Gretchen made
a beeline out of the building, skipping her usual stopover at the teachers’
lounge. She knew Desi would be there waiting to pounce on her, wanting all the
details of having John at her house. Gretchen did not want to get trapped in a
long conversation. She knew Desi would call later, anyway.

Jumping
into her car, Gretchen joined the mass exodus from campus.

She only
lived a few miles from the high school, so the drive home was blessedly short.
Pulling sharply into the driveway, Gretchen hurried out of the car, grateful
Carl wasn’t home to see her rushing to John like a frenzied nutcase. He would
definitely have something to say about that.

Worry
gripped Gretchen when her hand touched the door handle. What would she find
when she walked in? It was her own house, the place she normally felt safe and
comfortable in, so her hesitation was disconcerting. Somewhere in the back of
her mind, Carl’s complaints resurfaced, warning her.

Gretchen
shook her head to tried and clear it. John was barely able to get around on his
own. What could he really do to her in that state? He was probably lying down
on the couch watching TV. Gretchen couldn’t let Carl’s overprotective paranoia
get to her. John wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Pushing open the front door, she
stepped out of the entryway and gaped at the kitchen.

Bags of
chips, boxes of cereal, packages of cookies, carrots, apples, it looked like
every piece of food in the house had been drug out of the cupboards and fridge
and laid on the countertops and kitchen table. John was sitting in the middle
of it all with a sheepish expression. Gretchen didn’t even know what to say.

“Hey,” John
said slowly, “I didn’t think you’d be home quite yet.”

“Apparently,”
Gretchen said. Walking into the kitchen, she was amazed at the mess. “What are
you doing?”

Smiling as
if he had just been caught sneaking treats before dinner, John held up the
notebook she had given him. “I was doing my homework,” he said.

“And that
required pulling all the food out of the cupboards?” It was going to take
forever to clean up.

“Well, food
is one of the few things I can rediscover right now.” He opened his notebook
and laid it out for her to see. “I made a list of the things I like and don’t
like.”

The pride
in his smile made her want to laugh. He was so pleased with himself. And
Gretchen supposed he should have been. He wanted to find out about himself, so
he did. There was so little he could do while practically immobile. Glad he had
found a way to make himself feel a little more normal, Gretchen let her
annoyance at the mess fall away and picked up his notebook.

“How can
you not like butter pecan ice cream?” she asked after reading the list.

John
frowned as if maybe he had done something wrong.

“I’m just
kidding. You don’t have to like it,” she said. “That’s just leaves more for me,
I guess.”

“I didn’t
hate it,” John said. “I just didn’t really care for the sweet and salty taste.
It was weird.”

“But the
sweet and saltiness of it is the best part.” Gretchen laughed as he wrinkled
his nose in distaste. “You do like sweet pickles, though. I think those are
disgusting. Talk about a weird mix of flavors. Sickly sweet and bitter vinegar?
Yuck.”

“If you
don’t like them, why were they in your fridge?” John asked. His raised eyebrow
and superior smirk were amusing, like he’d won something.

Gretchen
rolled her eyes. “My friend Desi talked me into hosting a candle party and the
sweet pickles were left over from the hors d’oeuvres. Nobody at the party
wanted them either,” Gretchen said, matching his smirk.

“What is a
candle party?” John asked.

“Desi sells
these fancy scented candles. She does parties every so often to introduce people
to what they are and to sell them,” Gretchen said. She kept forgetting how much
he didn’t know anymore.

Shaking his
head as if the idea of a candle party were the most bizarre thing he had ever
heard of, John started rolling down the top of a bag of chips. “Sorry about the
mess. I guess I got a little carried away,” he said.

“It’s all
right. I’m glad you’re finding things out about yourself,” she said. “I’ll help
you get all of this cleaned up.”

John sat
putting lids back on jars, folding up open bags, and packages as Gretchen put
things back in place. They worked quietly for a long time. Gretchen was
surprised by how natural it felt, working alongside someone. Instead of living
in the dorms during college, she had found a little studio apartment in Boulder
to live in, hoping to escape some of the all night drinking parties the
University of Colorado was known for. It was expensive, and forced her to get a
job to afford it, but she liked being completely on her own.

When
Gretchen graduated, she proudly took her letter of employment to the bank and
got approved to buy her first house. She loved her little two bedroom
fixer-upper, and she loved living alone and having the freedom to do as she
wished. Standing in the kitchen with John felt right, too. He seemed to fill an
empty place in her life that she hadn’t even realized was there.

“Oh, I
forgot,” John said suddenly, “That reporter from Albuquerque you emailed called
today. She wanted to talk to us about everything that happened, get my picture on
the news to see if anyone recognizes me.”

“That’s
great, John! They reported on you the day it happened, but you were so beat up
there wasn't any point in showing a picture on the news. They actually thought
it would be too graphic to show,” Gretchen said, remembering how awful John
looked when she first found him.

The
bruising was still fading, but the swelling had gone down. Maria had been right
about him having good bone structure. His pronounced cheekbones had been hidden
beneath puffy purple flesh for so long. His jaw line could finally be seen to
be strong and square. A few cuts still marred his skin, and there was a two
inch scar on the side of his head that would never go away, but it was obvious
now how handsome he was.

“Do you
think it will help, having my face on the news?” John asked.

“It won’t
hurt,” Gretchen said. “The Albuquerque news broadcasts to all of northern New
Mexico.”

“What if
I’m not from New Mexico? What if I was just passing through?”

His worries
weren’t just his. Gretchen shared them, though she hesitated to voice them
aloud. She had put in calls to the Las Cruces news companies, and even in
Phoenix and Denver. Unfortunately, none of them were interested.

“I got a
blog set up for you during lunch today,” Gretchen said. “I put your picture on
it and where I found you, anything that might help people recognize you. I
added my contact information too, so if someone does know who you are, they can
email me.”

“Thanks,
Gretchen, but what if nobody ever sees it?” he asked.

“We’ll just
keep trying until we figure out who you are,” she said. Walking over to him,
Gretchen put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “You may
remember soon, too. We can’t forget that possibility yet.”

John
shrugged, as though he’d already resigned himself to never getting that part of
his life back. Gretchen didn’t understand that. Maybe it was the total
emptiness of his mind making it seem impossible to unlock everything, but she
held onto hope. Dr. Sanchez said it was possible, even if not likely. Gretchen
didn’t want him to give up on that, so she opted for patience.

“I keep
thinking there might be someone out there missing me,” John said. “It bothers
me to think I might have parents somewhere, or siblings or a family, who have
no idea what happened to me. I don’t like the idea that I could be here with
you, and people who knew me might be worried and afraid.” He stayed quiet for a
moment before saying, “But maybe there isn’t anybody out there at all. Maybe I
was as alone in the world before the accident as I was after. I’m not sure
which is worse.”

“I doubt
you were alone in the world, John. I’m sure there are people who miss you and
are trying to find you. I’m sure they’re looking for you right now,” Gretchen
said.

At least,
she hoped that was true. Even though John having a family somewhere may take
him away from her, Gretchen hated to think of him being alone.

“Then where
are they,” John asked. The quiet seriousness he spoke with made it clear he had
been thinking about this for a while. “If there are people out there looking
for me, why haven’t they found me yet?”

“John, it’s
only been a week. If you were just passing through New Mexico they may not know
where you disappeared. It will take a while longer for them to figure out where
you are.”

What could
be worse for him than losing all his memories and realizing that it didn’t
really matter because he didn’t have anyone in his life worth remembering
anyway? Both Gretchen’s hands looped around his shoulders and she lowered her
head very gently to his.

“If I had
anybody who cared about me, wouldn’t I have called them while I was driving, or
at least told them where I was going? They would have at least known the route
I was taking and known where to look. Getting left for dead in the middle of
the road should have been easy enough to find out about,” he said darkly. “If
anyone was looking, I think they would have found me by now.”

Sighing,
Gretchen hugged him tighter. “That may not be true. You’ll just have to be
patient. Either we’ll find them, or they’ll find you. Give it some time.”

“I don’t
know, Gretchen. I think I’ve lost who I was, and I don’t think I’ll ever get
that back,” he said.

A week ago,
Gretchen had been happy living alone, but she had friends and parents who cared
about her. She was alone in her house, but not in her life. Could John have
really been so solitary in life?

“Whether
you were alone before, or not,” Gretchen said, “you aren’t now. And you never
have to be alone again.”

John leaned
his head against hers, and said so quietly Gretchen almost didn’t hear him, “I
hope you’re right.”

Chapter Fifteen

The Interview

Two weeks
after being left for dead in the middle of the desert, John sat on Gretchen’s couch
staring nervously at a camera crew and a perfectly made up reporter. Fidgeting
with the collar of the dress shirt Gretchen had bought him, he waited for the
interview to start. Gretchen sat next to John looking both excited and nervous
at the same time. He was glad she made him go through with this.

The weeks
sitting alone at the house while Gretchen worked had given John a lot of time
to think, probably too much time. After getting over his initial panic attacks
at being alone the first week, he felt himself bouncing between depression and
hope. The more he thought, the less hope he had.
Someone should have found
me by now if they’re really looking
, was John’s constant thought.
Gretchen’s buoyant hope was hard to overpower, and kept him from falling too
far into depression. She wanted John to believe the interview would work. She
wanted him to hope.

John
believed the interview was a waste of time, but he couldn’t bear drowning
her
hopes. So they sat on the couch waiting for the crew to finish setting up their
equipment and run through signal tests. They would be going on live. Itching
which started beneath the cast on his leg began creeping around John’s flesh,
and he struggled to ignore it. He had to keep the damn thing on for four more
weeks and he was already thinking of cutting it off himself. Just thinking
about the itching made the skin under the cast on his hand start to itch as
well. He couldn’t wait to be done with the interview.

“Okay
then,” the reporter, Melinda Velasquez, said cheerfully, “we’re just about
ready to start.”

Gretchen
nodded eagerly while John hid a grimace.

“I’ll wait
for the signal from the anchorman, then I’ll introduce myself and tell the
viewers where I am. After that, I’ll introduce the two of you, and we’ll get
into the rest of the interview.”

“How long
will the interview last?” John asked. Sweat dampened his skin, thanks to
anxiety and the lights glaring at him.

“About five
minutes,” she said.

That wasn’t
so bad. He could last five minutes. Melinda looked as though she was about to
say something else, but instead raised a finger to her ear piece and quickly
composed herself in front of the camera. “Two minutes,” she mouthed.

Those two
minutes came quickly. Gretchen squeezed John’s hand tightly as Melinda thanked
the anchorman and proceeded to go through the formal introductions. John smiled
when she turned to them, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt.

“So, John,
how are you feeling?” Melina asked, insincere concern for his condition
plastered across her face.

“I’m doing
pretty well,” he said. “Most of my smaller injuries are healing without any
problem, leaving mostly just the broken bones that still hurt and give me a
hard time.”

“How many
injuries did you sustain?” Melinda asked.

“Um, I’m
not sure. I think there were too many to count,” John said. Melinda wilted with
pity. She was incredibly overdramatic.

“The doctor
I spoke with, a Dr. Marshall, said you sustained a shattered ankle, a broken
tibia, several broken ribs, your femur was broken in three places, concussion,
multiple contusions and lacerations, as well as suffering from retrograde
amnesia, meaning that you can’t remember anything that happened before your
accident. Does that sound about right?” Melinda asked.

“Yeah, I
think so,” John said flatly.

Melinda’s
mouth tensed at his tone. She turned her attention to Gretchen. “And sitting
next to John is Gretchen Gesner, the woman who found John. Gretchen, could you
please tell us about how you found John.”

“Well, I
was driving home from a teachers’ conference in Albuquerque when I saw
something in the road ahead of me. I thought it was an animal and slammed on my
breaks. I came close to hitting it, but I managed to stop in time. When I got
out, I realized it wasn’t an animal, it was a person. I called 911, and the
paramedics took him to the hospital,” Gretchen said. It all came out in one
long breath, something John was used to, but it took Melinda a moment to react.

“How long
were you in a coma?” she asked John.

“Six days,”
he said.

“And when
you woke up, you had no memory of the attack or anything before it. Is that
correct?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you
remembered anything in the week since you woke up?” Melinda asked.

“No. I
still can’t remember anything about my life before being attacked.”

Melinda
frowned sympathetically and turned back to Gretchen. “During the time John was
in a coma you were visiting him each day. Why did you feel the need to continue
visiting him?”

Gretchen’s
cheeks colored faintly and Melinda smiled. “I was worried about him. I knew he
didn’t have anybody else and I didn’t want him to wake up and be alone.”

“And what
inspired you to open your home to this man, a man you barely know,” Melinda
asked pointedly.

Gretchen looked
a little taken aback by the direct question, but she answered anyway. “Like I
said, I knew John had nowhere else to go. With no family or friends, he didn’t
have anyone to help him get back on his feet. I just wanted to help.”

Turning
back to the camera, Melinda seemed to forget them completely. She was focused
on impressing the anchorman. “Well, Jim, there you have it. These two have gone
from tragedy in the middle of the desert to a budding relationship. It might
not be the ideal way for two people to come together, but sometimes real life
fairytales don’t play out exactly as they do in books.”

She seemed
to be listening to something Jim was saying, then smiled and wrapped up the
interview with, “We would like to remind our viewers that this man is
desperately searching for anyone who might know who he is. If you recognize
this man or know anything about the assailants who attacked him, please call
the number on the bottom of your screen. This is Melinda Velasquez. Back to
you, Jim.”

Tossing the
microphone to her assistant, Melinda took a rubber band in return and deftly
looped her hair up into a bun. “And we’re all done,” she said proudly. “Thank
you for letting us into your home.

“Thank you
for covering the story,” Gretchen said. “We really appreciate it.”

“Well, it’s
not everyday something like this happens,” Melinda said. “Viewers love these
kinds of stories. Tragedy, love, and a little bit of danger. They’ll eat it
up.”

Gretchen
cocked her head to the side at Melinda’s comment. “I guess.”

Melinda
nodded and proceeded to herd her crew out the door. John and Gretchen watched
them pile into the van with surprising efficiency. John was glad to see them
go. He maneuvered his crutches so he could turn when Gretchen huffed next to
him.

“What’s the
matter?” he asked, turning around. Her eyes were focused to the side, and when
he followed her gaze John was startled to see a very large man lumbering up the
driveway toward the front door. He looked angry. John wasn’t sure what use he
would be, but he tried to move himself in front of Gretchen. Gretchen put a
hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“John, why
don’t you go sit down and rest?” she said. It wasn’t a suggestion.

“Gretchen
…” John started.

“Now, John.
I can handle Carl on my own.”

She was pretty
angry herself, by that point. The look on her face convinced John she could
indeed handle the overgrown tantrum thrower.

“Go, John,”
Gretchen said, pushing him back and shutting the door in his face.

Suddenly,
John was worried less about Gretchen than he was Carl.