Читать книгу A Time to Remember - Lois Richer - Страница 10

His eyes flashed like lightning, changing from a soft dove-gray to hardened steel.

“I’m your husband.”

She stared at him while her mind desperately tried to process the information. Husband? She had a husband? Wouldn’t a woman remember if she had a husband?

“Gray,” he prompted, frowning at her. “Gray McGonigle.”

“And I’m Marissa McGonigle. I see.” She couldn’t blame him for his belligerent tone. It seemed perfectly understandable now. “I was your wife. I was married to you.”

“Are married to me,” he corrected, his tone belligerent. “Unless something’s happened that I don’t know about. Do you remember?”

She hated to destroy that sad-eyed look of puppy-dog hope in his eyes, but she couldn’t pretend. Not about this.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything.” Marissa. She turned the name over in her mind. She liked it. It sounded different, special. As if someone had taken the time to choose a name specifically for her. “My parents?” she asked, suddenly wondering why only he was here.

“Both dead. Your father died when you were little. Your mother died two years ago. Breast cancer.”

“Oh.” She felt flat, deflated, as if she’d unconsciously expected—what? Someone to be there? She chided herself for her silliness. Who else did she want? Wasn’t an unknown husband enough?

“What do you remember, Marissa?” He squinted at her as if he thought she was playing some childish game.

She attributed the angry frustration in his voice to worry. He must be worried. A husband would be worried if his own wife didn’t recognize him. Wouldn’t he?

But this man didn’t look frazzled or afraid. Or worried. He looked…defeated, she decided after a moment’s contemplation. As if he’d tried very hard and just couldn’t manage to make sense of his world.

She scoured her brain for something, some ray of hope she could offer. To her shock, nothing emerged. She looked at the gold band on his ring finger, then at the matching circlet guarded by a blazing diamond on her own left hand, and suddenly realized that she didn’t know how it got there.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I remember nothing.” She stared at him. Blank. Her heart picked up speed as she peered around the room, stared out the window, squinted at the picture he’d laid on top of her blanket. “What’s this?”

“A picture. Cody made.”

“That’s nice.” Whoever Cody was. “Will you thank him for me?” She stared at the childish scribbles, smiled at the ghostly figure fluttering among the trees. “Is it almost Halloween?”

“No. That’s about seven weeks away.” His dark brows joined to hood his eyes. “Why?”

She shrugged. “It looks like a Halloween picture, that’s all. I’ll bet he’s a cute kid.”

“Yes.” The man named Gray nodded. “Our son is a wonderful boy. But he’s got some problems, I’m afraid.”

Whatever else he said slid past in a whirl of confusion. She got stuck on those words our son.

“Cody is my child?” she gasped.

“Well, he’s both of ours,” he agreed, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a half smile. “You used to say he got all my genes, but I’m pretty sure his stubbornness came from you.”

“A child.” She laid a hand against her abdomen as if that might somehow reawaken slumbering memories of pregnancy, labor, delivery. “How old is he?”

“Five. Almost six.” He sighed, slumped against the wall and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m guessing you don’t remember him, either.”

Marissa shook her head, then stopped the action immediately as pain threatened to swamp her tired aching body.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears welling for all the precious memories she couldn’t share with him. And she wanted to. Something about this man drew her soul, called to her. Surely somewhere in her brain she knew him?

Yet her brain drew a blank.

“It’s not your fault.”

But he sounded as if he thought it was.

“I suppose I should be grateful that my existence isn’t the only thing you’ve managed to wipe from your mind.”

Oh, the pain underlying those words. She could feel the despair gripping him, dragging him down. He’d obviously been up all night. A five-o’clock shadow gave him an edgy flair that only enhanced his harsh features. His cheekbones were definitely a legacy from his distant Cherokee heritage, but those lean, taut muscles and that burnished tan came from hard physical labor.

Marissa froze, tried to figure out how she’d come to that conclusion. But the mist that carried the insight had dissipated and she couldn’t bring it back.

“Good morning, Marissa.” A doctor who clearly knew her strode into the room, saw Gray and grinned. “You didn’t waste any time getting here.”

“No.”

She sensed there was something else the man—her husband—wanted to say. But he clamped his lips together and thrust his hands into the pockets of his worn blue jeans.

The doctor was puzzled. He glanced from her to him, then shrugged.

“How are you feeling, Marissa?”

“She’s got a headache. And she doesn’t remember anything.”

Marissa glared at Gray. Did he have to say it like that, tacked on at the end as if she’d deliberately done it to spite him? Why did he always…what? The memory eluded her.

“I can speak for myself,” she muttered, fighting to retain her composure.

Again that careless shrug, the slumping pose, the thrust of that granite chin. “So do it.”

“Thank you. I will. If you’ll let me.” She wanted it clear up front that she wasn’t going to turn into some kind of shrinking violet, no matter what she’d been like before.

The doctor ignored their verbal battle, eyes concerned as he swung his flashlight across her pupils, took her pulse, checked her reactions.

“What specifically don’t you remember?” he asked gently, frowning at her tear-filled eyes. “Do you remember me? Luc Lawrence? I moved here just after Dr. Darling had his accident. Joshua Darling.”

He could have been speaking Hindi for all she understood. Marissa frowned, waited for something. Nothing. No flash of comprehension, no lightning stroke of memory. Nothing.

“I’m married to Dani. You and Gray live next door to her ranch. Gray’s renting the land.”

“Oh.” She leaned back against the pillow and wished it would all go away. It hurt too much to think. “How did I get here?” she asked a moment later.

“We were hoping you could tell us.” Gray pushed away from the wall, his attention riveted on her, his eyes searching for—what? “You and Cody disappeared over five months ago. No one’s been able to find out where you went or what you’ve been doing. Then last night Cody showed up in the church parking lot. He was bruised, a little roughed up. But he’s fine.” He stopped, watched her. “Except that he won’t talk.”

“Why?” She felt sorry for the little boy, then realized she was thinking about her own son. “I mean, what do you think happened?”

“We were hoping you could explain.” Gray looked at the doctor. Something unspoken passed between them.

“Marissa, you were found about a mile down a very steep ravine, about half a mile away from where police think Cody crawled up. Do you recall that?” The doctor’s eyes were gentle, caring. They didn’t demand answers, not like Gray’s.

She frowned, closed her eyes, tried to imagine what she would have been doing in a ravine. Like a quilt, fear settled on her shoulders in a shroud she couldn’t shake. Swirls of nebulous memories that couldn’t be defined wavered behind her eyes. Only one word came to mind.

Run!

“Marissa! Marissa, it’s okay. You’re safe. Nothing will hurt you here.” Dr. Luc’s fingers squeezed her arms and at once the memories faded, the fear lifted. “What just happened?” Gray looked from the doctor to her, confusion evident.

“I think you had a flashback, didn’t you?” Luc murmured, holding her wrist as he measured her pulse. “Can you tell us what you saw?”

“Not—not really.” She shrank against the pillows at the sparks that lit Gray’s eyes. “I can’t! It was just shadows and whispers, nothing I could explain. And fear. I felt fear. I had to run.” She shivered, and her voice died away at the cold black terror of it.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Gray’s fingers, warm and strong, closed around hers. “Anything else you can remember? Anything at all? A house, flowers? Did you follow a road? Anything?”

Because he looked so sad, she closed her eyes and waited for the black shroud to drown her. When it didn’t, she sighed, felt his thumb rubbing against her wrist in a soothing caress that allowed her to relax and stop fighting the hammer in her head. A picture wavered before her mind.

“There’s a river,” she whispered. “I’m swimming in a river.” Then the picture was gone and she couldn’t remember when or why or how she came to be in that river.

“That might not be a recent memory, Gray,” she heard the doctor whisper. “There’s no way of knowing just where her mind selected that from. She might have been a child.”

“I wasn’t a child,” she insisted, eyes wide open, slightly insulted that they thought they could speak in front of her, as if she were deaf. “I was like I am now.” She frowned. “No, wait a minute.” Something wasn’t right.

“It wasn’t exactly swimming,” she murmured, confused by the impressions she was feeling. “But I was in the water up to my neck. It was cold, but it felt good.”

“Was Cody there? Can you picture Cody?”

She cast about, trying to home in on a picture of a little boy, but nothing came.

“I don’t think so.” Marissa opened her eyes, shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

Gray sighed, the light in his eyes fading. She saw Luc reach out, touch his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s a nightmare, Luc,” her husband offered. “Marissa never swims. She’s afraid of the water. You wouldn’t believe the lectures she’s given me about water safety. When I took Cody fishing last year—”

She felt his hands tighten against hers before he drew them away, the sentence dying on his lips just as the hope flickered out of his eyes.

“Bubbles.” The word popped out of her without any conscious thought.

“What?”

Both men stared at her as if she were insane. Then Gray looked to Luc for direction. But the doctor was intent on his own thoughts.

“Bubbles,” she repeated, trying to understand what had prompted her to say it.

“You were washing.” Luc looked from Gray to Marissa, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Don’t you see? Soap. Bubbles. You were washing in the water.”

“Washing clothes?” she asked doubtfully, searching for the thread of a memory that eluded her.

Luc shook his head.

“Yourself. You said you were up to your neck. You wouldn’t go that deep to wash clothes, but you would if you were taking a bath.”

Gray stared at him, nodded. “So wherever you were staying, it was beside water. And you were confined.” He pointed to the marks on her wrists.

Marissa hadn’t noticed them before, but now the blue-tinged rings held her in a grip of fear. Get away. Get away from here.

The pain was suddenly excruciating and she whimpered as it flooded over her. Just from the corner of her eye she saw Gray glare at Luc, his eyes asking a question. Luc shook his head.

She closed her eyes, almost passing out as a new wave sucked her strength.

“Oh, please help me.” The hand with the IV in it felt too heavy to lift, but she did it anyway, rubbing one finger against her forehead to ease the stabbing pressure.

“What’s wrong, Marissa?”

“My head,” she whispered. “Please give me something to stop my head from hurting.”

“I’ll help you, I promise,” Luc murmured, checking her pupils again. “You can go to sleep soon. But I want you to think for just one minute more.”

The pinpricks of light from his flashlight sent waves of nausea over her body, but Marissa fought back, sucked in deep breaths of air and forced herself to relax.

“Think about what?”

“Your head hurts because it has a cut on it. Do you remember how you got that cut?”

The black curtain was hanging there again, just waiting to drop down and shut out all the questions. In a way, that’s what she wanted—oblivion. But the doctor’s tone was so gentle, so soothing, she tried to answer him.

“I was running,” she whispered. “Running away.”

“From what?”

But the answer wasn’t there. Instead, the black curtain whooshed down and Marissa couldn’t answer.

“Did she faint? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing. Her brain had enough poking and probing and it shut down. She seems fine. Her vital signs are all excellent. Her scans were clear. She responded to all the stimuli tests we performed. The specialist’s report was faxed in this morning. Everything is normal.”

“What specialist?” Gray growled the words, knowing he should be thanking Luc, not badgering him. But every time he thought of her tied up, trying to get away, his stomach knotted. He slammed his fist against his thigh in frustration.

“I had her airlifted to the city as soon as we found her.” Luc’s cheeks turned red, but he held Gray’s stare. “I had to. I didn’t know how long she’d been out or what we’d find and I wanted to know immediately if there was brain damage.”

Gray winced, but kept his focus on Luc, pinning him.

“And you didn’t phone me until after they’d brought her back, did you?”

“No.”

“What if she’d died?”

Luc shook his head.

“Would God do that? Bring her home to let her die? I don’t think so, buddy. Where’s your faith?” He stepped backward when Gray surged forward, held up one hand. “Okay, okay. But just think about it. You had to concentrate on Cody. There was nothing you could do for Marissa. But I could, and I did.”

“You decided this all on your own?” Fury and indignation fought for supremacy. “Who consented to her care?”

“You did, through me.” Luc winced at his growl. “The three of us, Joshua, Nicole and I, consulted and decided it was for the best. We couldn’t let anything happen to Marissa, Gray. We just couldn’t.”

Gray sighed. What was wrong with him?

“I know. I should be thanking you instead of acting like an outraged—”

“Husband?” Luc grinned. “But that’s what you are. And I don’t blame you.” He picked up Marissa’s slim, scratched hand, grazing the tip of his finger over her injuries. “She put up quite a fight.”

Gray gulped, thrust away the images his brain conjured up. He could hardly bring himself to ask the next question, but he needed to know.

“You’re sure she wasn’t attacked?”

“Physically I believe she might have been,” Luc told him quietly. “But sexually?” He shook his head. “I did a full rape kit. There’s no evidence of that.”

“Thank God.” Gray sagged with relief.

“Indeed. You should be thanking Him for a lot of things, not the least of which is that your family has been restored to you. A little the worse for wear, perhaps, but they are back.”

“For now. But what’s to stop this from happening again? Who abducted them? We still don’t know that, Luc. And someone must have if her hands were tied.” He reached out, fury raging inside as he traced the unmistakable marks of rope burns.

Luc clapped him on the shoulder.

“I know you’ll probably tell me to mind my own business, but I have to say it anyway. This is something you have to take to God. There’s no other person who has the answers you want. You’re going to have to ask Him to explain it to you.” He turned, pulled open the door.

Gray stepped forward, grabbing his arm.

“Where are you going? Don’t you have to watch her for complications?”

“Someone will be monitoring her, Gray. They’ll keep me up to speed. Right now I’ve got rounds to do.” Luc paused a moment, spared a glance for Marissa, then smiled. “Besides, I’m sure you’re the best company for your wife right now. Why don’t you pull up a chair and just sit here for a while? I’m sure Marissa will have a thousand and one questions when she wakens.”

“Then you think she’s going to regain her memory? All of it?” Relief flooded him. One by one he loosened his fisted fingers. “When?”

“That’s not up to me, I’m afraid.” Luc’s rueful face gave away his feelings. “But God has a plan, buddy. A good one. And He knows what He’s doing. Leave it up to Him. Rest in His care.”

Gray didn’t want to wait for anything. He was sick of the uncertainty, sick of waiting for the next disaster, afraid to learn what waited around the next corner. If he could, he’d gather Marissa up in his arms, find Cody and take both of them back to the safety he could provide at the ranch. Unfortunately, hiding wouldn’t help either of them right now. Marissa needed medical care and Cody needed both of them.

“Did you hear me?” Luc asked.

“Yeah, I heard,” was all he could manage to say.

He stared at Marissa’s still form and wondered if they’d ever regain the life they’d shared, if she’d ever look at him the way she once had. He didn’t deserve it, not after what he’d said. But deep inside, away from the cynicism and anger, hope floated in a little round bubble.

Maybe, just maybe he hadn’t lost everything he loved.

“And Gray?”

“Yeah?” It hurt to look at her and know she felt nothing for him. Gray wheeled around, faced the doctor. “What is it?”

“Cody needs to see her. He needs to touch her and know she’s fine. Then I want him to see a psychologist.”

“Where?” How in the world could he nurse an amnesiac wife, protect his little boy and run a ranch?

“Right here, today. Dr. Scallion is here for his weekly appointments. God evidently knew we’d need the guy, so He had him change his scheduled day in town from yesterday to today. And he’s got lots of time to see Cody.”

“You’re the doctor.”

“Yes, I am. Don’t forget it.” Luc’s voice toughened to the gruff but tender tones Gray had heard him use on obstreperous patients. “Don’t tell me God hasn’t protected those two, Gray McGonigle. I doubt if you’ll ever know just how tenderly He cared for them when you couldn’t.”

The door creaked shut behind him.

Gray walked back to the bed, stared at Marissa’s bruised, battered face, and blood-covered hair, scratched arms. He recalled Cody’s tortured look each time he tried to fall asleep. He remembered his own long days, and even longer nights when he’d stuffed his face in his pillow to stop from sobbing his heart out at their loss.

What kind of tender care was that? What kind of God did that?

Ten thousand times he’d asked the question, ten thousand times he’d come up blank. God, or at least what he knew of God, was supposed to be love. He was supposed to tenderly care for those who followed Him. Marissa wasn’t perfect, but she sure didn’t deserve to be kidnapped by some crazy person. He, on the other hand, probably deserved everything God had sent him, and then some. But why not punish him directly?

He directed his arguments heavenward, but there was no response and his frustration and impotence at the situation burgeoned.

Some time later the door creaked open and Cody peeked around the corner. Gray held out a hand, drew him into the room, smiling at the cookie crumbs on Cody’s lips.

“I was just coming to get you. What have you been eating?”

Cody brought the little white box out from behind his back. He pointed to the delicate red script flowing across one corner. “Blessing Bakery—made with love.”

A creation from Miss Winifred. Gray might have guessed. He smiled at the older woman, motioned her to come inside.

“We had breakfast quite a while ago, then Cody saw a nice doctor. After that we went for lunch. I had Furley bring him over a little treat.” Miss Winifred glanced at the bed, smiled, then looked at him. “I don’t think you realize how long you’ve been in here, Gray. It’s almost two o’clock.”

He glanced at his watch, saw that she was right.

“I apologize, Miss Win. I’ve held you up from work. You’ve been wonderful to look after Cody like this, but he can stay with me now. Marissa woke up once when I first came in, but she’s been asleep ever since. They tell me that’s perfectly normal. That her body needs rest.”

“Yes, Luc told me, as well.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I’m fine.” That was a lie. He was anything but fine. Still, no sense in upsetting Miss Winifred. It wasn’t as if she could do anything about their situation.

He glanced up, caught her brushing away a tear.

“Did Luc tell you she has amnesia? That she can’t remember anything?”

Miss Blessing nodded.

“Yes, he told me. But she’s alive, Gray. And she’s going to get better. You can thank the Lord for that.”

“Can I?” Bitterness ate at his insides. Cody pressed against his knee and Gray lifted him up, held on to the little boy and tried to tamp down his anger. “Can I also thank Him for allowing my wife to get her skull bashed in? Can I thank Him for taking my son’s voice, for giving me months of unending misery when I didn’t know if they were dead or alive? Can I really thank Him for all that, Miss Winifred?”

As soon as it was said, Gray wished he’d kept his mouth shut. But Winifred Blessing wasn’t abashed by his anger. She didn’t even flinch. Instead her quiet voice rolled over him like salve on a burn, soothing, easing away some of the sting as it cooled and refreshed.

“Yes, you can do all of that, son. You can rant and rave about the injustice of life till your cows come home.” Her eyes sparkling, she lifted her head and dared him to debate her on this. “Or you can get down on your knees and give thanks that God in His wonderful plan decided to give you and your family more time together, that He entrusted them to you for a little longer.”

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, lowering his voice as he became aware that Cody had homed in on the tension between them and didn’t understand. “I made God a promise that if He gave me a son and never let him go through the pain I experienced in my childhood, that I’d be the best possible father I could be.”

“And?”

She was staring at him as if he’d lost his marbles. Gray bristled, all his fears and worries massing together into one swell of raw irritation.

“What do you mean, and? I did the very best I could. I tried to be the kind of father I never had so that my son wouldn’t go through what I did.”

“Yes?” She looked like an inquisitive sparrow, head tilted to one side.

Gray stared at Marissa, the anger deflating like a pricked balloon. “He didn’t keep His side of the deal,” he muttered.

“I see. So you made a deal with God.”

“Yes.”

“You set the terms, you decided how it would be fulfilled and now you’ve judged that God reneged. Is that about the gist of it?”

Put her way, it sounded a bit silly. But the meaning was there.

“Yes,” he said, unable to stem his defiance.

“Uh-huh.” Miss Blessing stared at him for a long time. Then she shook her head, lifted the white box from Cody’s hands and held it out in front of his nose.

“You’ve got the wrong end of the stick in this relationship, Gray. And the sad thing is, you don’t even know it. I’d like to stay here and hammer out who’s who in your master of the universe game, but I’ve got to get to work. Furley is not as young as she used to be. In the meantime, chew on this.”

She stuffed the box into his free hand, then turned and whirled through the door, charging off to cure the world. No doubt she’d unload the whole story on her assistant, Furley Bowes, and the two would confirm Miss Blessing’s opinion that Gray McGonigle was an idiot.

Which was probably no less than he deserved.

Gray glanced down at Cody. “You okay?”

Cody’s trusting eyes met his solemnly. He nodded. He glanced toward the door.

“I know. She was pretty ticked at me. But she doesn’t understand.”

Cody frowned, glanced at his mother, then at his father. Finally he took the box from Gray, lifted the lid and held it up so his father could look inside.

A giant heart-shaped cookie rested against a square of paper. Familiar red script across the cookie held his gaze.

Cody poked him, as if to say, “Well?”

Gray brushed his lips over his son’s now-shiny hair, and sighed.

“Miss Winifred Blessing always has to have the last word, doesn’t she?”

Cody grinned, reached out and pinched the V off the bottom of the heart. He popped it into his mouth, then lifted the cookie and held it toward his father. Gray nodded, read the message again.

“She sure knows where to hit a guy.”

Cody giggled. The sound was like music to Gray’s ears. Maybe Miss Win really did have a direct line to heaven for these messages. This one sure needed no explanation.

There is a God. You are not Him.