Chapter 6
“Finish it up.”
Kelsey glanced at her half-eaten ravioli on the plate in front of her and shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You promised you’d clean your plate,” Coop reminded her.
“I’m too stuffed.”
His glared at her, his gaze narrowing. “You don’t like my home cooking?”
She looked at him, imitating his expression.
“It’s not going to work. These are Vince’s ravioli, I’d recognize them anywhere.”
He laughed. He should have known better than to try to fool her. The small Italian deli had been a favorite of theirs, and Kelsey had particularly loved the ravioli. “I heated them in the microwave, I put them on the plate. That classifies as home cooking.”
“That classifies as take-out,” she corrected, pushing the tray to the mattress. “And you put a mountain of them on that plate in the first place.” She patted her abdomen. “I ate so much it hurts.”
He smiled as he rose from his chair beside the bed and reached for the tray. He had given her a generous portion, and she’d done better than he’d expected.
“Dr. Cohen says you need to gain weight,” he said, setting the tray on the nightstand.
“Well, I’m not going to do it in one night,” she insisted, reaching for the remote control and adjusting the position of the bed. “Besides, you mark my words. If I do put on a few pounds, Dr. Cohen will be after me to lose weight.” She sank back against the pillows. “It’s a sick little joke doctors like—lulling you into a false sense of insecurity. They’re never going to tell you you’re fine. They’re afraid it will put them out of business.”
“Want some more wine before I take these out?”
“Now that,” she said with a broad smile, holding up her glass, “I’ve got room for.”
He filled her glass. “This will help you sleep.”
“Like I need help. All I do is sleep,” she mumbled, taking the glass from him. “I practically slept all day.”
“You needed the rest,” he said, gathering the remaining dishes and stacking them on the tray. So had he. The day had been an emotional drain on them both—for different reasons. “I’ll take these out,” he said, carefully lifting the tray. “Want anything else before I leave?” He nodded in the direction of the open French doors. “Is it getting too cool?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s great.”
“You’re warm enough? Want another blanket?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, lifting her wineglass. “And this will help keep the chill off.”
“There’s cheesecake in the fridge,” he said as he started for the door.
Her eyes widened. “Vince’s cheesecake?”
He glanced at her. “Want a piece?”
She thought for a minute, then shook her head. “I’m tempted, but I just can’t right now. Maybe later.”
“I’m going to clean up,” he said, heading for the door. “Ring if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, watching as he disappeared around the corner.
She leaned back, gazing through the French doors to the panoramic view. It had turned dark, and the lights from the city glittered like jewels in a treasure box. The ocean had turned a dark gray, and a heavy fog rested just above the surface.
Kelsey sipped her wine and watched the fog make its slow journey toward the shore. It would soon move over the city, dimming the lights to a cryptic glow and making the world seem eerie and strange.
Her mind drifted, thinking of the nights she and Coop had lain together in their bed and watched the fog swallow up the world around them. It hadn’t felt eerie to her then, it had felt cozy and safe—like the world had whittled down to just the two of them, and they were a million miles away from everyone else.
She heard the faint rattle of dishes in the distance and pictured Coop at work in the kitchen. This wasn’t their bed, and he wasn’t with her, but it still felt cozy and safe. She was home where she belonged, and just knowing he was close was enough.
He had been so sweet, so attentive today—waiting on her hand and foot, seeing to and anticipating her every need. She wished she could have handled things better, wished she’d been more thoughtful of his feelings.
First she’d made that idiotic comment about gray hair, then she’d reacted so badly about the redecorating thing. Why couldn’t she have just chilled out a little and not gotten so upset? Why had she made such an issue of everything?
She squeezed her eyes tight, trying not to think about how unbalanced and frightened those things had made her feel, trying to push aside the fear she couldn’t explain. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe she was pushing too hard, expecting too much too soon. She thought she’d prepared herself for changes, thought she’d been ready for those things that were different. But knowing there would be changes and actually coming face-to-face with them had proved to be very different.
Kelsey opened her eyes, took another sip of wine and watched small halos begin to form around the lights as the fog drifted closer.
“Forward,” she murmured before taking another drink of wine.
That’s where she wanted to look—forward, because she didn’t dare look back. There were too many holes there, too many blank spaces and glaring inconsistences for anything to make sense. If she had made some mistakes to-day, if she’d let things sneak up on her and take her by surprise, she’d do better tomorrow.
She finished her wine, feeling its warmth infiltrate her system, making her muscles relax and her lids grow heavy. This time the drowsiness felt good—a result of too much food and wine and darkness.
“Forward,” she said again, feeling more content and relaxed than she had since the morning she’d awaken from the coma. “Take it as it comes, and look forward.”
“Did you say something?”
She looked up as Coop walked through the door. “Not really.”
“It’s awfully dark in here,” he said, gesturing to the lone lamp burning on the nightstand. “Want me to turn on some lights?”
Kelsey shook her head. “It’s nice in the dark. I’ve just been enjoying the view.”
Coop peered through the open doors, then shot her a dubious look. “I think maybe you’ve been dreaming. There isn’t a view tonight, it’s too foggy.”
Kelsey smiled, too relaxed to muster a laugh. The fog had indeed moved in, shrouding the sky and causing the lights, the city and the ocean to all but disappear. “So I’m enjoying the view of the fog.”
“Whatever you say,” he conceded, making a play of raising his brow in disbelief. He sat on the edge of the bed, serious now. “You do look sleepy, though. Why don’t I close the doors, then if you drift off—”
She stopped him as he started to stand. “No, don’t, please. I’m not tired—not really. It just feels good to lie here and relax.” She slipped a hand around his arm. “It feels good to be home.”
He started to settle on the bed, but moved again. “Then let me fix you a cup of tea. I got some herbal raspberry—”
“Coop, stop,” she insisted, cutting him off. “I don’t want a cup of tea. I don’t want anything else to eat or drink.” She tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, forcing him to sit on the bed. “I just want you to sit with me for a while.” She scooted to one side. “Come on, there’s room for both of us.”
Coop gingerly lowered himself to the mattress. He’d hoped she would just drift off to steep—no fuss, no muss. It would have made things so much easier for him.
“Come on,” she urged, inching over a little more. “You can squeeze in.”
Everything in him wanted to get up and start running, as hard and as fast as he could—away from the narrow bed, away from the whole situation, and especially away from her. This was more than biting the bullet, this was torture—plain and simple.
He eased himself against the pillows, feeling stiff and clumsy. His feet dangled stubbornly over the side, forcing him into an awkward half-reclining, half-sitting position.
“I don’t think this will be very comfortable for you,” he mumbled, feeling anything but comfortable himself.
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Scoot a little closer, come on.”
He looked at her, aware of the mixture of emotions churning inside him—a witch’s brew of feelings bubbling and boiling just below the surface. He was making too much of this, making it harder for himself than was necessary, but he couldn’t seem to help it. This had once been their bedroom, and she had once been his wife. If they’d still been married, if the charade he was acting out had been truth, it would have been perfectly natural for them to share this quiet moment together.
Only it wasn’t the truth, it was a lie. A noble lie, maybe, but a lie nonetheless. And because he knew, because he understood, it made the familiarity, the intimacy seem just plain wrong.
“Come on,” she urged again, reaching for his arm and slipping it around her neck. “I’m not made of glass.”
“I—I just don’t want to hurt you,” he lied. What he didn’t want was to hurt himself. Except at the moment there was no way to protect himself, no way to hold her at arm’s length.
“There,” she murmured, as he slowly settled his weight against her. “I told you we would fit.”
Fit. Coop slipped his arm around her, pillowed her head with his shoulder and pulled her close. Air seeped from his lungs in one long, slow sigh, and warily his body began to relax. They did fit—like pieces of a puzzle, their bodies molded together with ease and familiarity.
He thought of all the complaints he’d heard men make about marriage, about couples becoming too content with each other, too comfortable. But holding her in the darkness in the room they once had shared, he realized there was a lot to be said for comfort and contentment. There was something that felt so right about holding her. It was as though he really had stepped back in time, as though they really were still man and wife.
“Comfortable?”
Coop glanced into her upturned face. He wouldn’t have used that exact adjective to describe how he was feeling at that moment, but surprisingly he found it would do. “Yeah. How about you?”
She smiled, hugging him close. “Very.”
“You got enough room?” He lifted his head off the pillow, glancing at her cast. “Your leg feel okay?”
“Actually it feels pretty good.” She rose just a little, shifting the heavy cast several inches back and forth beneath the covers. “See? I can move it now without that shooting pain up my side.”
“Maybe you’re just getting the hang of that thing,” he suggested.
“I hope not,” she said, looking at him. “I don’t want the hang of it. I want it off as soon as possible. Then maybe I can get back to some seriously ‘normal’ living.” She smiled at him, moving her body against his. “Having an anchor around my ankle sort of slows me down, if you know what I mean.”
He knew she was teasing, but the boldness of her actions sent a shaft of desire rocketing through him. It nearly took his breath.
“Slow down, tiger,” he said, struggling to keep his voice light and teasing. “One thing at a time.”
“Party pooper,” she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Glancing over his shoulder to the nightstand, she nodded her head. “Okay, since you won’t let me have any fun, grab the TV remote and let’s see what’s on the tube.”
Coop reached for the remote and flipped on the small set in the armoire in the corner. The blank rectangle roared to life, flooding the room with sound and an eerie white glow.
Coop settled back and watched the images on the screen, but his mind was too crowded to concentrate on any of them. It was such a mundane act, lying there watching television together—something they had done countless times when they’d been married. He’d thought nothing of it then, but tonight it was having a profound effect on him.
As they surfed through the channels, catching bits and pieces of news broadcasts, entertainment magazines and sitcoms, he was aware of Kelsey beside him—aware of how her warmth had slowly mingled with his, how their breathing had become synchronized and even and how their bodies had molded together to fashion one form on the bed. It was as if they had created their own private cocoon, a place immune to everything else, even the passage of time.
“Hey, look, just like my car,” Kelsey said, pointing to the commercial playing. She turned and looked at him. “You know, I remember when you first drove up out front and started honking. I was so shocked to see you sitting behind the wheel. I mean, I had no idea that you—”
She stopped suddenly and sat straight up.
“Kelsey, what is it? What’s the matter?”
“My God,” she gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my God, Coop.”
“Kelsey,” he said, sitting up. He grabbed her by the upper arms, the look on her face causing his heart to race wildly. “What is it?”
“Coop,” she said, looking at him with wide, round eyes. “Coop—my car. My car. Not the Bug, the new one—it’s a Volvo.”
“I know it’s a Volvo,” he said, hearing the panic in his voice. “What about it?”
“I remember,” she said in a whispery voice, her eyes bright with wonder. “Coop. My God, Coop, don’t you see? I remembered!”
“It was just there,” Kelsey said. She reached down, pushed on the wheel and turned the chair away from the window that overlooked the small tiled courtyard. She looked at Gloria Crowell, sitting in the large wing chair in the corner, and made a helpless gesture with her hands. “Just like that. I mean I was talking about it, picturing it in my head before I even realized I was remembering. I guess I don’t know what I expected—sirens maybe, flashing lights. Maybe the earth moving. But it wasn’t like that at all. It was just there, like it had never left. Just...there.”
“How’d that make you feel?”
Kelsey frowned and sighed heavily. “Could you forget the psychiatrist questions for just one minute and enjoy this with me?”
Dr. Crowell looked up from her notes and tossed the Pencil she was holding over one shoulder. Kelsey’s good-natured grappling and grousing had come to be an integral part of their sessions, and as a doctor, she was finding it a good barometer in judging those areas Kelsey found particularly troubling.
“Good idea,” she said. She leaned back in her chair, smiling broadly. “Let’s enjoy it. Tell me again.”
Kelsey laughed and recounted everything she’d remembered—in detait—one more time. Despite the fact that she found her incessant questions irritating at times—and difficult to answer almost all the time—Kelsey had come to like Gloria Crowell very much. She almost looked forward to their weekly sessions, even though the idea of someone rummaging around her subconscious made her uneasy.
Yet she knew it was all part of her treatment, all part of her road to recovery. For reasons she still couldn’t understand, she felt the need to resist, to shield and protect herself from those dark holes in her memory. However, Dr. Crowell seemed to understand her reluctance. She would push, but not too hard.
“You realize,” Dr. Crowell said after Kelsey had finished the story again, “we’ve got our crack.”
Kelsey’s brow wrinkled. “Excuse me?”
“Our crack,” the doctor repeated, coming forward in her chair. “In the door. You’ve cracked that door in your brain. You’ve started to remember.” She opened a drawer in the end table next to her chair and pulled out another pencil. “Now all we have to do is get you to push it the rest of the way open. Sounds like being home has helped. What you do think?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kelsey said, swiveling her wheelchair and staring into the courtyard again. She was thoughtful for a moment, staring out at the people milling about, ducking in and out of the other offices in the small professional complex. “I know everyone told me things would start to come back,” she said after a while. “You, Dr. Cohen, Coop—you all kept telling me I just needed to give it some time, that I needed to be patient, that I’d get better.” She looked at the doctor behind the desk. “But you know, until now, I’m not sure I ever thought that could happen.”
“Oh, it’ll happen, Kelsey,” Gloria assured her. “If you let it.”
“Surprise.”
“What the—” Coop jumped, his voice cracking at the sight of Kelsey standing beneath the arched entry of the breakfast nook, precariously balanced between two crutches. He scrambled to his feet, the bulky Sunday newspaper in his lap spilling to the floor, and rushed around the breakfast table toward her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ve decided to join you for breakfast,” she said, smiling at the look of shocked surprise on his face. She took a few wobbly hops forward, clumsily moving the crutches. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did that,” he said dryly, carefully maneuvering her into one of the Windsor-style chairs at the table. “And you nearly gave me a heart attack in the process. What the hell are you doing up, anyway?”
“Saving my sanity,” she said, sliding the crutches together and gingerly balancing them against the wall. “Another day in that bedroom and I would have gone stark, raving mad.”
“Don’t you think you’re rushing things a little?” He pulled out a chair and helped her lift her cast to rest it on the seat. “The doctor didn’t give his okay for this. He said bed rest.”
“Bed rest, not prison,” she said. “That’s what the bedroom was beginning to feel like. I haven’t done anything but rest since I got home, anyway. I deserve a break.”
Coop shook his head. “Well, you should have called me. I would have helped you if you’d wanted to come out. I could make a bed for you on the sofa in the family room.”
“I don’t want a bed on the sofa. I want to sit at the table like a real person,” she said sweetly. “Besides, if I’d called you, it would have spoiled the surprise.”
“Some surprise,” he snorted, giving her a stern look. “What if you’d fallen? You could have hurt yourself, ended up in the hospital again.”
“Oh, quit being such a spoilsport,” she complained, making a face. “I didn’t fall and I didn’t get hurt. I’m fine. As a matter of fact—” she settled in the chair and smiled “—I feel great. Hand me some of that paper. You through with the funnies?” She stopped and blinked her eyes coyly. “I’ll take a cup of coffee, too, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I still don’t know about this,” Coop mumbled, snatching the newspaper from the floor. He slid it across the table toward her. “Cream and sugar?”
Kelsey glanced up from the paper, crinkling her nose. “You know just how I like it.”
He snatched his empty mug off the table and walked into the kitchen. He took a clean mug from the cupboard and he reached for the coffee carafe, then poured her a mug and filled his own.
“Maybe you should call Dr. Cohen,” he said, spooning two sugars into her cup.
“Mannie?” she asked absently, perusing the front section of the paper. “What for? I’ll be seeing him next week, anyway.”
He picked up the mugs and carried them into the nook. “I know, but you should check to see if it’s all right for you to be up and about on those things.” He pointed to the crutches. “Or at least call Dr. Hamilton.”
She peered over the paper. “Why shouldn’t it be all right for me to use my crutches? It’s what they gave them to me for.”
He sat down across from her. “They gave them to you to use when you’re strong enough. I’m not sure you’re strong enough. You promised you wouldn’t push it.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, lowering the paper a fraction. “I’ve been out of the hospital for two weeks, and I’ve been out of that bedroom exactly twice—and that was only to make my appointments with Dr. Crowell. I hardly think that could be considered pushing it.”
“I wheel you on the patio in your chair,” he reminded her.
She have him a dark look. “That hardly counts.” She glanced at the crutches, gesturing with a nod. “Besides, I want to get the hang of those things. Then I’ll be able to get around on my own steam and not have to be so dependent on you all the time.”
“I want you to be dependent on me.”
The words were out before he’d had a chance to stop them—not that he could have anyway. They were the truth. If he’d learned one thing in the two weeks since her release from the hospital, it was what it felt like to be needed again, to matter in someone’s life, and he couldn’t deny he’d missed it.
She smiled across the table at him. “You’re sweet, but I know this can’t be much fun for you.” She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “And I know what Mannie would say—he’d tell me to take it slow and easy, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Slow and easy. Believe me, I don’t want to do anything that would put me flat on my back again, either.”
Coop let out a long sigh. She was like a little bird learning to fly, and there was nothing that was going to stop her. “You sure you feel strong enough?”
She leaned back in the chair, reaching for the paper again. “Well, if I do feel a little weak now, I’m sure it’s nothing a little breakfast wouldn’t cure.”
Coop rolled his eyes. “If you’d stayed in bed, I’d have brought it to you.”
She peered over the paper again. “You’ve got a thing for that little brass bell, don’t you?”
He laughed, picked up his coffee mug and pushed himself away from the table. “Yeah, it makes me feel a little like your boy toy.” He headed for the kitchen. “Omelet and toast all right with you?”
“With jalapeno peppers and salsa?” she asked hopefully, her eyes wide.
He cringed and shook his head. Her ability to eat fiery chilies and the spiciest of salsas never ceased to amaze him. “As long as I don’t have to watch,” he muttered. “How you can ruin perfectly good eggs with that stuff I’ll never understand.”
He set to work, pulling out eggs from the refrigerator and unhooking pans from the rack above the stove. He tried not to think about how much he’d missed their lazy Sunday mornings together—perusing the paper, lingering over breakfast. In the past fourteen days he’d been forced to remember a lot of things he really hadn’t wanted to—things he missed, things he had lost.
It seemed hard to believe that two weeks had- passed since her release from the hospital. The days had flown by in a blur of emotion and strain—difficult days despite their speed. He’d had to field telephone calls, explain away changes and answer about a million questions she had about one thing or another. And even though he’d all but turned over the day-to-day operation of Reed Heli- . copter Service to Doris and a substitute pilot, there were still things that had come up, things he’d had to see to personally. However, regardless of the physical and emotional strain of the past two weeks, he’d managed to survive—and that wasn’t something he’d been sure he could do two weeks ago.
He glanced into the nook, watching as she scanned the newspaper, sipping her coffee. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find her up and about on her own. Her progress had been nothing short of miraculous. Each day she seemed to improve and grow stronger. The bumps and bruises that had once marred her beautiful skin had healed and disappeared, and she no longer complained about the pain in her leg. Sunny afternoons on the patio had obliterated any trace of hospital pallor, leaving her skin with a rich, lush glow. She was not only getting better, she was thriving.
Yet even more amazing than the healing of her tangible wounds were the improvements to those injuries that were harder to see. Each day it was becoming more evident that she was remembering, that their elaborate charade was working. Her memory was coming back.
Coop thought back to that first night in her bed, her first night home from the hospital. Him driving her new car up the front drive hadn’t exactly been a major event in their lives, but the mere fact that she’d remembered at all made it seem momentous.
Except recovering that one memory had been just the beginning. There had been other things since then—dozens of small, seemingly insignificant incidents that by themselves weren’t pivotal, but when blended together painted a very clear picture that her mind was being stimulated and memories were coming back.
. He cracked the eggs, dropped them into a bowl and whisked them together. It was only a matter of time, he knew that now. Just a matter of time before it all came back, before she remembered everything.
He poured the eggs into the pan, glancing at her. She looked up, giving him a smile and blowing him a kiss. He felt a pressure build around his rib cage, a tight band of tension that made it difficult to draw in a breath. Would she still smiling at him when she remembered, when she learned the truth? Would she understand and accept before kicking him out of her life again?