I stifle a chuckle. “I'm, or rather we, are comfortable,” I say. “Yes. There is nothing for you to worry about.”
“I can't imagine how much all this cost,” she says.
“There's more in my truck too,” I say. “Figured you'd need a few new things. At least, until we figure things out.”
“Figure what out?” Sydney asks.
“We'll talk about it once we get home,” I say.
I stand and take her hand, bringing it to my lips. I have no intention of coming onto her, not without her remembering me. Not without her consent or some signal that she's into it and wants the same. And especially not without her still thinking of me as her husband. No, the truth has to come out first. Anything else would be wrong and immoral. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not immoral.
Still, I find it hard to resist pressing my lips to her skin, so I settle for her hand.
“Let's get you home.”
CHAPTER NINE
SYDNEY
The ride home is quiet. I take in the scenery that flashes by on the outside of Jack's truck. At times, a familiar feeling hits me, but it's nothing more than fleeting. An image pops now and then, but nothing concrete, and certainly nothing recent. I get the sense that it's mostly childhood memories coming back to me. Apparently, I've been to Aspen a few times as a child. I somewhat remember those experiences and recall that they're long in the past. There’s nothing recent enough in my memories to make it feel like home to me.
“We're going to stop in at Daisy's. She's going to want to see you,” Jack says. “She's really worried about you.”
I notice he's gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. It's as if he's stressed about something. I don't know how to talk to him, or even what to say, so I don't even try. It goes without saying that I have no idea who Daisy is, but when we park in front of the small cafe, a feeling of deja vu hits me. I sit in the truck for a minute and just stare at the front of the building and the sign.
“I've been here before,” I say, mostly to myself.
“Yes, many times,” Jack says quietly. “Do you remember anything specific?”
“Pancakes. And coffee. Really good coffee,” I say as a small smile touches the corners of my mouth.
“And pie,” Jack adds.
“Pie – yes.”
I close my eyes and try to remember the last time I had a piece of pie here. Years ago, or so it seems. Maybe if I go inside, it'll help. I tell him that and Jack gives me a smile and a quick nod of his head.
He quickly climbs out of the truck and rushes around to my side to open my door for me. It's a steep drop from the seat to the ground, and he holds a hand out to help me down from the truck. Looking down at the snow and ice beneath my feet, my mind races and whirls with a thousand thoughts and emotions – most of them based in fear.
My throat clenches up and I start shaking, some irrational terror gripping me tightly. I don't know where it's coming from or why I'm so scared, but I am. My breathing starts to grow ragged as my pulse races and I cringe when I hear the quiet whimpering coming from my mouth.
“It's okay,” Jack says, in a calm, soothing tone.
He takes me by the waist, lifting me from the seat as if I weigh nothing and puts me on the ground. My feet find steady, solid footing, but that's not the reason for the panic attack. Something else triggered the reaction. The memory hovers just out of sight, at the corner of my mind. When I turn to find it, it disappears again, only to reappear in the corner of my mind once more. It's frustrating as hell.
Jack continues to hold me steady, his arms around my waist, as if he's afraid I might fall. Our eyes meet, and I can't help but smile. His hands keep me steady and safe. I look up at him and something tells me that as long as he's here with me, it's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay.
He leans close, and I think he may kiss me, which surprisingly, given the circumstances, isn't something that freaks me out as much I would have thought it might. I close my eyes and prepare for his lips to touch mine, but instead, he whispers in my ear.
“I got you, Sydney,” he says softly. “Nothing will happen to you as long as you're with me. I won't let it.”
He hugs me close and kisses my forehead. Wrapped up in his arms, I feel a warmth spreading through my whole body. I snuggle close to him, with his giant coat wrapped around me since that's the one piece of clothing he forgot to bring me. I feel like a child wearing her dad's clothes, but it's nice and warm. More than that, it's comfortable. Familiar, in a way.
“Ready for some real food instead of that garbage they call food at the hospital?” Jack asks, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
I can't help myself, I actually smile. A genuine smile. My tummy growls at the mere thought of pancakes and pie.
Jack holds my hand as we enter the cafe, and an old woman with a kind, familiar face rushes toward us, tears in her eyes. She takes my face into her hands and kisses both my cheeks. I don't know this woman, but I somehow feel comforted by her presence. It's strange, but it's so – familiar. Much in the way Jack is familiar to me.
“Lordy, I thought we lost you, Sydney,” she says. “I'm not sure what either one of us would have done if that had happened.”
I blink at her, trying to place her name. I remember her, in fuzzy, fragmented images that float through my mind. But, that's of a younger version of the woman in front of me. The woman I remember still had black hair back in the day, not gray. Wrinkles had formed around her eyes and lips, aging her by at least ten to fifteen years.
Jack speaks up for me. “Her memory is still a little sketchy.”
“Ah, you don't remember me, do you, dear?”
“I do, mostly,” I say.
I feel incredibly self-conscious. It's frustrating when you're trying to remember someone or something, but you can't. There's like a mental block. A wall. No, a door. A closed door with a lock on it. No matter how hard I try to force it open, to let me access those memories, it's no use. I can't get to them.
“It's me, Miss Daisy,” she says, taking my hands in hers. Her skin is so warm and soft, and the smell of coffee filters through the room, reminding me that we're there for pancakes, pie, and that delicious coffee.
“Come on, let's get you some food,” the woman named Miss Daisy says. “Maybe my cooking will help you remember.”
Jack and I sit down across from one another in a booth with a red and white checkered tablecloth that seems hauntingly familiar. Daisy brings us each a cup of coffee without even us having to ask. It's like she just knows what we want. Of course, if I've been here before, as Jack says I have, maybe she does already know what we want.
I bring the mug of coffee to my lips and inhale deeply. The aroma delights my senses and brings me back to another time. Closing my eyes, I inhale the rich French roast again and savor it. It feels like home.
“You introduced me to this place, you know,” Jack says. “I never would have found it if not for you.”
I open my eyes and catch him staring at me. His blue eyes sparkle and a smile pulls at his lips behind that thick beard of his. His face is beginning to etch its way into my memories. I'm starting to feel like I know him. But, why or where we met still eludes me. As does marrying him.
“Oh yeah? Tell me all about it,” I say.
I take a sip from my warm mug, wrapping my hands around it, relishing the heat, as steam rises from dark liquid.
“Not much to tell. We were young and in love, your parents brought me out here with you on a ski trip,” he says, a light of fond nostalgia in his eyes. “I think you forced their hand about that. I seem to recall that they didn't seem too pleased about it.”