Just as I roll toward the outside edge of the bed, Eli’s hand slides up my back and massages my shoulder.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s just a dream.”
I relax back into his hand as he rubs my muscle. His movements slow until just his thumb is rubbing a circle… it feels like he’s making a small electrical current that carries heat throughout me.
I close my eyes, repeating his words, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
***
“Morning Mrs. Hawthorn.” Eli is smiling at me and holding out a cup of steaming coffee. He’s rather perky for someone who didn’t get lucky last night, and surprisingly not angry as I expected. I rub one eye and shuffle to sit up in bed. It was a long night of not talking or touching.
“Thank you.”
“It’s jump out of bed and work day!” He sits down on the edge and I notice he’s showered, shaved and ready to go in an old gray t-shirt and a worn out pair of jeans.
The coffee is good and strong and brings me around. It’s black, the way I like it when I need a bigger pick me up.
“Starting to wake up?” he asks. I nod. “Good. I’ll scramble some eggs. I got the rest of the wiring done so we can put up walls and plaster.”
“Sounds like a blast.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Odd. Well, not so odd for Eli. I’m starting to get that about him. He didn’t say anything to me after I ran off in the hospital either.
An hour later I’m with him in the living room, looking through to the bare part of the house. I hold the sheetrock in place and he wields the screw gun, systematically pushing in screws in all the right intervals. Despite all my misgivings about him and this life, I enjoy watching him work, the way the muscles in his arms move.
“I built my first house as a teenager,” he says, pausing between words to press the screw gun to the wall. “Well, I helped with a crew. I was hooked right away, watching it all come together.”
“And that’s what you’ve mostly done, besides the Air Force?”
“Yeah.” He pushes in the last screw on that board of sheetrock. A fine layer of sweat on his forehead catches and sparkles in the flood light. “You doing okay?”
“Fine.”
He stands, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, to survey the room.
“And now we put that plaster on?”
“We’ll mud it first, cover those lines and screw heads. Once it’s all dry, we can sand it down and paint, or let it be for a few days and finish it after Thanksgiving.”
My stomach growls. It’s eleven or so but we got an early start. “What about paint?”
“Want to eat lunch in town and stop by the paint store? You can pick the color.” He brushes his hands together.
I nod and turn away so he won’t see my smile. He’s pulled me into this dream house fantasy. Eli seems like the perfect country boy, building my house, cooking for me, trying to win my heart. On the surface, anyway.
Chapter Fourteen
I’ve been standing in the kitchen for awhile, a cup of green tea in my hand, watching out the window as the day fades. My tea’s gotten cold. It’s after five and the fog is rolling in, a fast moving wispy cloud that looks like it’s trying to overtake the house.
We managed to finish the living room. I found a very light orange, a color you might see in the desert, that will complement the wood floors when it’s all done. We painted all the way through the dining room. I’m thinking it could use some accents down the road but this is just fine for now. I’m exhausted. It sucks getting tired so easy, but it’s getting better. At least it’s given me a real reason to drop off to sleep at night, instead of fighting this growing attraction and telling him no.
Eli’s out there working on something. He said he was moving the security cameras like we discussed, but he’s been out awhile. I had time to take a long hot bath and make tea already.
I finally put the cup by the sink and walk back toward the bedroom… and stop. I haven’t explored the unfinished part of the house by myself, so I take the opportunity and slip through the plastic on the other side of the dining area.
It’s too much like the construction at the hospital, making me want to turn around. But I’m not going to allow myself to give in to fear. I walk through slowly, taking in the tools and plans on the floor. Some kind of plastic. A tool bucket. A smaller bucket of nails. A nail gun. I stare at that a long minute, thinking of it as a weapon for some reason. The floodlights are turned off right now, and I leave them that way so Eli won’t see me through the plastic. I walk slowly because there’s a few low boards and odd and ends sticking out in places. It looks complicated, much more so than I would have expected. He’s installing the electrical. That’s why there’s wires and tools for that kind of work.
Eli knows how to do that too? I would have expected him to hire an electrician. I’m not sure but it seems like you need a license for this kind of work.
I turn and whack my head into a board.
“God DAMNIT!”
Dang, that hurt. I turn away, rubbing the bump on the top, front of my head, swearing some more as I make my way carefully back out. Once in the dining room, I listen for Eli. I might have yelled loud enough for him to hear.
***
“Megan?”
He sounds worried. I roll toward his voice. There’s a shaft of light coming from the hallway. At first I’m confused, like I’m back in the hospital, before I remember. I had lain down after hitting my head, feeling sorry for myself.
“Yeah?” I sound pretty groggy. He sits on the bed.
“Are you feeling bad?”
I’m not going to tell him what happened. It’s still sore but the headache went away.
“Megan?” He runs a hand over the blanket and then up to my head.
I forgot to answer him. “Um, yeah, I’m fine. I just felt sleepy… I guess I could have started dinner.”
“No, don’t worry about that. You need to take care of you.” He’s rubbing my head, a gentle nuzzle like he’s ruffling my hair… He’s feeling the bump on my head.
“What did you do? This is new, isn’t it?”
“I bent over and whacked my head on the table. It’s okay, though.”
“Don’t you know not to fall asleep after hitting your head?” He flicks on the lamp on, making me cringe.
“I just bumped it.”
“You sure it’s okay?” He feels my head again and then very gently kisses the sore spot. “I ordered Chinese. Want to get up for dinner?”
“Okay.”
He watches me sit up and head to the bathroom before leaving. I glance at the clock—I slept through him coming back in and ordering food?
But how does he know I hit my head?
Chapter Fifteen
*
Eli
I wait to hear the water running in the shower the next morning before I slide Megan’s notebook out from the bed. I don’t see any new writing or any pages torn out. Maybe it was just a one-off thing she did. But I know Megan. The old Megan, anyway, would never let anything go. I wonder if that part of her is surfacing.
I put the notebook back and hurry to the other end of the house where I open the panel to the screens. There haven’t been any alarms so I don’t have a reason to compulsively check the feeds. I’m not trying to spy on her. But I guess I am—and I need to if she’d going to go exploring and slamming her head into things. I scan through to see else what she’s been up to when out of my sight.
Yesterday should have never happened. It was irresponsible to leave her alone that long. It takes effort not to slam my fist into the wall. She could have bloody cracked her head open again. I should have been keeping a better eye on her.
But, luckily, I don’t think she saw anything when she ventured into the unfinished part of the house. So far, the only worrisome thing is that notebook.
I run a hand back over my hair, then run it back to front, pushing it back into place. I close t
he panel.
It’s not supposed to work like this with a memory popping up here and another over there. It should be a clean slate, like a “wall between herself now and her memories.” That’s how Dr. Harris explained it, that it was actually a physical barrier they’d placed in her brain. It wasn’t that simple, of course, but the doctor took great pride in his superiority. He thought a “dumb soldier” like me wouldn’t understand any of it.
If only Harris understood the sacrifices I’ve made. I can’t stand him but I’ve spent years working with people I don’t like. Nothing new.
Speaking of the devil, I think with a laugh, as I pull out my backup phone. Or primary phone, really.
I call him, knowing I have to report in. Each time, we act like he’s really a doctor and I’m a worried husband.
“Hello, Eli, how is everything going?” he asks.
“Good. Good, I think. Megan’s getting exercise and starting to feel more at home.”
“Fantastic. That’s great news. How is she mentally?”
He wants to know if she’s remembered anything she shouldn’t.
“She wants to know about me and our life together.”
I can hear him thinking. “That’s good. You’re helping her build her history. She needs to feel secure in her new identity. There’s nothing else?”
Her nightmares. A memory or two. A drive to uncover the truth.
I just have to monitor the situation, which was my agenda in the first place. It doesn’t change anything.
“No. I think we’re making progress.” I know I hesitated too long in answering. Not good. “We bought furniture and she helped worked on the house. She actually chose the sofa and the paint color.”
“Really?” He sounds genuinely pleased with that. “I have to hand it to you, Eli. You had faith, and it’s working out.”
After we end the call, I go back to the bedroom, sit on the bed and run a hand across the covers as I listen to the water running.
I picture her in the shower, then jerk my mind away from it. For some reason, I think of her wedding ring. Then the way she looks at me when she lets her guard down. I want her so bad it’s tearing me apart… and my guilt is pulling from the other direction.
Dr. Harris had been concerned that the accident would mess with the memory block, that hers might not be permanent. He must have been right.
What did we do? What did I do to her?
When I agreed to this, I had no idea it would be so hard.
Chapter Sixteen
*
Megan
Our new sofa arrives the day before Thanksgiving. I have the delivery men be careful not to brush it against the newly painted walls when they bring it in. The paint should be dry by now, but I’m being careful.
“Here?”
It’s facing me, its back toward the dining room.
“I think.” I sit on the sofa and look around. I can see into the kitchen if I turn my head back.
“Yes, I think this’ll work.” I sign off on the delivery, see the two men out, and sit down again.
Is this on camera? Will Eli watch it? Is he watching right now?
I’ve been very careful since I realized what was going on. Yesterday I slipped my cell phone into my coat pocket when I walked by the coat rack. Now I pull the coat on and walk outside, strolling down the driveway and turning right to go toward the end of the road. Eli told me it dead ends about half a mile down and no one had bought property there yet. He left in the other direction a bit ago.
The weather is warmer today with the sun breaking through the clouds. I watch it play and sparkle on the river. This country is wild and beautiful, and so green. I still wonder why I felt afraid of the river when we arrived.
After a few minutes I take out the phone and call the number TJ had given me.
“Leavey.”
“Hi… TJ? This is Megan Hawthorn.”
“Well, hello, Megan. How’s it going?” He sounds cheerful when I’d expected a worried ‘how can I help you?’
“Things are… hard to describe. In some ways, it’s going well here.” I pause, wondering if I should have gathered more evidence before making this call.
“But?”
“But my husband has surveillance all over the house. Is that normal? I mean, I think he even has cameras inside the house.”
“Hmm, now that is interesting.” He’s quiet for a minute. “Correct me here, but aren’t you building a house? I seem to recall it’s under construction.”
TJ had a good memory.
“Yes, it’s halfway built. The front half is two by fours and plastic at this point.”
“So he probably thought it was a good idea to keep an eye on it during construction, especially because you were in the hospital.”
“Oh, I guess that makes sense.” I don’t want to agree with him but, once again, I feel stupid about my doubts.
“How’s life besides that? From what I saw, he was taking good care of you.”
“Well, yes, he is.” Very good care. And he’s patient. I sigh. “He’s… taking care of everything. Look, I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“No, don’t worry about it. No worries at all. I said I’m here if you need a listening ear, alright?”
“Thanks, TJ.” I don’t want to let him go but I don’t have anything else to tell him. “Oh, Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Same to you, Megan. Take care now.”
I’m back on the sofa ten minutes later when Eli gets back from his run. He comes in the back door, calls my name, and stops when he sees it.
“Wow, it looks good there.”
“We just need…” I wave around the room and laugh. Eli walks over, still breathing hard. I saw how fast he takes off at the end of the driveway, running full sprint like the devil himself is chasing him. Maybe something is chasing him.
“We’ll get there.” He suddenly leans over and plants a smooch on my mouth, catching me off guard. On purpose. I kiss him back before I can even think about it. “I’m grabbing a shower.”
A few minutes later, I follow him back to the bedroom and wait. When he comes out with just a towel wrapped around his waist, I ask, “Wasn’t your mother planning to come before Thanksgiving? What happened?”
“Ayyy... I asked her to wait. Things were going so well, and we’ll have Thanksgiving together tomorrow.” Eli opens a drawer. And he’s naked.
I turn my head away but I swear I see him grin. He dresses while I study the curtains. I actually want to look, but I’m not giving him that satisfaction.
***
That night it’s much harder not to roll into him and run my hands up his chest. He must know I want him. Finally, he runs his fingertips up my arm, under the covers.
“Megan?”
I don’t answer right away. Maybe I won’t.
“Can I hold you?” he asks. “Just hold you?”
I slowly slide backwards, against him and under his arm. His heat seeps into me. Suddenly I wonder why he’s being so polite about this. He seems, actually, like a man who gets what he wants, a man who could seduce me very easily if he decided to. But instead he’s being a gentleman.
I very slowly fall asleep, aching for him, and realize with a start he might be enjoying this long tease.
***
By nine in the morning, the house smells delicious from the turkey in the oven. We don’t talk much as I help him in the kitchen—it’s starting to rub on me that I’m always helping like I’m a child or something. Still, I don’t say anything about it.
He has something completely different on his mind. I can tell from the sideways elevator looks Eli gives me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
I check the time and look out the window. An old blue Rolls Royce pulls up, exactly at ten. She’s punctual.
She steps out of the car and straightens her deep red embroidered jacket while looking at the house. She’s about five foot five with a medium build and dark hair that hangs s
traight to just above her shoulder, very business-like. Not the maternal plump grandmother type I had imagined at all, and she doesn’t look a thing like Eli. She doesn’t even look friendly at this point. Her face is deeply lined, making it just a touch scary at first glance. That’s his mother?
“Sharon’s here,” I say to Eli.
“Oh.” He drops a dish towel and hurries out the door. I continue to watch through the window as Eli meets her outside. They don’t embrace. It looks like they talk for a minute and then he takes two bags out of the trunk.
Sharon comes in first and holds her arms out to me. “Megan! Oh, Megan, you just look so much better!”
I step closer but instead of hugging me she does an air kiss by my cheek.
“Sharon… nice to m—” That’s not the right thing to say. I used to know her, didn’t I?
Eli swoops in and saves the day, carrying a big fruit basket. “Look what mom brought us.”
“Oh, there’s more in the car,” she says with a slow wave of her hand.
“I’ll help.” I slide on my Uggs and follow him. Outside, I catch his eye. It might be the first husband/wife look I use on purpose, trying to ask about all this.
“Mom is a little different but she means well.”
“You must take after your father,” I say. “You don’t look like Sharon at all.”
He pauses. “I’m adopted… I guess I didn’t mention that. I think I remember thinking it’d make things sound even weirder.”
He grabs a big box with pies inside and starts back into the house. I can’t believe he dropped that bomb and ran. Shaking my head, I check for anything else and close the trunk.
Inside, Eli sends us to our newly painted living room with tea to visit while he puts the finishing touches on dinner. Jazzy Christmas music comes on. It’s the cheesy elevator kind but I find it soothing to have something softening the awkward silences.
“Well,” Sharon says as she sits, rubbing both hands down her lap. “How is everything going here?”
“Oh, good I think. Good.” Why didn’t I plan ahead to make better small talk? The neighbors would be here too. “We’ve made some progress. You can probably tell. We just did this room for Thanksgiving.”