Memories Of Us

Chapter 5

~ Abi ~

I can't imagine what I did.

I don't think he can bear to look at me. I haven't had the chance to look in a mirror yet, but Dad insisted I looked okay, so I can't imagine why he's... is he counting?

The copper-haired angel, my... husband, or so they tell me... his lips tremble with numbers. Nine... Ten... Eleven... oh no, he must be really angry to go past ten. And the way he's been looking at me since he arrived, almost... predatory.

There it is again, that wolfish gaze. But it's gentled a bit. Perhaps his counting worked.

"I'm sorry..." my voice is small.

He looks confused. "Whatever for?"

I gulp reflexively. "What I did to make you count past ten," I grasp. I really have no idea why I'm apologizing. And my voice still sounds awful.

"No, baby, I'm not angry, you misunderstood." Now he's uncomfortable. "You... biting your lip, it does things to me. Not your fault at all." His cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Oh my.

"So... what would you like me to tell you?" he continues.

I have no idea. My mind is supposedly empty, yet full of questions, none of which feel appropriate to ask. I have no experience with romantic relationships, and I can't imagine what I did to deserve this one. I must look confused, and that predatory gaze is back.

"Why do you look at me like that?" I venture.

"Like what?"

Like that.

"Like you want to... devour me." If I had the strength to shudder, I would have on the word 'devour'.

"Do I?" He looks around, as though the answer is written on the walls somewhere. "I suppose it's because... I love my wife. I want very badly to hold her hand, to help her through this." He hesitates, and his expression darkens. "But she doesn't know me. Every move I make dictates whether she'll learn to trust me again, and whether she'll ever remember... us."

Wow, we've cut to the quick. And his face has dropped from predatory to contritely sincere and sad in a millisecond. I'm not sure what makes me do it, but with what little muscle control I have, I push my left arm out from where it rests against my side, turning my palm up toward him. I can't lift it.

His gray eyes glitter, and he tentatively reaches out, brushing my palm with his fingers. He searches my face for permission, and in an instant my hand is clasped between both of his. His eyes are sincere and thankful.

"We met when your friend Tricia fell ill and convinced you to interview me in her stead," he begins. "I took you for coffee; English Breakfast Tea is still your favorite. We chased the dawn together. You stood up to me, challenged me, angered me and loved me. You awakened parts of me I didn't know existed. Marrying you was the best decision I ever made. You're my best friend. And I won't let you go. Not now, not ever."

~ Carl ~

"So? How did it go?" My mother stabs her cafeteria salad, waiting.

"I don't think she's sure what to make of me yet." I push the mashed sweet potato around my plate. "She let me hold her hand awhile though." I feel the corner of my mouth turn up in a disbelieving smirk, I'm still not sure whether she did it for her or for me, but I'm nonetheless grateful for that small contact. My expression isn't lost on my mother. Nothing gets past her. Well, almost nothing.

"That's a good sign," she tells me. "When we're done here, I want to introduce you to the physical therapist I'd recommend for her recovery. Have you talked to John yet?"

"Not yet." Mom wants a memory loss specialist to oversee Abi's mental evaluation and begin counseling her. I put my foot down. John's expertise is vast, though not specialized in amnesiac recovery, but he knows Abi, and I trust him. Mom couldn't argue with that. "I'll call him on my way home."

Mom takes a sip of her fluorescently colored and grotesquely artificial energy drink. "How's my grandson?"

"Helping Gail decide what to make for dinner, actually."

"Quite the little man of the house," Mom laughs. "Training him so early, you might be able to retire by the time he's six."

"Oh, I was hoping to have him take over by the time he's four. But there's no hurry."

She smiles at me, the first real smile in... so long. "I'm glad your sense of humor has returned." She reaches across to my hand and graps it; I'm still holding my fork so it's a bit awkward, like she could be showing me how to feed myself.

"I missed my son."

I sniff. "I missed my wife. Still do, in fact."

"She'll be back. You're too good a catch for her to hide inside her head for long."

"I hope you're right."

~oOo~

Abi is asleep when I return to her room before heading home. Feeling bold, I brush a few stray hairs from her face and press my lips to her forehead. She stirs, sighs, and drifts back to sleep.

From my jeans pocket, I retrieve something I'd meant to give her earlier, but had forgotten during our conversation. Her bracelet still bears all the original charms, but the ones I'd added when Ted was born and when she revealed she was pregnant with Phoebe, I've removed. They're tucked safely away in her jewelry box, waiting for her when she's ready to know about their significance. I slide her hospital ID band over and carefully clasp the bracelet about her wrist.

~oOo~

"Thank you John. I'll see you tomorrow."

Just enough time for one more call, and then I have all evening with my son.

"Ros, I need to see you in the morning."

"Carl, thank goodness. How's Abi?"

I'd hoped to keep this conversation professional, but then again, I'm dealing with Ros Bailey. She might as well be family at this point, at least where my mother and father are concerned. "She's... recovering."

"Good news. Eight fifteen all right with you?" I suppose she knows me well enough to know when I'm in no mood for pleasantries.

"Fine."

"See you then."

I wonder vaguely who else knows what. I've got to get this mush under control; I'm going f*****g soft. Yes, my wife was in a horrible accident. Yes, it's going to take time for our family to return to normal. But I've always kept my personal and professional lives separate. Always, without exception. So why am I suddenly fearful of the questions and sympathetic stares I may receive when I get back to the office? Get a f*****g grip, Green.

~oOo~

"Daddy! Daddy!" My son is galloping full speed toward me and crashes into my legs, and I'm barely through the front door. He must have been waiting. I swing him up into my arms.

"How's my favorite son?" I blow raspberries on his cheek, making him giggle like a maniac.

"Welcome home, Sir," Gail greets me from the kitchen alcove table. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Thanks, Gail." I bounce Ted in my arms. "Are you hungry?"

"No!" Ted bellows.

"Teddy," Gail calls from the kitchen. "Tell Daddy what your new word is."

"No."

I raise my eyebrows.

"That's it. In all its contrary glory." Gail sets out plates and a rather hefty bowl of spaghetti. "The little man is the inspiration for tonight's meal. Enjoy," she waves me toward the table.

"It's quite a lot of food," I observe. "Would you care to call Jason over and join us?"

"Are you sure? I don't want us to take away from your time with Teddy," she hesitates.

"I insist. Besides, I fear dinner conversation with the 'No'-monster may be a bit one-sided," I touch noses with my son, and he presses my cheeks with his palms, forcing my lips into a pucker.

"We'll be right over, then."

~oOo~

"What was the inspiration for this, if I might ask?" I ask. It's absolutely delicious; thin spaghetti with a bolognese sauce on the side, but there are also pieces of large, green macaroni noodles mixed into the spaghetti, along with sauteed baby mushroom caps, broccoli and ground bison.

"Well, I called your sister-in-law this morning, and she informed me that waffles and spaghetti were about all the little tyrant has been willing to eat lately," Gail looks fondly at Teddy. "He's been refusing the F-O-R-K, and using F-I-N-G-E-R-S," she spells, something we do to prevent him knowing he's the subject of conversation, as well as to keep him from getting excited over something he can't have yet. He tends to pout. Abi says he looks just like me when he pouts. "Ted, tell Daddy how you picked out the mushrooms and broccoli for dinner," Gail encourages.

When Ted ignores her, she continues in a proud, hushed voice. "He got out his picture books and pointed at rocks and trees. He was very insistent."

"Shhh! No whis-pring!" Ted declares, imperiously.

Ted proves his caretaker a genius, as he deftly plucks a mashed handful of meatball-macaroni-mushroom and shoves it into his mouth. Tricia hadn't informed me he was becoming a picky eater. I suppose I can't blame him; I imagined worse behavior in rebellion to his mother's absence. I can see from Gail's and Taylor's expressions that we're all thinking relatively the same thing.

"Your motives and picture-book translations are brilliant and very much appreciated, and dinner's delicious, as always. Thank you, Gail."

"Happy to help, Mr. Green. I only wish there were more we could do," she clasps Taylor's hand fondly. He nods in agreement.

"You both do more than enough. I don't show nearly the level of appreciation you're due." I file away a mental reminder to have a sizeable bonus added to their compensation packages for the year, well above previous years'.

Taylor retrieves his phone from his pocket. "It's Welch, sir," he hands it to me.

"Excuse me." I rise from the table and move toward the hallway. "Welch."

"Sir, the background checks are done."

"And?"

"Patterson has an underage drinking charge from 1993, and Rhames is in custody proceedings with his ex-wife over their three children. Nothing specific to their occupation, Sir. Shall I email you their files?"

Has no one ever heard of keeping their record clean? Patterson is out. Rhames... well, he might bring up children in front of Abi, and I should be the one to tell her about Teddy. I sigh. My mother insists these are the two best choices for physical therapy in the Seattle area. I make a mental note to phone Rhames in the morning with instructions on my wife's handling. "Yes. And I'll need a copy of Rhames' transcripts, as well as three letters of recommendation. Whatever you can find in the hospital files from when he was hired. Wake people up if you have to."

"Yes, Sir."

I hang up and return to the table. In the two minutes I was away, Ted has made a glorious mess, spreading outward from his placemat and slopping noodles and mush onto the floor. He's frowning and has his arms folded.

"We're a bit T-I-R-E-D this evening," Gail tells me, indicating to my son.

"I think we all are," I acknowledge. "Ted, are you finished?"

"Hmmph," he grumbles, his scowl deepening. I roll my eyes and move to extricate him from his safety chair. "No! Mommy!"

My hands freeze at his sides, and I feel myself go pale. I swallow, ensuring that my voice remains even. "She isn't here right now, Ted. Let's get you into a bath."

"No! No! Nononononono!" Ted squawls. I continue to lift him from his chair, and he kicks out at me, connecting with my ribs before I'm able to pull him to my chest. I wince.

"Sir, I can...."

"Thank you, Gail. I'll handle it."

"Mommy! Nonononono Mommy!" Ted's squawls have turned to red-faced tears as he continues to worm in my grasp.

"She isn't here, Teddy, I'm here," I try to placate him, carrying him into the master bath. I should know better than to think I can placate a tantrum, especially because he's had so few up to now, and when he did, Abi expertly calmed him. God, I wish she were here.

It's rather difficult to carry a screaming child and run a bath at the same time. I mAbige to get him out of his clothes, not without a great deal of resistance on my son's part, but in doing so, he mAbiges to get as much of his food-smeared fingers on my clothes and exposed skin as he is able. I strip down to my boxers as well and, pulling a crying Ted to my chest, we sit down in the warm water.

"Shh, baby boy. Daddy's here," I soothe him, rubbing his small back. His head drops to my shoulder, tears flowing, but the lashing out ceases. He clings to me as though his life depends on it.

"Muhmuhmuh," his pleas garble. This is utter despair if I've ever heard it.

"I know, sweet boy. I know," I hush him, my heart breaking. "I miss her, too."

Reaching out, I retrieve a folded washcloth and soap, and run it soothingly over my son. He allows me to release him, sniffling and shuddering, resting back against my legs. He watches me. "All better," I tell him, once he's clean.

Ted's face is still splotchy and red, but his expression is one of resigned uncertainty. He reaches out to my hand and pulls the washcloth from me, and I freeze, bewildered, as he clumsily drags it over my chest. He's washing me, as though he understands. My son is comforting me. The wetness on my cheeks comes unbidden, unhindered. But I cannot take my eyes from my son. His forehead crinkles a bit, and he reaches up, dragging the washcloth over my face. The soapy residue burns my eyes.

"Aww better," he mirrors me, his voice quivery.

"Thank you," I whisper.

~oOo~

Ted slept like the dead that night. I know, because I took his monitor into the home gym with me. I set the treadmill incline and ran four miles flat-out, my lungs heaving from lack of exercise. Not a peep came from Teddy's room. I checked the market trend for the first time in a month, started filtering through the hundreds of emails I'd neglected, and pored over a few reports. I drifted off for a while on the living room sofa and was up before first light, grateful for the three-or-so uninterrupted hours.

I stopped by the hospital briefly to wish Abi good morning, but she was sound asleep. I left her breakfast with the nurses, said hello to my mother, and returned to the car. Taylor deposited me at the door to Green House at precisely eight o'clock. I ignored the mixture of shocked and sympathetic stares as I bypassed the front desk. s**t. It sours me that people know my personal business, no matter what little information they possess. The glances followed me from the elevator and onto the twentieth floor. Andrea's gaze is a touch frightened.

"Is Ros in yet?" I ask her.

"Ms. Bailey is waiting in your office, Sir," her voice trembles a bit.

"Something wrong, Andrea?" My voice remains cool and even.

"N-no, Sir."

"Good. Call the board, I want them assembled tomorrow at nine."

"Yes, Sir."

Ros rises gracefully from the leather couch. Even she appears unsure of me. "Mr. Green." And so formal as well. She should know better... but then, the last time we spoke, I shouted at her.

"Ros, drop the formality, please." I move around the center table and motion for her to sit, and I settle myself adjacent to her. I take a breath. "First, allow me to apologize for my behavior when we last spoke. Things have been... difficult."

"I understand." And I know she does, Ros's sympathetic nature is one of the many reasons I partnered with her; she sees a lot of aspects to the business that my colder scrutiny misses. Her expression tells me that she wants to know more, but maintains a respectful distance.

"I appreciate you stepping up," I continue. "I hope I can count on you to continue. I intend to slowly transition back into the office, but I ultimately need to focus on my wife's recovery. You understand."

She nods.

I test the waters. "Incidentally, what does the staff know of the situation?"

"Only what was reported in the papers about the accident. I issued a memo to all departments insisting that the circumstance not be discussed and that you not be disturbed." Ros takes a long breath and lowers her eyes. "How is Abi?"

I swallow. I might as well tell her. "She lost the baby."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. So am I."

"Can I do anything?"

I sigh. "Just your job. I need to know I can count on you."

"Of course."

I get the rundown on our current projects, successes and failures. The latter are few. In and likely due to my absence, we let the Argyle deal slip away, but I'm not prepared to dwell on could-haves. She's picked up a few accounts that I hadn't given a fair amount of thought to, and her quick action more than made up for the loss. We move onto other potentials, and I'm relieved at how well Ros has mAbiged in spite of my sudden hiatus, but I can't help but feel alien in my own office.

Two and a half hours later, I've had about all the business I can stand. My thoughts are everywhere but here, and I'm late meeting Flynn at the hospital. "Nine o'clock," I remind Ros and excuse myself.

"Sir, I have Dr. Trevelyan for you," Andrea holds out my cell phone. My stomach clenches.

"What's wrong?"

"Abi's all right, she's just upset," I hear my mother's digitized voice. "She's not very happy that John is here."

"I'm on my way. Has she eaten?"

"Yes, she woke up right after you left. I have a few patients to see before noon so I'm headed over to the practice, but I'll check in after that. Ray is sitting with her now."

"Thank you, Mom."

~oOo~

Abi shoots me a positively livid glare when I enter. Ray plants a kiss on her cheek and walks past me. "Good luck with that," he mutters.

She speaks slowly, but the ire in her voice is palpable. "When was anyone going to mention that memory loss warranted a psychological evaluation?"

Oh, her smart mouth.

"Was this your idea?" she continues.

"Yes, and no." Her jaw drops. I continue, trying to keep my voice soft. "Please, you misunderstand. The hospital's procedure is to do a formal evaluation to assess a plan for your recovery and to secure your release. It's rather impersonal, and Dr. Flynn is a friend. I asked him to talk to you because it would satisfy the requirement, and incidentally, John is familiar with you, with us. He may be able to help."

"I'm not crazy."

"No one thinks that." I drop into the chair next to her, shaking my head to drive the point home.

She's silent for a moment. "You could have told me."

"I was going to this morning, but you were still asleep. I didn't have the heart to wake you. I intended to be here when he arrived, and I'm sorry that I wasn't."

She seems to accept this, but is still distant. "I want to know when decisions are being made about me. I can't help that I can't remember, but I'm not a child. You want me to trust you... that's not working for me right now."

"I know. I'm sorry." Oh, I itch to hold her hand, but I fear she would be quite put out. She looks as though she's still not sure about me, but the anger has been exchanged for irritation. I think she's a little smug that she's 'gotten me back' for keeping that from her.

"Fine. I'll meet him."

"I'm glad." Oh, f**k it. I reach out and give her good hand a squeeze. She's still wearing the bracelet, but hasn't mentioned it. Perhaps she's upset about that, too, but as it's still there, I leave it be. I release her before she has a chance to pull away and nod toward the door.

"Abi, this is Dr. John Flynn," I say, as Flynn steps inside.

"Thank you, Carl. I think we'll get along fine." Flynn's trademark benign smile is directed at Abi, and that's my cue.

I rise from the chair. "I'm going to meet with your physical therapist and see the facility; if you'd like, I'll introduce you this afternoon."

Abi sighs. "Whatever."

I nod, deciding to stalk out before my own anger bubbles over.