One Tuesday Morning (35 page)

“You two need a cab?” The nurse glanced at Jamie as she wheeled Jake down the hallway, into the elevator, and out to the front of the hospital.

“Not yet. We're waiting for my father-in-law.”

The woman helped Jake from the wheelchair to his feet, and Jamie handed him the crutches, working to fit them under his arms. Jake was thinner than before, ten, maybe fifteen pounds, and the size in his shoulders had atrophied some. But the doctor had said that was normal after an extended hospital stay.

Jamie's fingers brushed along the length of Jake's arms as she helped him tighten his grip on the hand rests of each crutch. The feel of her fingers against his muscled arm was more familiar than anything she'd experienced since he'd been hurt. He'd lost some weight, but his arms were still lean and defined, the way they'd always been. Suddenly, his nearness made her heartbeat double, and she chided herself.
Come on, Jamie. Platonic … remember?

The nurse took a step back and smiled at them through teary eyes. Then she patted Jake on the shoulder. “Listen now …”
She uttered a cough and tried to regain her composure. “You stay away from here, okay? We need you heroes back on the streets.”

“Okay.” Jake leaned into the crutches and tried to smile.

Jamie saw the now familiar confusion in his eyes. When the woman was gone, Jake's father pulled up in his Lincoln sedan, with Sierra buckled into the backseat. He stopped the car and helped her out.

The moment she was free, her face lit up, and she darted across the sidewalk to Jake. “Daddy!” She grinned at Jamie for a brief moment and then threw her arms around her father's legs. “You're coming home!”

Jamie studied Jake's face. She could see the awkwardness he was struggling with, and for a second, she feared what he might say. But then he smiled, and she sighed with relief.

“Hi, Sierra.” He cast a hurried look at Jamie, and then back at Sierra. “I missed you, honey.”

Jake's father nodded at Jamie. “We'll be talking, okay?”

She went to him and hugged him. “Thanks for everything.” She pulled back and searched his eyes. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Let me know when he starts to remember.” Jake's father cast a casual look at Jake. “Take care of yourself. I'll be praying for you.”

Jake nodded but said nothing. He let his gaze fall to his hands.

Without drawing out the moment any further, Jim Bryan waved once more at Jamie and kissed Sierra on the cheek. Then he climbed in his car and pulled away. After he was gone, Sierra grabbed hold of Jamie's fingers, and with the other hand, she clasped the lower part of Jake's left crutch. Jamie flagged down a cab, and when it pulled up, they climbed in—Jake on one side of Sierra, Jamie on the other.

“Ferry docks, please.” Jamie turned her attention to Sierra. She couldn't remember when she'd seen the child so happy, and the best part was this—Sierra had no idea about Jake's memory loss. Dr. Cleary had said it was better that way, and that her assumption that all things were normal with Jake might help Jake's memory return sooner.

“Okay, Daddy.” Sierra bounced up and down on the seat. “Let's sing.”

Jake shifted so that his back was partially against the car door. “Sing?”

“Come on, Daddy.” Sierra giggled. “The song we always sing when we're in the car.”

Jake lifted his eyes above their daughter and sent Jamie a desperate look. “Help!” He mouthed the word so that Sierra would miss the exchange.

Jamie cleared her throat and cut in on the moment. “Honey, Daddy's voice is still a little scratchy. How 'bout you and me start it.”

Sierra's eyes clouded some. “Okay. It's the song me and Daddy sing when we go to church.”

Again Jake met Jamie's eyes. This time he whispered just one word. “Church?”

Jamie nodded and had to resist the urge to laugh out loud. As hard as the next few months would be, she would survive it better by looking for the humor. And the idea that Jake Bryan didn't know he attended church was so strange it was almost comical.

Jamie cleared her throat. “I think I can give it a try.”

“But, Mommy …” Sierra's expression was part frown, part pout. “You don't know it.”

Jamie raised her eyebrows at her daughter. “I think I can pull it off.” She paused a beat and began to sing. “Jesus loves me,” Jamie let her eyes move from Sierra to Jake, “this I know …”

Sierra sat a little straighter and chimed in. “For the Bible tells me so….”

The song continued, and Jamie studied Jake's face, looking for any sign of recognition. Now and then something familiar lit up his eyes, and by the time Sierra began the second round, Jake joined in, his raspy voice joining theirs. As he did, Jamie gradually stopped and fell silent. In that moment she couldn't have sung if she'd wanted to. The lump in her throat as she watched Jake and Sierra singing together would've made it impossible. Halfway through the song, with Sierra still bouncing to the beat, Jake reached out and took their daughter's hand. When Jamie's eyes met his in the space above Sierra's head, the corners of Jake's mouth lifted just enough to notice.

Sierra chattered and sang the entire way home—during the drive to the docks, throughout the ferry ride across the harbor, and all along the final few minutes as they drove down their street. When they finally pulled into their driveway, Jamie caught a quick look at Jake. He was tiring fast. Dr. Cleary had warned about that too. The combination of head injury and burns meant Jake should get set up in the guest room and lie low for a few weeks. Until his energy returned.

They headed inside, and Jake made small circles in the foyer, casting quick looks in ten different directions as he soaked in the surroundings.
It's as though he's never seen it before
, Jamie thought. The truth of the matter made her heart ache, but there was nothing she could do about it. He would remember it one day, just not yet.

Sierra watched Jake, his strange circles and baffled expression, and her little face became a mask of sudden confusion. “What're you doing, Daddy?”

Her question snapped him back to the moment, and he turned with a jolt toward their daughter. “Uh …”

“Come on.” Sierra didn't let him finish. “It's time for my horsey ride.”

Jamie stepped in and patted Sierra on the head. “Sweetheart, Daddy's tired. Why don't you go up to your room and play with Sarabelle.”

“Ahh, Mommy, do I have to?” She clung to Jake's crutch and leaned her head against his side. “I want Daddy to give me a horsey ride.”

The singing in the car, the horsey rides … there were dozens of routines they'd known as a family, routines Jamie could've shared with Jake while he was in the hospital. But the doctor had advised against it.

“Let those things happen naturally, in the setting where they're the most familiar to Jake,” he'd told her. “That way he's more likely to remember them.”

At the mention of the horsey rides, Jake blinked and gave Sierra a light shrug of his shoulders. Once more he shot Jamie a desperate look. She gave him a slight nod, dropped to her knees, and hugged Sierra for a moment. “Daddy wants to play horsie too, honey. But right now he has a hurt leg and he needs a nap. You can talk to him later, okay?”

“Okay.” Sierra made a sweet frown, one that immediately turned into a smile as she looked up at Jake. “I'm glad you're home, Daddy. I missed you bunches and bunches.”

When Sierra had trudged upstairs and disappeared into her bedroom, Jake turned to Jamie and blinked. “I have two daughters?”

“Two daughters?” A ripple of concern stirred the already troubled waters of Jamie's soul. Was Jake suffering delusions on top of his memory loss? “What makes you think that?”

He looked up the stairs in the direction of Sierra's room. “Who's Sarabelle?”

A burst of laughter started low in Jamie's throat, and she tried to stifle it. Nothing good could come from her laughing at Jake, no matter how crazy his questions. But something about standing in the foyer of the home they'd lived in all their lives, discussing whether Sierra's baby doll might actually be a second daughter, was so ludicrously funny, Jamie couldn't stop herself.

Her laughter came swift and full, and knocked her back against the wall. Jake watched her, and when Jamie stopped laughing long enough to catch her breath, he leaned forward, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Either Sarabelle's even more adorable than Sierra, or I said something funny.”

Jamie was breathing hard, and she reveled in the feeling. How long had it been since she'd laughed? She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Sarabelle's … a doll. Sierra's had her since she was two.”

Jake gave a single shake of his head and looked relieved. “That's good. Between horsey rides and Jesus songs, I have enough to handle without some surprise second daughter waiting in the bedroom upstairs.”

The laughter faded, and Jamie straightened herself. She didn't want to ask; she wasn't supposed to, really. But she had to know the answer to at least some of what Jake was feeling. “Do … do you remember it? Any of it?”

Jake gave her a sad smile and shook his head. “It's like I've never been here a day in my life.”

Her gaze fell to the floor for a moment, and she sucked in a quick breath. When their eyes met once more she worked her mouth into a smile. “Time … everything in time.” Then she walked past him and motioned for him to follow. “The guest room's this way.”

He took two steps in that direction, but then stopped. “Wait a minute.”

“Yes?” Jamie turned around, and for the first time since they'd left the hospital, she took in the full-length sight of him. There were still bandages on both his arms, though less now than a few days ago. What showed was blotchy and red, but Jamie had to agree with the doctor. It didn't look like it would scar. As for his face, there were gauze pads on both cheeks and beneath his chin, but otherwise it was covered only with a fine layer of ointment—something Jamie would have to spread over his burns every four hours.

It was easy to look past the injuries and see Jake the way he'd looked just two weeks earlier. Tall and handsome, the man she'd woken up beside every morning for years.

She snapped herself from the distraction. Jake was still stopped, still studying her, his eyes full of concern.

“What's wrong?” She was careful not to use terms of endearment with him. Nothing that would make him feel uncomfortable.

Jake bit his lower lip and his eyes searched hers. “The guest room?”

Jamie was sure her cheeks must've turned an instant shade of red, because a wave of heat flashed from her scalp to her collarbone. Her eyes fell to her shoes for a beat and then met his once more. “That's … that's where you'll be staying until …”

He finished her sentence, his scratchy voice softer than before. “Until I remember?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Until then.”

“Is that okay with you?”

Compassion filled his partially bandaged face, and she was touched. “Yes …” They were treading unsteady ground, and she faced him full on, her arms crossed. “It was Dr. Cleary's suggestion.”

“Okay … good.”

And in that instant Jamie had a sudden understanding of just how far they still had to go. Because in the past, Jake would have been sorely disappointed to be confined to a bed other than the one he'd shared with Jamie. But the look on Jake's face now was far from disappointment.

It was relief.

T
WENTY
-F
OUR

S
EPTEMBER
27, 2001

He was attracted to her, and that had to be a good sign.

But still the dark-haired woman who was supposed to be his wife stirred in him no real feelings, no memories of intimacy. Not that it was his top priority. He had to figure out himself before he could work on restoring his relationship with Jamie. Because no matter how many waking hours he'd spent trying to remember, he still had no memory of who he was.

It was just before eight in the morning on Thursday, the beginning of his second full day in what was apparently his home. He had mixed feelings about staying in the guest room. It certainly wouldn't evoke any reminders of his past, but there was no question it took the pressure off him. Sharing a bed with the pretty brunette he was married to would've had its benefits, but physical intimacy didn't seem right or even natural. Not when his mind told him he'd only known Jamie a few weeks.

Jake looked around the room. It was small with high ceilings and beautifully ornate moldings. The walls were pale yellow trimmed in white and accented in deep blue around the windows. Jake guessed the house was at least sixty years old, and it held a sort of charm that helped him feel at ease. Someone had hung a set of shelves along one wall, and Jake studied them for a moment. Had
he
put them there, held the brackets in place and driven the screws into the wall for those very shelves?

If so, he couldn't remember doing it.

His eyes worked their way around the room, past the photos of Sierra and a series of older people, including the man who'd visited him in the hospital. His father. Jake stared hard at the picture, at the man's kind eyes and the proud way he stood in his uniform outside what Jake guessed was a New York fire station. But when he tried to remember anything about the man, about growing up with him or living life as his son, not a single thought came to mind.

Jake closed his eyes. How could he not recognize either his wife or his father? The idea was only barely believable, but true all the same. He simply had no recollection about any of what had brought him to this place in life, this charming guest room.

He blinked and looked around the room once more, hoping for anything that might make him remember. Sliding forward a few inches, he twisted around and checked the walls adjacent to his bed. As he did, his breath caught in his throat. A mirror hung on the wall adjacent to where he'd been sleeping. A mirror! Why hadn't he thought of that before? He'd spent so much time trying to remember what lay inside himself, he'd forgotten entirely about the outside. What did he look like, anyway? He was tall obviously, fairly well built because he could see the muscles in his arms and legs. But what was his face like, his eyes and nose?