Memory's Edge: Part One Page 14

  What was he doing?

  What was Gretchen doing?

  Carl wasn't her boyfriend. In fact, she had done a pretty good job of making sure he knew that. There was no reason he shouldn’t be chatting up her best friend. A girlfriend for Carl was exactly what Gretchen needed. It would make her life so much simpler. She hoped he talked to Desi all night.

  But if that was true, why was it that when Carl finally looked over at her and smiled, she found herself smiling back, glad he had finally noticed she was there?

  Carl turned back to Desi then, but kept glancing back at Gretchen whenever there was a break in the conversation. She should have moved away and let him give Desi his full attention, but she didn’t. It was wrong, but the idea of losing Carl to Desi made her sad. Yes, it would solve the problem of Carl trying to push his way past John, but it would undoubtedly take him out of her life as well.

  She wasn't ready for that. Carl meant too much to her. Gretchen knew John had consumed pretty much all of her time for the past two months, but before John there had only been Carl. Gretchen saw Desi at work every day, but up until recently she had been dating someone and that kept her pretty busy most nights. Carl had been the one to help Gretchen change her tire when she came out one morning to find it completely flat. He had also helped her on numerous projects around the house and kept her company when she’d felt so alone in a new town.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  Gretchen jumped and turned to find John had snuck up to her. “You scared me,” she said, turning so she couldn’t see Carl anymore.

  “Sorry, you were just standing here so quietly I couldn’t help it,” John said. “Why aren’t you talking to some of your friends?”

  “I just needed a moment to breathe, I guess.” She certainly wasn't going to tell him why she was really standing there alone. “How did you finally get away from Lynn and Maria?”

  “I told them I was getting tired and needed to go sit down. I almost had to beat them back with a stick to keep them from trying to carry me to the couch themselves.” John laughed, but Gretchen didn’t doubt him. Lynn and Maria were very dedicated nurses when it came to their favorite patient.

  “How are you doing?” Gretchen asked.

  “Oh, I’m fine. How are you? You looked a little sad when I walked over,” John said. Stepping closer, John pushed her hair back and slid his hands across Gretchen’s cheeks and back behind her neck. “Is everything okay?”

  If he looked to the side he would see Carl. He might not guess what she was really upset about, but he would make a connection and think Carl had done something. Pulling John in closer, Gretchen made sure she was blocking his view. “I’m just a little tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day. My feet are killing me.”

  “I can take care of that as soon as everyone goes home,” he said. His lips fell to the side of Gretchen’s neck, kissing her softly. Her knees struggled to keep from collapsing. She wanted to melt under his touch. She knew there was a room full of people surrounding them, but she suddenly didn’t care about any of them.

  “I can take care of anything else that hurts too,” John said, his lips moving up her neck.

  The desire to tell everyone to get out of her house was enough to wake Gretchen up from John’s hypnotizing touch. Her dad was there somewhere. What if he was watching? That thought was enough to make her pull back.

  “John, please, later,” she said. Unfortunately, Gretchen wasn't very convincing.

  “Later?” John asked. “Promise?”

  Desire pulsed in his eyes, taking away every other thought in her mind. There was no more Carl, no more Desi, and no more room full of people. The distance between them closed. John’s lips were hungry against Gretchen’s. Lost in his touch, she barely felt it when someone bumped into the back of her. But a sudden fear it might be her dad made Gretchen dart away from John.

  “Oh, sorry, Gretchen,” Elizabeth, a friend from work, said as she stepped around them. “We have to take off. The babysitter has to be home by ten-thirty. It was really nice to meet you, John.”

  After a quick hug, Elizabeth and her husband pushed through the crowd to leave. When Gretchen turned back to John, he was looking over at Carl. “Desi and Carl seem to be getting along. That’s nice,” John said. She could see the conniving pleasure in his smile before he turned away to talk to her friend Derek.

  Gretchen knew she should have been sharing that sentiment, but as Carl caught her eye, she knew he had seen them kissing. The dull glean in his eyes echoed his hurt. Desi was still at his side talking animatedly, but it didn’t look like he could even hear her. John pressed his hand against the small of Gretchen’s back and pulled her over to join his conversation with Derek. Carl’s eyes followed her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A Saint

  John couldn’t blame Gretchen’s dad for falling asleep on the couch. If fact, he wanted to follow suit. Even his good leg was throbbing by the time the last couple of guests finally left. Carl and Desi were the last to leave. He watched them go, hopeful Carl would soon be out of their hair. Every time he thought about the way he looked at Gretchen in her new dress, or how close his mouth was to hers when he saw them before the party, John had to stifle an urge to punch him in the face. Carl knew Gretchen wasn't interested. He had no right to look at her like that.

  Gathering dishes from around the room helped John calm himself down. He had barely gotten a quarter of the trash cleaned up when Gretchen came back in from walking Desi out. She swept up behind John and hugged him tightly.

  “Don’t worry about that now. Let’s get my parents to bed first. They’re probably beat,” she said.

  “Your dad crashed an hour ago, but your mom’s cleaning up the kitchen. I tried to tell her to leave it alone, but she insisted,” John said. “Apparently she doesn’t believe in going to bed with a dirty house.”

  “No she does not,” Gretchen said, “but this isn’t her house. It’s ours, uh, mine. I mean it’s not her house.” Spinning away from him, Gretchen hurried off toward the kitchen.

  John let her go without commenting on her confusion. She had been acting strangely during the party. Maybe she was just tired, but John feared pushing her about calling him her boyfriend and then being faced with the pressure of the party had yanked her out of her comfort zone. He hoped she wasn't regretting all of it.

  A few minutes later, he had a little more of the living room cleaned up and Gretchen had succeeded in getting her mom out of the kitchen.

  “Really, Gretchen, we can just sleep on the couch bed. You don’t need to kick John out of his room, although I’m surprised to hear he has his own room,” her mom said.

  “Mom,” Gretchen groaned.

  “Mrs. Gesner. I will be fine on the couch bed. Gretchen mentioned Mr. Gesner has some back problems. He’ll be much more comfortable in my room,” John said.

  “Mom, the room is already made up for you and Dad. John and I will take care of the mess. You guys need to get some rest if you’re going to drive to Phoenix tomorrow.” Gretchen turned to John and asked, “John, would you mind helping my dad to the room?”

  Setting down the plates he was holding, John walked over to the couch, hoping he wasn’t going to have to carry her dad to their room. He wasn't sure his leg could handle that. It was already begging him to sit down and give it a rest. Thankfully, when he tapped him on the shoulder, he woke right up and followed John back to the room. Gretchen showed them where the guest bathroom was and left them to finish getting ready for bed.

  When she got back to the living room, Gretchen grabbed John and pulled him onto the couch with her. He flopped down, happy to be off his leg. Stretching out, John got comfortable and pulled Gretchen down next to him. She laid her head on his arm and seemed to deflate.

  “Tired?” John asked.

  “Exhausted.” Rolling her head, she looked up at him. “Did you have fun tonight?”

  Aside from Carl…. “Yeah, I did. It was great to finally meet
your friends. I was beginning to think you were embarrassed of me.” John was teasing, of course. Gretchen knew that and smiled.

  “What about my parents? How did you like meeting them?” she asked.

  “They’re great. Your dad’s a little quiet, but he seemed to like me. I think he did anyway. It was hard to tell,” he said.

  “He loves you. They both do.” Gretchen put her head back down and relaxed.

  Her words really hit him. Her parents loved him. Until she said it, John didn’t even realize how much he had been worrying about whether or not they would. For now, they were the closest thing he had to parents, and they actually seemed to like him. Maybe his real parents were looking for him, maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were already dead. He had no idea.

  Over the past two months, he had thought about his family a lot, but as the days went by even the idea of them was starting to fade. Gretchen had been slowly filling in the empty places in his heart.

  He loved Gretchen. He knew she wasn't ready to hear that from him yet, so he kept it to himself, but John felt it. Being around her and making her happy were his only goals in life. He thought if he could make her feel as loved and complete as she made him feel, nothing else would matter. Not what he lost, not anything. Even though getting Gretchen to call him her boyfriend was hard enough, John thought she loved him, too. He was willing to wait for her to admit her feelings. She would see it in her own time, when she was ready to let go of past hurts and trust in their future.

  Gretchen was John’s family now. He would have been happy with that, but now he felt he could include her parents in his little circle of people who knew he existed and cared about what happened to him. John felt so incredibly lucky to even have Gretchen that he hadn’t really hoped for anyone else. But there they were. The more time that passed, the less sure John was he even wanted to find out who he used to be.

  “What?” Gretchen asked with a smile as she watched him. She was looking up at John curiously.

  “What do you mean ‘what’?” he asked.

  “You have this goofy smile on your face. You should be about to fall asleep, not smiling at the wall,” she teased. “What were you thinking about?”

  “Just about you and your parents. Whether or not anybody from my past cares what happened to me, I know there are at least three people who care about me now,” John said. “I’m starting to feel like it doesn’t matter so much what I lost because I’m finding it again with you.”

  Joy sparkled in Gretchen’s eyes. Her chest bobbed up and down as she tried to keep herself from crying, drawing John’s eyes to the way her collar lay partially open. Her top button had come unbuttoned, tempting him to pull the fabric back and see what it was beneath. Suddenly the warmth of her body seemed to intensify where it touched him. Promises of “later” crawled back into his mind.

  “You know,” he said, pausing to brush his lips against Gretchen’s forehead, “I never got the chance to tell you how beautiful you looked tonight. I love your dress. I think you should wear it every day.”

  “Oh, do you? Yes, I’m sure the teenage boys I teach every day would like it too,” she said.

  “Okay, maybe not every day, but definitely more often. You looked amazing tonight.” This time John’s kiss went right for her lips. She accepted him willingly. Reaching up, she pulled him closer, deepening their kiss. All of John’s weariness sprinted away. His leg felt like it could run a marathon without getting tired. His skin was alive, and everywhere she touched him sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

  This was what John wanted. In that moment, he could let go of everything else as long as he had Gretchen in his arms.

  Shifting his weight so he was poised above her, John started at the top of her head and gently kissed a trail down to the button that had come undone. Her soft flesh begged him to keep going. Gretchen sighed with pleasure at his touch. John gently pulled her collar back, kissing her shoulder and moving back down.

  “John,” Gretchen breathed, “wait.”

  He pulled back reluctantly and looked up at Gretchen.

  “My parents are just down the hall, and…” She looked away embarrassed.

  “And what?” John asked softly. She buried her head against his shoulder, hiding her face. He could take a hint. Gently, John backed away and helped her sit back up. She wasn't ready for more. He understood. John wanted to keep going, but as he began to cool down, he wasn't sure. Behind his love for Gretchen, there was still a river of anger for what he had lost. Even if he were ready for more, there was no way he was pushing Gretchen about this. She smiled and leaned against him.

  “I guess we should get the rest of this cleaned up then,” John said. There were still plates and cups and trays of food all over the room.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Gretchen said.

  Leaning over the arm of the couch, John grabbed what used to be his sweatshirt from its now customary place in the basket of throw blankets. He handed the sweatshirt to Gretchen. “But would you do me a favor and put this on?” he asked her. She took it with an embarrassed smile and slipped it on.

  John understood, but he wasn't a saint.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Gigi

  The horizontal bar under the couch bed’s mattress digging into John’s back all night wasn't the only reason he didn’t sleep well. Safely tucked away in his own room, there was a bathroom, a linen closet, and two doors between him and Gretchen. Lying on the couch in the living room there was less than twenty feet, and only Gretchen’s bedroom door between them. Knowing she never locked her door at night only made the hours even more excruciating.

  The pink light of dawn eventually crept through the window and John was glad for the excuse to finally get up. His back twinged and cracked as he stripped the sheets and blanket off the bed and shoved it back inside the frame. After replacing the cushions, he leaned back and forth, trying in vain to stretch out his cramped muscles.

  The next time he and Gretchen had company, John would just sleep on the floor. There was no way it could be any worse than that bed. As he quietly stepped into the guest bathroom to brush his teeth and hair, John thought about the idea of “he and Gretchen” having company. The assumption that they were both hosting her parents, not just Gretchen, inevitably got him thinking about her slip the night before when she had said it was their house.

  She’d realized what she’d said right away, and became flustered when she did, but the comment had made John smile. On the inside, of course. She would have been annoyed if she thought he was laughing at her. Perhaps she didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it showed John she was thinking about it. Did she think of it as their house all the time, or was it just that night with them hosting their first party together? John wanted to know, but he was afraid of pushing her away.

  Creeping out of the bathroom, John felt a warm sense of familiarity as he walked into the kitchen. It was his favorite room in their house. Laughing to himself, he realized he was doing it too. Maybe it was easier for him to fall into that, though. The house was the only one he had ever known. He loved being there with Gretchen.

  Mixing eggs and milk in a bowl, John barely thought about what he was doing as he stirred in the mushrooms, onions, and spinach for a frittata. He knew where everything was, and he grabbed things without having to think about it anymore. John had even moved a few things around to make it easier when he cooked. Pausing for a moment, John wondered if he should have asked Gretchen before doing that. Had she even noticed that the spices were next to the stove now instead of on the shelf above the glasses? With how little John actually let her cook…probably not.

  Gretchen juggled a million things a day, but she had no clue how to organize a kitchen. She owned one cookbook her mother had given her when she moved out. Based on how crisp the pages were when John first opened it, he didn’t think she had ever used it. Gretchen’s deficient cooking skills didn’t bother him in the least. He loved cooking for her. He loved doing anythi
ng and everything for her, really, but he especially liked cooking for her.

  The frittata mixture went into a pan and into the oven before John started mixing up some drop-biscuit batter, throwing in sage and lemon to make it pair with the frittata better. A puff of flour spouted out of the bowl as he started mixing, dusting the countertop. Gretchen hadn’t even had flour and sugar in the house that first week. John had to drag her to the store and show her what baking supplies he’d needed. Now she let him make the shopping lists.

  Plopping the biscuits down on the baking tray, John popped them into the oven and checked on the frittata before ducking back to the fridge to grab the fruit. Gretchen had tried pulling out the strawberries and blueberries the night before, thinking John had meant them for the party, but he had been quick to snatch them away. The party menu was all finger food.

  Her parents were only in town for a short visit. John wanted to make sure they knew that even though he hadn’t been well enough to work up until a few days ago, he was still doing what he could to thank Gretchen for everything she’d done for him. Plus, John thought as he sliced the strawberries, he wanted to impress them with how good of a cook he was. It was pretty much the only thing he knew how to do well, so he wanted to shine for them.

  John was tossing the washed blueberries into a bowl when a bleary-eyed Gretchen wandered into the kitchen. Her dark blonde hair was smashed against her head in strange places from her pillow, and she still had remnants of makeup on from the party, but she looked gorgeous. Stepping away from the counter, John wrapped her up in a hug, lifting her feet off the floor in the process.

  She looked up at him in disbelief. “What are you doing up so early? It’s only six-thirty.”

  John stifled a laugh before she saw it. It amazed him that Gretchen had chosen a profession which made her get up even earlier than the normal eight-to-five crowd when she despised mornings so much. She must have really loved teaching.