Memory's Edge: Part One Read online

  “No, Gretchen. I’ll be fine. I need to do this. I have to do it eventually, so you might as well let me take a stab at it today,” John said. She still didn’t look convinced. “Please, go to work. You’ve done so much for me already. Will you please let me do this for you?”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  Repeating her own words from the hospital, John said, “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

  Gretchen smirked at him, but took a hesitant step toward the door as well. Frowning slightly, she waited a few seconds before taking another step. Then another. It was slow progress, but she made it to the door eventually.

  “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  Then Gretchen yanked the door open and dashed across the lawn to her car without looking back. John thought she even had her eyes closed as she backed out of the driveway. Not the safest thing to do, but it kept her from changing her mind and running back to the house. Turning out onto the main road, her car disappeared from view.

  John should have felt some accomplishment, but a strange ticking noise interrupted his thoughts. Looking down, he saw his hand shaking, tapping against his crutch. It was as if the panic started in his fingertips and he could visibly see it travelling up his arms. Fascinated and terrified at the same time, John just watched as the tremor moved rapidly up to his chest, grabbing his heart and lungs.

  It suddenly hit him that Gretchen was gone.

  He was alone again.

  Even though he was the one who told her to go, and should have been fine, he wasn’t. The empty void which had claimed John before was swallowing him again. Suddenly, holding onto his crutches was too difficult to manage. They clattered to ground, and he slid down after them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tasting Homework

  The day passed with excruciating slowness. Gretchen bided her time by watching the clock as impatiently as her students. John being alone all day had her on pins and needles. He was still so weak and helpless. His pleading to let him doing one thing for her had barely been enough to keep her from calling in sick.

  When she had gotten back into the house with her half melted ice cream the day before, John had been sound asleep. He woke later that evening in pain. Stepping down from the morphine they had him on at the hospital wasn’t an easy transition. He’d tried to hide the pain that morning, but it was written too deeply in his face to hide. He didn’t want her to stay, though.

  By the end of the school day, Gretchen had given up on her planned lessons and set the students to reading the assigned chapters she doubted most of them would read at home. Heads down to either read or sleep, they sat in silence, making the wait even more unbearable. 3:22. 3:23. 3:24. 3:25.

  The shrill ring of the bell made everyone jump.

  “Finish the assigned reading tonight,” Gretchen said as she gathered up her things, “and be ready to answer questions about the chapter tomorrow.”

  Groans spread through the host of exiting teenagers. Waiting for them to clear out took an eternity. When the last one finally trudged out the door, Gretchen made a beeline out of the building, skipping her usual stopover at the teachers’ lounge. She knew Desi would be there waiting to pounce on her, wanting all the details of having John at her house. Gretchen did not want to get trapped in a long conversation. She knew Desi would call later, anyway.

  Jumping into her car, Gretchen joined the mass exodus from campus.

  She only lived a few miles from the high school, so the drive home was blessedly short. Pulling sharply into the driveway, Gretchen hurried out of the car, grateful Carl wasn’t home to see her rushing to John like a frenzied nutcase. He would definitely have something to say about that.

  Worry gripped Gretchen when her hand touched the door handle. What would she find when she walked in? It was her own house, the place she normally felt safe and comfortable in, so her hesitation was disconcerting. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Carl’s complaints resurfaced, warning her.

  Gretchen shook her head to tried and clear it. John was barely able to get around on his own. What could he really do to her in that state? He was probably lying down on the couch watching TV. Gretchen couldn’t let Carl’s overprotective paranoia get to her. John wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Pushing open the front door, she stepped out of the entryway and gaped at the kitchen.

  Bags of chips, boxes of cereal, packages of cookies, carrots, apples, it looked like every piece of food in the house had been drug out of the cupboards and fridge and laid on the countertops and kitchen table. John was sitting in the middle of it all with a sheepish expression. Gretchen didn’t even know what to say.

  “Hey,” John said slowly, “I didn’t think you’d be home quite yet.”

  “Apparently,” Gretchen said. Walking into the kitchen, she was amazed at the mess. “What are you doing?”

  Smiling as if he had just been caught sneaking treats before dinner, John held up the notebook she had given him. “I was doing my homework,” he said.

  “And that required pulling all the food out of the cupboards?” It was going to take forever to clean up.

  “Well, food is one of the few things I can rediscover right now.” He opened his notebook and laid it out for her to see. “I made a list of the things I like and don’t like.”

  The pride in his smile made her want to laugh. He was so pleased with himself. And Gretchen supposed he should have been. He wanted to find out about himself, so he did. There was so little he could do while practically immobile. Glad he had found a way to make himself feel a little more normal, Gretchen let her annoyance at the mess fall away and picked up his notebook.

  “How can you not like butter pecan ice cream?” she asked after reading the list.

  John frowned as if maybe he had done something wrong.

  “I’m just kidding. You don’t have to like it,” she said. “That’s just leaves more for me, I guess.”

  “I didn’t hate it,” John said. “I just didn’t really care for the sweet and salty taste. It was weird.”

  “But the sweet and saltiness of it is the best part.” Gretchen laughed as he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You do like sweet pickles, though. I think those are disgusting. Talk about a weird mix of flavors. Sickly sweet and bitter vinegar? Yuck.”

  “If you don’t like them, why were they in your fridge?” John asked. His raised eyebrow and superior smirk were amusing, like he’d won something.

  Gretchen rolled her eyes. “My friend Desi talked me into hosting a candle party and the sweet pickles were left over from the hors d’oeuvres. Nobody at the party wanted them either,” Gretchen said, matching his smirk.

  “What is a candle party?” John asked.

  “Desi sells these fancy scented candles. She does parties every so often to introduce people to what they are and to sell them,” Gretchen said. She kept forgetting how much he didn’t know anymore.

  Shaking his head as if the idea of a candle party were the most bizarre thing he had ever heard of, John started rolling down the top of a bag of chips. “Sorry about the mess. I guess I got a little carried away,” he said.

  “It’s all right. I’m glad you’re finding things out about yourself,” she said. “I’ll help you get all of this cleaned up.”

  John sat putting lids back on jars, folding up open bags, and packages as Gretchen put things back in place. They worked quietly for a long time. Gretchen was surprised by how natural it felt, working alongside someone. Instead of living in the dorms during college, she had found a little studio apartment in Boulder to live in, hoping to escape some of the all night drinking parties the University of Colorado was known for. It was expensive, and forced her to get a job to afford it, but she liked being completely on her own.

  When Gretchen graduated, she proudly took her letter of employment to the bank and got approved to buy her first house. She loved her little two bedroom fixer-upper, and she loved living alone and having the freed
om to do as she wished. Standing in the kitchen with John felt right, too. He seemed to fill an empty place in her life that she hadn’t even realized was there.

  “Oh, I forgot,” John said suddenly, “That reporter from Albuquerque you emailed called today. She wanted to talk to us about everything that happened, get my picture on the news to see if anyone recognizes me.”

  “That’s great, John! They reported on you the day it happened, but you were so beat up there wasn't any point in showing a picture on the news. They actually thought it would be too graphic to show,” Gretchen said, remembering how awful John looked when she first found him.

  The bruising was still fading, but the swelling had gone down. Maria had been right about him having good bone structure. His pronounced cheekbones had been hidden beneath puffy purple flesh for so long. His jaw line could finally be seen to be strong and square. A few cuts still marred his skin, and there was a two inch scar on the side of his head that would never go away, but it was obvious now how handsome he was.

  “Do you think it will help, having my face on the news?” John asked.

  “It won’t hurt,” Gretchen said. “The Albuquerque news broadcasts to all of northern New Mexico.”

  “What if I’m not from New Mexico? What if I was just passing through?”

  His worries weren’t just his. Gretchen shared them, though she hesitated to voice them aloud. She had put in calls to the Las Cruces news companies, and even in Phoenix and Denver. Unfortunately, none of them were interested.

  “I got a blog set up for you during lunch today,” Gretchen said. “I put your picture on it and where I found you, anything that might help people recognize you. I added my contact information too, so if someone does know who you are, they can email me.”

  “Thanks, Gretchen, but what if nobody ever sees it?” he asked.

  “We’ll just keep trying until we figure out who you are,” she said. Walking over to him, Gretchen put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “You may remember soon, too. We can’t forget that possibility yet.”

  John shrugged, as though he’d already resigned himself to never getting that part of his life back. Gretchen didn’t understand that. Maybe it was the total emptiness of his mind making it seem impossible to unlock everything, but she held onto hope. Dr. Sanchez said it was possible, even if not likely. Gretchen didn’t want him to give up on that, so she opted for patience.

  “I keep thinking there might be someone out there missing me,” John said. “It bothers me to think I might have parents somewhere, or siblings or a family, who have no idea what happened to me. I don’t like the idea that I could be here with you, and people who knew me might be worried and afraid.” He stayed quiet for a moment before saying, “But maybe there isn’t anybody out there at all. Maybe I was as alone in the world before the accident as I was after. I’m not sure which is worse.”

  “I doubt you were alone in the world, John. I’m sure there are people who miss you and are trying to find you. I’m sure they’re looking for you right now,” Gretchen said.

  At least, she hoped that was true. Even though John having a family somewhere may take him away from her, Gretchen hated to think of him being alone.

  “Then where are they,” John asked. The quiet seriousness he spoke with made it clear he had been thinking about this for a while. “If there are people out there looking for me, why haven’t they found me yet?”

  “John, it’s only been a week. If you were just passing through New Mexico they may not know where you disappeared. It will take a while longer for them to figure out where you are.”

  What could be worse for him than losing all his memories and realizing that it didn’t really matter because he didn’t have anyone in his life worth remembering anyway? Both Gretchen’s hands looped around his shoulders and she lowered her head very gently to his.

  “If I had anybody who cared about me, wouldn’t I have called them while I was driving, or at least told them where I was going? They would have at least known the route I was taking and known where to look. Getting left for dead in the middle of the road should have been easy enough to find out about,” he said darkly. “If anyone was looking, I think they would have found me by now.”

  Sighing, Gretchen hugged him tighter. “That may not be true. You’ll just have to be patient. Either we’ll find them, or they’ll find you. Give it some time.”

  “I don’t know, Gretchen. I think I’ve lost who I was, and I don’t think I’ll ever get that back,” he said.

  A week ago, Gretchen had been happy living alone, but she had friends and parents who cared about her. She was alone in her house, but not in her life. Could John have really been so solitary in life?

  “Whether you were alone before, or not,” Gretchen said, “you aren’t now. And you never have to be alone again.”

  John leaned his head against hers, and said so quietly Gretchen almost didn’t hear him, “I hope you’re right.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Interview

  Two weeks after being left for dead in the middle of the desert, John sat on Gretchen’s couch staring nervously at a camera crew and a perfectly made up reporter. Fidgeting with the collar of the dress shirt Gretchen had bought him, he waited for the interview to start. Gretchen sat next to John looking both excited and nervous at the same time. He was glad she made him go through with this.

  The weeks sitting alone at the house while Gretchen worked had given John a lot of time to think, probably too much time. After getting over his initial panic attacks at being alone the first week, he felt himself bouncing between depression and hope. The more he thought, the less hope he had. Someone should have found me by now if they’re really looking, was John’s constant thought. Gretchen’s buoyant hope was hard to overpower, and kept him from falling too far into depression. She wanted John to believe the interview would work. She wanted him to hope.

  John believed the interview was a waste of time, but he couldn’t bear drowning her hopes. So they sat on the couch waiting for the crew to finish setting up their equipment and run through signal tests. They would be going on live. Itching which started beneath the cast on his leg began creeping around John’s flesh, and he struggled to ignore it. He had to keep the damn thing on for four more weeks and he was already thinking of cutting it off himself. Just thinking about the itching made the skin under the cast on his hand start to itch as well. He couldn’t wait to be done with the interview.

  “Okay then,” the reporter, Melinda Velasquez, said cheerfully, “we’re just about ready to start.”

  Gretchen nodded eagerly while John hid a grimace.

  “I’ll wait for the signal from the anchorman, then I’ll introduce myself and tell the viewers where I am. After that, I’ll introduce the two of you, and we’ll get into the rest of the interview.”

  “How long will the interview last?” John asked. Sweat dampened his skin, thanks to anxiety and the lights glaring at him.

  “About five minutes,” she said.

  That wasn’t so bad. He could last five minutes. Melinda looked as though she was about to say something else, but instead raised a finger to her ear piece and quickly composed herself in front of the camera. “Two minutes,” she mouthed.

  Those two minutes came quickly. Gretchen squeezed John’s hand tightly as Melinda thanked the anchorman and proceeded to go through the formal introductions. John smiled when she turned to them, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt.

  “So, John, how are you feeling?” Melina asked, insincere concern for his condition plastered across her face.

  “I’m doing pretty well,” he said. “Most of my smaller injuries are healing without any problem, leaving mostly just the broken bones that still hurt and give me a hard time.”

  “How many injuries did you sustain?” Melinda asked.

  “Um, I’m not sure. I think there were too many to count,” John said. Melinda wilted with pity. She was incredibly overdramatic.
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  “The doctor I spoke with, a Dr. Marshall, said you sustained a shattered ankle, a broken tibia, several broken ribs, your femur was broken in three places, concussion, multiple contusions and lacerations, as well as suffering from retrograde amnesia, meaning that you can’t remember anything that happened before your accident. Does that sound about right?” Melinda asked.

  “Yeah, I think so,” John said flatly.

  Melinda’s mouth tensed at his tone. She turned her attention to Gretchen. “And sitting next to John is Gretchen Gesner, the woman who found John. Gretchen, could you please tell us about how you found John.”

  “Well, I was driving home from a teachers’ conference in Albuquerque when I saw something in the road ahead of me. I thought it was an animal and slammed on my breaks. I came close to hitting it, but I managed to stop in time. When I got out, I realized it wasn’t an animal, it was a person. I called 911, and the paramedics took him to the hospital,” Gretchen said. It all came out in one long breath, something John was used to, but it took Melinda a moment to react.

  “How long were you in a coma?” she asked John.

  “Six days,” he said.

  “And when you woke up, you had no memory of the attack or anything before it. Is that correct?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you remembered anything in the week since you woke up?” Melinda asked.

  “No. I still can’t remember anything about my life before being attacked.”

  Melinda frowned sympathetically and turned back to Gretchen. “During the time John was in a coma you were visiting him each day. Why did you feel the need to continue visiting him?”

  Gretchen’s cheeks colored faintly and Melinda smiled. “I was worried about him. I knew he didn’t have anybody else and I didn’t want him to wake up and be alone.”

  “And what inspired you to open your home to this man, a man you barely know,” Melinda asked pointedly.