Chapter Four
She awoke to a gentle shaking of her shoulder. There was a disconcerting moment of blind panic she would soon learn to recognize upon waking with amnesia.
But just as quickly, there was a soothing voice and a warm smile and a friendly pair of eyes. "It's ok, Liv. It's just me. You're home."
Her heart was still racing and, after a few deep breaths, she realized she was still clutching his shirt in terror. Smoothing out the wrinkles she'd made in his blue dress shirt, she tried to hide her fear behind a smile. "I guess I'm a little jumpy."
His own fear reflected for a moment. "You know who I am, right?"
Her eyes narrowed and she thought maybe she had forgotten again. She didn't know if it was really possible to wind up in a repetitive loop of wiping the slate clean, but maybe it was. Maybe every time she woke up, she would think she'd only been asleep for a short time when that wasn't really the case. Panic overtook her and she gripped his shirt again, so tightly she heard a hiss as her nails caught skin.
"What did I forget this time?" Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him.
He winced as he looked at the cab driver. "I'm hoping you only forgot that you don't like to embarrass yourself in public."
She looked around and saw the thoroughly amused cabbie flashing her a toothless grin. Her stomach flipped over and she thought she might be sick. "You're Elliot, right? My partner. That's all I remember you telling me. Please don't tell me there was more!"
The cabbie's smile widened as he leered at her. "Hey, sweetheart, you must have forgot I'm your husband. Come on up here with me. I'll help you remember."
As she whimpered, she saw a wad of bills smack into the divider. "Asshole!" Elliot grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the cab.
Unfortunately, she wasn't any less confused or afraid as she stared at Elliot. Tears were making their way down her face and she wanted nothing more than to bury herself in his arms until she felt better. But his eyes were still flashing with fire and she didn't know if he was mad at her or not.
His hand stayed locked around her wrist while the other moved up to cup her cheek. "Sorry. I figured I didn't stand a chance of solving both problems at once." He wiped at the tears that weren't stopping. "You knew a lot more than my name this morning, but as far as I can tell, you're only suffering from one bout of amnesia." He offered her a smile and turned away, seeming to believe that his vague reassurance was going to help.
Words were not going to fix the frightened way her heart continued to pound. Nor would it fix the way her whole body was trembling. She dove at him head first, trying to burrow her face into his neck as the rest of her body melded into his.
It felt like forever before his arms folded around her, pulling her across whatever fraction of measurable distance there was left between them. His face tucked down next to her ear as he rubbed her back. "I'm sorry, Liv. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It's ok. You're safe." He held her for a long moment before he pulled back to smile at her. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Drawing in a shaky breath, she nodded. "I thought I'd forgotten everything again." Her words were soft as she allowed him to lead her to the stairs.
He stopped about halfway there. "We should probably check your mail, right? I don't want to be responsible for your electric getting shut off."
She remained mute while he picked through what were apparently her keys, looking for the one to her mailbox. She watched while he gathered up a few envelopes and a couple of catalogs. She followed him back to the stairs.
As he was pushing open the door, he looked down at her feet. "What do you say we take the elevator tonight?"
She nodded. Her feet hurt terribly and she wondered what had possessed her to participate in that marathon he'd mentioned while she was wearing four inch heels. His fingers pressed the button for the fifth floor and she turned back to him. "I live on the fifth floor?" He nodded. "And I normally take the stairs?" He nodded again. "And I run in these shoes?" He looked at her feet again before nodding a third time. "Do I have any sense at all?"
He chuckled and passed through the open doors towards her apartment. "First of all, I'm pretty sure you wear those shoes just so you can stare me down. Besides that, yes, you do have sense. You're usually far more sensible than I am." He shrugged at her and unlocked her door. "You like to problem solve whereas I like to use my fists to solve problems." He put his arm across the doorjamb, blocking her entrance and catching her eye. "And when you get your memory back, I fully expect you'll pretend to forget that I ever admitted that."
She nodded and ducked under his arm, taking in her apartment for the first time. It was furnished, but not decorated. "How long have I lived here?" She was expecting an answer in months, possibly weeks. There had to be unpacked boxes where she kept her personal things, things she hadn't found time to arrange yet.
He was closing and locking the door and therefore missed the displeasure written on her face. "You've been here as long as I've known you. I don't know how long before that."
She sat down gingerly on the couch, which she found was far more comfortable than she would have thought. "And how long have I known you?" If she'd only been in her apartment for a few weeks, that would explain a lot. But it wouldn't explain the closeness with Elliot.
He smiled, certainly far more comfortable than she was when he went into the kitchen, grabbed two beers, and plopped down beside her with his feet propped up on the coffee table. "A decade, give or take."
She bit her lip and sighed before she leaned back to settle next to him. "I have no memory, no sense and no decorating skills. Is there anything I'm good at?"
It could have been the dim glow of the only light he'd turned on. It could have been the remnants of sleep clinging to her brain. It could have been the head injury itself.
But she was sure she saw him wink.
And his voice was at least an octave lower when he let a sexy grin spread across his face. "You're good at a lot of things, Liv."
Somehow, she suspected they weren't things she could list on a resume.
She was trembling a moment later when she stood up, shakily stepping toward the kitchen. "Can I get a glass of water?"
"Damn, how did I forget your head? I'll just have to drink both of these." He motioned at the beers.
She doubted he'd have much of a problem finishing two since he downed half the first one in one gulp. But as sexy as the man was, he sure was good at being completely distracted from her. "Elliot?" He looked at her inquisitively. "Water?"
He shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm good."
"I meant for me. Can I get some?"
He was quiet, like he was trying to decide if it was a trick question. "This is your apartment."
She nodded. "Right, but at the moment, you know me better than I do. Would I want a stranger going through my stuff?"
"You're not a stranger, Liv." Perplexed though he was, he stood up and followed her to the kitchen. "You'd die before you'd drink tap water." He pulled open the fridge and handed her a bottle of water. "Why don't you go look around? Maybe something will jog your memory."
He retreated to the living room. The monotone drone of the newscasters filled the silence, leaving her with no option of replying. She held tight to the bottle of water, holding it like a tether to Elliot, as she started poking around her own unfamiliar place. The first door she tried was a closet, brimming with coats and boots. A hundred different colors of hats and gloves filled the shelf and she shook her head, wondering why she had so many. Probably a different set to go with each coat, she decided adding a checkmark next to anal retentive in her personality inventory. Elliot liked her and Elliot was a decent guy. Still, Olivia couldn't help but wonder if she would really like herself. She decided to give Elliot the benefit of the doubt and continued her exploration.
Her bathroom was pretty simple, beige tiles, blue mat, blue towels and a beige shower curtain decorated with seashells. The towels were neatly folded. The cord to her blow-dryer was untangled. The counter by the sink was clean and orderly, except for the unzipped makeup bag. She must have been in a hurry that morning because the mascara wasn't quite sealed. Olivia tightened the cap, put it in the bag, and zipped it up. She inspected the tub, the inside of the shower curtain, and the corner behind the toilet. Checking the cabinet under the sink, she found a half-used box of tampons, a mostly empty spray bottle of multi-surface cleaner, and a pair of stained sponges, but there was no dust or dirty fingerprints or cobwebs. Happy to discover that she was adept at cleaning, she moved on to the bedroom through the second door in the bathroom.
Having seen the arranged bathroom, she determined she'd really been in a hurry that morning because the bed lay unmade. The comforter was soft and thick, boasting a pale rose color that immediately rubbed Olivia the wrong way. The sheets were stripped white and matching rose. She switched on the lamp and looked around. There was a small pile of clothes that all appeared to be jackets or pants. Probably dry cleaning – a quick check of the tag revealed her assessment was right. Her bureau housed a picture frame, a faded picture of a little girl holding a small gray kitten with two white feet. Curious, she slid the picture out to look at the back. 'Olivia, age 3, and Mittens.' The handwriting was neat and loopy. She decided it was her mother's writing and replaced the picture carefully.
She opened the drawers, one at a time, investigating the contents. The first drawer was lingerie, tossed in a messy heap. Grinning, she unchecked anal retentive from her list. The next two drawers held t-shirts and some tops, less than neatly folded. The other two drawers were filled with exercise clothes – sports bras and shorts and pants. The top of the dresser held a small wooden jewelry box, holding a meager amount of jewelry, mostly plain gold or silver earrings and necklaces and one ring with a small yellowish stone. She held it up to look for an inscription. It was mostly worn off, but it appeared to be for a sixteenth something. She imagined it was her birthstone and frowned, wishing it had been something prettier, maybe blue to match a lot of the clothes she'd found. Closing the box, she inspected the only other thing on the dresser – a bottle of perfume. It was mostly gone and she was delighted to recognize the scent when she held it to her nose. The glee didn't last long enough for her to call Elliot before she realized the smell was coming from her shirt. So much for jogging a memory.
She moved to the closet, finding mostly black suits, some sweaters, and a few pairs of slacks in other colors. Digging in the back, she came up with three dresses. One was fire engine red, full length, with a slit up to somewhere Olivia couldn't imagine would be appropriate in public. She laughed, wondering what Elliot would think of it. Maybe she'd model it for him later. The other two dresses were black. One was knee length, with no sleeves and a round neckline, and she suspected one of the multitude of black blazers went with it. The other was certainly above the knee on her, made of something stretchy and clingy. The long sleeves were a nod to modesty, but the lack of a back and deep dip in the front erased any idea of modesty in the same breath. On the opposite side of her closet she found a zipped garment bag and she nearly squealed. A wedding dress, perhaps a prom dress, could even be her mother's wedding gown. She was grinning when she unzipped the bag. She was utterly disappointed to find it only held a dress police uniform with patches and pins and insignia she didn't recognize. Frustrated, she put it back and closed the door.
Purposely avoiding the mirror above the dresser, she sat down on the bed to examine the contents of the nightstands. The drawer in the first one she checked was boring. It held a small notebook with some numbers scribbled on it, a pen, and some lip balm. The only thing on top was an alarm clock, which revealed that she opted to wake at quarter after five. Checking her wrist watch and finding that it was almost seven, she was no longer even the least bit ashamed at having fallen asleep in the cab. Not with the hours she kept.
The other nightstand was slightly more interesting. The drawer was so full she could barely get it open, loaded with all sorts of crap. Her junk drawer apparently. She was mortified to identify the top item, the one closest to the front and most likely to have been accessed recently, as a box of condoms. Afraid that Elliot would appear and either want to use them or not, she slammed the drawer closed and looked at the framed photos lining the top instead. The first one made her smile, a teenage girl in a school uniform, clutching a fat gray cat to her chest. She slipped the picture loose to check and found a sloppy scrawl that read 'Me + Mittens, 1986.' She set that picture back and picked up the next, an older woman who had the same dark eyes, half smiling, holding a glass of wine in a toast to the photographer, in front of a crooked Christmas tree. When she pulled it loose, it had only been labeled with '1997' and a question mark. She wondered why she couldn't accurately date the photo that she assumed was of her mother.
There were two more pictures in a larger frame that was hinged in the center. Both pictures were remarkably alike for pictures that were obviously years apart. The one on the left was of her and Elliot, except that he looked a lot younger. Her hair was almost shoulder length, the same dark brown that was almost black she'd seen in the other pictures of herself. They were sitting next to each other at a picnic table, his hand just peeking around the far side of her waist. Her head was angled toward his. They both had huge grins on their faces, probably due to the laughing kids in their laps – a boy in hers, a girl in his. Again, there was no label and she wondered who the kids were. On the right side picture, they were next to each other, standing instead. Her arm was around his waist; his was around her shoulders. They'd both leaned toward each other so that his cheek was resting on her head, which she saw was topped with an odd tanish-brown bleach job and a cut that made Marines look rather lenient with the shears. Again, there were kids in the picture, but they were grinning blonde girls who could easily have been late teens or early twenties. There were many more lines on both hers and Elliot's faces in the second picture, but what caught her eye was that it was Elliot's left arm that was draped over her shoulder, his left hand falling forward on her chest. The left hand that wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Thoroughly confused, she checked the back and found nothing.
She was making a mental note to start labeling her pictures when she realized she wasn't alone. Elliot was standing in the doorway. His suit coat was gone, as was his tie, the top three buttons of his shirt were undone, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows. A beer dangled from his fingers.
"It got quiet out there. Whacha up to?" He approached and sat down beside her on the bed.
"I was just looking at these pictures. Besides you, no one seems familiar."
He motioned at the one of her as a teenager. "Not even you?"
She shook her head. "Haven't looked in the mirror yet."
"That must be weird. Not recognizing yourself." His eyes were intent on hers and she felt a blush spring up in response.
"I'm afraid to look." She tugged at the plastic bracelet she hadn't taken off. "I know I was born in 1969, but I don't know how long ago that was."
Pulling his keys from his pocket, he held one of them against the thin edge of the plastic and jerked. The only piece of identification she could swear was her own fell to the floor. "I hate those things." She watched him replace the keys and thus missed his other hand moving until he pushed her hair back from her face. "There's no reason to be afraid of the mirror, Liv. You're absolutely beautiful." His eyes held hers, imprisoning her with his stare and his proximity and his scent.
Embarrassed and unnerved by the intensity she saw in his eyes, she offered him the joined frames. "When are these from?"
It took him a minute to refocus, but he did, a smile warming his face. "I didn't know you had these." He pointed at the first one, tracing his fingers over the children's faces. "This was a Fourth of July picnic, nine years ago, I think. You came with Kathy and me and the kids." He pointed at each of the kids in turn. "These are two of my kids. Dickie and his twin sister Lizzie. They're nearly sixteen now."
She marveled at the young faces. "Wow. We have known each other a long time."
He nodded. "And this one was probably two years ago?" He didn't sound sure. "That's Kathleen and Maureen, two more of my kids." He thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, it would have to be two years ago – your hair was a lot longer last year."
She didn't even have time to wonder why he paid enough attention to her hair to be able to use it to date photos. Or to wonder just how many kids the man had.
His hand was back on her, combing through her hair. "It was weird seeing you with it long. You looked so different. I didn't like it at the time. It reminded me that you and I were-" His eyes fell from hers and he pulled his hand away, replacing the frame on the nightstand. "Never mind, it's not important."
She caught his hand, thinking he was hiding something that she needed to know. "No, what?" He looked at her and she could see his indecision. "Please? I have nothing unless you give it to me."
He nodded slowly, taking a deep breath and then smiling at her. "We were going through a rough patch. We kind of grew apart there." He shrugged and she noticed he was so close that she felt his shrug more than saw it. "I'm pretty sure it was all my fault. I was being a shit when Kathy was divorcing me." She saw the way he twisted the wedding ring on his finger. "But everything's back to normal now and," he paused to look back at her, his fingers finding their way back into her hair, "and now I kind of miss it being long."
"I'm sure there's a reason I keep it short." The conversation seemed to be heading into dangerous territory, although the only clue she had was the pounding of her heart.
His eyes were sliding all over her face and his hand hadn't moved from where it just barely cupped the back of her head. He didn't look like he'd heard her.
She noticed when his eyes stilled, finally coming to rest on her lips. Her mouth dropped open, in shock rather than invitation, but she realized he probably didn't know the difference.
Because his face was moving closer and his hand was holding her still.
And before she could even form the thought that she, the new she who had only existed for a few hours, had never been kissed, his lips pressed against hers. His mouth was hungry and his tongue insistent. She didn't have a chance to be nervous or scared as she opened her mouth fully to his, allowing his tongue to probe against her own.
She had only instinct to go on and all of her instincts told her to trust him.
So she offered no resistance when she felt his weight shifting, pushing her down on the bed.