Chapter Four

Me in Terms of You

For the remainder of that day, Woody followed Jean Louis around under the pretext of quizzing the priest on the aftermath of the plane crash. To make the entire scenario seem kosher, he even questioned the Sisters who had been present after the accident.

However, if Marie was anything like Jordan, she was seeing through his entire charade. But the inquiries gave him an opportunity to speak with her alone – something he hadn't had the nerve to do since his arrival. No one could have prepared him for how awkward it was going to be to talk to someone you felt you knew all your life and she didn't know you from Adam's house cat.

Still, that night, after dinner, Woody chanced speaking with her. "Marie?" he called out after her, following her out of the dining room and back down a hallway. "Can I speak with you a minute?"

"Oui. Mais je ne vivais pas ici à l'heure de l'accident d'avion. Je suis inutile à votre recherche." She stopped and turned to face him.

And his puzzled look gave him away. Woody watched her lips turn up slightly at the corners, giving him that quizzical smile that always made his heart beat slightly faster. It was enigmatic. Sexy. All Jordan. He nearly shook his head. This was Marie – a woman who had no clue about their past. And she obviously had no idea what that smile did to him. "I'm sorry," he told her. "My French…is not…"

Her lips turned up two degrees more. "So I gathered. I said, 'But I was not living here at the time of the plane crash. I am of no use to your investigation'."

"When did you arrive at Fond Parisien?"

Without missing a beat, she replied. "Shortly afterwards, I think."

"You think?" Woody wondered if her memory was more affected than he had been led to believe.

"About three or four weeks afterwards, if I'm not mistaken. I'd have to look back at my calendar to make sure."

Woody nodded. That was a viable answer. One he'd have to give himself "Where were you before that?"

"Before that?"

Another nod. "Prior to arriving at Fond Parisien, where were you?" Woody could see flickers of discomfort in her eyes.

"What does that matter? I wasn't here."

Her courage is intact… Woody held back a grin. "I'm a detective, Marie. I'm curious by nature."

"But where I was before I came here has nothing to do with the plane crash."

"Maybe not, but I'd still like for you to answer the question."

"But…but…" Jordan sputtered for a few moments before glancing at his face, Woody's blue eyes holding her captive.

"I don't remember," she finally told him softly after struggling a few uncomfortable moments.

"You don't remember?"

Jordan shook her head. "I was in an automobile accident and hit my head. I don't remember anything about myself, my life…When I woke up from being unconscious, it was as if I never had a life before that day. I couldn't remember anything. So I couldn't even begin to tell you where I was before the plane crash."

Woody let out a breath he had been holding the entire time. "I'm sorry, Marie."

"Merci. Are you through questioning me now?" Her fingers were twisting themselves in knots. Talking to this detective about the airplane did not bother her. Revealing the fact she had no memory of her past, did. She had often wondered if she had done something so horribly wrong that she had no desire to remember her history.

If that was the case, the Marie had counted her amnesia as a blessing and a second chance to start over and do things right this time. As the detective stepped away and allowed her to continue her walk to her sleeping quarters, Marie still felt her legs shaking as she wondered if her past – whatever it was -- had finally caught up with her.

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. The detective… Hoyt Révélateur … had been neither surprised nor disbelieving when she told him her amnesia story. She spun back around on her heel.

"Monsieur Hoyt…exactly why are you here?"

That comment had sent Woody's immediate world into a tailspin. Jordan – Marie – had marched back over to him and demanded answers. In a loud enough voice that it alerted the Sisters and Father Louis.

Thankfully, the priest pulled Woody and Jordan out of the hallway and back to his office, allowing Woody to escape a circling band of nuns that were none to happy that their Marie had been upset by the questioning detective.

And now, Woody was sweating bullets outside Father Louis' office, waiting for the priest to tell Jordan the truth. Jean Louis decided that now was the best time, especially since Jordan's suspicions were aroused, to tell her the truth about Woody's visit to Haiti.

Just as he was his first day in Haiti, he was sitting outside of the Father's office, sweating in the way that only equatorial countries could make you sweat. Profusely and non stop. Add to that the tension of the moment and Woody's sweat glands were in hyper-drive. Once again, he had to peel the shirt away from his back.

Father Louis' and Jordan's voices rose and fell for the next half hour as the priest revealed to her what he knew about her past and why the detective from Boston had been hovering around their church and convent. It seemed as if hours passed before the door to the Father's office swung open and Jean Louis motioned Woody inside.

"Bon. It is over," the older man said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his robe. C'était difficile. Elle est confuse. The hardest thing I have ever done, I think. Jordan does not understand…."

Woody's eyes searched the room for her, but she wasn't in sight. "Where is she?" Surely Jean Louis wouldn't let her go back to her room by herself now? Given Jordan's seemingly genetic proclivity to run, Woody could feel himself tense.

"She is in the small room off to the side." The Father pointed to his left.

"May I see her?"

"Oui. If she will see you. I will wait outside. Good luck, mon fils. I will say a prayer…" With that the priest left his office and shut the door. Woody had no doubt the circling band of nuns were waiting to pounce the good Father as soon as he was within their clutches.

Say a prayer… Woody remembered Garret's words and sent one up for himself. Quietly, he walked over to the small room off to the side and knocked on the door frame. "Marie…?"

"It's Jordan. At least Father Louis says so."

She was standing off in a corner, tissue in hand, her face holding the remnants of tears. Woody felt his heart sink.

"It is Jordan. Jordan Cavanaugh." He hesitated for a moment. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"No," she replied quietly, shaking her head. "I don't mind. I guess we have a lot to talk about."

"We do." Woody perched on the edge of the chair nearest to him and watched Jordan carefully as she sat down across from him. "Where do you want to start?"

"Try with why it took you two years for you to find me."

Trust Jordan to start with the hardest. And most obvious. Amnesia doesn't change everything…Woody looked down at his hands for a moment before he answered.

"First, when you left Boston, we didn't know where you had gone. You didn't leave a note or an email…you didn't call anyone. Not even me or Nigel."

"Nigel?"

"He's one of your friends and co-workers. But we'll get to him later. The fact was, we thought that if you had left town, you surely would have at least told one of us. But you didn't. You just left." Woody paused and let her absorb that, watching the emotions play across her face.

"Why did I leave? And why didn't I tell anyone?"

"We were working this case together, you and I. It was one that dealt with children and babies. There had been several child abductions in Boston." Noting the puzzled look on her face, he continued. "You're not a detective; you're a medical examiner – a doctor. We work together a lot. And cases involving children get to us both. But this time…" Woody ran his fingers through his hair. "This time it got to us worse than usual. So bad that we fought. A lot. The last fight we had was really bad. Then you disappeared. I imagine the reason you didn't tell me where you were going was because you were mad at me."

Jordan shook her head. "If I was mad enough at you to leave, why, of all places did I choose Haiti? And why, in all of Haiti, Fond Parisien? I think I would have at least chosen a resort somewhere…"

"You weren't running away from me because we fought. You didn't tell me you were going to leave because you were upset with me. You left because you were following a lead in the case."

"A lead in Fond Parisien?"

"Yes." Woody paused again, waiting to see if any of this would raise red flags in her mind, but Jordan's face was mix of confusion and wariness.

"You were mad enough at me not to look for me for two years?" she finally managed to choke out.

"No! No…no. That's not it at all. No." Woody was quick to reassure. "We had no idea where you had gone. By the time we got international warrants for the manifest on world-wide flights, it had taken two years. As soon as I knew where the plane had gone down, I was here as quick as I could get here."

Jordan sighed, shut her eyes, and leaned back in her chair. "Father Louis said my name was on the manifest for the plane that went down in Etang Saumatre. You thought I was dead."

Woody nodded, letting the pain of that information play a repeat performance across his face.

A fact that did not escape Jordan's attention. "So did you feel guilt, remorse, or loss?" she asked flatly.

"All of the above." This time Woody's voice choked.

"Then imagine your surprise when you found out I was alive."

His mouth kicked up at the corners, playing with his dimples. "I was overjoyed." He stopped long enough to look her in the eyes. "Completely overjoyed. You don't believe me?"

"You said we fought…"

"We did. We always do over cases. That was work. It had no bearing on our relationship."

"Our relationship? Did we date? See each other?"

Woody nodded and mentally crossed his fingers. "Yes."

Jordan sighed as she sat up and looked at Detective Hoyt. Despite everything Father Louis and Woody had told her about her past and herself, Jordan didn't feel like Jordan. Jordan felt like Marie—the person she had been for the past two years. Fifth grade teacher. Sometime school nurse. This Jordan and her ME status meant nothing. It was like that part of her was now the stranger, not Marie. "So what do you expect of me now, Detective?"

"I would like for you to think about coming home with me. Back to Boston."