The Fullness of Time - Book One
By Cordelia50
"Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever."
― Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See
"The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."
― Omar Khayyám
Wednesday
Marlena Evans Brady exited the psychiatric ward, lost in her thoughts, wondering how she could help Joe Catenacci, the veteran who had withdrawn into near complete catatonia. Every once in a while, he rewarded her efforts to communicate with him with a faint movement or even a tiny grunt. But generally, he did not react to her, or anyone.
"Dr. Evans?"
Pulled from her reverie, she turned around. Dr. Chang looked at her inquiringly. "Yes? I'm sorry," she answered.
"I just asked whether you had a chance to see Mr. Green?"
"Oh, yes - Panny." Marlena nodded at the wild-haired young doctor (most doctors under forty-five looked young to her these days). She worked to shift gears and consider the case of the outpatient whose schizophrenia would not be tamed by the usual medications. "Yes, talked with him. I've looked at all the medications already tried."
She walked to the nurse's desk and asked for Panny's records. Opening the folder, she wordlessly showed Dr. Chang what she'd prescribed, not wanting passers-by to hear confidential information. The other psychiatrist nodded approvingly. "It's a choice that makes sense, but I admit I wouldn't have thought of it."
Marlena completely understood, and replied, "We'll just have to see. Another patient in Salem accepted it really well, but that doesn't mean Mr. Green will react in the same way."
"Well, you're off the clock now, Dr. Evans. I hope you have a good evening, and we'll see you tomorrow. You're still here for another two weeks, right?"
"A week and a half, if we get technical" she corrected with a smile. But as the short, rotund Dr. Chang hurried down the hall, absently patting his uncombed mop, Marlena sighed. Yes, she was off the clock. But she had nothing planned other than heading back to her lodgings, having dinner alone, and then reading for a while before bed. Maybe she'd call one of the kids and compare notes on the day. Could she time it right to get Johnny and Teddy on the phone?
Sauntering down the corridors, Marlena knew she'd made the right decision to come consult at the Palo Alto V.A. Hospital. Seeing a whole new group of patients sharpened the mind and allowed her to use skills she had almost forgotten she'd acquired much earlier in her years of practice. Before she'd flown out to California, Eric had broached the subject of retirement. "You know, Mom, you've been working 45 years. It's okay to hang it up if you want to."
"But I don't want to, honey. What would I do with myself all day? Just hang around the townhouse? Do charity work at the Horton Center? No. That's not for me. I want to keep working. It gives me purpose, and I need that now that your father's gone."
As she recalled that conversation, she also flashed back to July 8 of last year when Kayla found her in the Salem University Hospital break room and quietly told her Roman had been brought to the ICU. But by the time she arrived at his bedside, he had been declared DOA. He'd had a massive heart attack. Every time she thought of that, she felt the tears brimming.
Shaking her head resolutely, she continued through the hospital toward the parking lot. Here and there little knots of people stood or sat. She passed by doors to different treatment centers. Some were open, and she looked inside just out of curiosity. As she passed Physical Therapy, she caught sight of three people in the waiting area. A boy in a wheelchair, a woman behind the chair, and a man with gray hair sitting on one of the molded plastic chairs saying something to the boy. Probably the grandfather. Marlena continued on by, but her mind stayed on that image of the three people. There was something there her brain wanted to evaluate, something it couldn't let go. After a few more steps, she stopped. She focused on the man in her mind's eye. She hadn't gotten a really good look, but there was something about him. Marlena retraced her steps to look again.
The man had turned his back to the door. He still spoke with the boy, gesturing as he did. Marlena couldn't hear his words, but as she watched him motioning, something in the far back of her memory started nudging her. But she couldn't pinpoint why.
The presumed mother touched her son's shoulder as though reinforcing or sympathizing with the man's comments. And her face shone, as if in relief that someone else was giving her boy a pep talk.
But Marlena's attention returned to the man. She noted the neat, professional cut of his hair, and that it's predominant white/gray still contained strands here and there with a brownish tone, especially in the back by the nape of his neck. He wore a light gray windbreaker. She couldn't see much else.
Then a nurse emerged from the physical therapy room and called the name "Buddy Crickson," and the boy's mother, offering a word to the man, guided the wheelchair through the door. Buddy, a small, frail boy with big round eyes, looked back at the man and gave him a tentative thumbs-up and a shy smile.
Now the man sat alone, and Marlena hoped he'd turn around and reveal his face to her. But he didn't move, watching the pair disappear beyond the doors on the other side of the room.
Finally, he did straighten his position in the chair and looked up at the ceiling, giving a few little nods before lowering his head as though in thought...or perhaps prayer.
Marlena's heart stopped. She saw a lean, shaved face with the wrinkles of time, including more flabby flesh in the throat area; a long, patrician nose; a prominent chin; clear eyes (although they viewed the world through wire-rimmed glasses) under nearly white eyebrows; and a distinctive, sensual mouth she thought she'd seen for the last time more than twenty-five years ago. This man seemed smaller than the one she remembered, but after all, he was sitting down, so it was hard to judge. The man she'd known had built up his body by working out nearly daily. This one did not have a beefed-up look. But still, he resembled -
No, she thought sharply. It can't be. It's probably someone who just looks a lot like him. Well, a lot like he might look at this age. Her heart started again and began to hammer, and her hands felt clammy. She had to get a closer look at him. Before she knew what she was doing, she'd slipped into the waiting room. She wished there were somewhere she could hide and secretly observe him. But there was nowhere. The one potted Areca Palm near the door offered insufficient cover. If she was going in, and she was, he would see her. Shaking more than she had in years about anything, she kind of hugged the wall, heading toward the reception desk -which wasn't manned. She didn't want to stare at him, but on the other hand, she needed to see his features more clearly, so she walked on by, trying to steal glimpses.
The man did notice her the way people in waiting rooms do when a new person enters. This late in the afternoon, they had the room to themselves. No sign of familiarity crossed his face, but she did notice a telltale, but fleeting, shot of male appreciation for the opposite sex in his expression. As people do in offices, he set about minding his own business. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little notebook into which he made notations.
She had made the pass in front of him, and her emotions felt as tightly strung as the most tuned violin strings. Dear Lord, dead God, this man looked so much like him!
Marlena thought feverishly: He clearly doesn't know me. Shouldn't that settle it? He didn't jump up and run to me and cry out, "Marlena!" I must be grasping at straws. Maybe my loneliness since Roman passed is finally exhibiting itself in a desperate attempt to see in this stranger someone who's been gone so very long.
Wryly acknowledging that now she engaged in self-analysis too, Marlena struggled to get hold of herself. She should just walk right back to the main hall and continue out of the hospital, as she'd intended after speaking with Dr. Chang.
Instead, her brain clanged at her insistently: You need to hear his voice. When you hear it, you'll know for sure.
Across from him, another bank of chairs for waiting patients lined up. Marlena, taking a huge breath, navigated her still in-shock body through the aisle and sank down into one - barely in time, too, because her legs nearly failed her.
Clearing her throat, Marlena fumbled for something to say to the man who seemed immersed in his notes. Hearing her voice quake, she asked, "Pardon me, I couldn't help noticing the boy who just went in. Is he your grandson?"
He immediately raised his head and his hands simultaneously clicked his pen and replaced it in his pocket, and he flipped closed the little book and did the same with that. Looking at Marlena attentively, even admiringly, but again with no sign of recognition, he answered, "Ah, no. He's a boy I see here sometimes, and I try to encourage him. Buddy's just five and has osteogenesis - the tendency to break bones easily. He comes here for very gentle supervised exams and exercises."
Marlena's heart thumped again wildly. Yes! She knew that voice. It spoke more softly than she remembered, almost whispering, but it belonged to the man she'd known. She knew it did. Marlena couldn't believe she was having a conversation with him. She felt absolutely churned inside.
"You come here regularly?" she managed to croak out. She felt as though she were in a spinning tunnel. Do NOT faint, she inwardly commanded herself.
"Yeah," he said. He indicated his left leg. "Broke it badly a couple years ago, and it's been a struggle getting it to work properly again."
"I'm sorry," Marlena said, feeling a wave of sympathy. The more she looked at that face, the more she was convinced. She wanted to move closer, to gaze into his deep blue eyes, and see his hands and his face in the highest definition, but since he obviously considered her a stranger, she restrained herself. "I'm Marlena Evans," she managed, watching his every reaction.
"Pleasure to meet you, Marlena Evans. That's a beautiful name. John. John Darrow."
Darrow? Marlena wondered where that name came from. But her mind and emotions ran riot. She and John were conversing. This was her John, she felt more and more sure every passing second. Yes, her John. The man she'd met back in December of 1985. The man who'd called himself John Black, then Roman Brady, then John Black again. The man whom she'd been married to and had loved deliriously. The one who'd loved her like no one else ever had. Like no one else ever could. Her soul was bonded to him, and even though she'd loved Roman very much all the years of their marriage, her heart and soul never stopped loving and longing for this man. Yet, he didn't know her.
John spoke again, a silkiness to his tone and an amused glint in his eye, "You don't look like you need any physical therapy, Marlena."
"Ohhhh. No. I don't." Marlena struggled to focus. "I'm a doctor from out of town - out of state, actually - here doing some consulting work."
"You're an orthopaedist?"
"No," she laughed nervously. "That requires a lot of physical strength, especially surgery." She just kept drinking him in with her eyes. Of course John looked older than the images of him she carried around in her brain. She'd last seen him in December of 1992. It was October, 2019 now.
"What is your specialty then?"
"I'm a psychiatrist."
His eyes searched the room to confirm they were the only ones in it and then trained on her appraisingly. He said affably but firmly, "Not that I mind some attention from a pretty doctor, no matter what the circumstances, but aren't you in the wrong section of the hospital then? I mean, someone didn't play a joke on me and put me on your schedule, did they?"
Inside Marlena, a flood of memories with John flashed one after the other. The first time they shook hands, their first date, her hypnotizing him to help him remember his mysterious past, them shooting down the rapids, their wedding in 1986, going back to West Virginia for their honeymoon, the two of them in many different lovers' embraces, her return to Salem in 1991 and their reunion on the pier, the day they found out he wasn't Roman Brady, the first time she saw him after Isabella died. It was all there in a big rush. And foremost, the incredible love she had for him, the love she had suppressed all these years, the love that threatened now to overwhelm her as it rushed back into sharp relief...
Marlena choked up. Surely, surely, that indescribable love couldn't have been drained from him. She looked him straight in the eyes, and willed his memory to be jogged, to know suddenly, just because she was there with him, all that he had apparently forgotten. "No," she said, "I…that is…I'm sure we've met before. That's why I came in here."
She saw him tense up. Suddenly John became extra watchful and more cautious. "You think we have? When?"
She wanted to blurt it all out, but they had been down this road before in '86, and she knew he would be better off if he remembered himself. If she told him too much, he might just think he remembered, when in fact, those memories could just be "ghosts" implanted by her stories.
"It would be better if you remember on your own."
"Doctor, trust me. That might never happen. Tell me when we met," he demanded.
"All right. We first met when you were in Salem University Hospital in December of 1985."
"1985?"
"Yes."
When was the last time you think you saw me?"
"In December of 1992."
Marlena saw John's face blanch. He reached next to his chair and picked up a metal cane and pulled himself to his feet, steadying himself with the stick.
"Please don't leave yet," she implored him, rising too. She feared she had scared him off. She wanted to go to him and throw her arms around him. She wanted to feel his arms envelop her again. She wanted them to embrace each other as they had so long ago.
But John wasn't riding the same wavelength. He took some careful steps, moving behind the row of chairs he'd been sitting in. He said by way of explanation, "I'm not leaving. I just can't just sit too long. I have to move around or my leg gets stiff and aches like the devil." He came around until he'd made a long oval and was back where he'd started.
As he emerged in front of the chairs, she could tell that he wore a brace (an orthotic brace, she assumed) below the left knee under his loose fitting slacks. He didn't seat himself again. Standing there in front of her, both hands on his cane, he said, "Doctor, maybe you've got the wrong guy. Maybe I'm not the person you think I am."
Marlena swallowed. Could that be? No. He'd reacted when he heard the dates. And he WAS her John. Unless John had had a twin who also had memory issues, this had to be her John. She said in a very faint voice, "Unless you have or had a twin brother, it's you, I'm sure of it."
He huffed at that. "No twin ever. No living siblings."
How did he know that? Marlena was about to ask but he spoke again before she could, "Uh. Did I - if it was me - have memory loss when I was in Salem back then?"
"Yes, you did." She inched closer, and now, even though his glasses impeded her view a little under the LED lights, she could see his azure blue eyes. Oh my gosh, she marveled anew. It's really John! She couldn't help herself. She reached out and touched his top hand for a moment.
"John, do you remember anything about Salem?" Please, please say you remember something about us, she pleaded in her head and heart.
He slowly shook his head. "Which Salem is it? Massachusetts? Oregon?"
"Illinois." Her heart sank at the need to tell him this basic point.
He moved his jaw in one of his familiar "considering movements," and then he took a step closer to her. He inhaled and said, "That's a lovely perfume you're wearing. Smells like lilacs. A perfect scent for a lovely woman."
Having him so close made her pulse race, and she had to force herself not to throw herself at him and kiss him. She realized he could probably tell. He had usually been a very observant and sensitive man, and right now he had all his senses lasered on her. She stammered, "Th -Thank you. Lilacs are a favorite flower of mine." Her eyes continued to drink him in.
His held only questions. But she could see in them a growing sense that their prior relationship had been an intimate one. Before he could say anything about what he might be sensing, she redirected the conversation, "Maybe I could ask, what parts of your life do you remember now…"
John's lively eyes studied her face intently, as though trying to wrench recognition from his brain. But he replied grimly, "Look. You're a physician, right? You know how to keep confidences?"
She nodded breathlessly.
"Okay, I'm willing to answer that, but you've got to keep it to yourself. I remember everything except the years you said I was in Salem, Illinois and a few years after that. Umm. Yeah, I remember up to about 1985 and then I remember everything again after sometime in 2002."
Marlena was stunned. Her eyes went wide when he said that. She swayed a little and then felt light-headed and sat down again.
"Are you alright?" John eased himself into the chair next to hers, concern etched into his whispery voice. Now he reached over and clasped his right hand over her pale, cold left one, seeking to console and strengthen her. Hands are as individual as anything about a person. Even though fraternal twins have the same fingerprints, they inevitably develop some discernible differences as they grow. These large, strong, masculine hands were unquestionably John Black's. Marlena had seen, and more importantly, felt, them too many times to ever forget them.
At that moment, it was all too much for her. She brought both her hands to envelop his and held on for dear life as shudders of oddly dry crying passed through her. Losses. Her losses. They just tore through her.
First, the unexpected loss of Roman fifteen months ago surfaced. That had been a trauma for sure, and one she had not sufficiently faced and mourned.
But more acutely, the much older brand on her psyche of the loss of John so long ago. The loss of the marriage she had so hoped to regain when she returned in 1991 when she'd thrilled unimaginably to see him on the pier. And then the complete loss of his presence when he disappeared in 1992. They had thought him dead because no trace of him had been found when they searched for him through 1993 and again in late 2001 and early 2002. Dear Lord, how she had missed this man. Since the first time she'd met him, he'd been knit into her soul. No matter what else she had in her life, without him, she wasn't whole.
And she knew John had felt the same way about her. He'd told her that many times. Which made it all the harder to take that he didn't feel what she was feeling now. That he didn't share her wonderment that they were together in the same place. That he didn't long to gather her into his arms and never let her go.
So, the overload of now being in his presence once again short circuited her emotions, and led to her conspicuous loss of control.
"Hey, hey," John said huskily. "Don't cry. Please don't. Otherwise, I might just join you, and then where'd we be?" Gently disengaging his hand from between hers, he put his arm around her heaving shoulders. As she struggled to get control, she reflected that this was so John. He always had been a man who comforted people who were in emotional distress, even if they were strangers to him.
"I'm sorry." she sniffled, taking a deep breath.
"No need to apologize," he said, tightening his arm in more of a hug before pulling it away.
She knew he was watching her, sizing her up, trying to figure out how important she'd been once in his life. She wished she knew exactly what he was thinking. Turning her body so she could look him straight in the face, she saw with a jolt that a scar ran down the left temple of his handsome face. She made a mental note to ask him about that later. But for now, her moments of grief retreating from their intensity, she had to return to what had shocked her about his statement of what he remembered.
"You remember your early years?"
John took a deep breath and stretched his neck. "Yes."
"Oh my gosh! That's incredible. You never did while you were in Salem. John, how did that happen? And why don't you remember 1985 to 2002?"
"That is a very long story." He got to his feet. He gave her a small smile and held out his hand to her. She took it, feeling warm energy from his touch again, and stood too.
"You know, I don't have any desire to end this very strange but, it seems, auspicious, meeting. I'd be a fool to voluntarily abandon the company of a woman as beautiful as you. But, before I can tell you my story, two things need to happen. I'm sure you can understand that I need some proof that you are who you say, and that we really did know one another during my 'lost' years. And secondly, I'm starving."
Marlena shakily laughed. But then she remembered the boy and his mom. "You don't need to wait for Buddy and his mother?"
"No. They won't expect me to be here when they come out."
"Okay. I'm staying at a hotel only about a mile from here, and it has a restaurant. I was going to eat dinner there. Will you come with me? I'll get my ipad and show you some pictures. I still don't want to tell you too much because it really is better if you remember yourself, but I think I can give you the proof you need."
He cut to the chase. "Which hotel?"
"Dinah's Garden Hotel."
"I know where it is."
Marlena said, "Since it's so close, I walk there and back - exercise, you know." She looked at his leg and cane, "But I guess that might not work for you right now."
"Right. If you don't mind getting into my car, I'll just drive us."
Marlena smiled at him and assured, "I don't mind at all," but it carried a hint of sadness. Why, oh why, she thought are we in a place where we have to have such conversations? Why, God? Why can't he remember me?
They made their way out into the corridor and, at his pace (which wasn't too slow), reached his blue Jeep Cherokee, and arrived at Dinah's Poolside Restaurant in just a few minutes.
During that short span of time, Marlena couldn't stop marveling at whom she sat next to.
Seated at a table in the Carribean-accented eatery, John ordered a house favorite, fish and chips, and Marlena chose the wild mushroom quesadilla. After the waiter had departed, Marlena said, "I'll go to my room now before the food comes and get my ipad…"
"Or maybe it can wait until after we eat?" John suggested. "Look, I didn't mean to impune your character or integrity when I said I needed some proof."
"No, I understand. Really."
He looked a little bashfully at her and said, "I guess what I mean is that I'd rather enjoy a meal with you first than have to dive right away into things about the past that I'm not sure I want to know. I'm assuming you remember your entire life? Most people do, but even though I've tried a lot of different methods, I can't dredge up those years."
Gently Marlena answered, "As a matter of fact, there are a few years of my life that I don't remember much about either."
That interested John. "When was that?'
Marlena took a long sip of the ginger ale she'd ordered to moisten her dry throat. "It was 1987 to 1991."
John looked perplexed. "That's during the time you said you knew me."
"Yes," she sighed. "I was gone from Salem for those years and presumed dead." Seeing his consternation, she added, "A couple arch criminals wreaked havoc on Salem, and one of them kidnapped me and made it look as though I'd died in a small plane crash. It's also possible the other one played a part as well."
"That's diabolical. I'm sorry you and your family had to go through that. I assume I knew about that back then? Did they apprehend your kidnappers?
"Yes, you thought I'd died. And, yes, the men who kept me away from my family, friends, and patients are out of commission. One died, and the other has been sentenced to life in prison - although he has a knack for escaping."
Their dinners came, and they both tucked in, although Marlena didn't finish, while John heartily vacuumed up every morsel of his. No dessert, but they did order a dessert wine produced in Napa called Grgich Hills Violetta. The restaurant wasn't that full, and they intended to stay at their table and sip the wine. Marlena slipped off to her room and returned in a few minutes with the ipad.
"I'm not sure, again, how much to tell you, John. It's not that I want to be secretive or use it for leverage or anything. It's just, as I said before, if I tell you too much -"
"I know. You think it could prevent me from remembering myself. Doctor, it's been nearly twenty years, and I don't remember a thing," His tone and his expression told her he had given up hope of regaining those memories.
Marlena gently said, "I do have some expertise in assisting people with amnesia, John. I could try to hypnotize you and see if some memories could be restored that way."
"No, I don't think so. But thanks for the offer," John said hurriedly.
Not sure why he so adamantly cut short that idea, Marlena decided to let it rest for now. She had already shown him her driver's license and a few other pieces of identification. And she offered him references he could contact if he had any doubts about her or what she had already or would tell him. Now, she concentrated on finding a couple pictures of John from her digitized photos. The original photos had long been packed away in storage.
Finding one she'd been searching out, she enlarged it and passed the ipad across the table so he could see. This was one of her favorite pictures of John and herself from 1986. If she recalled correctly, Carrie had taken the photo of them at a Horton party in her honor after she had recovered from her head injury. Just before they were married. She explained, "Here is a picture of you and me in 1986 at a party at a friend's house. It was candid and unposed because neither of us was aware the picture had been taken until later."
John, reluctantly at first, slid the ipad in front of him. Marlena saw him swallow, and she thought he braced himself. But once he actually looked at the photo, his resistance visibly evaporated. He gave a brief snort of amusement. "That guy had a lot of hair!"
Marlena joined his brief laughter with a little of hers. "Yes, you and MacGyver had the same hairstyle for a number of years." After that popped out, she wondered whether he knew about that original 1980s show. But she didn't ask. She just added, "And you were no slouch in the colorful shirts department either."
"I see that." He smiled. John picked up the ipad and dropped his glasses down his nose enough so he could see over the lenses. He studied the picture intensely, flicking the screen to enlarge it further.
Marlena knew every detail of that scene. John stood in the Horton's backyard, a beer in his hand- actually, making some kind of point with the bottle. A couple feet from him, Marlena, in a flowery summer dress, faced him, holding a paper plate with a cookie on it. She and he held each other's gazes. They were in the middle of some debate. A friendly debate, but clearly a debate, although Marlena could not now recall the substance of it. They looked as though they had forgotten everyone else in the world.
The camera angled at them from Marlena's side so John could be seen more fully than she. This was one of the reasons Marlena chose this photo. It would give this John a good look at his younger self. And he would see the dynamic, the chemistry, between that younger him and the younger her.
John seemed to be memorizing the picture. Finally, he handed the ipad back to her. "Others?" he asked simply.
A little disappointed that he didn't remark further, she bent to find another photo. She decided she needed her reading glasses, so she pulled them out of her purse and set them on her nose.
John noted, "You wear 'em for reading, huh? Mine are for distance mainly. That 'me' in the picture didn't need them, right?"
Looking up, Marlena nodded. "That's true. You didn't wear glasses back then. But people's eyes change over time. Nearsightedness can develop gradually."
She found another photo and turned the ipad back to him. This one showed him and Abe at the cop shop. The publicity photographer on the Salem police force had taken this one in 1990. Both men were on duty and had their holsters on. The photographer snapped them conducting a briefing for the detectives about a major murder case, and the photo had been published in the newspaper. Marlena had found the paper photo among John's things when she and Caroline Brady finally sorted through them months after his disappearance. It was also still with the few things of John's in storage.
Again, John cracked a smile. "I see what you mean about the MacGyver look," he said.
Chuckling, she replied, "Other celebrities and regular people wore that style in the 1980s. But I think you might have been partial to it because Salem gets cold in the winter and you didn't like hats, so that was one way to keep your neck warm. Also, you always had some rebel in you, and this was a way to express that even though you were a respected resident of Salem."
Already past the hair, John said, "So I was a cop?"
Feeling some relief at his use of "I", she said, "Yes, for a number of years. You were a police commander. You worked with, and were great friends with Abe Carver, the man beside you."
"Hmm." He considered that. "But, you said I came to Salem in 1985. I wasn't a city cop before that. How did I rocket up to the rank of commander so fast?"
"Gosh, John, that's a long and complicated story, too." She looked at him imploringly. "Won't you reconsider trying hypnosis with me? Maybe you would remember some of this."
"Can't," he told her firmly.
"Why? If it's because you just met me, and you're not sure if you can trust me, as I mentioned, I can easily furnish you with references that I'm a licensed hypnotist, not to mention a long-practicing psychiatrist with lots of patients and many colleagues."
He shook that off. "That's not it." He paused. "I worked for the government for years. I've got a lot of information in my brain that I can't allow anyone who isn't authorized to access. I'm not trying to assail your integrity or honesty, Doctor. You just aren't on that list. Hypnosis is out."
Here had spilled out another major revelation about his life away from Salem. But Marlena would have to process that later. Right now, she pursued her mission, not at all ready to give up. "Are you still doing that? Do you still have superiors whom we could perhaps talk to and get permission from?"
"I'm retired," he said shortly. Then he added more gently, "When I was injured" - he gave a nod at his leg, "I ended my career."
"I see. I'm so sorry that you were injured, John."
"Yeah. Well, it's a hazard of the job." He added, "It was a hazard of being a cop, too, wasn't it?"
Seeing that he had moved the conversation back to Salem, Marlena said fervently, "Definitely."
"Anything else you want to show me?" John once again slid the ipad back to her.
She thought frantically. Should she? Would it be ethical and right to throw that picture of him and infant Brady at him? Or should she stop the pictures and push again for getting permission from his former bosses to allow hypnosis?
She could feel John's eyes on her. He leaned forward so he could speak more quietly to her. He said, "Nothing else there? Or are you flummoxed because you're censoring what you show and tell?"
Marlena jerked her head up and fixed him with a stare. She was on the verge of making a sarcastic remark, but she saw in his face no jeer or attempt to rile her. She sighed. "Honestly, I'm not sure what to do right now. Do you believe that was you in those two pictures?"
John took a deliberate swig of his wine. Slowly he returned the now-empty glass to the table, and he idly twirled the stem. He looked at the table, not her, as he said, "I would have to say those pictures did look like me - mullet excluded." Then he did meet her eyes. "But I can't put them in context, and they didn't cause any rush of memories."
Still twirling the glass, he looked down again. "Maybe it would help if you would tell me this: what did you and I mean to each other then?"
Sitting back, Marlena waited until she again saw his eyes, thinking madly. How do I do this? Instead of replying right away, she also drained the remainder of her wine. Clearing her throat delicately, she said, "I wish I knew how to best answer that."
"Just tell me," he suggested, a note of wheedling behind the straightforward words. When she still struggled with what to say, he spoke again, "You showed me that picture of what seems to have been you and me. Okay, I'll say it was you and me. I may be nearsighted now, but I'm not blind. Anyone who sees that, including me, knows there was something really strong there. Something extraordinary. Those two weren't just friends. They were lovers. They were something special. Tell me I'm wrong."
Marlena felt a rush of tears threatening to spill. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the sudden onrush of emotion. She reached over the table and put a hand around John's still fiddling one. She squeezed it. "You're not wrong," she managed to say out of a throat that was closing on her.
"Okay." John took her hand between both of his and held it gently. Then he let go with one and steadied himself on the table as he stood up. The hand that still held hers urged her to rise also. She looked at him questioningly.
"Come on. Bring your things." John reached for his cane. "Oh," he said, "I have to pay the bill."
"No, not necessary. It will go on my hotel bill. No problem. It's already settled." Marlena mumbled.
John said, "I'm old school. The lady doesn't pay for dinner. I'll reimburse you. Anyway, come on."
"Where to?"
He nodded at the outside garden area. In early October, Palo Alto was still warm in the evenings. They could sit out there with more privacy than they had here; the restaurant was filling up.
But Marlena had another idea. "We can talk in my room. If that's alright with you?"
"As long as you're comfortable with it, I'm game."
Marlena noticed John wincing as he put weight on his left leg. Apparently, he had been sitting too long, and now it hurt him like the devil. Darn, she thought, I should have remembered that, and we should have left the restaurant earlier.
Dinah's Garden Hotel was rated in tourist websites as upscale and nearly five complete stars. Its gardens were lush and beautiful, and within its heart lay a curving pool. The decor inside and out could be described as having an Asian twist or maybe some Polynesian characteristics.
Marlena's room was spacious and light, with a Chinese woven tapestry above the queen size bed and an Oriental carpet running from the head of the bed to the polished wood desk a few steps from the foot of the bed. A little alcove (by the glass doors leading to the veranda that looked out on the pool) contained a little wooden table and two chairs in the corner, a blue upholstered loveseat, and a comfortable chair matching the little couch.
Marlena unlocked the door and stepped inside, snapping on the lights. John followed her and closed the door behind him. Before they actually arrived at her door, they had walked up and down the corridors a while so John could exercise his aching leg. He said it felt better now.
Placing her ipad and purse on the desk, Marlena went to the blinds behind the loveseat and lowered them. She asked John where he'd like to sit and he chose to turn out one of the wooden chairs. "It's better for me than sitting on something soft right now," he explained. Marlena took the upholstered chair and moved it opposite him and they both sat.
In the last few minutes, Marlena had calmed her emotions a little. She no longer felt on the verge of tears. But her mind blazed with activity as she tried to decide what to say next. Should she tell him the whole story of their relationship? Should she just tell him parts of it? What was best for him?
John sat there quietly, as though he knew her quandary. But after a few moments he said, "Marlena, it's been a long time since you saw me last. Over a quarter of a century. A lot must have happened in your life during that time. Did you get married? Have children?" He asked without any apparent jealousy or sorrow. He seemed to just want to know.
"I have children, yes. And I was married. My husband passed away last year."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you. He died suddenly. His heart gave out."
"That must have been hard for you and your children."
"Yes, it's something I haven't entirely come to terms with, I must admit."
"Mourning takes time, doesn't it?" He said that with a wistful tone, as though he was quite familiar with that feeling of unresolved grief.
"John, has there been someone in your life? You haven't been alone, have you?" Since she had not been able to be with him, she hoped he had found another to love. She had had mixed feelings when he had married Isabella back in 1992, but she knew it had been the right thing for him, and it had given her a chance to re-cement her relationship with Roman.
"You've lived in Salem how long?" he asked.
Marlena thought he was changing the subject because he didn't want to answer her question, but she didn't say that. Instead, she replied, "Since 1976."
"Well, I haven't been so stationary. My work sent me all over the globe. So, I didn't put down roots the way you obviously did. But, yeah, I had a few relationships that were important to me. The problem is, falling in love in my business can put the loved one in danger. I learned that the hard way. A woman I cared for was killed, and it was my fault. If we hadn't been lovers, she wouldn't have died."
Marlena wanted to say no, her death wasn't your fault. But she knew her saying that would not salve his guilt.
He continued, unaware of Marlena's thoughts: "Another lady and I parted ways because it was too tough on both of us to see each other only for a few days before I had to leave again."
Curious, Marlena pointed out, "But you're retired now. You could have reignited that relationship…"
"She got married about five years ago. Besides, I don't think I was truly in love with her. It turned out for best, I guess."
"Oh." Marlena thought for a moment. "John, I know you said you worked for the government. Can you give any further specifics? And, I mean, you could have quit, couldn't you? If you had wanted a steady life with one of the women you met?"
"It's not that simple. Yes, I'm out of it now. But it really was my life." He regarded her as though trying to decide something. She thought he was weighing, again, how much, he should tell her. We both are doing that too much, she told herself silently.
Marlena decided to take a little leap herself. "Did you work for the ISA?" She really didn't think so, because if he had been doing that, surely, Shane or Roman or somebody with contacts in that covert intelligence organization would have told her John was alive.
John's right eyebrow rose in that old reaction she knew so well. "You know about the ISA?"
"I know some people who were agents in it," she replied.
"Ah. No, I wasn't in the ISA."
Marlena wanted to say, "Yes, you did some work for it during your Salem years." But she didn't. It would complicate things, and she hoped he was about to say which organization he did work for.
John didn't disappoint her this time. "I worked for a very obscure - more obscure than the ISA - group. You'll keep this confidential, right?"
She nodded quickly.
"It's called The American International Affairs Foundation (AIAF). It hides by not advertising itself in any way. Has no website. Never seeks publicity. No brick-and-mortar office with a sign for the public to enter. No telephone number on any easily found registry. In order to reach it, one has to know it exists and how to find it. Usually, it finds the people it wants, not the other way around."
"Did it find you?"
He nodded. "Yep." He got to his feet, holding his cane, and assured her, "I just need to stretch my legs." He walked up and down between the alcove and the door for a while. When he was ready to sit again he said, "Earlier in the hospital you said I had memory problems when I was in Salem. What didn't I remember?"
Marlena decided to disclose this. "Your life before you came to Salem," she told him.
"All of it?"
"Yes."
"Whew. Didn't know that. Did I know then what or who caused that amnesia?"
"We had some ideas. Someone did it to you. But the suspects were very slippery, and no one was directly brought to justice for that crime against you."
"We?"
Marlena felt a little flustered. "Yes, we. That is you and I. But also Abe Carver and others with you two in law enforcement."
John's eyes bored into hers for a moment. Before he could muster up another statement or question, Marlena begged, "Please, tell me, how and when you started working for that foundation?"
Marlena watched him shift gears again, and he said ponderously, "The short story about that is I went into the army after college. I became a Ranger and then a Green Beret. But then the army diverted me, and I went to pilot's school. I learned to fly several kinds of helicopters and planes. At a certain point, I was ordered to report to a major who introduced me to a guy who wanted to recruit me for the AIAF. I had the skills they wanted, and I was an ideal candidate because I had no immediate living family." His voice dropped more as he said, "Both my parents died in a car accident when I was 19, and the only sibling I had - a little brother named James - died when he was two months old - from SIDS. That's why I said earlier that I didn't have any twin brother or any living one."
"Oh, John. I'm sorry about your parents dying when you were so young. And also about your brother." Marlena remembered the death of her firstborn, D. J., the premature son who belonged to her and Don. She added, "I had a child who died of SIDS too. I know what a heartache that is."
She saw the sympathy in his face as he asked, "When was this?"
"I was married to a lawyer named Don Craig for a while during my early years in Salem. D. J. was our son. That marriage didn't last, but it wasn't because of D. J."
She shook herself out of that memory, and guided John back to himself, but instead of tracking back to his life before or after Salem, she suddenly smiled and guessed, "You know your real birthday now, don't you?"
He registered surprise at the sudden change of topic, but gamely gave a nod. "Yah, September 29."
"Just a couple weeks ago. Happy Birthday!" she said.
"Thanks." Aren't you going to ask about the year? You never knew how old I actually was, did you?"
"That's true. It was a mystery to all of us including you."
He shrugged affably. "1953." Marlena thought to herself their surmise about him being a little younger than she had been correct. Before she could get another word in though, he continued, "I guess I must have picked a date out of the air and celebrated that way? Or did I just forget the whole thing?"
Marlena looked a little uncomfortable again.
"What?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing. Yes, you picked a date - part of the time."
"Huh?" He looked confused. Seeing her reluctance again, he said, "Oh, I get it. You don't want to tell me."
Defensively, Marlena pleaded, "I know you don't understand, but it's complicated. Frankly, if I told you, you wouldn't believe me."
"Try me," he demanded. "I've got a right to know. It's my life we're talking about."
"Of course, but it's also other people's lives, John."
He got up again, and this time she did too. Marlena went to John and her hand went to his arm. "John. Oh my gosh, you don't know what a true miracle it was to see you today. I thought you were dead. We looked for you! I looked. Abe, Roman, Bo and Hope, Shane, everybody did their part. And we looked again in 2001. But there was no sign of you. You had just disappeared off the face of the earth! I guess Shane didn't know about your AIAF. He ran the ISA for a while, and if anyone should have been able to find you, it was him. But he couldn't. Of course, you were using a different name, so that was one problem. But even if that hadn't been an impediment, I doubt -"
"What name did I go by in Salem?" He asked her.
"John Black."
He raised both his eyebrows. "So I seem to have remembered my first name, but not my last. Huh. No middle name?"
"No", she said, "Do you have one?"
"Finley. John Finley Darrow. John Garber Darrow was my father's name. His middle name was his mother's maiden name, and Finley was my mother's maiden name."
"Finley," she tried it out. "John Finley Darrow. I like it."
He grinned. "Glad to hear it." He started walking back and forth again. "Sorry. My leg's improving, but I've got to exercise it."
"I understand." Marlena poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the little table. "Would you like some?" she asked.
"Please." Both of them drank thirstily.
Taking both empty glasses, she put them down and when she turned around, he was so close she nearly collided with him. Marlena looked up at John, and her attention inclined up to the scar on his left temple. Without thinking, she reached up and drew her first two fingers down it lightly. John flinched slightly, reacting to her touch by a slight jerk of his head.
"I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"
"No. It's healed up now," he said a little hoarsely.
"Sorry," she said again, realizing she had no right to touch him at all. She was about to remove her fingers when he reached up with his free right hand and held her hand there, lightly caressing the back of it.
"It's okay," he assured her. "I got that scar the same time I broke my leg. And those were just the visible injuries. I had internal injuries, internal bleeding, broken ribs, and a fractured skull. It's what happens when you fall down a steep, very long ravine. Basically, going off a cliff."
Somewhat mesmerized by being so close to John and them touching, Marlena nevertheless also was appalled that he'd been in such a terrible "accident". She managed to say, "I'm sure you didn't take that fall without some help, did you?"
"Oh, that's a fact," John said softly, also seeming mesmerized by her. "I had plenty of help from a really bad guy I'd been after for months. And I wasn't the only one at the bottom of that ravine. He came with me. He's getting over his even worse injuries in prison."
Marlena licked her lips, smiled and told him, "You used to say 'that's a fact' fairly often. It was kind of a signature of yours. I'm happy to hear you still do."
"I guess I do. Never really thought about it, but maybe that's just because I've never really had anyone around long enough to get sick of me saying it and tell me to stop it."
"I'll tell you another thing about yourself, John," Marlena said tenderly. "You were my knight in shining armor. You saved me from some jerks in a bar, and from being mugged - or worse - just a few days after we met. And that was only the beginning. You were there for me so many, many times."
Soberly he pointed out, "I guess I failed you when you got kidnapped, Marlena."
She shook her head firmly. "No. You never failed me." She backtracked a bit then. "Also, you're not the only one who took a fall. Only mine was off a building when I was trying to convince a troubled young man to get off the ledge. I ended up on the pavement with a head injury of my own. I spent months in the hospital in a coma. You were there for me then. Really, truly. If it hadn't been for your persistence, I might never have come out of that coma, but you kept coming and talking to me, demanding, sometimes really forcefully, that I wake up. People told me that later. And your stubbornness paid off. I came back."
John now touched her chin, tapping it lightly. "I wish I remembered all that," he said so quietly she almost didn't catch it.
Marlena smiled sweetly at him. "You used to do that too."
"What?"
"Tap my chin. It was one of many of your habits I found very dear."
John smiled a little sadly. Taking her hand again, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "I should go."
"John -"
"It would be really easy for me to stay. And you'd let me. But it wouldn't be fair to you. I don't remember. I'm sorry. I just don't. And if I stayed here tonight and we were together, I'd be making love with a beautiful woman. A beautiful, intelligent, lovely woman. But I wouldn't be making love with a woman I know. You think you know me, and you probably do know me - that me I was in Salem. But you haven't seen or known me in over twenty-seven years. And - I'm so sorry - but I don't know you. I want to. But I don't yet. A man can be intimate with a woman without the emotional attachment, but a woman needs that bond, I think. I don't want to deprive you of that. You deserve to have everything, not just a partial experience."
Hearing that, Marlena's emotions overflowed. She wanted to cry with the gratefulness she felt that he was here and able to say something so beautiful and thoughtful to her, but she didn't want to break down in front of him. She didn't want John to feel sorry for her. She needed to keep it together at least until he had gone.
She put her arm through his right one and led him to the door. Before opening it for him, she said, "We just took a tiny dip into the pool of the past. There's so much more that I want to know about your life, and so much that you absolutely need to know about Salem. We're going to get that knowledge to you. I'll do everything I can to help you remember, but even if you don't, I promise you will know what happened in those years."
"Okay," he said, and she saw that he was having trouble holding himself together too.
Quickly she pulled the door inward, and told him, "I have to work tomorrow, but I'll be finished again at 4:30. May I meet you somewhere at that time?"
John didn't miss a beat. "Would you like a home-cooked meal? I have a few dishes I can prepare pretty well. And my apartment is about a mile and a half from here. If you'd like, I'll pick you up at the hospital tomorrow afternoon. Out in the parking lot?
Marlena beamed at him. "I'd love that."
Giving her a bit of a comic leer, he said, "It's a date." And he slowly made his way down the corridor.
Marlena closed the door, and promptly slid down it until she sat on the floor, her feet out straight in front of her. Then it all broke loose. From deep inside her, the tangled emotions of today all burst out. It wasn't just a matter of tears flowing down her face, although they did. Actually, her whole body engaged in a rite of purging, of raw expression. She cried from her core, huge heaves making it nearly impossible to breathe. She felt as though she could never be calm again while it held her in its sway.
Why was she going through this catharsis? Earlier when she'd broken down in the Physical Therapy waiting room with John by her side, she'd felt a dual sorrow - about Roman's death and what they had thought was John's death so long ago - now proved wrong. She had, in short, cried for the two men in her life who had meant the most to her.
Now, though, it wasn't about Roman. It was about the life she had not had with John. If Roman had never come back, Marlena would have lived these last twenty-seven plus years with John. She had not let herself think that thought in those years with Roman, of course, but now she was free to think about what might have been. And the pain of it just wracked her. Because of the circumstances of his leaving, they had not said good-bye. And she had expected him to return. But he never had. Even though she found out in 2001 where he'd gone back in 1992, she still never saw him again until today. And there had been so many times in those years that she had longed for him to be there - even just as a friend. He had missed so much that he should have been able to share in.
So her grief, her rage even, came from the futile question, "Why?" Why had things turned out the way they had? Even though her grief now wasn't about Roman, he still played a part in this grief because she thought if she hadn't had to be Roman's wife, she could have been John's. And that increased her anguish because, the truth was, she'd loved Roman. She didn't want to consign him to nonexistence. The years with him had been pretty damn good. Maybe twenty-seven years with John would have ended up being more difficult, more of a rollercoaster. Who knew? She was only one woman, and she could only have one husband in the world she and they lived in. No, she would never wish Roman away. But she could not stop the misery that coughed, choked, cried, wheezed, and hiccupped out of her body.
Even though she hadn't seen John all these years, she had missed him with every cell, every fiber. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. To a degree, yes. She could sometimes bury her love for him. But even though he wasn't in Salem, he had left parts of himself behind, and those always brought him back into her mind and heart. She never revealed that to Roman. But she knew he knew it just the same. It always rode the back of their marriage like a freight hopper illegally jumping aboard a train.
And why, now when she'd actually found John, did it seem they might still be destined for an unhappy ending? What if he never remembered? What if she and everything in Salem that awaited him could not gain purchase with him now? It was something she couldn't bear to contemplate.
The waves of anger, sorrow, guilt, and frustration crashed through her until she finally exhausted herself. When her body ended its tantrum and was quiet, she shakily got up off the cold tile floor, changed into nightclothes, brushed her teeth, and got between the sheets. Wearily she looked at the ceiling.
John had been right. She'd wanted him to stay. She knew too that he had made the right decision to go. Yes, she wanted him here with her. But she wanted the man she loved and who loved her. That man had yet to make an appearance. So, she again made a vow: she would find a way to help him remember.
As she slipped off to slumberland, Marlena thanked God for the incredible gift of seeing John again today. She would make sure that gift was not wasted.