Chapter Seven
It's the Little Things
Jordan unlocked the door to Woody's apartment and gingerly pushed it open. She wasn't sure if he had cleaned up from the last time she was at his there…if his clothes still paved a trail from the kitchen counter to the bedroom…and if they did, would he ask her to try to explain.
What would she tell him? That he was by nature a messy person? Or perhaps he had a romantic interlude before he lost his memory?
And if she went there, would he ask her if she knew who with?
Jordan heaved a sigh of relief when she found the apartment neat and clean. "Here we are," she said as they walked in. "Home again, home again…"
Woody slowly walked into the living room area and looked around. It hit Jordan then. He hadn't been back at all since that morning…Matt must have swung by and picked a few things up for Woody before he was discharged from the hospital. "So this is it?"
Jordan nodded. "This is where you live."
"Oh…it's not very big."
"I know…but it was right for you. You worked a lot of hours and didn't have a lot of time to spend taking care of a larger apartment…and it rent isn't much so you could save some money."
Woody walked through the kitchen and into the bedroom. "There's only one bedroom…."
"I know."
"I'll take the couch and …"
"No, you won't."
"But Jordan…"
"You're still recovering from surgery and you'll sleep where you will be the most comfortable and rest the best. You like a bed, specifically the left side. I'll take the couch." Jordan busied herself unpacking his duffel bag and putting his things away. He watched her with a confused look still in his eyes.
"You've been here before…" Woody said, noticing how she knew exactly where to put his things.
That one comment stopped her cold. She kept forgetting Woody didn't remember anything about their past. "Ummm, yeah."
"How many times?"
Oh Jesus…I can't tell him anything right now…as time passes, yes, but not now. But I don't want to lie…break it to him gradually…gradually… "Several. Like I told you before, we're good friends, Woody."
Woody studied her carefully for a minute. He suspected Jordan, like Matt, wasn't telling him everything at once. They were revealing things to him a little at a time…letting him adjust and then telling him more. But he had been keenly aware of several things about Jordan from the time he had spent with her. First, they must have been very good friends for her to be so intimately aware of the layout of his apartment to the point where she knew which dresser drawer he kept his underwear in. And she knew which side of the bed he slept on. To even his confused mind, that meant one thing:
She had spent the night at his apartment before.
Which led him to his next realization. If she had spent the night at his apartment before, they were either very good friends, or…..
It was more than friendship and she wasn't ready to tell him that. Woody let his eyes wander over her…and with a woman that looked like that, if he had let her continue to be just a friend, he questioned just how much of a man he had been in the past.
Unless of course, Jordan didn't like men…which raised a whole different set of issues Woody wasn't ready to deal with. And even though his memory had been wiped clean, he knew himself well enough to realize he didn't swing the other way, either. His head began to hurt and he massaged his temples with his fingers.
"Hey, you alright?" The alarm in her voice was palpable.
"I'm fine….just kind of overwhelmed….there's a lifetime of stuff I don't remember…"
"Look," she stopped unpacking his things and came around to the side of the bed where he was standing. "Don't worry about it too much. It will come back, I'm sure of it. Just be patient with yourself, okay?" She ran her fingers gently down the side of his face. "Why don't you lie down and let me cook dinner? I'll wake you up when it's done and you can eat."
Woody inwardly sighed. There were so many questions he wanted answered…needed answered. Where did he come from? Why was he in Boston? What was going on in his life before his memory blanked? He knew the rudimentary answers to some of those. Matt and Jordan both had told him he was originally from Wisconsin. He had left the small town of Keuwanne to come to a big city and be a detective. Jordan had carefully told him about his parents…that his mother died of cancer when he was a boy and his father died later when he was sixteen. He still didn't know how his father died. And did he have any siblings?
If he had any family, where were they? Why hadn't they been contacted? Woody had a sinking feeling with Jordan being listed as his next-of-kin, that he was all alone in the world.
Alone with no anchor … nothing to let him know there was a past…or what his future held. He suddenly felt totally abandoned…except for her. Grasping her hands, Jordan was surprised when he held on to them tightly. "Would you stay with me, Jordan? Please…at least until I fall asleep?"
His eyes held the same confusion and fear she had seen earlier at the hospital and at Matt's this afternoon. She ached for him one more time…a feeling she knew she was going to have to get used to and soon, all too soon, once he got his memory back, forget. "Sure…" She pulled him over to the bed, helped him prop against the pillows, pulled up the afghan at the foot of bed and spread it over him. "There." She gently mussed his hair with her fingers, watching his face carefully. "I know that look, Hoyt," she said. "What's on your mind?"
"Everything. I need to know everything, Jordan."
"And you will…your memory will come back."
Woody bit his lip, needing to voice his darkest fear, but that same fear nearly kept him silent. Nearly. Not quite. "What if it never comes back? What will happen to me?" he whispered.
"Don't think like that," Jordan replied just as softly. She felt tears dangerously near. She had never seen Woody this vulnerable and open. When she had first met him, all those years ago at the bank heist, he was open with her…letting her know his thoughts and wanting to know hers.
But vulnerable?
Not even after the Riggs shooting. He had never even been remotely vulnerable. Once more she found herself fighting the impulse to take him in her arms and hold him, reassure him that everything was going to be okay, and she would take care of him. "It will come back, Woody. It will. And until it does, I'll be here for you. Nothing's going to happen to you."
He reached for her hand one more time, gently squeezing it and running his thumb across her knuckles. "We must be pretty good friends."
Jordan nodded, still fighting tears. "We are. And I kind of owe you big time. You've pulled my ass out of a world of trouble more times than I can count."
He chuckled…a welcome sound to her. "And I don't think I ever really minded doing it…"
"You can't remember…"
"No, but I can feel it…I don't know what I told you, but I think deep down inside, I never really minded. I was just glad you were safe."
"You think?"
"I know."
"How do you know?" He was getting the best of her curiosity.
Woody shrugged. "I don't know, other than the fact that when I'm with you…I feel at home…like I don't have to prove anything to you…you're not so upset with me when I can't remember stuff, even when I try really hard and can't. You just accept me like I am…and you're okay with this memory-loss thing. It's not like you're not concerned…but I just feel that even if I never remember everything, you don't care. You like me because of who I am…and I don't have to try to be anything other than Woody around you."
Jordan felt a warm rush of tears behind her eyelids. If losing his memory had made him realize just what she felt, maybe this amnesia thing was a blessing in disguise. She had been trying to tell him that very thing before his memory went off kilter. That her new wealth hadn't changed her or the way she felt about him…she just wanted him. Woody Hoyt. Plain and simple.
Maybe the loss of memory had done more than just lower his emotional filter as far as anger was concerned. Maybe it had also crumbled the walls he had built around his heart.
She just prayed that when Woody's memory returned, the walls wouldn't.
"This place is getting kind of small," Woody remarked a couple of weeks later.
It did seem that somehow the apartment had shrunk with two people living there full time. Between his laptop and paperwork and her laptop and paperwork, the ping pong table was full. Jordan neatened up the living area every morning before she left work, so her "bedroom" wouldn't encroach too much on his space. She kept her things there to a minimum, often using her lunch hour to take things back to her house on Beacon Hill and retrieve fresh clothes, take a shower…whatever she needed to do.
"I know it seems that way, but it's just sort of cramped with two people," Jordan replied, washing the dinner dishes while he dried them.
"You must miss your place," he commented suddenly.
Jordan had learned quickly how to judge his moods. Anytime he asked questions referring to the past generally meant he was fishing for more information. Some piece of the puzzle of his life he was trying to put back together. "A little," she admitted. Honestly, she dreaded going back to her grandmother's house. She knew how achingly lonely it was going to feel after spending time with him.
"Where do you live?"
As far as Jordan knew, Woody had never been to her house at Beacon Hill. She was completely unaware of his earlier attempts to find out if she had moved into it. Pearle Street…chances are he'll remember Pearle Street…with Malden and the break-in…the times we ate dinner there…yeah, Pearle Street… "I had a little apartment on Pearle Street up until a couple of months ago. Do you remember anything about it?"
"I've been there." It wasn't a question.
"Yes…" Jordan felt a flicker of apprehension lick through her veins. She wanted him to get his memory back, but if it meant giving up this new, vulnerable Woody…so much like her old Farm Boy that her heart ached, she wasn't so sure just how happy she would be when it happened. She had a feeling her heart would be broken all over again.
"It had a red door."
Bam. "It did."
Woody's forehead creased and his eyes closed in concentration. In his mind he could see the door. It was big and red…and they were standing in front of it…he was reaching for her and she was holding him…. "Jordan."
The tone in his voice caught her attention immediately. "What? Are you okay?"
"What are we?"
"What are we? I'm not sure I'm following you…"
"I mean you…me…us…you keep telling me we're good friends."
"We are."
"But how good of friends?" He opened his eyes and took her by the shoulders. Since he had been back at work with Matt, several of the female officers had flirted openly with him…Santana, Annie, Lu…hugging him, paying him more attention than he knew how to deal with…and it was different from the way Jordan treated him. Jordan was concerned about him. The other women were too…but it was just different. More sexual overtones were used.
Jordan never did that. Occasionally running her fingers through his hair was as intimate as she got. But yet deep inside he knew his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. The picture that he saw told him he was getting ready to kiss her in that memory and she wasn't resisting.
So what happened?
"How good of friends?" She gulped and frantically thought of how to answer the question.
"Yeah. We were more than just friends, weren't we?"
Oh God…how am I supposed to tell him…what am I supposed to tell him…Woody was getting stronger everyday and Jordan had no doubt that in a couple of more weeks he would be living independently…no longer needing her despite the fact that his memory hadn't come back any.
Until now.
And it just had to deal with their relationship, didn't it?
Honesty…honesty…but gradually. When he does get his memory back, you want him to remember you were caring, compassionate, and honest with him… Swallowing her fear, she replied, "Yes. We were at one time."
"But not now?"
She shook her head…a little sadly Woody thought… "No." She began to survey the tile on his kitchen floor with great interest.
He took his hand and gently raised her face to his. "Why?" Oh God, not tears… he thought when he saw moisture well up in her eyes. Damn…what did I do to her then…maybe I shouldn't have brought this up at all. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have…"
"That's okay…you have legitimate questions, Woody. Let's just say it didn't work out…and we tried to part as friends."
"Did we?"
"We weren't too successful," Jordan said, letting out a shaky chuckle. "But we were both hoping one day to get there…"
"But…"
The ringing of her cell phone abruptly interrupted the moment. Woody registered a vague feeling of annoyance…like her cell phone had interrupted them at vital times before. A roof top, maybe…but not in Boston. He heard her take the call, telling the person on the other end she'd be there in about fifteen minutes.
"I have to go, Woody…the morgue… there's been a mass casualty automobile accident…I'll be back, but it's going to be late. Will you be okay while I'm gone?"
"Sure….I'll stay right here and watch TV."
"Good…I'll see you as soon as I can." She grabbed her jacket and purse, heading for the door. "If you need me, call me…"
"Will….do…." he called out to the already shut door.
Still running their conversations and his flashbacks through his mind, he made his way to the couch and flipped on the television. So they had been more than friends…at one time. He wondered how long ago…probably not too long. The tears in her eyes told her the break up … on whatever level and whoever's fault … hadn't been easy on her. She wasn't over it.
He wondered just where their relationship had been at…cutting the TV set off, he walked over to the bookcase on the other side of the wall. There were some photo albums there…that he had studiously avoided. Until now, he had hoped that his memory would come back naturally…that gradually all these little flashbacks he was having would work their way into a finished puzzle without any prompting from the outside…gently, unobtrusively…easily.
But evidently, some of his past had rough edges…his relationship with her for instance. Still mulling, he flipped through the smallest album. Pictures of them in the morgue…at someone's birthday party. Them under the mistletoe. Obviously enjoying ourselves… he smiled. If the look on their faces while they were kissing was any indication, they must have had strong feelings for each other at one time.
What happened? he asked himself, closing the album and laying down on the couch, his hands behind by his head. She was a gorgeous woman, compassionate, warm…he would bet any money she still had feelings for him, even if she had relegated them to a friendship level.
What happened…what had he done…what had she done…his forehead creased in concentration again…but nothing came…no flashes of memory…no visions of the past. Whatever happened between them remained a mystery…one she wasn't ready to reveal to him.
She would. He was sure of it. In time.
But until then, he would gladly accept the fact that as long as she was with him, he felt a calmness and a peace he didn't feel anywhere else or with anyone else. Right now, she was his center, his lifeline and anchor in a world where he felt alone and confused. Right now, it was the little things she did that kept him sane. Dinner. Conversation. A warm and caring touch when he was overwhelmed by the emptiness of his history.
It may not be what they had in the past, but right now it was the little things that kept him going.
And he was grateful.
