Not Quite Human
The trip home was mostly silent. They both stopped trying to make small talk, and after about ten minutes Ashley even turned off the radio. She chanced surreptitious glances at him as she drove, trying to pinpoint just why he seemed off. There was something about him that was just…weird, she reasoned. Was it the brain damage? The doctor said he was fine, he had passed every test with flying colors, and they had still wanted to keep him overnight for observation. But he refused. That was true to character.
But what was it?
"This is dreadfully slow, isn't it?" he said, cutting into her thoughts.
Dreadfully? Who talks like that? "Traffic?" she glanced over briefly, curious. She had been going only five miles per hour over, but he never complained about her driving before. Usually he turned the music up and stared off into the distance.
"Well, I mean, as opposed to flying, of course."
"Of course," she said, thoroughly confused.
She shook her head as they arrived at home, took a deep breath as they pulled into the garage, and watched stupefied as he hopped out and opened her door for her. What IS this, she marveled. He followed her into the house, spotted the cat on the kitchen counter as they swept through and went to pet it. Ashley watched stupefied as the cat panicked, arched and hissing, and shot off growling into the living room.
"Guess she doesn't like me very much," Nick reasoned, smiling ruefully.
"He's your cat," Ashley replied, suddenly chilled.
Nick begged off to go shower while Ashley pulled something together for dinner. She decided she'd keep it simple—a jar of pasta sauce with noodles and some bagged salad. Twenty minutes later she stepped into the bathroom to find it full of steam and all too muggy. And he was singing…songs from Pinocchio?
"Nick?" she called worriedly.
He stifled a yelp and popped his head out from behind the shower curtain. "Yes? Did you want to join me? It's marvelously hot!"
His face was pink from the heat, and she watched a trickle of water weave its way down his chest, a single rivulet mapping his way through the downy curls. It had been too long… she swallowed and shook her head. "It's…dinner's ready," she nodded, getting her bearings again, and left without knowing what else to say.
He ate ravenously at turns, then sometimes so slow and savoring it looked almost obscene how rapturous his expression was. The ravenous she supposed she could explain by his two solid weeks in the hospital with nothing but a feeding tube. It stood to reason that even jar spaghetti and some field greens would be luxury, but the slowness and downright beatific expression from Ragu had her snorting into her plate.
"What is it," he smiled, wiping his mouth with his finger and then licking the digit.
"I mean…it's not Parma, but…I'm glad you like it."
"Italy?"
"No, the restaurant down the block we went to…on our anniversary?"
"Oh…oh! Of course, that one. Named after the …city, of course."
After that, dinner conversation devolved into silence that stretched out for several minutes.
"You asked me to marry you there," Ashley said softly.
Nick took so long to respond she was afraid he wasn't going to at all. Then, when he did, it almost made things worse.
"Sweetheart—"
"'Sweetheart' is what you called Nicole," she said, throat constricting. "And she signed all her texts, Nic and Nick."
He looked lost for a moment, searching, and then recognition dawned.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean to call me the other girl's name?" she tearfully ground out. "Is it all just kind of getting mixed up in there?" she spat, swirling her hands. She tossed her paper towel on her plate and rose, setting it beside the sink. Bracing her hands on the counter she hunched, head hanging dejectedly.
"Do you know how strange this all is?" she said, not turning. "Three weeks ago I find out you're cheating on me and the next thing I know they're life flighting you back here with a slim to none chance that you'll ever see the light of day again. And now here you are."
She turned at last and looked up slowly through tearful eyes to see his stricken expression.
"I mourned you, before you even died. And now, I don't know if it's because of the attack, because of what happened before, or… if I just don't even know you. But you seem like a complete stranger to me. And I don't know what to do."
Her voice broke as she said this last, and she put both hands up as if in surrender, shook her head and walked out. Ashley was bone tired, and felt wrung out from entirely too much crying. She felt she'd cried more in the last few weeks than in her whole lifetime, and didn't know how much more she could take before she fractured completely. Already she was in pieces it seemed.
With nothing but silence coming from the kitchen, she stepped out of her little canvas flats, took her bra off, passing it through her shirt sleeve, and crawled into bed with the rest of her clothes still on.
It was full dark when she woke. The lights coming from under the door told her that Nick was still up, and she could not fathom what he would be doing. Surely he would tire easily, she thought. But the sight that met her when she walked down the short hall toward their living space had her gasping. The television was going, as was the music on his cell phone, there was a trail of his military uniforms and gear leading from the garage where they were kept, and books stacked everywhere. Sporting equipment lay hither and yon. It almost looked as though the place had been ransacked.
She nudged a basketball aside and would have crept into the garage to look for him, until she heard a noise in the kitchen. A low male hum of approval. Ashley eased around the doorway and looked, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever he was doing before she went back to bed, but he turned as she peeked around the corner.
"Ah, Ashley, you're up!" he said, around a mouthful of peanut butter. There was a bowl in his hand of what looked like a mix of pb and j, but the kitchen surrounding him was destroyed utterly. Flour and bowls littered the counter. Dishes were stacked in the sink as well, the dishwasher was going, and there was a pie on the stove cooling, it looked like. Beside it on the counter was a pan of baked fish, a trifle bowl with whipped cream and fruits, some mangled looking asparagus, and what may have been scrambled eggs.
Noticing her beleaguered expression, he held up a placating hand, saying quickly, "I couldn't sleep and felt like experimenting. I wasn't sure what I wanted, so I just started trying things. Everything—" he laughed nervously "—it seems."
Ashley made a strangled noise and put a hand on her chest as if to comfort herself.
"I've been sort of cleaning as I go, once I realized it got a bit out of hand."
"Who are you?" she said, shaking her head. His expression went stony.
"Why do you ask?"
"Nick…you burn water! And now all of a sudden you can cook?" she broke into almost frantic laughter and eased herself onto a chair at their breakfast table.
He laughed with her for a moment, mentally reminding himself to investigate more of Nick Vanzant's memories before he gave himself away.