- 7 -
The way Andy remembered it, dinner at Provenza's meant pizza from a grease-stained delivery box of which he had to pick off pieces of meat since Provenza refused to "condone any of that vegetarian bullshit". Therefore, it felt rather surreal to find himself sitting at a nicely-set table with a home-cooked meal in front of him that provided a vegetarian option and friendly conversation being made instead of a baseball game on television drowning out any attempt at talking. Andy wasn't sure whether Provenza was enjoying it. It had always been hard to tell what was going on in the other man's head and since he was in cahoots with the Wicked Witch nowadays, one could never know what he was up to.
The Wicked Witch was clearly enjoying herself beyond the usual. Her cheeks were slightly flushed as she was on her second glass of wine which, to Provenza's dismay, she had declared to also be her last for today. With Paddy being doted on by his godmother, she was also relieved of mom-duty for the time being and was entertaining herself by making Provenza tell embarrassing stories from back in the day. Andy, feeling oddly shut-out despite the fact that everyone was making regular, yet futile attempts to include him in the conversation, was alternating between eyeing Sharon's cleavage from the corner of his eyes and wondering about Patrice's granddaughter who was sitting opposite from him. Even though a part of him was still convinced that he hated Sharon, another one was busy and quite happy to notice her body. The still rather professional silk blouse at the office had nothing on the tight, low-cut t-shirt she was wearing along with a nice, tight-fitting pair of jeans. If he had known that dinner at Provenza's would come along with such visual pleasures, he wouldn't have resisted for so long. His earlier suspicion was proved right by this current experience: His body remembered Sharon very well. Right now he had to make a conscious effort not to reach over and place his hand on Sharon's thigh to see whether it felt as firm and inviting as it looked.
Patrice's granddaughter was a different story, so he tried to concentrate on her instead. She was undeniably pretty with smooth dark skin and almond-shaped eyes, her hair pulled away from her face to accentuate its lovely shape. There was something innocent and fragile about her that he knew to be attractive to men. Despite her attractiveness, he could tell that something was off with her. It was not that she had lost her parents early or that she was still living with her grandmother at twenty-four. Even if Sharon hadn't briefed him on the way over on Keisha's mental illness, he would have been able to tell by subtle hints like the haunted look that sometimes appeared in her eyes for the briefest of moments or by her eerie quietude. It was as if she was a ghost at the table. Silent, unless spoken to; smiling from time to time, but never sincere. She looked up to meet his eyes for the very first time while everyone else was laughing and looking at Provenza who was in the midst of telling a story. The smile she gave him was different, a little sultry even. Or had he imagined that? Before he knew it, she was looking back down at her plate where she was picking at her food. Something stirred inside Andy, but he wasn't sure what it was. Alarm, maybe?
"Hey, are you alright?" He was snapped out of his funk by Sharon's hand on his thigh. It was warm and soft and he had trouble biting back a groan. She seemed to notice and quickly withdrew, giving him a small, apologetic smile. "You looked as if you were in pain again. Do you need an advil?"
"I'm fine," he grumbled and took a large bite of his broccoli in order to forego another comment. He hated himself for his sudden, irresistible attraction to her, for the way his body's desire was taking over as his headache lessened. Four days after the fact, it was almost gone and the bump on his head was shrinking as well. Apparently, the absence of constant excruciating pain allowed his traitor of a body to explore other avenues and last night, alone in their bed with Sharon in the guestroom, he had clung to the remains of her scent, finding himself fantasizing about what it would be like to go over to her room and take those pajamas off of her.
He couldn't reconcile that instinct with the rest of them who were all screaming at him to get away from the Wicked Witch in a deafening chorus. He was tempted to drive off to a bar and chat up a college student just for the heck of it, but something kept him. Sharon turned away from him and he could tell that she was hurt only from the slight change in her posture. In the short few days that they had spent as a dysfunctional nuclear family unit, he had learned to read her. At work, he knew from experience, you could throw anything at her and the only reaction you would ever receive would be an arrogant smirk. At home she was not as adept at closing herself off. When hurt, she would withdraw, turn into herself, but never comment. She was a completely different creature and the mixture of vulnerability and strength she presented touched upon a soft spot inside him. It made him want to comfort her and to be comforted by her at the same time. Sometimes, even, he caught glimpses of why a man could fall madly in love with this woman and it terrified him.
He looked back at Keisha in an attempt to divert his thoughts. She was wearing a knitted white dress that was a nice contrast to her flawless dark skin. As far as he could tell, she wasn't wearing any make-up at all except for a hint of pink glistening on her lips. He had asked Sharon on their way over and she had provided why Patrice had been called away during the night Paddy was born and what it was to do with her granddaughter. Apparently Keisha had schizophrenic episodes during which she got violent. Back in 2013, she had been at a clinic for a few weeks, where there had been some kind of disturbance that night. Patrice had a calming effect on her granddaughter which was why she was living with her for the time being. Aided along by medication, she had recovered from the worst of her mental illness, but it was still there like a predatory animal, sometimes flickering behind her eyes, or so Andy imagined.
He watched Patrice cut chicken into tiny bits for Paddy who happily devoured it, waiving his arms and laughing at his godmother. She proceeded to offer him small pieces of carrots, but Paddy refused, squeezing his eyes and mouth shut. Sharon looked amused but still admonished him gently to eat his vegetables. Paddy stared at her morosely and scrunched up his face in addition to his previous antics when Patrice brought the fork up again.
And that was when it hit Andy.
The baby looked impossibly small in the incubator. Lifeless, even. If not for the sounds of the heart monitor attached to its tiny body by one of the countless tubes and wires surrounding its little form, Andy wouldn't have been convinced that it was even alive. The air was heavy with antiseptic smells, the room deafeningly silent except for the artificial sounds of the machines. This was not how it was supposed to be, Andy found himself thinking in anguish. A birth was a happy occasion. There should have been relatives and flowers and comparisons of who the baby looked most like. For now, he was unable to tell at all as the baby's eyes were closed and its face was scrunched-up in discomfort. He let go of the handles of the wheelchair and gently bent down to stroke back a strand of hair from Sharon's face. She was pale and her cheeks were wet with the constant tears she had been shedding ever since he had first entered her hospital room. She was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally, from giving birth earlier, but she hadn't slept, hadn't rested for being so scared for her child's life. He crouched down next to her and drew his arms around her as she sobbed on his shoulder, his eyes never leaving his little boy over Sharon's shoulder. He felt so guilty for not being there. For being away, for chasing after someone else's child, for lying to Sharon.
"Honey?" This time Sharon's hand hand found his arm and he was glad for its presence even though he would have never admitted to that sentiment. Everyone was staring at him except for Paddy who was in the process of trying to hide a half-chewed piece of carrot under his plate.
"Sorry," Andy murmured, dazed by the flashback. It, too, reminded him of drunken blackouts of the past, when the fuzzy remainders of the memory of a single moment had come back like a flash in the night, standing alone and hard to understand without context. Only this memory had not been fuzzy. In fact it had been so clear and strong that for a moment, he had completely zoomed out of the present, which he was sure was why everyone was staring at him like this. "Just a headache. I think I need some fresh air."
With that he got up and placed his napkin on the table. Sharon was smart enough not to follow him as he stalked towards the door leading to Provenza's garden. Outside, he deeply inhaled the cool air. Fall in Los Angeles was a far cry from what it had been in New Jersey where he had grown up with its crisp air, pale blue sky and colorful leaves, but the earthy smell was the same and the heat was a lot less stifling than during the summer months. He waited for his rapid heartbeat to slow down. Why had he been feeling so guilty? He hadn't been there for Sharon when she had had Paddy, but he knew instinctively that his absence itself was not what had caused this terrible feeling of guilt. It had been the fact that he had lied to Sharon. But what had he been lying about? His whereabouts that night? He remembered the text messages on his phone. The texts exchanged with the other number, the phone calls, his lying to Provenza about going home to dinner with Sharon. Had he been having an affair for such a long time? An affair that had made him leave his heavily pregnant wife alone at home? Had made him ignore his phone when she had frantically tried to reach him for help? He felt sick. That wasn't him. Or was it?
"Want a smoke?" He turned to see Keisha who had joined him at the far side of the garden. She was offering him a pack of cigarettes that he declined. He had never been a smoker as it had never done anything to quench his thirst for liquor. He imagined the taste of bourbon exploding in his mouth, the liquid burning down his throat and he almost whimpered with longing. Keisha didn't seem to notice his discomfort and simply lit her cigarette, the tip of it a glowing ember in the dusk around them. Her eyes looked so much darker out here, her petite white-clad form like a shadow in the night.
"Amnesia, right?" Her voice was soft and warm, calming. When she looked up at him, there was something unveiled and raw in her gaze. "So you don't remember me either?"
A cold hand seemed to clasp itself around Andy's heart. Was she the one he'd had an affair with? Was that why he noticed her beauty even though she was so young? How old had she been three years ago? Twenty-two? How long had this been going on before that? He felt so disgusted with himself that he took a step back. Keisha was smiling.
"You remembered something in there, didn't you?" she asked silkily. "Did you remember something about me?"
The cigarette smoke made Andy feel sick and his headache flared back up for a moment, almost as if someone had hit him again.
"I'm sorry-" he trailed off, unable to say anything. He wanted to yell at her, wanted to shake her and ask her what she was hinting at, but another, much stronger part of him simply didn't want to know. If what he was suspecting was the truth, he was absolutely despicable. Betraying his wife with his best friend's step granddaughter for years and years. It couldn't be. It couldn't be him. Even through his worst he had never been like this. With one last look at Keisha, he stumbled towards the door and back into Provenza's living room. If that was what he had become, he was glad that he didn't remember.
/
That night, when they had tucked Paddy into bed, foregoing his usual bedtime story as he had fallen asleep in the car already due to the late hour, Andy watched his wife pick out her outfit for the next day before retreating to the guest room for the night. He clung to the image of their marriage as it had presented itself up until this night. They trusted each other, they loved each other. Never in a million years would he have thought of having an affair. No, it couldn't be. Keisha was mentally ill, she had issues. What if she did this on a regular basis? He remembered Sharon telling him that Keisha often invented stories, that sometimes she talked herself into actually believing them. That it was a symptom of her illness. What if this was another one of these stories? What if he was just susceptible to them in his state? He had no way of telling whether it was the truth or not with his amnesia. What if Keisha was just enjoying the fact that, for once, someone could join her in her delusion? Keisha was so young. Even though Andy liked younger women, he didn't like them that young. Never had. Especially not since his own daughter had grown up and women that age had suddenly fallen into the same category as Nicole. He shuddered at the thought of laying a hand on a girl that young, however beautiful she might be. No. This had to be wrong. The hints she had given him were designed to torture him, to lur him into a trap of her troubled mind's making. Why would he feel so damn attracted to his wife if he had been seeking his thrills elsewhere for the past few years?
He looked at the burgundy dress and black blazer she had laid out on the bed and watched her take out a pair of black high heels to accompany the outfit. Before he knew what he was doing, he had stepped towards her and stood behind her, his arms firmly around her waist. She jumped at first but then leaned back against him, taking a deep shuddering breath. The shoes in her hand made a hollow noise that barely registered with Andy as they connected with the wooden floor. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent. Home, this was home. He was a husband, a father, he was at home here and he would not stray.
Having held back and denied his attraction to her all evening, he found that he was unable to continue doing so now that he had broken the physcia barrier and was holding her. She felt so good in his arms. Slender but soft and so warm. He began to kiss her neck and suck in the sensitive skin. Sharon murmured his name with urgency, but did nothing to stop him. Only a moment later she was on the bed and he was on top of her, his hand up her top, cradling her left breast while he was kissing her with urgency. She smelled so good, so familiar and her lips were so soft and pleasantly wet. He ground against her a little and found her respond for a moment before she suddenly stilled.
"Andy," she said and then more urgently "Andy!"
It took every ounce of restraint in his body to draw back and look at her while she was underneath him with her legs apart like that.
"Andy, I can't," she said, her eyes full of remorse. "This doesn't feel right."
He exhaled, fully aware that she was right.
"You still don't remember... us," she said, sitting up and righting her clothes. "When you are not making a conscious effort, I can tell that you're still wondering why on earth you are married to the bitch from FID." There was a world of pain in her eyes that sobered him up instantly. She brought her hand up to his face and caressed his cheek. "I'd love to spend the night with you, but I can't. I love you, Andy. You're my husband. But this would feel like a fling with someone who despises me."
She was right and he admired her restraint. Sharon Raydor would not give herself over to a delusion, not even for one night, he realized. What he had always considered to be an annoying trait in her suddenly felt brave and admirable.
"I'm sorry," he said, frantically searching his mind for something to say that would make this marginally better.
"Don't be," she said, gathering her clothes against her chest, ready to leave. "We'll sort this out." But her voice sounded choked and he was once again reminded of how hard this whole situation had to be for her. He remembered her having the same posture as the numerous new widows he had seen during his career when he had emerged from the ER at the hospital a few days ago and it figured. She had lost her husband and in some measure, she was grieving for him. And maybe it was even worse to have him here with her physically, but to be unable to connect on an emotional level as they once must have.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I remembered something today." He hadn't planned on telling her, but somehow the words tumbled out in an effort to reassure her. Maybe his memories would come back, maybe she would get her husband back.
"You did?" she asked, a flash of hope lighting up her features before she had herself under control again.
"I remembered the moment when we first saw Paddy. You were crying in my arms. He looked so helpless."
Sharon pressed her lips together against the tears that were threatening to fall, but didn't say a thing.
"Where was I that night?" Andy asked, suddenly desperate. "Why didn't I answer my phone when your water broke?"
"A case... I don't know," Sharon answered in a choked voice. "I think it was a stake-out or something. It didn't seem important at the time." She looked at a point over his right shoulder and drew a deep breath before turning away.
"It's getting late. Good night, Andy."
With a sense of loss much greater than he could have ever expected, Andy watched his wife leave the bedroom.
A/N: Inspiration took a very long time to strike this time! I do hope that the next chapter won't take that long. Thank you for everyone who has been encouraging me along the way. I am always so interested in hearing what you think!