11 comments/ 8097 views/ 15 favorites Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 01 By: nageren This is the first chapter of an eight chapter series. Thank you to GaiusPetronius for editing this series and for serving as a sounding board. ***** In a therapist's office, Winter, February 2001: Counselor: I think it's a horrible idea. You understand that, right? Patient: Yeah, you've made that pretty clear. But I love her. I desperately love her and I want us to be together. Counselor: She doesn't even know you. Patient: Maybe it's better that way. Counselor: Better in some ways, but worse in others. Some secrets you just can't hide forever. ******* I've seen him there before, and on more than one occasion I've caught him looking at me. I've only seen him from across the room, but he seems handsome. He sits alone at a booth, slowly working his way through a beer and a bite to eat. I'm usually at the bar on a stool, talking with Darla, the bartender and trying not to look too interested in the tired businessmen who tend to frequent the place. Darla doesn't know who he is- he's not a regular, but he has been stopping by pretty often in the past few months. Maybe I keep looking because he stands out- he doesn't seem to fit the scene. He's not here for drinks or to socialize. It's after 8 p.m. and he's starting his dinner. Alone. Like always. I guess I'm in danger of becoming a regular here. OK, maybe not a regular like Zeke, who spends hours here after work every weeknight. He's about seven years past when he should have retired and he says he'll probably keep doing this until he dies- work, drink, sleep, repeat. And not like Julia, whom guys keep mistaking for a hooker. She's a real sweetheart who doesn't know how to say no. She doesn't ask for money, but she says sometimes guys leave it anyway. She doesn't stop them. Just like me, she's craving some connection, some kind of touch, and since her kids are with her ex-husband during the weekends, she spends those evenings mingling at the bar until someone invites her to leave with them. I'm Amelia, and I guess this little bar is the extent of my social life. I come in here once or twice a month, usually on a weekend, trying to just feel a little more normal. It doesn't work, really, but until I have a better idea, this is what I do. About a year ago I convinced myself I needed to get out and make some friends, and I told myself a bar was a great place to meet people. But what I couldn't admit to myself was the reality that I just wanted to be close to someone, even if only physically. I was restless and craving something I couldn't name. I met a guy that first night; I let him talk to me, I laughed at his jokes, and I only flinched the slightest bit when he put his hand on my knee. He was clearly older than my 33 years, but he had aged well. I was pleased that someone as handsome and as articulate as he took an interest in me. We went back to my place because it was close. I hadn't consciously planned on hooking up with a stranger, so I hadn't made adequate preparations. He was clearly disappointed but was still courteous about it. After all, he hadn't come prepared, either. We spent a few hours on my couch, kissing and using our hands on each other to chase away the loneliness and whatever other demons haunted us. I didn't want him to spend the night and he didn't ask to. We didn't even bother exchanging numbers. I politely avoided any mention of the thin, white indentation around his empty ring finger. Shortly before midnight, he wrapped his long coat around his body, gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek, and left just as his phone rang. His wife, I guessed. Overall, our affair was brief and forgettable, but it served its purpose... for a while, at least. It had been my birthday. ******* Since then, I've had condoms in my nightstand and in my purse. "Just in case," I said to myself when I bought them. Yeah, right. I've hardly missed a month- a different guy every month for almost a year, and none of them for more than one night. I still don't tell myself I'm going out to find a guy to have sex with. I still make believe I'm looking for something more, and at the root, maybe I am. Maybe I just give up too quickly. Conversation gets difficult and awkward and I just want someone to accept me and touch me and enjoy being near me. I know they are really just accepting, touching, and enjoying my body, but if that's all I have to offer, then I guess that has to be enough. ******* The clock behind the bar showed 9 p.m. when a man in a dull gray suit sat down near me. He was near enough for conversation but not so close enough to look like he had any intentions towards me. It took me only a few seconds to size him up with my eyes and decide that, yes, unless his personality was offensive, I would probably take him home. We talked about the news report airing on the TV screen behind the bar- its audio not reaching us and our understanding of it pieced together from titles, pictures, and sidebars. He moved over to the stool next to mine and turned to face me. We talked about ourselves a little, mostly about him. I listened and smiled and asked appropriate questions about the business trip that had brought him to town. His hair was short and well-kept. His face was clean-shaven, probably thanks to a quick stop at his hotel room. His eyes were light brown, like his hair. He tried to tell amusing anecdotes from his job, but accounting isn't a particularly humorous profession. His body showed a physique that benefited from good genes but which was losing the vigor of youth. He was probably my age and had no ring or sign of a ring- not that it mattered greatly to me. About half the guys I had brought home from here wore wedding rings. During a lull in our conversation, I looked across the room. The stranger was still there, receiving his bill from the waitress. He smiled at her and glanced in my direction. We both turned away when we made eye contact. My conversation partner, Ben, was looking back at the TV, probably wondering if I was done with him, or maybe searching for a way to steer our conversation in a different direction. Sparing him the effort, I stirred my drink and asked, "So... do you have any plans for tonight?" ******* He had paid for my drinks, which was to be expected. I offered dessert and coffee at my place down the road. A thin pretext, yes, but it helped us feel more civilized. Sitting at my kitchen table, we chatted over cheesecake and weak coffee. Ben seemed awkward. I guessed he wanted what I wanted but didn't know how to get us there. Again, I decided to help him. After a sip of coffee, I casually said, "Ben, unless you have some objection, I'd like for us to move this to the bedroom." He opened his mouth and blushed, then put his cup on the table. "Lead the way," he said. I stood up and offered him my hand. He took it as he rose, and I walked him down the hallway and into my bedroom. I didn't bother turning on the light- the glow from the kitchen was enough for us to see our way around. Turning to face him, I unbuttoned my blouse. He loosened his tie and began working on his own buttons. Once we stood shirtless, facing each other, he wrapped his soft, solid arms around me. I moaned at the feeling of his skin on my back, and he sighed, rubbing a hand slowly up and down my spine. Ben was a head taller than me, and I liked pressing my cheek against his soft chest. He lowered his head and nudged my forehead with his nose, wordlessly prodding me to tilt my head up and face him. When I did so, he pressed his lips to mine, and we slowly opened our mouths and touched tongues. I felt chemicals rushing through my body, urging me to move closer to him, telling me it would feel good to put my leg around his. Ben pulled his head back and put his finger under my chin, raising my head to meet his gaze. He looked ready to speak but then changed his mind. He was nervous, maybe even scared. Though not quite virginal, he certainly seemed more innocent than most of the guys I brought back. "Come," I said softly, nodding towards the pillows at the head of my bed. I walked around to my nightstand and pulled out a condom. Ben's eyes followed every motion of my hands. Setting the foil package next to my alarm clock, I unhooked my skirt and let it drop to the floor. Ben's eyes widened as he stared unabashedly at my nearly naked body. I knew I was fairly attractive. Statistically, I was about average in every way- average height, average weight, average bust. My skin looked permanently tanned- for which I could thank my Lebanese grandmother, I'm told. She also gave me the large curls that fell past my shoulders. I was past the age where my breasts stayed magically in place on my upper chest, but they nevertheless maintained a full and healthy look. And it was there that Ben's eyes came to rest. He seemed hypnotized, and I smirked at the effect I was having on him. Oh, the thrill of being desired! With a hint of laughter in my voice, I said, "Hey. You too," and indicated the pants he was still wearing. "Oh! Sorry," he stammered, quickly removing the offending garments. When he was done, he lay there on his back, still looking at my curves. I knelt next to him on the bed and pushed my panties past my hips. Rolling onto my back so we were side by side, I slipped the panties off and tossed them onto the floor. Ben tentatively reached out his hand and stroked my thigh. He closed his eyes and breathed out softly. I watched his hard member twitch with excitement at the contact of our flesh. I ran my fingers through his hair until my palm was cupping the back of his head. With a firm but gentle pull, I guided his mouth to my breasts. He softly kissed the side of one breast, then my nipple. His hand moved up my body to cup my other breast, and I leaned my head back onto the pillow, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths. I rubbed my thighs together in anticipation. With my free hand, I gripped his bicep, lightly squeezing its firmness. Ben's lips and tongue bathed my breasts and his hand moved slowly around my body. He didn't act hurried, but his slow pace seemed born more out of timidity than confidence. When I was ready to progress, I used the hand I had on his head to guide him up towards my face. We kissed again and Ben's hips began instinctively thrusting, rubbing his cock along the smooth skin of my thighs. "Wanna check to see if I'm ready?" I murmured playfully. He looked at me with uncertainty. "Are... you ready?" he asked. "Check and see," I replied with a smile, taking his hand and pushing it down between my thighs. His eyebrows rose with understanding and he rubbed around my slit. Gaining confidence, he slipped a finger past my folds. A distinct squishing sound told him what I had already known. "Do that again," I rasped. Ben pulled his finger back and slowly pushed it back in. He continued to finger me languorously as I reached over for the condom. Opening the packet, I slid my hand between us and unrolled it onto him. Given how instinctively and how easily I performed that task without looking, I figure I must have put on a lot of condoms in my day. I briefly wondered how many, but my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Ben gasping as my fingers moved down his shaft. I became concerned that perhaps he was too ready. Perhaps I should have given him some release first. Oh well, it didn't matter much. Once I had the condom rolled all the way down, I kept my hand on his shaft and eagerly pulled it towards me. The way his eyes closed in anticipation, the way his breath sped up as he neared my entrance, the almost inaudible whimper in my ear as his tip moved past my folds- this was why I did it. This was why I kept bringing strangers back here for a few hours every month. I felt wanted, I felt cared about only when my body was driving a man wild with lust. It was the only real connection I ever felt with another person. Once the head of his tool was securely past my entrance, Ben shifted around, placing his elbows on either side of my rib cage and moving his knees forward. "OK?" he asked. "Yes," I whispered. He began pushing softly, perhaps not expecting me to be as tight as I was. Then having pulled out a little, he pushed firmly and it was my turn to whimper. Another little push and I moaned. When he pushed a fourth time, I spread my legs a little more, humming my appreciation as he sank all the way in. At that point, Ben paused, as many men do, savoring the feeling of his cock being tightly gripped in a warm channel. For a moment, the only sound was our staggered breathing. Ben's lips moved over mine and touched lightly down. Then he said, almost to himself, "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever been with." Saying that, he moved a strand of hair away from my face and gently stroked my cheek. He was sweet. Finally, he seemed unable to wait any longer and began moving slowly in and out. I was surprised that he could maintain such a languid pace and began to hope it might afford me the time I needed to ascend to own my peak. But gradually, almost imperceptibly, his pace quickened until he was gasping from exertion. Our angle wasn't quite right for me. I enjoyed the firmness inside me, and the rhythmic sliding along my walls was pleasant in its own way, but I knew there would be no release for me like that. "Ben... can we roll over?" I asked as he continued huffing on top of me. He thrust a few more times before my question registered. Pulling out, he said, "Yeah. Yeah, sure," and got on his back. I quickly straddled him, pausing to observe how much firmer his abdomen looked from that angle. Ben reached between us, gripping his tool at the base and angling it up. I wiggled my hips until I found my mark, then I slid down and back. "Ooohhhh yeah," Ben exhaled, sliding his hands up my sides and cupping my breasts as they began to sway. He was so gentle with me, which was a welcome change of pace. He didn't push or squeeze my boobs, he just held them up and cradled them close to my chest. I was able to move about until I found a good angle that gave my clit the right kind of pressure. I started grinding around, my senses already heightened from the past thirty minutes of physical contact. Ben started pushing up towards me, and I kept pushing down, not letting him break that contact between his pubic bone and my clit. Suddenly, his hands left my chest and gripped my waist. His eyes clenched shut and he forced my hips to move back and forth a few times. I looked at his face and watched his jaw clench. When he held deep and still and forced me to stop moving, I knew he was finding his release. He grunted as he pushed up at me a couple more times, then his body relaxed. I was close, but not close enough to finish with him. Ben seemed in a daze, so I decided to see if I could sprint to the finish line. He was still hard enough inside me that I could resume grinding. A minute of that steady motion and my movements became more frantic. I felt the tingles in my gut and leaned over the warm body below me. I curved my back, trying to keep the right pressure where I needed it while also retaining some skin contact with my chest. Ben was getting back in the game, even as his cock softened a bit. Sweeping aside thoughts of needing to get the condom off before he softened, I put my hands under his ass and pulled him up towards me. As long as he held that position, I could stretch out on top of him and feel that glorious warmth of body contact all along my torso. The tingling sensation spread and I began to feel like I was walking through a field of bubbles. My skin was electric everywhere it touched him. A few more pushes along his crotch and... Release. I cried out and squeezed his back with my arms. My walls clenched around his shaft and I wished he was still as hard as he had been a moment ago. Nevertheless, I floated up and up, shivering as colors flooded behind my closed eyelids. Oh, this was a good moment. I tried to hold onto it. It ended too soon. I didn't even notice that Ben had reached down and pulled out of me. I was glad he had done so, for safety's sake. With some regret, I flopped onto the bed next to him. "Trash is in the bathroom under the sink," I said, still panting. He quickly returned and curled up next to me. I was a little sleepy, but I managed to stay awake. Ben ran his fingers up and down my arm, kissing my shoulder now and then. "You're so beautiful," he said. I felt a little awkward, not sure if he was expecting a compliment in return. I thought about telling him how gentle and kind and sweet he was, but by the time I thought of it, the pause had been too long for the compliment to seem sincere. After a few more minutes of silence, he asked, "Should I leave?" I thought a moment, then answered, "If you want to. It doesn't matter." Only after I said that did I realize it was a bit of a rejection. It was true, but it still could be hurtful. Ben was probably the first guy who indicated a desire for anything more than a one-night stand. I wasn't sure what I would say if he asked to see me again. More minutes passed. More silence. Then Ben spoke, his voice hesitant. "I am pretty tired. I'll leave if you want me to, but... it would be nice if I could just stay here for the night. There's nothing but a hotel room waiting for me." I don't think he was trying to sound pathetic, but that's what he accomplished. I pulled down the covers and slipped my legs under them. "Like I said," I replied, trying to sound friendly, "it doesn't matter." Ben waited a moment, then joined me under the covers. I yawned as his arm wrapped around me. It wasn't long before my eyes were closed for the night. ******* It was Saturday morning, which meant I slept until my body forced me awake. When I was finally persuaded to leave my bed, it was mostly my bladder doing the talking. The bed was empty when I got up, but some noise in the kitchen told me I wasn't alone. As I exited the bathroom, I put on a thick robe and headed to the kitchen. Ben was in there, wearing his suit pants and undershirt. He was quietly looking through the cupboards, and when he heard me come in, he turned and said, "I was hoping I could make you some coffee this morning." He looked bashful and awkward. I guessed he had never done this before- not sex, I mean, but a one-nighter. "I'm out," I explained. "Last night I re-used the grounds from the morning. Thanks, though." I pulled out a kettle and filled it with water. "I can make you some tea before you go," I offered, hoping he took the hint that I wasn't planning to spend the day with him. "That's alright," he said, putting on his watch and picking his shirt up from the chair where it was hanging. "I'll grab some breakfast on my walk back to my car." He was gaining confidence as he spoke. Perhaps knowing what the next steps would be made him more comfortable. As he slipped on his coat and headed out of the kitchen, he asked, "Say, where was this picture taken?" He pointed to a framed picture on the wall near the door. It was a photo of me standing on a tropical beach at sunset, holding the paddle of a kayak. It looked like it had been taken when I was about ten years younger. There were beautiful rock formations in the background and a few monkeys at my feet. I looked happy in a way I couldn't ever remember feeling. "I... don't really remember," I said awkwardly. "What? You don't remember where this was?" He was almost laughing with disbelief. "No idea." "That's you, right? I mean, the hair's a little different and you're maybe a little younger, but... " "I'm pretty sure that's me, but... I don't remember." Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 01 "Then why did you frame it? Why did you hang... " "I don't remember," I said sharply. The other guys had never pressed me this far. No one had cared enough about me to ask enough questions to find out why I was content to listen to them blather on about themselves all night. Damned, sweet, kind Ben had to go and ruin it. He looked at me with obvious questions in his eyes. I didn't owe him an answer. I could have just walked him to the door. I honestly don't know why I answered him. "I don't remember anything," I sighed. "Nothing more than the past year and a half. I had an accident. I woke up. I had to meet my friends and family like they were strangers on the bus. I came home to an apartment I didn't know, and the only picture I had was that. I figure it must have been special." His face softened, if not with understanding, then at least with compassion. "Oh, Amelia, I'm so sorry," he apologized. He moved towards me a bit, but I held up a hand to block him. "No," I said firmly. "No thanks. I'm sorry I... snapped at you. But please... just go. OK?" I knew he had only been trying to make polite conversation. I recognized that he was showing true concern. No one had ever shown an interest in getting to know me after a night together- he was being kind and sweet. But all I felt was a self-protective instinct to get him away. Then he looked at me with that expression I've come to despise- pity. I held open the door for him, and he walked out into a clear, chilly morning. I closed the door as he headed down the sidewalk and turned in the direction of the bar where we had met the night before. ******* I think up until that moment I would have wanted to see Ben again. Maybe he would have come back to the bar the next time he was in town, and I would have been there waiting for him. Maybe we could have talked some more, had dinner together, spent another night in bed together. But now... Now he knew my secret, and now I didn't feel comfortable with him. Now he knew I didn't have anything to offer him except my body and a year's worth of drudgery working data entry five days a week. I was half a person. Less than half, probably. I had no stories to tell, no history to share, and at this rate I didn't have much of a future, either. Weekdays I worked, then came home and watched TV or went online. Sometimes I went jogging or bike riding to keep in shape. Weekends, I went out and got laid or else I stayed home and read trashy romance novels. I had whole shelves of them, hundreds of books, almost all of them from the same genre. My favorite author seemed to be someone named Ginny Bowers (probably a pseudonym for an overweight middle-aged guy- there was no picture or author bio anywhere). Apparently, I owned all her/his books- 28 sexy novels and one book on gardening. It was interesting to me how, despite not remembering liking these things, my taste seemed the same now as it was before my accident. Or maybe I just didn't have other options. I wish I knew a little more about my old self- what I had liked, how I had spent my days. My family was no help. I was an only child, and my father had died years ago. My mother had retired to The Villages in Florida. She apparently hadn't been very involved in my life over the past ten years, and she mostly blamed me for making poor life choices and for not keeping in touch. I had an ex-husband out there somewhere, but by all accounts I was well rid of him. I had a few friends, but after the accident, it was awkward. I wasn't the person they remembered and, at the time, I had no motivation to get to know them. Now, however, I'm wishing I had preserved some link to my past. Plus, it seemed like I had been a bit of a recluse in the year between my divorce and my accident, that I had lost touch with most of the people with whom I had previously spent time. Only one friend stuck around: Vicky. I don't know what I would have done without Vicky. She helped me get settled back into my place and she helped me find the job I have now. We apparently weren't that close in the past- we had met at the gym and worked out together. But she was the only one who was there when I left the hospital. She was the one who told me about my accident: that I fell asleep at the wheel, that I may have run another car off the road a few miles before my own accident, killing a carload of boys from a college swim team (though all the forensic evidence was inconclusive). She was the first one to bring up my ex-husband, but she didn't really want to talk about him- she just wanted to know if he had contacted me. She said it was a bad relationship, and that I was better off with him out of my life. Vicky slowly stopped coming around after a few months. Once I got settled into a routine, she faded away. We didn't have much in common; she was a bright, sexy, young P.E. teacher at a middle school. She liked to travel and play soccer and was intimidatingly beautiful. I was a morose, melancholy woman five years her senior, and I had no hobbies or real interests. Once there wasn't anything else for her to do- she had helped me thoroughly clean and organize my apartment, regain access to my bank account, learn my way around town again- we sort of ran out of things to talk about. We still get together once a month or so, but it's mostly out of courtesy, I think. Or pity. I've gotten a lot of pity. I don't really miss Vicky. She made me feel worse, in some ways. She was a whole person, and I wished I could be like her. She made me feel undesirable. Why would a guy want someone like me when they could have someone like her? I think that's what was on my mind the first time I went to the bar. I just wanted someone to want me in some way. I didn't have much to offer, but I did have my body. I dumped the rest of my tea in the sink. It was mid-morning, and I didn't want to go out into the cold. Spring would arrive soon. New life, rebirth, second chances- for some people maybe. My "new life" wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Today was a sit-on-the-couch-and-read day. Maybe catch-a-movie-in-the-theater kind of day, too. But it definitely would start with some Ginny Bowers. I stepped into my library, grabbed one I hadn't read yet (at least, not that I could remember) and curled up on the couch, still naked except for my robe. It was time to take flight from this empty shell of a life and enter the vibrant world of someone else's imagination... ******* Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 02 Therapist's Office, March, 2001 Patient: She's destroying herself. It... it's heartbreaking. She needs help. Counselor: And you think you should be the one to help her? Patient: No, probably not. But I want to be. And no one else is... Counselor: Do you think it's possible you might just make things worse for her? (silence) Counselor: I'm not saying you would. I'm just asking if you've considered that possibility. Patient: Of course. But if there's any chance I could make it better... Counselor: And what about you? Patient: Me? Counselor: Yes. What if it just makes things worse... for you? ******* I felt sad about Ben. He was nice, certainly as nice as I could expect to find. And he wasn't a bad lover, either. But he had crossed the line I couldn't let anyone cross. I took the picture down for a few days, but then I put it right back in its place. It didn't seem right to remove that one testament to my former life. The weeks dragged on, their monotony broken only by an unseasonably warm stretch of days at the end of the month. I had a picnic in the park. I invited Vicky to join me, but she was busy. It didn't matter. No one around meant no awkward conversation to remind me of all I'd forgotten. My job was dull enough, the fact that it was almost the only thing I had to talk about made it worse. Maybe a new hobby was in order. Vicky was always telling me to start over, to leave my old life behind and try new things. I didn't know where to begin. Is reading a hobby? I had my picnic in a sunny spot near a man-made lake in the park. I wondered if I'd ever been there before. It felt... not familiar, exactly, but like it reminded me of something I loved. I sometimes wandered down streets or biked through new neighborhoods, hoping the sights would spark a memory. So far, nothing had. Or if anything, it was like the lake: it made me think of something vague, like perhaps a dream I might be able to remember later. Or maybe it wasn't an image I was remembering, but a feeling. ******* Eventually, I became restless again. I won't even pretend it was simply physical desire that drove me to the bar. There were times, sure, when I felt horny, but those weren't the times I chose to go find someone to share my bed. It was the times when I just wanted to connect, to feel close to someone. I wanted to not feel like someone was looking through me or past me. I went home after work on Friday, showered, changed, and headed out to find some companionship - someone to touch me and to stare at me with hunger in his eyes. To my initial surprise, the bar was almost empty. Darla saw me looking around and laughed. "Slow night?" I asked. Not even Zeke was in his usual spot. "March Madness," she said, as if that explained everything. My confused look must have told her it didn't. "College basketball?" she prompted. I shook my head and shrugged. Didn't ring a bell. "It's like a... well it is a tournament for college basketball. It lasts almost all month. You do know what basketball is, right?" I rolled my eyes. Darla was one of the few people with whom I'd shared my condition, and she occasionally allowed herself a lighthearted joke at my expense. When I first told her I had amnesia, she quickly informed me I had an outstanding bar tab of several hundred dollars from before my accident. Darla knew how to tease me without hurting me. "So no one comes here?" I asked. There was a small TV behind the bar with a basketball game on. "No, honey, not here," she answered. "They go to the places where the TVs are as big as walls. We might get a few stragglers who aren't into the game, but even Julia has moved on to greener pastures for the month. They're heading into the second round." "You should get a bigger TV," I suggested. Darla half-smiled and said, "Actually, business is doing OK overall, so I like a few weeks of downtime to get some things cleaned up and rearranged. It's a good time to train new employees, too," she said, nodding in the direction of a young waitress struggling to keep a tray of dishes from toppling. I nodded slowly and ordered a plate of food. I had skipped dinner in my haste to get there before guys got too drunk. But I figured I might as well take care of my stomach's craving, even if I was denying other desires. Darla and I chatted off and on for an hour while I ate. She was a little older than I and had a thick build. She looked like she could have been an athlete. She once joked that her boobs kept her out of sports but kept her bar in business. They were very large, and I'm sure they had some help staying so high on her chest. But Darla was more than just sexy: she was a sharp businesswoman and a good conversationalist. Most guys didn't realize she was the owner as well as the bartender. She tolerated flirting from her patrons, but she also demanded respect and a certain level of decorum. It kept the atmosphere a little classier than most other places like it in town. As I was finishing my meal, I noticed the stranger was in his usual spot. The next time Darla was passed by me, I asked her softly, "Any more word on the guy in the booth?" She shrugged, wiping off some mugs and hanging them up. "Same as always. Quiet, nice, been coming here most weekends for a few months. Good tipper, always alone." "Is it just me, or does he look my way a lot?" I asked. "How do you know he's not looking at me, sugar?" she asked with a wink. Then heading towards the register, she cashed out an older couple and went to clear their table. I picked up my drink, took a deep breath, and walked confidently across the room. Standing at the end of his table, I waited until he looked up, then asked, "So, you don't have the March mania?" "The what?" he said, wrinkling his brow in confusion. "The... the basketball thing? That everyone is watching?" "March Madness?" "Yeah, that's it." "No," he said with a smile. "I'm not too into sports." He didn't say anything more, and I had used up my intro line. I stood there in awkward silence for a few eternal seconds as he tapped the table nervously. He looked around, then finally ventured, "Would you like a seat?" "Yes, thank you," I said sweetly, sitting across from him in the booth. "It's too quiet in here tonight and I'm looking for some conversation." "Conversation?" he asked with obvious skepticism. "Yes. Like... what do you do?" "Nothing very lucrative, I'm afraid," he answered, then paused to gauge my reaction. I kept my eyes on his and he continued. "I'm a middle school English teacher." "Middle school?" I replied. "Well, you might not be rich, but you sure are brave." "Or foolish," he grinned, never breaking eye contact. I felt like my every expression, my every move was being evaluated. "Minor difference," I replied saucily. He smiled. It was a nice smile. The smile prompted something, a memory. Noticing my distant look, he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows questioningly. He was very handsome in a way that reminded me of someone - probably a movie star I no longer remembered. His hair was dark like mine and had a hint of curl. His complexion was also darker, but his eyes were bright blue. The blue eyes triggered it. "We've met before," I said finally. "Yeeeessss... ," he said, trying to draw out more. "Oh God, I remember now," I said, almost laughing. "Last year, you walked up to the bar and ordered Darla's weekly-special mixed drink. You had your back to me. You took a sip and I asked if it was any good. You turned around, and... " "And nearly spat the whole thing into your face. I am so sorry. You really startled me that night." "Startled you?" "Yes... you know... it's not every day I have a beautiful women strike up a conversation with me." I smiled at the compliment, then said, "You never even let me introduce myself that night. I'm Amelia." I reached out my hand to shake his, still trying to recall the name of the celebrity he resembled. "Scott," he said, gently gripping my hand. He didn't shake it, he just squeezed it lightly, and that intimate act made my heart flutter. Yes, he will get lucky tonight, I thought. I glanced at the other side of the table and saw he had a novel, The Count of Monte Cristo. "Do you find it easy to read in here?" I asked. "Tonight, yes, but not usually." "Tell me about the story," I said, nodding towards the book that was still under his hand. "You haven't read it?" he asked, cautiously. "Not that I remember," I answered, using a phrase that has become very familiar to me. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then went on to outline the plot. He refused, however, to tell me how it ended. "Well, that's just rude," I teased him. "You'll have to read it to find out," he said playfully. "As a teacher, my job is to encourage reading, not to give shortcuts around it." Leaning towards him, I pushed my chest out a bit and said, "Maybe I could find a way to convince you to tell me." It was about as blatant an invitation as I could give. He made a pained face, somewhere between embarrassment and chagrin. Inwardly I bristled, but I wasn't going to give up so easily. It seemed that the flirty approach wasn't working with him. So I sat back, softened my expression, and said, "Look, I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable. It's just that... I don't want to go back to an empty apartment tonight. And I don't see a ring on your finger. Is it so hard to picture yourself spending the night with me?" His eyes widened and then looked away. "Wow," he said. "Wow. And no. No, it's not hard at all to picture that. But... are you... I mean, you don't even know me... right?" "So tell me. What should I know?" "No... not like that. I mean... you don't know what kind of guy I am, or if I...-" Then seeing my expression, he said, "You don't care, do you?" I sighed. This was more complicated than usual. Usually such an invitation elicits a "Hell yes!" from the guys I meet. "Scott," I said gently, "I'm not trying to marry you. I just want to spend the night... or part of the night... with you. You're very handsome, you don't seem dangerous, and that's enough for me. Do you understand?" "I do," he said. "But... does this really make you happy?" "Oh Scott," I said, reaching out to stroke the back of his hand with my fingertips, "I'm ready to give you every chance to make me happy tonight." His reaction was less than I was hoping for - he almost seemed sad, like he was resigning himself to the inevitable. But I had invested too much to let a minor hiccup derail my plans for the evening. My bare foot was rubbing his calf, my fingers stroked his forearm, and my eyes locked onto his. I could actually see the moment he caved. His eyes relaxed and then he glanced over to the bar. "Let me get our bills," he said, waving to Darla. She winked at me as he signed the receipt; she had already put my meal on his check. "I'm about twenty minutes from here," he said, putting his hand gently on the small of my back as we walked towards the door. "My place, then," I said, which is what I preferred anyway. Scott pushed open the door and held it open as I walked through. Of course he would do that. It felt almost as if we were leaving after a real date. As we walked the short couple of blocks to my street, Scott's fingers touched my palm. Then his hand took hold of mine. Holding his hand felt comfortable and right. I hadn't held a hand like that since my accident. Considering what we were planning to do once we got to my place, that simple touch shouldn't have affected me the way it did, but nevertheless, I got tingles. I guess romance was his thing. Turns out it might be a little bit my thing, too. ******* Once we were in my place, it was as if a switch had been flipped in Scott's brain. Gone was the somewhat shy, hesitant, courteous gentleman I had met at the bar. After the front door closed behind us, Scott was a man on a mission. I guess his inhibitions had been taken care of somewhere on the walk back. He pulled me by the hand down the hall and straight into my bedroom. We didn't even bother with lights. His polo shirt was left on the hallway floor, covering one of his shoes. My skirt ended up next to it, along with my heels. Scott pulled me to himself and started kissing me aggressively. I wondered if he was one of those guys who had a different persona in the bedroom. Was he violent? A sadist? A little kinky? All I knew at that point was that he kissed and touched me as if a fire had been ignited in his very core. Scott was as assertive as Ben had been passive. I was so stunned by the force of his lips against mine that I didn't even notice his fingers nimbly unbuttoning my blouse. He tossed it aside as I unclasped my bra. Before the lacy undergarment hit the floor, his mouth was on my chest. He kissed and licked and sucked with the same vigor he had used when attacking my mouth. I put my hands on the back of his head and looked up at the ceiling. Oh GOD! This felt good. This is what it meant to be desired. To be lusted after. To be wanted. His hands firmly gripped my sides, not letting me pull back. Not that I wanted to, unless it was to move us towards the bed. Without warning, Scott yanked my panties down then stood up, lifting me off my feet. With two confident strides, he was at the bed, tossing me into the middle of it. Shucking off his pants, he crawled between my legs, his mouth kissing around my navel. Not wanting to be caught unawares, I scooted to the side and opened my nightstand drawer. I fumbled blindly for a condom, unable to concentrate on where my hand was. Scott only made it harder to focus when his kisses trailed south, heading over my mound and stopping at my folds. I had just picked up one of the small foil packages when Scott trailed one long lick along the length of my labia. My hands clenched tight as I gasped. I put the condom on top of the nightstand and reached down to touch whatever parts of him I could reach as he ministered to my weeping pussy. Only one other guy had done this to me, and he brought mostly enthusiasm and not skill. Scott had both. The man who, until a few hours ago, had been a stranger to me now slid his arms under my thighs, then reached around them to hold my lips open with his fingertips. I ran my fingers through his curls, trying not to accidentally pull his hair in my distracted state. For many long minutes - I lost all sense of time - he slowly ran his tongue up... and down... and up... and down my slit. Sometimes his tongue would pause to press at my entrance, causing my thighs to squeeze around his head. Eventually, I felt his thumb circling around my clit - circling but never touching. I wanted him to touch me there. I moaned and shifted my hips, trying to force some contact with my sensitive nub. Scott held off, continuing to drive my desire to the next level. "Scahhhhhtt," I moaned, clenching my thighs a little. Understanding that I didn't want to be teased any more, he withdrew his tongue and kissed little pecks from the bottom of my slit up to the top. Reaching that point, he opened his mouth wide and surrounded my clit. Then he slowly... agonizingly slowly... closed his mouth, and slid his lips into a tighter circle until he was sucking gently on that throbbing button. mmmmMMMMMM... I began moaning, and the pitch rose with the increasingly intense sensations I felt at that one spot. When Scott pulled his head back, tugging on my clit with his lips, I felt my gut coiling like a spring. My legs pulled up towards my body, hindered slightly by Scott's arms wrapped around my thighs. With an unhurried motion, Scott flattened his tongue and pressed it down firmly where his lips had just been. The sudden change in sensation, focused on that particular spot, did more than push me over the edge. It launched me into orbit. The rush of noise in my ears sounded like I was standing in a waterfall, and I felt like I was floating on a wave that wouldn't crash. I cried out again and again, thankful that my bedroom was on the side of the townhouse that didn't share a wall with anyone. Scott seemed intent on working all my levers in that moment, because his finger entered me for the first time, curling up just past my entrance and making me thrust my hips upward wildly. Scott managed to extract himself from my thighs while they were still moving of their own accord, and he reclined on the bed next to me, propped up on an elbow and watching with a smile as my orgasm faded. While the last of my tremors were trailing off, I gripped his arm and looked at his face. His smile wasn't cocky. The best word for it might have been... serene. Still trying to catch my breath, I panted, "And you... wondered if this... would make me happy? I think... you have... your answer." He leaned over me and kissed my lips. I didn't mind tasting myself on his face, though it was bold of him to assume I would be OK with it. Then resuming his place next to me, he said, "I knew it would make you feel good. Happiness is something different." "Oh great," I joked. "A philosopher." "We're all philosophers," he murmured, tracing his fingers across my breasts as they rose and fell. "Some of us are just more conscious of it than others." I gave him a curious look. I wondered where I'd heard or read that before. But I quickly discarded that thought in favor of more pressing matters. "If you're done lecturing," I said, "grab a condom and we'll see how good we can make you feel." "You have no idea how good I feel right now," he replied, running the tips of his fingers up past my neck and through my hair. "You know what I mean," I smiled, rolling towards him and wrapping my hand around his cock. The slick wetness around his tip assured me that we still had unfinished business. ******* Moments later, my legs were splayed around his waist, my toes pointing at the ceiling and my feet jerking in time with his thrusts. I felt no urge to manufacture sounds of pleasure for him, as I did with most other guys. I knew he was close, and I didn't feel the need to rush him. I was still feeling the glow of my orgasm deep in my chest. I knew I would sleep well that night. I was breathing in deep, enjoying his manly smell. It wasn't cologne, and there was only a hint of aftershave or something. In any case, I was enjoying the way it felt to smell him. "Want me to slow down and wait for you?" he asked while changing his speed to a slower pace that was just as firm. "Mmmm, thank you, but don't worry about it," I replied. "You took excellent care of me. Besides, I bet you're close already." Not speeding up yet, he said softly, "Yeah... but I partly want this to go on a lot longer. I don't want to leave your bed." "I won't kick you out tonight," I promised. "Just don't make a nuisance of yourself in the morning." One corner of his mouth curled up in a smile and he pushed a little harder into me. "Well, in that case... " he said, and sped up a little. His pace remained steady and moderate. His hands traveled slowly around my body, touching some places that usually don't get much attention. His fingers rubbed behind my knee and I giggled in response. He liked rubbing his hand up between my breasts and pausing when his palm was at the center of my collar bone. There was a sensual possessiveness about that spot that made me arch my back to feel more pressure from his hand. His lips lingered where my jaw met my earlobe, and I shivered at the feeling of his breath on my ear. Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 02 I started to feel like I had only been with amateurs before that night. I was beginning to reconsider his offer to slow down and wait when he whispered in my ear, "I'm close, baby." Wanting to do something to impress him, I tried something I had read in one of my books that month. I squeezed my walls as tight as I could in time with each of his thrusts. Then after a few thrusts like that, I squeezed only as he pulled back. Then I switched again, tightening as he pushed in. Scott made a strangled laugh, and I worried I had messed up. But then he groaned, "Yesssss," and began to press harder at the end of each thrust. Suddenly, he lowered himself onto me and wrapped me in his embrace. Kissing me fiercely, he finished with a few hard lunges and a drawn-out groan. With my arms around him, I felt his whole body twitch and tremble in pleasure. I managed to squeeze my tunnel tight around him as he pulsed inside me, releasing with a sigh when I felt him finally relax. After a moment to recover, he withdrew and sprawled out next to me, gazing at the ceiling. I took the chance to trot to the bathroom. Scott did the same after I returned, and I crawled under the covers. Now that I wasn't warmed by his body and our motion, I began to feel the chill of the early spring night. It took him a while to make it to bed, and at one point I heard him in the kitchen getting some water. I must have been asleep before he returned, but I vaguely recall his warm chest against my back as he spooned me during the night. ******* Nine o'clock found me shuffling into the kitchen, hands tucked into my robe and feet stuffed into large furry slippers to protect them from the cold floor. Scott was right behind me, acting much more awake than I thought he had the right to be. He had on his boxers and undershirt, and I couldn't believe that he was barefoot on the cold tiles. "The cold doesn't bother me like it bothers you," he said, answering a question I hadn't even voiced. I sat at the table and watched him float around the kitchen. He didn't even need to search for things. He wanted a mug, he opened the door to the mugs. He wanted a spoon, he pulled open the silverware drawer. Even coffee and filters seemed to appear in his hands without effort. "You really seem to know your way around my kitchen," I said with some amazement. He paused, put his hand on the top of the fridge and leaned against it. "Well," he said, looking around the room, "it's set up very logically. Cups are near the sink and the fridge, for getting drinks. Plates are near the microwave and stove... " "For serving food," I added. He nodded in agreement, then said, "Coffee and filters... well, maybe that was a lucky guess. But since there's no cabinet above the coffee maker, I figured they'd be near the sugar, and I was right." I laughed softly. I hadn't set my kitchen up this way, my old self had. I just adapted to what I found when I "moved in." Apparently I used to be very logical. Or at least organized. We chatted over coffee and some leftover cinnamon rolls I had brought home from a meeting at work the day before. Either by luck or by tact, Scott managed to avoid asking the kind of probing, personal questions that I always feared. Such questions would cause me to shut down. Our conversation felt casual and... normal. Strangely, that made me want it to end all the sooner, lest something change and our morning conclude on a sour note. But before I had a chance to start thinking of how to invite him to leave, he rose from the table and said, "Well, I guess I'll get dressed and head out." I didn't reply, but I followed him back to the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe to watch him get dressed. Even in the full light of the morning, he was still handsome. I had the passing thought that I might want to go for one more round before he left, but by then he was already putting on his shoes. Perhaps another time. I would wait to see what he said. I walked a few steps behind him as he headed towards the front door. Scanning him up and down from behind, I thought that, with a better wardrobe, he could be a real head-turner. But maybe that wouldn't suit a middle school English teacher. With his hand on the doorknob, Scott turned and looked at me. I could sense an internal debate. He was holding something back. Finally, he said, "I know this might not be what you wanted out of... this... but I would really like to see you again. Can I take you to dinner this evening?" My easy rejection lines failed me. I put the mug up to my face to hide my smile, and I took a long sip to buy myself some time. I didn't want to do dinner - too much conversation. We were already running out of shallow topics. But I did want to see him again. "How about a movie, instead?" I asked, then held my breath. He smiled, stepping outside. "A movie would be nice. I'll pick you up around 6, and we can go see what's playing?" "Sound good," I said, stepping forward to close the door behind him. This is a bad idea, I told myself. But you can't go on like this forever, another voice chimed in. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, countered the first voice. Well, at least we know the night will end well if we can get back here, came the reply. Hearing no further objection, I assumed the matter was settled and went to the bookshelves to pick out my story for the day. ******* Scott showed up looking and smelling nice. He drove us to the theater, but neither of us really knew about any of the movies. The kid selling tickets suggested a movie called Memento, but Scott said he'd heard it was too heavy. We opted instead for a mildly amusing movie called The Mexican. The lead actor was hot, at least, and I started to think more about getting Scott back to my bed. At one point during the movie, he reached over and held my hand. Again, I didn't know why it affected me the way it did, but I started to wish there wasn't an armrest between us. I leaned closer and let our arms entwine. We drove back to my place, talking about the movie in a way that almost made me forget that I couldn't have normal conversations. Scott walked me to the front door, and I pulled him inside by his shirt. As I closed the door behind us, he said, "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this or anything... " I replied by forcing my mouth on his for a minute, then whispering in the sexiest voice I could muster, "Oh, but I want you to feel like you have to do this... " Scott rolled his eyes and we laughed. I took his hand and pulled him quickly to the bedroom. Our love-making that night lacked the fire of the night before, but even without that intensity it was far better than what I had gotten used to. With Scott there was a connection that went beyond the fleeting moments of our coupling. We undressed slowly, casually. Then we rolled around on the bed, kissing and caressing. Eventually, I ended up on top of him, sliding his sheathed member into my depths. I moved slowly, wordlessly enjoying his presence inside me and below me. Scott seemed to enjoy the relaxed pace, and he pulled my head in for a kiss every time I got close enough. I felt my pleasure rising. Straightening up, I slid back and forth, grinding my way towards release. Scott had begun thrusting up, clearly starting to scale his own peak. "Hold on, baby, hold on," I pleaded. He grunted in response and nodded. I sped up my motions, my breath quickening. As I got closer, I lowered myself and pressed my body against his, scissoring my legs as much as I could. One of Scott's hands slid slowly up from my thighs, along my waist, up my side and onto my breast. He slowly pulled it towards his lips, then took the nipple in his mouth. With an audible gasp, I slid along him a few more times then felt the chemicals course through my veins. I pressed my cheek into his shoulder, my hands resting on his rib cage. Hearing my cries of release, Scott pressed urgently up into me. His hands gripped my waist and forced my tunnel to take him as deep as it could. With a loud grunt, he began pulsing inside me. My walls were still clenching at the end of my orgasm as his began. Together, we rode out our respective climaxes, letting our lips run along the other's skin to help amplify our pleasure. Just as he finished throbbing, Scott murmured in my ear, "If I promise not to be a nuisance, can I stay the night again?" "I suppose so," I mumbled in reply. "Mmmmmm," he exhaled, flopping his hands to his sides. "Good." ******* Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 03 Again, thank you to GaiusPetronius for editing this series. The improvements are his, the remaining mistakes are mine ***** Late March, 2001 Counselor: I don't want to always sound like a downer, but just because things have started off well doesn't mean it's going to stay on that trajectory. Patient: You think I don't know that? I didn't plan this! Counselor: You didn't plan for her to talk to you, but you had a choice at every step. Patient: (sighs) But it... it's more than I had hoped for, you know? And I saw things that weekend that just gave me a real hope for the future. Counselor: Well, I'm happy for that... but I'm concerned about how this plays out. The chances of a really positive outcome... Patient: ... are worth the risk. Counselor: For you, perhaps. But do you have the right to decide that for her? Would she think it's worth it? ******* How Vicky ate such huge amounts of food and stayed looking the way she did was beyond my understanding. We had just sat down to brunch and given our orders to the waiter. While I was content with coffee and toast, I listened as Vicky ordered an omelet, English muffins, yogurt, and a bowl of fruit. She giggled when she caught me staring at her. "I've been running since six this morning," she said. "I'm famished!" Then leaning back in her chair, she added, "Sooo... how are things?" I, too, leaned back and looked around. It was a sunny morning and warm enough that we didn't need jackets as we sat at the outdoor tables. "Things are OK," I said. "Work is dull, but I'm getting used to my life. What about you? How's the elusive mystery man?" Vicky pouted and stirred her ice water. "As distant as ever," she sighed. Then her eyes sparkled and she perked up. "But he'll come around, I'm sure of it. We're destined to be together." Vicky had a minor obsession with a man she had once been in a relationship with. He had broken it off, but she was determined to win him back. She never spilled many details (other than "tall, dark, and handsome"), saying she didn't want to make me feel bad. As usual, she changed the topic, telling me about the race she was training for and about the cheerleading team she was coaching at the school. I shared a few anecdotes from work, but otherwise didn't have much to say. "Amelia, honey, what do you do all day? Are you still reading those books? You need another hobby, something to get you out there," she said, sweeping her hands towards the city streets. I sighed. "I know. But I like the books; they speak to me. Maybe what I really like is that all the women in those books have a story. Even sex for them is a part of a bigger narrative. I don't have that. I don't have a story or drama, and I guess I live vicariously through theirs." Vicky gave me a look of friendly pity as she finished off her omelet. Washing it down with water, she gestured at me with her fork and said, "That's why you need to go out and make a new story for yourself. Amelia, I know I've said this before, but I really mean it. Maybe what you need is a change of scenery. I would hate to see you go, but you should move somewhere else - find a new life, a new world. Find a guy." She said that last part with a teasing smile and raised eyebrows. Vicky didn't know about my monthly habit. "Well, speaking of that... " I said with an embarrassed grin. "What?!" Vicky cried, leaning in. "Why did you wait the whole meal to tell me this?" "It's nothing, maybe, but... there's this guy I met, and... we really hit it off. We had a good weekend and I'm thinking I might want to see him again." "Oh, my God, Amelia, that's great! Give me details!" I told her about Scott and the big picture of our time together the previous weekend - meeting in the bar, going out to a movie. I didn't mention the sex, feeling suddenly self-conscious about what she might think of me sleeping with him as soon as I had met him. We giggled like teenagers as she pressed me for more. When it was time for her to leave, we stood up together and Vicky said, "See, Amelia, this is what you need. Forget the past and start a new life." "Forgetting the past isn't my problem," I joked. "Maybe not, but being tied to it might be." It was a rare moment of genuine insight from someone I otherwise saw as shallow and flighty. Vicky had always been pressing me to move on, to build a new life. Maybe that would be easier for someone like her, but I just felt stuck. I wondered if meeting Scott was just the jump-start I needed. ******* When I got home, there was a message on my answering machine. There was almost never a message; it was like I didn't exist except to telemarketers. My heart skipped a little when I heard a familiar voice: Hey Amelia, it's Scott. I had an idea of something you might like. I'm off work today, so if you'd be up for it, I'd love to take you somewhere. It'll only take an hour. Call me if you're interested. Bye! I played the message back three or four times, savoring the sound of his voice. To think that I was on his mind... I liked that feeling. The time stamp was from an hour earlier, so I picked up the phone and dialed his number. He answered after the first ring and was evidently pleased to hear from me. I tried to find out what he was planning, but he just said it was a surprise. "Does it matter how I dress?" I asked, looking for hints. "Nope. Just something comfortable. We won't be gone long." I could hear his smile. ******* About thirty minutes later, I saw his car pull up in front of my place. I breezed out the door and down the steps. Scott was in jeans and a t-shirt, and I couldn't help but wonder if our plans for the day would see me pulling that shirt off him. But for once, I felt like I had other ways I could spend time with a man - doing things that didn't necessarily involve sex. Noticing my silence, Scott said, "You aren't going to ask where we're going?" "Would you tell me if I did?" "Nope." "Then I'm not going to waste my breath," I said with a contented smile, sliding down in the seat and closing my eyes. It was the perfect day for driving with the windows down. We didn't drive long, but I kept my eyes closed for most of it. Scott didn't seem to mind the silence, which made me like him even more. I heard us turn onto a gravel road, at which point I sat up and looked around. Blinking in the light, I saw trees and an old wooden fence. "Kendall's Nursery" read the old painted sign at the entrance. I gave Scott a questioning look as he parked the car. "Come on," he said, sounding excited. We walked over a grassy parking lot and into a greenhouse. Two steps in and a wave of emotion crashed over me. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. I felt like my heart was being wrapped in a warm blanket. I let go of Scott's hand, which I must have grabbed at some point on the way in, and hurried down the aisles. I lingered among shelves of herbs, smelling them one by one. I paused by the packaged soil and inhaled the earthy scent. I found the flowers and started saying their names as I took in their scents. I spun around to face Scott, who had been following me with a big smile. Putting his hands in his pocket, he looked around and said, "You have a book on gardening and a big fenced-off patch of weeds in your backyard that looks like it once had life. I wondered if maybe you'd want to do something about that." Stepping up to him, I put my hands on his chest and pressed my crotch against his thighs. "You... are... perfect," I said, holding back tears. I wasn't sure what made me want to cry. It was probably the thoughtfulness and kindness of his act, plus the unique experience of getting to know someone outside the bedroom, and the understanding that this could be just the hobby I'd been looking for. Added to all that were the overwhelming sensations - bordering on memories - that the greenhouse evoked. "I don't even know where to begin," I said. "Let's get some help, then," Scott replied, hailing the nearest worker. An half-hour later, we left the nursery with several large bags of potting soil, some gardening tools, at least a dozen packets of seeds and a few trays of seedlings. I had decided to split my garden, making half of it herbs and half of it flowers. Since I already had a book on flowers, I also picked up a book on growing herbs. During the drive home, I felt as happy as I had in a while, probably the happiest I could ever remember feeling. As we neared my place, Scott broke the silence and said, "I hope you don't mind that I looked around your place last weekend. You fell asleep so quickly, and I wanted to hit the kitchen anyway. I saw your books... " "Oh God, the books," I groaned. "What?" he asked. "You don't think it's embarrassing that I have all those trashy novels? You, the English teacher?" I asked. "Not at all. Good literature comes in many different styles. Besides, one man's trash is another man's treasure. Have you read them all?" "Not all, but a lot of them," I said, feeling strangely uncomfortable talking about them with Scott. "But as for your first question, no, I don't mind too much that you looked around, so long as you weren't opening up closets and drawers. That might be over the line." He smiled and said, "Don't worry, your secrets are safe." Before I could reply, we were pulling up to my place. Together we unloaded the car, taking everything through the house and to the backyard. When we had finished, Scott stood at the kitchen sink, washing the dirt off his hands, and I poured us each a glass of water. Looking out the kitchen window, I could see the bags of dirt and mulch piled up outside. I knew if I opened the window I could probably catch the scent of fresh herbs and flowers wafting in. I started to feel giddy, excited about the project ahead of me. My mind's eye was constructing designs and lay-outs for the whole yard. Putting my glass on the counter, I moved close to Scott, slipped my arms around him and said, "Thank you. Thank you for such a perfect gift." Then I stretched my neck out to bring his lips within reach of mine. We kissed slowly, tenderly, as old lovers would. Scott stretched out his arm and set his glass in the sink. As our kiss went on, I slid my hands down his sides, curling my fingers under his shirt. Slowly, I pulled it up, exposing his smooth abdomen and running my fingertips through the light trail of dark hair that went up the middle of his torso. I pushed the shirt up more, and Scott raised his arms, letting me take it off him. Once his full chest was exposed, I kissed along his collar bone and neck. He was slightly damp from carrying the heavy bags out to the yard. That plus the lingering smell of the soil gave him that same earthy scent I had breathed in at the nursery. I could also detect hints of the herbs and flowers we had carried. I wanted to keep my face on his skin, breathing in and kissing, running my lips all around him. He smelled so right. Scott interrupted me long enough to pull my shirt off. He pulled my bra away as I shrugged it off my shoulders. Then he gripped me under my arms, lifted me up and set me on top of my kitchen table. Sitting there put me at eye level with him, but I hesitantly put my hand on the table and pushed down, concerned for my safety. Scott turned my face back to meet his and said, "Trust me, it'll hold. It's solid wood." Content to take his word for it, I wrapped my arms around his neck and began exploring his mouth with my tongue. I pulled back and said, "I bet it's not the only solid wood in here." At first Scott didn't catch my double-entendre, but my hand loosening his belt and sliding down the front of his pants put his mind on the right track. I wrapped my fingers around his cock, which was firm and ready. His lips pressed harder against me in response to my touch, and his fingers laced through my hair and held my head in place. Scott moaned into my mouth and his breath hissed through his nostrils as I lightly squeezed his member. I felt goosebumps forming on my arms as my nipples brushed against his chest. I pushed my breasts forward, pressing into him and moaning softly at the sensation. "Do you want to just take me here on the table?" I asked softly, my voice distant. Scott's mouth traveled down along my neck. He took a nipple between his lips and lightly played with it for a moment. I leaned back to give him all the access he desired. "Table's solid but... probably not comfortable," he mumbled around my nipple. Then putting his mouth next to my ear, he nibbled my earlobe and said, "It would feel great for me, but I want you to enjoy this, too." I squeezed my legs as he planted feathery kisses on my jaw and neck. "Whatever you say," I whispered, beyond the point where I could think clearly. I felt his arm slide under my knees, then with an exaggerated grunt, he lifted me up. I laughed and bit his shoulder playfully. Scott steered us to the bedroom and gently laid me down on the bed. He unbuttoned and lowered my jeans, then slid my panties off. I softly cried a long ohhhhhhh as he slid his finger inside me. While I was concentrating on the exciting sensations that his sudden penetration aroused, Scott's tongue pressed down on my clit. I squeaked in surprise. He began running his tongue down my slit, then up again to the clit, circling it and lightly pressing it. As he did that, his finger moved very slowly in and out of me. Once he had established a bit of a rhythm that way, Scott used his free hand to rub my belly. I loved the way his fingers spread out, covering as much skin as his hand span could manage. He would sometimes slide up and gently cup a breast, but mostly he stayed in my mid-section. I urged him on with moans and soft cries, knowing that his talented tongue would easily lead me to release. In some ways, he was like a mind-reader, knowing exactly what I wanted him to do to me. When I felt my skin buzzing, I knew I was close. "In me," I whispered. Scott didn't seem to hear me, so I spoke up. "Scott. Put it in me. I want to feel you when I cum." Not ceasing his ministrations between my legs, Scott pulled down his pants and kicked them to the side. Then moving his knees up between my legs, he continued licking in his new position. I began to whimper, feeling very close but trying to hold off long enough to feel him enter me. "Hurry," I whined. Scott lifted his head and reached over to the nightstand. I grabbed his arm and he looked at me. Squeezing my thighs together and wiggling my hips I asked, "You're clean?" Eyes wide, he nodded. Breathing heavily I asked, "And you'll pull out?" He nodded again. "Just this once," I told him huskily, then spread my legs. I took his cock in my hand - it was warm and solid, pulsing with need. I pointed it towards the focal point of my own aching need, and with no further word, he pushed in. I cried out in relief, taking in for the first time - so far as I could remember - the intimate feeling of an unshielded cock inside of me. It was insanity, letting him take me like this, but my lust-fogged brain suppressed the warnings that tried to steer me towards a safer course. I already felt closer to him than I had to any other man I had met - but I had only known him for a week - but it felt so good - but it was a big risk - but maybe it was worth the risk - and it felt so good! Heedless of my internal debate, Scott pushed very slowly in and out, more for my benefit than his own, it seemed. I adjusted my hips and found the contact point I needed to finish the job. I met his slow thrusts with my own, and in less than a minute I was cresting. Scott straightened his arms and looked down at me. Our eyes met as I started to cum, and I tried not to break that connection. My body, however, acted on impulses of its own and squeezed my eyes shut. I grabbed his arms and clutched them as my legs stretched upward and outward. Scott pushed harder in, not letting the force of my spasms thrust him out. I froze as my body reached the most intense phase of my orgasm, and as my eyes fluttered open, I saw Scott still gazing down at me. I hadn't known love, but if love had a facial expression, that must be it. I could hear my own soft cries and whimpers as I wound down. Scott relaxed his pressure on me, and I could again bring my feet down to rest on the bed. I loosed my grip on his arms and rubbed his shoulders instead. My lips formed the words, "Thank you," but I could produce no coherent sounds. And yet Scott kissed my cheek and whispered, "Anytime." He resumed his slow thrusting and asked, "Do you want to get the condom now?" "Are you close?" I asked, still catching my breath. "I can be soon," was his reply. Taking a few deep breaths and putting my hands on his chest, I said, "When you pull out, roll over and I'll help you finish." He closed his eyes, smiled, and nodded slightly. Then he bent his arms and lowered himself closer to me. The new position gave him a different angle of purchase, and I could feel his shaft now rubbing along the back wall of my vagina instead of the front. He groaned in pleasure and sped up. I started kissing him, but he became too distracted by the urge to pound into me. I rubbed his back and moaned softly in his ear. Scott maintained that pace for another few minutes, then he moved both hands down to grip my ass. Holding one cheek in each hand, he pushed harder into me. He began grunting and straining and I wondered if he had forgotten that he needed to pull out. "Ready?" I prompted him. At that signal, he pulled out and rolled onto his back. I scrambled to get in place, lifting his wet member up from his belly and taking it into my mouth. I think he was surprised by that, expecting me to use my hand, perhaps. As my lips slid down as far as they could go, Scott groaned and shouted, "Oh, GOD!" His hips pushed up at my mouth instinctively, but my hand at his base kept him from hurting me. After a few bobs of my head, Scott put one hand on the smooth skin of my back and the other on the back of my head. "Millie!" he shouted and I pushed down with my mouth, propelling him headlong into his release. I pulled back, holding my lips around the crown as he sprayed into my mouth. I flinched at the novel sensation, but still managed to hold still until the last pulse. I pumped him one more time with my hand to make sure he was fully spent, then I pulled away and swallowed. "Millie?" I teased him. Without pause he said, "You know... short for Amelia... It's hard to shout out so many syllables when you're about to cum." Curling up at his side and putting my head on his chest, I said, "It's OK if... you know, there's another woman in your life. You can be honest with me. We haven't made this anything... formal, right?" He was silent for a while, then he spoke softly, "No, we haven't, but I'll put the ball in your court on that. You're very special, Amelia... Millie," he said teasingly, poking me in the ribs until I giggled. "I have no trouble picturing us together, but I sense some hesitancy on your part." I didn't say anything. He continued, "Maybe I'm wrong on that. But I'll just put it out there... I want more of you. Take your time and think about it, OK?" I felt uncomfortable and excited at the same time. It didn't seem fair to him that I wasn't being completely open, that he didn't know that there really wasn't any more of me to give. I wasn't a whole person, and he had all there was to get. What made me sadder still was realizing I felt bad about that only because I cared about him. For him I wanted to be more. Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 03 Not ready to deal with all that, though, I joked, "You're feeling that way only because you just came in my mouth. It's a perfectly natural reaction." He squeezed me a moment with his arm, then said, "I felt this way before that, but your talented mouth certainly makes the case even more compelling." "Talented, huh? Guess I wasn't bad for my first try." Oops. I hadn't meant to let that slip out. Dammit! He was just too easy to talk to! A few tense seconds passed. "First try?" I stumbled over an answer, part of me wanting to explain and part trying to cover it up. "First time that I... I mean, you know... first time with... with you... I guess?" He obviously wasn't buying it. "Amelia?" His voice was soft and not accusing. It was inviting, compassionate. His fingers lightly tracing up and down my arm gave me chills, compelling me to press closer into his side. I took a deep breath and put my palm on his chest. With a sigh of resignation, I began to explain. "I guess you'd have found out eventually. I understand if you change your mind, Scott, about... wanting to get to know me." He was quiet, letting me talk at my own pace. "I... don't remember much from before last year. I had an accident, a bad one. There was some head trauma, and... well, long story short, I've been living with amnesia since then. I don't know much... or anything... about who I was before that. And so just now, well... that's the first time I remember using my mouth on a guy. I'm sure I've done it before, because it's like my body just knew what to do." "I'm sure you've done it before," he chuckled, gently rubbing my side. "Other things are like that. Putting a condom on a guy, my ATM password, driving, typing, using chopsticks... it all just happens without me thinking about it. But other things, things like cooking, sewing a button... I had to learn those things from scratch." "Or maybe you never knew how to do them in the first place," Scott teased me. "You're not weirded out by this?" I asked, craning my head back to get a look at his face. He shrugged. "It's definitely different, but it doesn't change anything, does it?" "I don't know," I said softly. "It probably should, once you think about it." After lying there for a few minutes, both of us listening to the other breathe, he asked, "What about the people you knew before - your family, your friends?" "It's strange. I have a no-good ex-husband people tell me I should be glad to be rid of, but I have no memories him. I have a mom I don't recognize who seems annoyed that I can no longer remember all the ways I've failed her in the past." Scott seemed to find that exceptionally funny. "Sorry," he said, "I know the type." I went on, "My extended family isn't nearby, and it's hard to want to be close to people you really don't know just because you're supposed to be related. And since none of them are knocking on my door, I'm not worrying about it." "Friends?" "They stuck around for a little while and were supportive at first, but gradually it became apparent that we no longer had any shared history. And there was some bad press surrounding my accident, and that didn't sit all that well with them. I guess I can't blame them - they were probably good friends with the old me, but I'm not that person anymore. I think I was even a bit cold and stand-offish when they tried to get to know the new me. One of them has been really kind and helpful, though, but even she's not super-close to me. She keeps saying I should just move on, maybe start a new life somewhere else." "Nah, don't do that. You should stay where you have some history. Maybe things will slowly come back to you. Besides, now that you have a garden to care for, you can't leave!" Seeing my chance to end the conversation, I sat up and said, "Speaking of the garden, I'm about ready to start working on it." I climbed out of bed and started searching for clothes suitable to that endeavor. Scott sat up and asked, "Want me to stick around and help?" I sighed and said, "No, but thanks for offering. I think this needs to be my own thing. And I might need some time to think about stuff. OK?" He was disappointed, I imagine, but he seemed to understand. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he started gathering up his clothes and getting dressed. "When can I see you again?" he asked as he zipped up his jeans. We walked out to the kitchen to find our shirts, and I smiled thinking of how we were moving in reverse - putting our clothes back on and retracing our steps from earlier. Just to be silly about it, I hopped up onto the kitchen table as I put on my shirt, leaving the bra off for the afternoon. "I don't know," I answered him. "I'll call you, OK?" I think Scott picked up on my little joke, and he moved close to me. I spread my legs and held out my arms to welcome him in. He gave me one last, lingering kiss that I didn't want to end. His hands slipped under my shirt, up my sides and around to my bare back. After a moment of running his hands along my spine, he backed up and said softly, "I'll go now." I bit my tongue to keep myself from telling him to stay. I was already in too deep, and I wasn't sure if I wanted - really wanted - to keep going further. Everything with Scott had just felt right so far. Every next step was natural and good. But somewhere I had stopped thinking and had just gone along with it, and that was dangerous. Scott slipped on his shoes and headed for the door. I followed a few steps behind, my arms crossed around my middle, trying to preserve the feeling of being held by him. Like Ben the month before, Scott paused at the door and observed the picture of me at the beach. He looked at it, studying it for a good half-minute. Then he looked at me with a curious smile. "You were happy when this picture was taken," he stated. "Yep," I sighed. "Sure looks like it." "Do you remember... " he began. "Nope," I cut him off. "Well... " he began, then paused, closing his mouth. He exhaled slowly through his nose, studying the photo. A few seconds later he continued. "It must have been a good day." Having said that, he looked back at me and leaned in. He kissed my forehead as I was leaning up and trying to find his lips with my own. Pulling back, he opened the door and went down a step. He paused, half-turned, looked up at me and said, "Call me as soon as you're ready to. I'll be waiting." Stepping forward and putting my hand on the door to close it, I said, "I will. And... thanks." ******* Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 04 Early April 2001 Counselor: You don't see this as taking advantage of her? Patient: I guess it could be seen that way, but not if it's clear I have her best interest at heart. Counselor: The road to hell... Patient: Oh, shut up. Counselor: Have you decided what to tell her... and when? Patient: No. I... I just can't. Counselor: You know you have to, right? It has to come from you. If someone else tells her, or if she finds out in some other way... Patient: Yeah... that could get ugly. But... that look in her eyes, the way she sees me now. I can't bear to lose that. Counselor: You're going to lose it, you have to reconcile yourself to that idea. Patient: Dammit, you're supposed to be helping me feel better, not raining on my parade! Counselor: (smiles) Sometimes the quickest way through the storm is to run through it, not away from it. ******* I let the matter sit for the next week. The ball was really in my court, and Scott had said he would wait. Besides, men and sex and thoughts of such things were a weekend matter for me. Not that I could easily shut thoughts of Scott out of my head for a week, but I resolved not to do anything until Saturday. When Saturday came, I still wasn't sure what to do. But I knew I wanted to see Scott and to feel close to him again. But I didn't want to just come out and say that. Conveniently, my work in the garden had reached the point where I needed a few more bags of soil. On Saturday morning, I called Scott and asked him to come over to my place after I went to the nursery. I asked him to lend me the use of his strong back. He laughed and said, "My pleasure." I might have bought a little more than I needed, mostly to justify in my own mind asking for his help. Once he had finished piling up the large plastic sacks on my small patio, Scott stood at the sink and washed his hands. I walked up behind him and slid my hands under his shirt, rubbing his abdomen slowly. "How can I thank you for helping me?" I asked in an exaggeratedly sultry voice. Shaking his hands dry, Scott turned around and said, "By sharing a snack with me, something I picked up on the way here this morning." He opened the fridge and pulled out a small pastry box. Grabbing a plate and some forks, he put the odd-looking item on the table and cut it in half. "That's not what I had in mind," I said, giving him a curious look as he took a seat at my kitchen table. "Maybe you'll change your mind after you taste this," he replied, completely serious. When he saw me hesitating to sit down, Scott took one forkful and raised it to my mouth. "Just try one bite," he urged. I pulled my head back instinctively. I wasn't particularly adventurous about new foods, or at least I hadn't been since my accident. "What is it?" I asked, taking the fork in my own hand and studying the morsel. "It's called baklava," he answered, sitting back down. "I picked it up at the Lebanese restaurant near my place. You said you're part-Lebanese, and no self-respecting Lebanese person can say no to baklava." "Oh really," I challenged. "And you would know this how?" "My dad was Lebanese, and my grandmother insisted I have a complete culinary education of her home culture. Hurry up and take that bite, because I can't promise I'll save any for you once I start." He picked up the other fork and cut off a piece for himself. Taking the whole thing in one bite, he moaned in appreciation, slumping back in his chair. Hesitantly, I raised the fork to my lips. It smelled sweet, which wasn't a bad sign. I nibbled a corner but only got some crust. Scott made eye contact with me as I opened wide and took the whole bite at once. It was sweet and nutty and amazing. Scott laughed out loud at my reaction, which mainly consisted of me sitting down, pulling the whole plate in my direction and cutting off another piece. "You're right," I confessed through a mouthful of baklava, "I can't say no to this." As we sat at the table and finished off the pastry, Scott asked me about my plans for the garden. I had been using Ginny Bowers' book as my guide and was happy with the progress I'd made in just a week. Still, much of it was just empty space where seeds had been planted. "It's weird, though," I told him. "It's almost like I can picture the final result in my mind. It's mostly just dirt now, but I can see the colors when I look at it." Scott sighed and looked towards the window. "I know what you mean," he said. "Part of any creative activity is being able to see what isn't there yet. Artists do it, authors... gardeners, too." "So are you a gardener, too?" I asked. "Me? Oh, no no no," he laughed. "I can't even keep a cactus alive." "Then what's your creative outlet?" I pressed him. "Did the aspiring author take a job as an English teacher until he could get published?" "No, it's not like that, either," he smiled. "Though it wouldn't be the first time that happened, I'm sure. I've never done more than dabble with writing." Then he leaned back and looked around. "I was really into photography for a while. But, now that you mention it, I guess I haven't done much of anything lately. I kind of lost my creative spark." He looked pained and seemed to be thinking about saying more, but then he sighed, shrugged, and looked at me with longing in his eyes. "Awww," I pouted. "There's a sad story there." Not sure what else to do, I rose from my seat and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him to his feet. "Come on, let me cheer you up!" I expected him to eagerly follow me to the bedroom. I mean, why wouldn't he? But instead, he held my hand and pulled me back towards him. I stumbled a bit at the unexpected resistance, then steadied myself with a hand on the table. Still holding my hand, he pulled firmly, drawing me onto his lap. "Millie," he sighed (and it was funny how my heart warmed at his little nickname for me), "you are cheering me up. I enjoy spending time with you - talking with you. There will be time for... other stuff... later." Tilting my head in disbelief, I asked, "Are you really saying you don't want to have sex with me? That you don't want me?" His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me even closer. I rested my cheek on his shoulder and enjoyed the little bit of closeness that gave me. "No," he protested. "No, that's not true. God knows I want you - I want you all the time. But... I don't want you to think that that's all you are to me. Or to anyone else." I felt so suddenly transparent. It was like he saw through all my desperate weekends, like he had watched from across the room as I took men home, somehow knowing why I threw myself at them. Unable to stop myself from opening up to him, I whispered next to his ear, "But I want to give you something. And... and this is all I have to give." I was strangely unashamed of the tears that had begun forming as I spoke. "No," he said softly. "No, that's not true at all. Don't ever let yourself believe that." "It is true, Scott," I insisted. "You say you want more of me, but there really is no more. And I'm worried that if you keep expecting me to be this whole person you can relate to, then you're just going to be disappointed." Lifting my head, I pulled a little bit away from him, my hands needing room to gesture my frustration. "So I'm sorry if I keep throwing myself at you, but since I don't have a life I can open up to you, I can at least open up my legs. If you can't be happy with that, then maybe you should reconsider spending time with me." Scott's jaw twitched as he clenched it shut. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he responded in a controlled, tense voice, "I know it's hard to believe, and I know you're hurting in ways I can't begin to fathom, but just because you can't remember your past doesn't mean you don't have a future. You are free to choose that path, and I'm just asking to be a part of it." I had so seldom talked like this that even our short conversation had me feeling emotionally drained. So much was pushing its way to the surface, but I didn't want to deal with it. Not then, not with him there. I leaned into him, resting my forehead on his chest. He placed a hand gently on my back. He smelled so good. Why did he smell so good? I just wanted to keep breathing him in. I opened my eyes and saw the front of his pants. Reaching down, I unzipped them. "Millie," he warned as I tugged his pants down to his ankles. "Since you're so intent on me choosing, you need to consider this," I said, sliding onto my knees in front of him. "I called you here. I invited you back to my room. And you're not the only one who enjoys sex." "Amelia," he groaned as pulled out his soft cock through the opening in his boxers and began massaging it to hardness. I lightly traced lines through the short black curls around the base of his cock, causing him to shiver when I ran along the sensitive skin of his scrotum. "You let me do this for you," I suggested as his member began to rise, "and then we'll go somewhere and talk or do whatever you want. You can take me to that restaurant and buy me more of that baklava, OK?" "Mmmm," he moaned as my hand slowly pumped his cock to full strength. "Maybe I can see if they deliver." I smiled, knowing he was joking and glad that he wasn't protesting. In the full light of the late morning, I examined the stiff member in my hands. It was long enough that the tip stuck out when I wrapped both hands around the shaft. I knew he was circumcised, but I wasn't sure I knew what it would look like if he wasn't. I felt the warmth of it in my hands and noted its gentle throbbing in time with his pulse. Slowly, I slid my hands up, then back down just as slowly. A few strokes like that and then it was time to do what I'd been planning to do all morning. Removing one hand, I rested it on his bare thigh and replaced it with my lips. Scott's soft, drawn-out, "Ooooooohhh," told me I was doing exactly what I should be doing, which meant my instincts were a reliable guide. My lips curled around my teeth, giving me the ability to close down and provide tighter pressure without scraping him. Before long, Scott's hands were on the back of my head, gently guiding my motions. His hips pressed up towards my mouth, and my hand around his base ensured that he didn't press too far. I didn't mind that he would lose a little control; I knew what that felt like. I knew what it was like to be worked up by someone's lips, to be so hot in pursuit of the pleasure building up within you that your focus blocks out - momentarily - all thought of your partner's well-being. I knew that oral sex was partly a selfless act for that reason. I went down on Scott embracing the knowledge that he would be using my mouth for his own pleasure, and not - for that moment - considering how to return that pleasure to me. Turnabout would be for another time. For now, there was his warmth running past my tongue and teasing the back of my throat. There was the cadence of my well-timed breaths through my nose, preserving my seal around his erection. There was the sound of him starting to grunt and gasp as I sped up. There was the way my ears were tuned in for something I couldn't express until I heard him moan my name. "Amelia." To the extent my lips were able to, I smiled. Scott was breathing heavily, and every now and then his hands would push a little more firmly on my head, suddenly releasing when my hand would slide all the way to his base. I sped up, and the sound of my suction and saliva competed with Scott's intensifying moans. "Almost!" he warned me, which was considerate, even though I had no other plans than to let him release into my mouth. A few seconds later, he did just that. I tightened my grip on his base, sliding up and down just a little bit to urge his load out. His shaft pulsed against my lips, eventually slowing as his hand on my head relaxed. I pulled off a moment too soon, however, earning myself one last spray on my lips. I giggled at that, and Scott breathed out, "Sorry." "No problem," I smiled standing up. I picked up the napkin that still smelled of baklava and cleaned my mouth with it. Then reaching for his unfinished glass of tea, I swallowed a few gulps of the cool beverage before leaning over and kissing Scott. I was happy to take his release in my mouth, but the taste wasn't something I enjoyed on its own merit. "Would you like me to return the favor now?" he said, still somewhat out of breath. "No, not now. I'm actually more interested in lunch." "OK. Just give me a minute and I'll drive us." ******* Not long after, we were at the Lebanese restaurant, which was such a small place I'm not sure I would have even noticed it if I passed by on the street. Only six or seven small tables filled the dining area, and it seemed that the owner was also the cook. He greeted Scott affectionately, calling him some foreign word. Once he had taken our order and returned to the kitchen, I asked Scott what the name meant. "Beats me," he confessed in a low voice. "He's called me that for a while. I'm just hoping it doesn't mean 'moron' or something like that." While we waited, Scott told me about his grandmother and her cooking. It didn't take long for our dishes to be served, and each one made me marvel at the time I had wasted over the past year - so many meals that could have been spent there! Smiling at the way I wolfed down our food, Scott asked, "So does any of this bring back memories? Meals from your childhood maybe?" I thought for a moment, ate another stuffed grapeleaf, and answered, "No, no memories, I don't think. But tasting it isn't like tasting something new. It's like having again something I've been missing, something I know but haven't had in a long time, so you're probably not far off." "Well, I'm sure Johnny will be glad to know I've won him a new customer." "Johnny? Doesn't sound very Lebanese." "I'm sure he's got another name, but Johnny's the only one he tells me." Johnny himself walked up at that moment, and he talked with us about neighborhood gossip and old Lebanese sayings. Scott asked about delivery, and Johnny went on and on about the cost and benefit and why it won't happen this year but maybe next year if his nephew moves into town. By the time Scott was paying our bill, I was thinking about how normal I felt. Normal wasn't a feeling I often enjoyed. I usually felt odd, out of place. My life always felt like walking into a conversation after all the important stuff had already been said, making me and the people talking feel a little awkward. But Scott had a way of pushing those feelings aside for a while, which was probably one of the reasons I wanted to keep spending time with him. I had hoped to take him back to my place to pick up where we had left off that morning, but Scott apologized and said he had an appointment that afternoon. As he dropped me off at my place, we arranged to meet for dinner the next evening. There was a message on my machine when I got home. I watched Scott drive away and listened to Vicky's voice. Amelia, it's Vicky. Um... call me as soon as you can. It's urgent. The message had been left only minutes earlier. I called her number and she picked up right away. It sounded like she was driving. "Are you alone?" she asked. "Yes," I answered, a little puzzled. "Good, I'll be there in a few minutes." "Vicky, what's this about?" "I'll tell you when I get there," she said, then hung up. ******* I was worried for my friend. Vicky had been a good listener on the rare occasions I had felt like talking, but we had never really talked about her life other than superficial topics. For her to be coming to me like this made me wonder if something really bad had happened. Then, as I thought about that, I felt unprepared to deal with someone else's emotional mess. What would I say? What words of wisdom or comfort could I possibly offer? What did I even know that was worth sharing? Before I could get too worked up in my anxiety, Vicky was knocking at the door. She must have already been on her way over when she called. I let her in and was about to offer her something to drink but she brushed past me and headed straight for the kitchen. She looked flustered and almost angry as she sat down at the table. I bit back a smile at the thought of what Scott and I had done in that seat just a few hours earlier. I considered that, under other circumstances, I might have even told Vicky; she probably would have loved to hear it. But then she started talking, and I had to refocus my thoughts. Vicky's face was between her hands and she was trembling. She looked up at me with a sad smile and said, "Six years without a smoke and I still crave them. I guess some things just never leave your system, huh?" I didn't know what to say, so I shrugged and sat down across from her. She took a deep breath and said, "I saw you leaving a restaurant today. I was finishing my run and was across the street. I didn't... I went home and changed and called you as soon as I could." So far, this didn't sound like quite the emergency she had made it out to be. "Yeah, I had lunch with Scott, the guy I told you about. He wanted... " "That was Scott? Really?" She seemed even more agitated. "OK, that's... " then she sighed and calmed a little. "He might not be who you think he is, Amelia." I felt my gut tighten. "You... know him?" I asked, afraid to hear her answer. She gave me a look of genuine pity and said, "Yes, honey. I'm afraid I do. But first, tell me what he's told you, what you know about him." I told Vicky how we had met, how I had approached him at the bar and how we had gotten to know each other. I told her how easy it was to talk to him and how we seemed to click. I still omitted any mention of our sexual relationship, since it didn't seem relevant yet. As I talked, I realized I didn't know all that much about Scott. I knew he was a teacher, I knew about his interests, I knew a little about his family and that he was divorced. I didn't know anything about his past, though. Maybe since I never talked about mine, it didn't bother me that he avoided talking about his. Now, however, it started to look like a red flag. Vicky seemed very satisfied with my answer. "It's not too late, then," she said softly, smiling at me. "You had me worried, dear." Then she reached out her hand and stroked my cheek softly. "Has he... hit you?" I jerked my head back in surprise. "Hit me? No! No, of course not! Why would he... Why would you ask that? He's been so sweet and kind." "They always are at first," she said. "The abusive ones, I mean." I just stared at Vicky, not believing what she seemed to be implying. "I know... Scott." She emphasized his name with clear disgust. "You see, he used to work at my school. He's a real charmer, isn't he? He figures out just what you like, and then he gives it to you. He gets into your head that way, makes you feel like only he really understands you. But then he gets obsessed and possessive. And before you know it, he's trying to control you. And then the hitting starts." "No," I whispered. I couldn't picture him hurting me... or anyone. But I could see the other things she mentioned- getting in my head, figuring out what I liked. He was a little obsessive! I had chalked it up as him being 'romantic', but maybe that was naïve. Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 04 "Yes, dear. It's happened to others. And that wasn't all. I said he used to work at my school. He had to leave. There were some drug issues and he tried to hurt someone." "I can't... I can't even picture it," I mumbled, stunned. "He seems so... kind." "Well, you're a big girl, and it's your call," she said. "But as your friend, I'd say you should stay as far away from him as you can." "Of course," I said, shaking my head clear. "But listen to me," she said, with a pause that demanded my attention until I met her earnest stare. "This is important. You must not confront him. Don't tell him you know all this. It will only make him angry and he'll lash out at you. You have to just drop him. Don't take his calls, act like you've lost interest and that it's no big deal. You can do that, right?" "Yeah... yeah., I can do that," I mumbled, looking out the window at the bags of mulch and soil he had carried in for me that morning. Vicky looked at me for a moment, then smiled. "You're lucky, you know," she said. "If I hadn't seen you today, you might not have found out until it was too late." "Where would I be without you, Vicky?" I said, forcing a smile and taking her hand. "That's what friends are for!" she chirped, standing up. Then, noticing the backyard for the first time, she said, "Oh! When did that happen?" "Scott... " I began, then cringed. "He thought I could use a hobby. And... I really like it." Vicky frowned, "You see, babe? He's in your head. I mean, really? He's choosing your hobbies for you? And gardening?" She said the last word with a hint of disdain. "You need to consider what I said earlier about getting away, moving somewhere else and starting over. Now would be a good time to make a change. It's too messy for you here." "Yeah... messy," I said, my mind wandering. I had hoped Vicky would at least appreciate some of the beauty of the garden itself, despite its connection to Scott. Instead, she walked right on past and headed back towards the door. "Well, I gotta go. Cheer practice this afternoon! Call me if you need anything, OK?" And without waiting for a response, she was out the door. ******* I spent the rest of the afternoon working in the garden. It was a warm, sunny day in April and I was enjoying being outside. My mind was divided: I tried to focus entirely on the plantings, but I soon realized that didn't give me enough to think about. I tried to force memories to come back, but that never worked. Inevitably, I thought about Scott and how foolish and violated I felt. He was, it turned out, too good to be true. My mind dwelt on that thought for a few minutes, and before I knew it, I had angrily carved a trench the entire length of my garden plot. Maybe that anger could be harnessed and put to good use. I planted a row of basil, put down a layer of mulch, watered everything, then went inside to clean up. After a long shower and a couple hours with Ginny Bowers over dinner, I picked up the phone. Dialing Scott's number, I silently pleaded, Please don't answer... Please don't answer... Please don't answer. When the mechanical sound of his voicemail picked up, I exhaled loudly. "Hey... uh... Scott. It's Amelia. I'm going to have to cancel our plans for tomorrow. I guess things are moving too fast. Maybe I need some time to think. Don't feel like you need to wait for me or anything, OK? Thanks for... things. Please don't call. Bye." So... it wasn't as final as I wanted it to be, but Vicky had me scared about confronting him and getting him agitated. He did know where I lived, after all. I still couldn't picture him ever hurting me, but I guess that's the way every woman initially feels about the men who abuse them. I was craving something. It was like the food earlier that day, something I hadn't realized I'd been missing until I tried it. But this was more. I had been feeling it off and on for the past year and a half, especially when I felt the most stressed or lonely. That craving was what drove me so often to the bar in search of company. Going to the bar never satisfied it, but the exercise distracted me until it went away. The craving was as strong as ever, but I resolved to stay home. I dug through my cabinets until I found a bottle of Kahlua. Mixing it with some milk and chocolate, I drank a whole glass in one gulp, then mixed another. This wasn't what I had been craving, but it would do for now. ******* Scott did call - the next day. I didn't answer. I listened to him leave a simple message, apologizing for calling and offering to listen if I needed to talk, no strings attached. It seemed perfect, but I couldn't help but hear every word through the filter of Vicky's warnings. I deleted the message, vainly wishing that it could be just as simple to delete a person from one's life, too. The funny thing was, nearly everyone from my past had been deleted from my life. I didn't think it much of a blessing. Perhaps I would have been glad to be rid of some of them. But not all. ******* Weeks passed. I didn't hear from Scott again, except for a wordless message on my machine a week after I broke it off. Vicky stopped by at one point to make sure I was, in her words, "staying strong." My garden grew, and even though it had a painful association, it became something I could enjoy on its own merits and not just because of Scott. I began planning some indoor planters and even explored ways to make use of my vertical space. I didn't want to stop growing things. And all the time, I was resisting the urge to go to the bar. Nearly a month after Vicky told me the truth about Scott, I ran out of reasons not to go. I had finished my last Ginny Bowers book, which seemed to be the last novel she had written. It was dated almost three years earlier, one year before her gardening book. It was uncharacteristically sad and, I noticed, it lacked the usual dedication at the beginning: "To R.S.M., my inspiration." Having run out of books and ending on a depressing note, I resolved to return to the habits that had kept me reasonably - albeit moderately - satisfied in the previous year. Darla seemed surprised to see me, but she didn't say much. It was a busy night and her attentions were elsewhere. Zeke raised a mug in greeting and I smiled. Julia sat near me and said kindly, "I thought maybe you'd found your prince. We haven't seen you in a while." I smiled wryly and said, "No. I was starting to think I had, but after I kissed him, I found out he really was a frog." "We've all been there," Julia replied, more to herself than to me. We sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the after-work crowd start to roll in. People looked happy. People looked complete. People looked like they were doing exactly what they wanted to be doing. I didn't even notice that Julia had left the bar area until I saw her laughing at a table of suits. One guy was venturing to put his arm on the back of her chair. He probably didn't know how little resistance she was going to give. I felt no initiative that night. I wasn't going to walk up to any tables. I wasn't going to change seats to be near anyone. In fact, I was starting to feel the emptiness of this whole scene. No one was really happy here, were they? I could fake a smile, too. You had to smile, because no one wanted to be near someone who's sad. So we all smile, and we push our bodies close together and hope that the other person's happiness rubs off on us. But you're both just pretending and you both walk away feeling just as empty as you did when you showed up - maybe emptier. It was time for me to leave. "Uh... Hey. Amelia?" A soft, hesitant voice behind me startled me out of my reflection. I swiveled my head a little and saw him. Ben. I turned my body to face him and smiled. It was a little forced, but I was at least partly glad to see him. "Hi, Ben. How are you?" "Wow, I didn't expect to see you here," he said, looking a little uncomfortable. "I mean, I hoped I would, but... it's been a while. And I didn't know if you would... you know, remember me?" "It's not like that, Ben. I just can't remember stuff from before." "I know, but still. I'm not exactly memorable. And I feel bad about... upsetting you last time. I hope you can forgive me." "It's fine, Ben. No big deal." "The thing is... I'd like to see you again." "You're seeing me right now, aren't you?" I teased him. The thing about Ben was that he was timid and easy to get flustered. It made me feel powerful by comparison. Scott had made me feel... different. "Yes," he said with a little laugh. "I guess I am. But I mean... like, could I take you out some time? Get to know you a little better?" I looked around the room. "Did you just get here?" I asked him. "No, I got here on Wednesday," he said. "No, I mean tonight. Did you just get here?" "Oh! Sorry. A few minutes ago, yeah," he answered. "Let's head out now, then. Let's go for a walk and maybe find a place to sit." Ben's eyes lit up at that suggestion. I handed Darla some cash on my way out, and Ben scurried ahead of me to open the door. I breathed in deep as we walked out, enjoying the relatively fresh scent of the night air. "Which way?" he asked as we stood on the sidewalk, facing the street. "I think there's a small park down this way," I said, pointing to the left. I started walking and Ben fell into step next to me. We made banal observations about the sights we passed. That part of the city was calm but still occupied at night, so there was a gentle hum of noise mixed with the patches of light. The park was small and dark, and at night it wasn't very inviting. But there was a bench right along the sidewalk, near a lamppost, and we sat there. It was more than a little awkward. Neither of us seemed sure how to relate to the other: we had already had sex, so was it OK for him to put his arm around me or to put his hand on my leg? What would we do with our hands otherwise? If we had at least brought bread to feed the birds, it would have been more tolerable. We shifted around in different ways, ending up side-by-side, me with my legs crossed and my hands on one knee, Ben with his legs spread and his hands folded on his lap. "So... how have you been?" he asked. "OK, I guess," I answered. "I started gardening, which has been fun." "Oh. That's nice. Have you ever had a garden before?" "I don't know." "You... oh. Right. Sorry. Um... what are you growing?" "Herbs and flowers, mostly." "Must be pretty." "Not yet, but it will be eventually. It takes time." "Oh. Right." And on it went. For thirty painful minutes we forced conversation. Compared to the last time Ben and I had talked, I felt much more capable of talking and relating. And now that I felt that way, I realized how... boring... he was. I was sure he'd make a wonderfully compliant and faithful husband and father someday. He would fit into some zealous woman's plan for a stable home and family, and he would do and be whatever she told him to do and be. But I couldn't handle it. "Let's walk some more," I said standing up. "Alright," he answered, waiting to see which direction I chose. I headed back the way we came. When we got back to the bar, I paused. I had made my decision. Ben was boring, but he was safe. There wasn't a future with him, but I didn't need a future. I just needed a night. "Ben, I don't see us spending any time together after tonight. It's nothing personal, but we're just not a good match. Do you understand?" "Yeah, I get that," he said. He seemed sad but unsurprised. "But if you don't have other plans for the next few hours, would you mind coming back to my place?" "Your place?" "Yes, like last time. Only minus the coffee and dessert. I'm all out." "Oh! Uh... of course! That would be great. I'd love that," he said eagerly. "Of course you would," I smiled. "Oh, but Ben... no spending the night this time, OK?" He sighed. "Yeah, that's fine." ******* Ben lay next to me, well on his way to falling asleep. He deserved it, too. I had been so distracted and confused that it had taken me a long time to cum. Ben had held off heroically. I had told him not to bother, but had he insisted. We took breaks. He used his fingers. He used his tongue. We switched positions. Finally, when we were spooning and Ben was slowly pressing into me from behind, I was able to close my eyes and relax. His arm wrapped around me, gently massaging my breasts as he breathed steadily next to my ear. My hand moved down between my legs, firmly rubbing my clit in time with his thrusts. I imagined someone else behind me, strong arms that would protect me. An image came to mind, but my recent memory filled it in with Scott's face. I was too close to care. I started whimpering and Ben sped up. I knew he was close - he had to be. I pushed back against him, wanting to be filled, wanting to feel and be felt, wanting to hear him enjoy me as I enjoyed him. Flashes of... something... Of memories? Fantasies? Scenes like I'd read about, but not quite. Him on top of me, smiling down... My soul mate, my hero. Waves... the ocean... a beach? I squeezed the rigid presence inside me, not wanting to let him go. We were finally together. The joy of it, the sense of completion, his strength, inside me, his arms holding me... I gasped. My hand froze and my whole body convulsed. "Ru!" I cried out. When my knees pulled up to my chest, I almost lost contact with Ben's cock. He scooted forward and pushed deep. Taking my own cries as his cue, Ben drove into me a few more times and then released. His hands pulled my hips hard, forcing me back against him. I felt his pulsing competing against the clenching and releasing of my walls around him. Ben groaned and then whispered my name. My orgasm stretched out so that Ben was on his back breathing deep by the time I was beginning to calm down. His eyes were closed and I could tell he would fall asleep if I let him. Hell, I could probably fall asleep, too. Except that now I had a lot to think about. So much had flashed through my mind, but how could I even tell fantasy from memory? Was 'Ru' a real person, or was he a character I had connected with in a story? I looked at Ben. Ru... Ben... Reuben? It was just a coincidence, I was sure. But the way the name came to mind so naturally... I tried to concentrate, but the harder I focused, the more elusive everything became. Names and images, memories and fantasies, everything swirled together in one amorphous fog. Ben was asleep. If I woke him now and had him leave, that meant I would have to get up, and then I'd stay awake chasing these questions around my head. And so I scooted to the edge of the bed, pulled a sheet up to my neck, and closed my eyes. ******* Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 05 Late May, 2001 Patient: I suppose you're just dying to say 'I told you so.' Counselor: I don't think I need to. I'd rather talk about the 'now what?' Patient: Now I need to figure out what happened. I don't even know why she's avoiding me. But if I come on too strong, it's going to scare her away. Arrgghh! It's so frustrating! Counselor: Maybe it's better to just leave it at that? It could have ended a lot worse. Patient: (sharply) I don't like how you assume it's over. Counselor: (sighs) It was over before it started, in my opinion. I'm worried this whole incident is going to set you back. Patient: (calming down) I'm not thinking of killing myself again, if that's what you mean. It's more like the opposite. I feel like I've got more reason than ever to live. Maybe you should be encouraging that instead of trying to squash it. Counselor: (shakes his head) False hope is the most dangerous thing. False hope is what landed you in my office to begin with. ******* "Vicky, I know you told me never to ask you about this..." Her expression changed when she realized where I was going with our conversation. We had been nibbling on a shared pastry while trading meaningless chit-chat. "Amelia, don't do this to yourself..." I paused and searched her eyes. There was genuine worry there. Fear. Concern. That meant there was something bad in my past that she didn't want me to know. It was Sunday afternoon, a few weeks after that last night with Ben. I had felt relieved when I awakened in the middle of the night to find him gone, just as I had requested. I soon resumed my peaceful slumber. Then, when I had risen in the morning, I had found the kind note he had left thanking me for 'being a wonderful person and a very sexy woman.' He had optimistically left his number, which I tossed into a drawer without much thought. That note and the condom in the bathroom trash can were the only evidence that he'd ever been there. I kept thinking about the things I had seen and felt that night, and once I found myself thinking in circles, I called Vicky and asked her to meet me for coffee. She could tell from my voice that I was distracted, and I think she feared I was dealing with Scott issues. We met at a cafe a few blocks from my place. "I'm sorry, but I have to know, I..." "No. You don't. Let sleeping dogs lie, remember? Some things are better left in the past. Be glad you don't remember him! Most people wish they could just forget about their ex." "Tell me about my ex-husband," I demanded. I stared at her, willing her to break down and give in. I clenched my jaw and gripped my mug. Vicky stared back for a few moments, then slumped her shoulders and looked away. "Fine," she said dismissively. "Tell me what you know and I'll..." she waved her hand around in the air, "I'll fill in some details," she mumbled. "Thank you," I said sincerely, softening my voice as I relaxed a bit. I hadn't realized until just then what a burden it was not knowing these things. Vicky was still looking away, and the sun of the late spring morning hit the back of her head and made it shine. She looked positively angelic, and I felt frumpy and self-conscious in her presence. "My mother told me that he took advantage of me when I was too young to know any better. She said he 'wooed me with sappy romantic garbage,' then ruined my life. I changed my major or something? I don't know. But she seems to think I was going to be great and successful but then threw it all away because of him." Vicky shrugged and looked sideways at me. "Yeah, sounds about right," she mumbled. "You being with him was definitely a mistake. What else?" "After a few years he got tired of me, cheated on me, and left," I summarized. Vicky straightened up and turned a bit towards me. "He didn't just cheat on you, Amelia. It wasn't a one-time thing. He fell in love with someone else, and even though he was married to you, his heart was never there. He told you the other woman was his true soul mate. They moved away together and that's the last you'll ever hear of him." She spoke harshly, without compassion. And even though we were talking about people I no longer knew, the words still stung. I felt protective of my former self, and on her behalf I felt betrayed. I wanted to fight for her sake. But fight whom? Fight what? Fight how? "My mother said I 'took it like a sissy,'" I continued. "She said I moped for months until she convinced me to get rid of his name and try to forget about him." "Oh yeah. And you listened. You went back to your maiden name, got rid of his pictures and everything that reminded you of him. You were dead set on moving on. It was like the whole marriage had never happened." "Did he... Was he abusive?" I asked, afraid to hear her answer. She was silent a few seconds. "Not that you ever told me. But who knows, right? And isn't it enough that he dropped you? Doesn't that tell you how he really felt about you in the end?" "What was his name, Vicky?" "His name? What? You don't need to know that. It's better if you... " "His name, Vicky, I need to know." Vicky looked away and up. She shook her head a little and said, "Maurice. Maurice Knight. OK? But just let it drop, OK? Your mother and your best friend are telling you he's the worst thing that happened to you. You have to trust us." I sighed and wished I had some response to that. Vicky's face softened and she leaned in towards me. Wrapping both hands around her mug, she said, "Amelia... honey... what's going on? Do you want me to help you find a nice guy? Is that what this is about?" I looked up at her a little embarrassed. It wasn't quite about that, but maybe there was an element of wanting someone in my life - someone like Scott had seemed to be, someone who wanted to share my future. "I don't know," I confessed. "I'm just... Strange ideas, or... or flashes of memories come to me now and then, and I don't know how to understand them, how to tell fiction from fact." Vicky looked worried. "Memories? Oh... oh my, that must be... disorienting. You... you have to talk to me about these things, Amelia. I'm here for you. Let me help you sort things out." "Thanks, Vicky. Thanks for still being around," I said as she motioned for her bill. We sat in silence, looking around at the people enjoying a stroll through the streets on that beautiful afternoon. Just before we stood to leave, I said, "Vicky, I have one more question." "Hm?" she said, signing her receipt and putting it back on the table. "Should the name 'Ru' or... 'Reuben' mean anything to me?" Still looking down, Vicky sucked in her lips and bit on them, thinking. After a few seconds she looked up and said cheerily, "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell... unless you're thinking of a sandwich!" I was disappointed, but not too surprised. I had probably invested too much meaning into that brief and fuzzy thought. Ru was nothing more than a character I had lusted after, someone from one of the books I had read, no doubt. Vicky leaned in and gave me a quick hug before heading down the street. I stood there alone for a moment, not sure where to go next. The smell of bread and meat from the deli next door, combined with Vicky's joke about a Reuben sandwich, turned me towards the smells to buy some meats and cheeses to take home. With a smile I thought that, even if my memory was gone, I could still trust my nose. ******* I awoke in a sweat. I had stretched out on my couch after working in the garden for a few hours. Weeding was my time to think, and in the week since Vicky had told me about Maurice, I had thought a lot about whether or not to try to learn more about him, and if so, how. But all that time in the sun had sapped my energy. As I napped, I dreamed. Maybe the scent of herbs lingering on my body had set the scene. I had pictured myself with my lover, with Ru, on the ground outside. Flowers and mint and rosemary brushed against our bodies. He slid my pants down and planted kisses along the sensitive spots of my inner thighs. I arched my back and felt the warm sun on my face. The dream came to an abrupt end when the sound of brakes squealed on my street. My hand had found its way into my pants, stoking the fire in my loins. Dammit! I tried to lie back and rub myself the rest of the way, but the moment was lost. Being startled awake from a dream like that quickly kills the mood that your subconscious has worked so hard to create. I didn't feel sexy or loved; what I felt was uncomfortable and horny. With an exaggerated sigh, I got up and went to the shower. The craving was back. It had come and gone over the past few months. I was doing better resisting it, especially since I didn't even know what my body wanted. I thought of Vicky and her cigarette cravings. Did I used to smoke? I did have one craving that I could identify: I wanted more of that Lebanese food. I took off work early one day, just to make sure I would get there while Scott would still be teaching and that I wouldn't bump into him. Johnny greeted me like a regular and boxed up my substantial order. "Party?" he asked in his gravelly voice. "No... just... feeling like eating a lot of Lebanese food this week," I said with a smile and a shrug. Johnny ran around the counter and held the door open for me as I walked out. "I feel like that every week!" he laughed. "You come back when you ready for more, K?" "Sure thing!" I yelled over my shoulder. ******* That night I dreamed of 'Ru' again. Not Ru, specifically - just a fantasy lover who seemed to be special to me. His face and body were more Scott than anyone else, but I felt as much love as I did lust when I thought of him. The problem was, I never found any release from those dreams. I woke up frustrated, sometimes finishing with my fingers, but it wasn't enough; it just didn't satisfy. It had been nearly a month since that night with Ben. God, I was craving some contact. I knew I was just trying to use something sexual and physical to make up for something emotional that was lacking, but I didn't care. As long as it gave me a break from feeling so isolated... it would be worth it. And it cost me nothing. Right? ******* Saturday night. Not the business crowd of after-work revelers starting their weekend. No, this was the let's-go-out-and-get-drunk-'cause-we-don't-know-what-else-to-do crowd. I resolved not to waste my time. I showed up purposely late - almost 10 p.m. Go in, pick a guy, size him up, slip out together. It was that simple. I was thinking I should find someone with dark hair, just to help my fantasies find substance. But I didn't plan to be finicky. I took my seat at the bar. When Zeke saw me, he shouted to Darla, "Hey!" Darla turned around to face him, and he nodded in my direction. Darla frowned, reached into her pocket, and handed a few bills to Zeke, who pocketed them with a smile. Coming over to take my order, Darla chided me, "You couldn't've stayed away for one whole month?" Zeke just smiled and raised his mug to me. "Just kiddin', babe," she went on. "I'm always happy to see you." Her voice had that older-sister sincerity that put me at ease, even if I bristled at the thought of my desperation being the subject of a bar bet. Just as Darla handed me a drink, a waitress leaned against the bar next to me. Chomping mercilessly on some chewing gum whenever Darla wasn't looking, she handed me a folded scrap of paper and said, "Someone wants to talk to you." I glanced at the note. It read, This doesn't count as calling you, does it? I looked up and the waitress nodded towards a small table near the back. It was Scott. I cursed myself for being so naïve as to think he wouldn't keep coming to the same bar. I turned my back to him and closed my eyes. I couldn't deny that there was a part of me (maybe several parts) that still wanted to be with him. But acknowledging those desires made me feel like the poor abused woman who was convinced there was nothing wrong with her man. I heard a little voice arguing that as long as the pros outnumbered the cons, then it must be OK. I angrily countered that the cons still outweighed the pros, regardless of their number. Still... he had never done anything to me... yet. And I wasn't a helpless little girl. I was strong enough to face him in public and make sure he knew that he wasn't welcome in my life. In fact, that it was in public would make this a lot easier. He wouldn't do anything with other people around, right? If he did, Darla's cook, Ruslan, was always on call to take care of the bad elements who sometimes found their way into the bar. His 280 pounds of grumpy muscle would make anyone think twice about causing problems. Darla would have my back. I straightened up, took hold of my drink, and strode across the room. Scott stood up as I arrived, waiting to sit down until after I was settled. "Did you want anything to eat?" he asked. "No thanks, I won't be staying long." "Look," he said, putting his napkin back on his lap, "I just want to talk. I feel like... like something happened that I don't understand. And if any of it was my fault, then... I'm really sorry. But you have to let me know what it is, give me a chance to make it right." "No... it's not like that or anything. I just... didn't feel right with you anymore." Even as I spoke, I realized how much of a lie it was. Things with Scott had felt right, more right than anything else had felt in the past two years. "I took some time to think about it, and I decided that being with you wasn't what I wanted. I had rushed into it without thinking, but once I thought about it... you know, that was it." He sank back into his chair. Giving me a suspicious look, he said, "There's something you're not telling me." "There are plenty of things I'm not telling you," I snapped. "And I'd bet there's quite a bit you're not telling me." That seemed to surprise him, confirming, a little, that I was right. "OK, OK, let's back up," he said, putting his palms out and calming down. "Millie... I... Forget about a relationship or, or anything physical. I want to at least be your friend, to be a part of your life. Do you understand that?" "My name isn't Millie," I said curtly, my anger rising the more he tried to placate me. "And you are not my friend. Vicky is my friend, and she says you are a liar." At the name "Vicky," Scott's face went pale. Gotcha, I thought. I even allowed myself to smile smugly. "Vicky?" he choked out, in disbelief. "Vicky... your friend?" "Yep. The only friend who has stuck with me since my accident." "Vicky Brown, the... the blonde... cheerleader... " "Oh, you know her?" I said with fake surprise. "Yeah," I nodded, "We're good friends." OK, that was an exaggeration, but I was practically gloating and I loved seeing him squirm. If I had had any doubts about what Vicky had said, this was putting them all to rest. "What did Vicky say about me?" he asked, his voice hushed and tense. "She told me the truth," I smiled. "What did that... woman... say?" "You really don't like her, do you?" I teased. "What, did you try to hit her, too?" Scott's whole expression changed in a flash. Instead of tense and angry, he suddenly relaxed, straightened up and looked at me intently. "Amelia, if you still have even an ounce of faith in me, please answer this one question: how well do you know Vicky?" "Well enough to trust her, I promise you that." Scott's gaze never wavered. He sat expressionless, waiting for me to continue. "She came to the hospital after my accident. She got my apartment ready for me when I was about to be discharged. She helped me get things like mail and bank accounts taken care of. She helped me get my job. She's been filling in some of the pieces of my old life. So yeah, I'd say I trust her pretty damn much. So when she sees the two of us together and then rushes over to tell me that you've got a history of abuse and drugs and only God knows what else, I'm going to take that into consideration." Scott fell backwards, slumped in his chair and covered his face with his hands. I watched him breathe deeply a few times before he straightened up and brought his elbows back to the table. "OK, one step at a time," he said, folding his hands and exhaling slowly. "I don't know how to convince you of this right now, but Vicky is lying about me. I've never abused anyone or struck anyone." "Well, why should I believe you? Why would Vicky lie to me?" I meant it as a rhetorical question, but Scott had an answer. "Because Vicky is still trying to be with me." Oh dear God! Scott was Vicky's Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome? "We... we had a thing a few years ago. It was a mistake, a big mistake. I ended it, but she won't let go. We used to work together... I changed schools to get away from her, but she insists that we should be together. I haven't... " he sighed. "You're the first woman I've been close to since Vicky. That probably kept her hopes up - seeing that I was still available. But then seeing us together probably made her blow a gasket. I don't know." "And the drugs?" I pressed, too stunned to really process what he had just dropped on me. "I don't know. I mean, well, I guess she's talking about... something that happened after she and I... broke up. I was dealing with a lot of other shit and was in a really low place. I had hurt someone I loved - not... not hit them. You know, I had broken her heart by being with Vicky. Anyway, I... tried to end it. I took some pills - a lot of them. An ambulance ride and a stomach pump later, and I was once again face to face with my problems." Seeing my shocked expression, he continued. "I've been getting counseling, and I'm in a much better place. I'm still trying to... to make amends and regain some of the happiness I once had, but... well, there you have it. You can... you can check your sources and see which story pans out, but I promise you it will be mine." Instinctively, I murmured in a soft and tiny voice, "I believe you." Some vague concerns were swimming in the back of my head, things I needed to ask Vicky about. Things she said that didn't make sense. On a whim, I asked, "Scott, did you know Maurice Knight?" "Who?" His expression showed genuine ignorance. "I don't think I know a Maurice. Who is he?" "No one," I said, my mind distant. "Well, anyway, I'm sorry for not telling you some of these things sooner. It's hard having a past that you're ashamed of. You can feel so weighed down by it. I mean, I'm the teacher who tried to kill himself. Who wants that on their resume? And what parent wants their kid in that class?" I looked at him with understanding. "The past," I suggested, "is both more and less important than you think." The corner of Scott's lip curled up. He said, "Coming from you, Amelia, that is very meaningful." "Millie," I corrected him. We continued talking, drifting to more comfortable, casual topics. The crowd dwindled considerably during our conversation, and after a while I looked around for the clock. It was a little past 11. "Well, I came here tonight hoping to get laid," I said, winking at him. "I guess you'll have to do. And I feel like I owe you an apology anyway." The waitress had already been signaled to bring the bill, and Scott said, "Let me walk you home and we can talk." Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 05 "You sure do like to talk," I commented. "Not with everyone," he said, standing up. ******* There was a light breeze that night, sweeping away the heat of the day. It made for a pleasant walk through the mostly empty streets. We talked about movies and stories and music and other things we'd experienced in the past few months. When we got to my door, Scott stopped before going up the steps. I smiled and said, "It's OK. We can keep talking while you fuck me." "How about tomorrow night instead?" he suggested tentatively. "What? Why...? Why did you walk me home?" He shrugged. "I didn't want you taking anyone else home with you." "And why won't you come in?" I asked, frustrated at his games. "I told you before: this is my choice. I want this, too." "Yeah, and this is my choice," he said calmly. "As much as I really want to go to bed with you right now, I don't want to be just... the body you want next to you tonight. I want to know that I'm more than that to you, in the same way that you're more than that to me." "Wow, cock-blocked by romance," I said snidely, a little annoyed. Then I took a few steps back down to stand in front of him. "OK, I'll admit it. I'm drawn to you. I... I really like you, and I'm so glad that those things Vicky said weren't true." Then turning my head to the side, I muttered, "But I'm also just a little worried that they are true and that you're still playing with my head like she said you would." Scott wrinkled his brow in concern. "But mostly... I believe you. You're different from... well, from every other person I can ever remember knowing." He laughed at that statement. "It's like you see more of me than other people do, more than even I see." Those words started to sound familiar... I thought back a few months. "I'm your creative outlet!" I shouted excitedly. "You see the things that other people don't see - the things that aren't there yet." I put my fingers under his collar and leaned in towards his lips. "And then you bring them to life." I paused and inhaled. How I had missed his smell! Scott pushed his head forward to cross the inch between us. Our lips touched briefly, then he pulled back. "I could listen to you all night," he said with a smile. "Then come inside and I'll keep talking," I promised. "Whenever my mouth isn't otherwise engaged," I added, pecking his lips again. "Not tonight," he insisted. "Think about me, think about us, think about tomorrow. I need to know it's not the late hour, not the drinks the waitress kept bringing you when you weren't paying attention, and not your determination to get laid tonight. I want you to be sure you trust me, and I need to know you made that decision with your head clear. Call me tomorrow if you want... me." "I will," I answered, only noticing the double meaning as he walked away. ******* That night I dreamed again. Not of "Ru," but of Scott. When I rose in the morning, I was unsatisfied but not frustrated. It was the kind of dissatisfaction that is filled with anticipation. I looked at the clock and wondered when it would be late enough to call Scott. By 8:30, I figured that, even if I was too early, he would forgive me. He answered the phone on the second ring. "Hey, lover," I greeted him. "You never got to come see my garden last night." ******* I moaned, letting my mouth take in every texture. I opened my eyes and saw Scott watching me with a satisfied smile. "Now this is the way to spend a Sunday morning," he said. I grinned and licked my lips. "Ready for more?" he asked. "Mm-hmm," I answered, not sure how much more I could handle. "Technically baklava is a dessert, I'm told," he said, cutting me one more piece. "But I think it makes a great breakfast food." Scott had stopped by Johnny's place on his way to mine. "I think it makes a great anytime food," I added. "The table and chairs were an inspired idea," he said, referring to the small metal patio furniture I had set up in the corner of my garden. The location gave us a nice view of the whole yard and was shaded by my neighbor's house. In the winter, I could move it to a different corner that received a lot of sun. "Thank you," I smiled, quite proud of how things were looking. I told him about my plans to start building higher levels for more planting. "I'm not exceptionally crafty with tools, but I can use them without hurting myself," Scott said. "If you want some help, let me know. I even have my own power tools." I smiled and thanked him. Then I said, "Wait, was that just a set-up for me to say something like, 'That's not the kind of tool I'm interested in right now'?" Scott laughed, almost spitting out his last bite, and said, "You've been reading too much Ginny Bowers." I playfully hit his arm with the back of my hand, then stood up. "Follow me," I told him. Scott traced my steps along the narrow garden path. We stopped at the back door and turned to look at the yard again. "From this angle, it's like a different scene altogether - different colors and scents... That's amazing," he said softly, turning to kiss my neck before going into the house. I giggled with happiness and followed him in. As soon as he had set our plates in the sink, I started shoving him towards the hallway. As I shoved, I untucked his shirt and started rolling it up off of him. "Now," I said, "there's no alcohol... " pushing him backwards through my bedroom door, "there's no late hour... " tossing his shirt onto my floor, "there's just my long-denied desire to get you back into my bed." Scott laughed as he fell into a sitting position at the edge of my mattress. I pulled off my shirt and stretched, giving Scott a chance to admire my naked breasts. Then pushing my shorts to the floor, I strode forwards and shoved Scott onto his back. "For making me wait so long... " I crawled onto him, then kept going until my legs were straddling his head, "you owe me." I dropped to the bed, resting my head on my forearms as Scott's tongue began licking me in earnest. The cool wind of the ceiling fan gave me chills at first, but as Scott went to work, I needed that breeze to keep me from sweating. His fingers parted my lips, giving his tongue access to the sensitive ring around my entrance. I gasped and pushed down at the contact. After pressing the tip of his tongue past my entrance a few times, he slowly worked it up to the top of my slit. When his tongue began circling my most sensitive spot, I dropped from my elbows to my shoulders. My hands began rubbing my abdomen and my breasts, wishing Scott had two or three more hands to touch me everywhere. God, I needed to feel him on me! Just as his tongue began to press on my clit, I pulled away and opened the nightstand drawer. Hearing that noise and knowing what it signified, Scott shucked his shorts and took the packet from my hands. A few seconds later he was in my arms. I looked adoringly into those gorgeous blue eyes as he worked his way into me. Small cries came unbidden and hardly noticed as he pushed further and further in. When we were finally joined, our lips met again. I tasted my own tangy flavor on his mouth and held his head in place, wanting only to keep kissing him. I didn't need to move; Scott's hips shifted and adjusted until I began moaning into his mouth - the response he was looking for. I was still so worked up from his tongue and from the excitement of the moment that I was on the edge. Rather than thrust, Scott put his hands under me and pulled my hips up towards him. Then he grinded his crotch against mine, rubbing against my still-exposed clit. I whimpered into his mouth. I wanted to keep kissing him, to keep feeling his face pressed against mine, but it was too much. I needed to breathe. His rubbing was sending signals to my body, preparing it for the release that was imminent. I let go of his head and wrapped my arms tight around his back. I let him do all the work, because he was doing everything right. I just wanted to hold onto him. I felt lost at sea without him. Scott's movements became more vigorous, and I started crying softly with each one. Small, firm presses against me, forcing out a cadence of high-pitched, MMMFs and HMMMs. He was pushing me there, taking me so close. I put my mouth on the spot where his neck met his shoulder. The muscle there was tight and my teeth gripped it gently. Scott groaned and whispered, "Millie!" I let go of his shoulder and felt myself starting to cum. Suddenly releasing my embrace, I put my hands between us and pushed up a little on his chest. I wanted to be somehow more intimate, to connect more deeply. I needed to see him, I wanted my vision to be filled with his face, his eyes. I wanted him to see what he did to me. My eyes were forced shut as I fell over the edge. My hips pulled away so that Scott was only halfway inside me. I felt his shaft with each squeeze of my walls around him. I got my eyes to flutter open and saw his form suspended above me. "Oh God!" I gasped, then pushed my head into his shoulder. The most intense phase was passing, and Scott slowly pushed back into me. He rested his hips on mine as I continued to tremble. His lips found lonely spots on my ears, my neck, my shoulders, my breasts. I lightly patted his chest with my hand, my arms feeling so weak. Then I wrapped them around him again, rubbing up and down the smooth skin of his back, tracing the ripples of his ribs on his sides. "Do you see what you do to me?" I whispered. Propping himself up a bit, he said, "Now imagine that same feeling in here," he tapped my chest above my heart, "and in here," he touched the side of my head. "That's what I want to do to you." Overcome with sensation and emotion, I just pulled him tight and slowly rocked my hips up towards him. A question occurred to me, one I almost didn't dare to ask, especially in that moment. "You said I was the first woman you were close to after Vicky. Does that mean... " "You are the only woman I've been with in over two years," he replied, starting to thrust into me. "Even after I called it off two months ago?" "Even then." "Why?" "Because you're special," he said, finding my lips and drawing my tongue out to meet his. After we paused to catch our breath, I pulled my legs up and locked my ankles at his back. "I don't feel very special," I mused. "Neither do I," he replied after a moment, then ran kisses across my throat. I leaned my head back to give him room. I felt so vulnerable opening my throat to him like that. "But you're special to me," I mused, wondering why that was. "And there's your answer," he sighed, starting to speed up his thrusts. He didn't need to tell me he was close. I could feel him fighting to be deeper inside me, trying to be closer to me, trying to force our bodies to be one. I grunted in time with his thrusts, my breath forced out by his passion. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God... " he chanted. At the last second, he pulled himself up higher, looking down on my body, smiling a half smile before closing his eyes and groaning. His groan ended but his mouth stayed open in a silent cry. As he pulsed inside me, I caressed his cheek. He shivered. Slowly he lowered himself back onto me, kissed my lips softly, then withdrew. A few moments later he was curled up behind me, my arm holding his arm holding me. "Now this is the way to spend a Sunday morning," I concluded. ******* Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 06 Mid-June 2001 Counselor: I'm not saying you shouldn't be happy. I'm saying that even a happy lie is still a lie. Patient: Which is basically the same as saying I shouldn't be happy. Counselor: No. What I want you to understand is that you've only reached a temporary solution. Patient: And I should be bracing for it all to come crashing down? Counselor: No. Maybe. I'd rather you not be passive about it. I'd rather you think through what constructive, helpful next steps you can take to fix this. Patient: Maybe it doesn't need to be fixed. Counselor: Can you really picture that approach playing out in the long term? For the rest of your life? Patient: No. No, I guess not. I just... need a little time to figure out what to do. Counselor: And yes, now that I think about it, I want you to be ready for it to all come crashing down. Because if it does, I don't want you to react the way you did last time. ******* It was a wonderful day. After Scott and I convinced ourselves to get out of bed, we went to lunch at a Ukrainian place a few blocks away (I had eaten my fill of Lebanese food the week before). Before heading out, I grabbed a small bag I had waiting near the door. "What's that?" Scott asked. "A surprise for later," I teased. When lunch was winding down, Scott said, "I'm guessing you have some plans for us after this?" "Yep," I smiled. "And you're not going to tell me?" "You'll see." I drove us to a big park, one with a lot of green space and water features. I was especially glad that we had a sunny day. I carried the bag close to me while we found a shady spot to sit for a bit. Then I opened the bag and pulled out my surprise. In an old leather satchel, I had a classic 35mm camera with a lot of accessories. Scott's eyes went wide in awe. "I know people are saying that digital cameras are the thing now, but I found this in my stuff. I... don't remember how to use it other than to point and click. But if you'd like to put the old girl through her paces and see how she does, I'd love to see what kind of shape she's in. Scott was speechless, taking it gently into his hands almost like he was holding a newborn baby. "I'm not giving it to you," I teased. "You can close your mouth." He smiled and looked at me. "It just looks... like... a very special camera. And I'm familiar with this model. It's very good... if it's still working." "Try it and see, I guess?" For the next few hours, he tried a lot. There were several rolls of film in the case, and I had picked up a few more when I first found the camera, wondering if using it would spark some memories. But I had been too afraid to do anything with it, lest I break something. Scott took pictures of scenery, of people, of birds, and even a few of me. "I can't wait to see how they turn out," I said as we walked back to the car. "How long do I have to wait?" "I... I used to develop the film myself. But I don't have a room that would work for that anymore. I think I still know a guy I would trust to do it for me, though. Maybe a few days?" "Perhaps one of my upstairs rooms would work," I offered. "All I use is the library; the other one is open." "I think the other room would work great," he said softly, still looking at the camera. "It would take some time to set up, though. Maybe later, right?" I said nothing in response. I just smiled, gripped his bicep and leaned against him. ******* We spent the rest of the day together, ordering a pizza and watching a movie on my couch. We made love before bed, and despite my promises of morning sex if he stayed the night, Scott needed to leave. He had to work in the morning and hadn't brought a change of clothes. I begged him to call in sick, but he said it was the last two days of the school year, so he had to be there. He took with him the six rolls of film that he had shot that afternoon but left the camera. "Best to keep it here, where it belongs," he advised. He did let it linger in his hands a few seconds, though, before putting it down. I sighed after I closed the door behind him. I guess I was falling in love. But there was one loose end to tie up. What the hell would I say to Vicky? ******* A few evenings later that week, I was pulling my first attempt at lasagna out of the oven when Vicky knocked on my door. I had called her that day saying we needed to talk. When I opened the door, she was hunched over, hands on her knees. She was in her running gear and had headphones on. When she saw me, she pulled the headphones off, turned off her Walkman, and said, "Hey, I got your message. Your place is on my route, so I thought I'd stop by. Or is this something that might take a while?" My conversations with Vicky, I had begun to notice, never took long. She usually wrapped them up pretty quickly. At first I blamed myself for not having anything to talk about, but now I was starting to see her in a different light. "I don't know," I said. "It might just take a minute; I want to get your take on something. Wanna come in?" "Yeah, I'll stand inside and feel the AC for a sec." As I closed the door behind her, she straightened up and said, "Oooh, something smells good." "Lasagna. We'll see how it tastes. Join me if you want." "Nah," she said, patting her belly. "Not good to eat on the run." "Well, I won't keep you, then," I said as casually as I could. "I was just wondering why you didn't mention that you used to date Scott. And then I started to think he might be your mystery man. Isn't that funny?" I had opted for the blindside approach to try to get an unfiltered reaction. What I got was a panicked look. She stepped back like she expected me to hit her. "Oh my God, how did you... You... you talked to him? After I... " "After you fed me enough lies to scare me away from the first guy who actually cares about me? Yeah, kind of stupid of me, I know." "He... he's messing with your head, Amelia. You can't trust... " "Give it up, Vicky. His story checks out. Yours... doesn't." I hadn't actually checked on either story, but I was playing my hunch, hoping Vicky's reaction would confirm it. It did. She glanced around like a trapped animal, desperately looking for a way out. She bit her bottom lip and looked at me, begging without words. "You don't understand, Amelia," she pleaded. "Then explain it to me, Vicky. Explain it so I understand. I've lost my memory, but not my ability to think." She was still a little breathless from her run, which made her look all the more afraid. As I stared her down, waiting for an explanation I knew wouldn't come, Vicky closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes they were focused, determined. She slowly stepped towards me and said in a steady voice, "Amelia, honey, I wasn't trying to keep him to myself. It was you. I was trying to keep you to myself." And before I could process what that might mean, she reached out and put her hands on my cheeks. Leaning in, she kissed me. It took me about a second to react. Her lips were parting and her tongue had just tapped my lips when I pulled back and said, "No!... No! What the hell?" "You don't remember, honey, it's OK. But haven't you wondered why I've been here all along, why I'm the only one? You loved me." Her voice was soothing, tender, pleading, but shaking. And none of it felt or sounded right. But... was this what I had been craving inexplicably for two years? Was this that longing I hadn't been able to identify or satisfy, the one that always hit me when I felt alone? I looked away, my hand on my forehead, dizzy from confusion. "After your divorce, you came to me and I comforted you. And one thing led to another. We didn't plan it, but...it happened. You don't know how hard it's been... not being with you all this time, being right in front of you but still a stranger. There is no mystery man. I made it up because... because... when you never seemed interested in me... I didn't want you to get suspicious. I thought maybe you'd come around... in time." I finally found my voice. It seemed... plausible, but not convincing. "Vicky... I don't really get it. Why... Why would you... " Vicky wrung her hands nervously and tried to smile. "I know it doesn't all make sense, but I was desperate. And when I saw you with Scott, and I knew... from before... that he was a genuinely nice guy... I worried I would lose you forever. So I got scared and made up a lie. I didn't want to lose you." She was trying to touch me, to put her hands on my arms, but I only wanted space. I felt violated. "Vicky... please... leave!" She froze, her eyes almost crazy. "Leave?" "Yes," I said firmly. "This is... a lot to take in. I need some time to think about it." "Let me stay the night... I'll go shower. Let's have dinner together and talk and... tonight... we can talk, or..." "Vicky, please go." She looked deflated. I stepped around her, opened the door, and motioned with my hand that she should exit. "Amelia... Please don't do this to me," she begged. I closed my eyes and raised my hand in frustration. "Just... give me some space," I said as calmly as I could. "This is a mistake," she said as she walked past me. "A little time to think is not a mistake," I countered. "Especially if you love me." She winced at that last jab, then walked down the steps. I closed the door, then moved to a different room to watch from a window. She stomped her foot and yelled something into the air, then she put her headphones back on and started to run. In a few seconds, she was out of sight. ******* I ate my lasagna (which had turned out OK) while deep in thought. I cleaned up and washed my dishes, still thinking. I showered and got in bed, never ceasing to turn over every angle in my head. I fell asleep still asking questions. Scott had left me a message inviting me to dinner at his place the next night; I forgot to respond. The next day, I was distracted at work. I had gone in on a Saturday to work some overtime, but I worried I was being noticeably unproductive. I got home and found another message from Scott, including his address. I called him back and said I'd be over in a little bit. During the drive through the city, I tried to summarize what I'd concluded: 1) Regardless of what may have happened before my accident, the new me did not have any sexual attraction to women. 2) There were a lot of holes in Vicky's explanation, some of which I couldn't quite put my finger on, but overall it just sounded wrong. The fact that she so often encouraged me to move away and start over, that she was so seldom around, and that we usually met only when I called her all argued against the "lover in waiting" scenario. 3) The whole thing seemed more like a last desperate attempt to keep me away from Scott. 4) I was definitely falling in love with Scott. I pulled into the parking lot of Scott's apartment building and briefly considered how much to tell him. I quickly decided that the answer to that was, "everything." When Scott greeted me at the door, I threw my arms around him and gave him a big kiss. The kiss went on and on, threatening to preempt our dinner plans. When Scott finally initiated a pause, I said breathlessly, "That was much better than my last kiss." Chuckling as he lead us away from the door and into his apartment, Scott said, "Sorry to have disappointed you last time." Following him into the kitchen I said casually, "Wasn't you." Not sure what my game was, Scott half turned and looked at me, saying, "OK, I'll bite. Who was it?" "Oh, you know... Vicky." "Bullshit," he said, his voice serious. "I'll tell you all about it over dinner," I assured him. ******* We sat at the small table in his kitchen and Scott listened wide-eyed as I recalled for him my encounter with Vicky from the night before. His jaw and neck clenched at times, and I could tell he wanted to say something, but then he would shove another bite into his mouth and keep listening. I told him about most of the things I'd concluded since then (saving only the last one for another time). By the time I was done, Scott had finished his meal and I'd barely gotten a few bites in. "Eat," he said to me, pointing at my plate. When I started digging in, Scott said, "She's full of... lies, Millie. I know she wasn't with you before your accident. She was with me for some of that time, and then after that, she was very actively trying to get back together with me." "That's about what I figured," I said between bites. Scott half-smiled and shook his head. "I'm just surprised she was so desperate that she kissed you... and even offered to spend the night," he chuckled. "Well, my guess is she was hoping I wouldn't feel ready to go any further. I almost wish I'd called her bluff, but I was just so freaked out." "Yeah, well, I'm glad you didn't," he said. "She sounds even more unstable than she was when I was with her. I can't tell you what to do, but it might be best to just... cut things off with her... if I can say that without it sounding too ironic." "Ironic? You mean because she tried to convince me to do the same thing to you?" I joked. Scott shrugged and smiled. He got up to pour us some more drinks, and I finished the food on my plate. As we sat sipping our wine, I commented sadly, "I think what's going to be hard is that... Vicky really is my only friend right now... present company excepted, of course." Scott nodded to acknowledge that. "And more than that, she's my only friend from before my accident, my only real link to the past. I... I don't think I even have contact information for anyone else, as odd as that sounds." Scott was looking down into his glass, a very serious expression forming on his face. "So after this whole incident," I said, "I feel like I'm losing something very special. Maybe special is the wrong word. Significant." It was quiet for a few moments. Then Scott cleared his throat and asked, "You wanna move to the couch?" I smiled and nodded. He stood up and said, "Bring your glass. I'll get the bottle." Scott sat on the far side of the couch with his legs spread out. I nestled in with my back to him, leaning against him and stretching my legs out on the cushions. I grabbed his arm, which was on the back of the couch, and pulled it around myself, resting his hand on my belly. "Millie, can I ask you some questions about Vicky? You might not like where this goes." I thought about that cryptic remark, then said, "Go ahead." Scott shifted a little in his seat, then asked me, "You told me Vicky got things ready for you to come home after your accident. Did you see your home before Vicky got there? When you were in the hospital, did you... Did she get to the house first? It wasn't the kind of question I was expecting, but it was simple enough to answer. "Well, yeah, she got there first," I said. "She went and got it all ready for me a couple days before I was discharged." "And have you looked through all the stuff in the apartment since then? Every box, every closet, every drawer?" "I don't have much else to do," I joked. Scott kissed the top of my head and rubbed my belly. I said, "Yes. I've been through everything, trying to piece my memories back together." "Not much to go on, was there? No recent pictures or memorabilia?" "No. How..." "What about that picture of you at the beach?" "I found that behind some books once I started reading them," I mumbled, not liking where this seemed to be leading. "So it's possible that Vicky might have gone into your apartment and... tried to make sure you wouldn't be able to put your past back together." I sat stunned as that suggestion sank in. Scott went on. "I mean, how odd is it that you had no recent pictures in sight or even in boxes, you had no address book to contact your friends, you have no clear links to your past? Who has a home like that?" "It cuts both ways," I mumbled. "There aren't any pictures of her there, either." "And I would wager that if you asked, she wouldn't be able to produce any pictures of the two of you together." That was odd. Why hadn't we sat down with a photo album and talked about old times? Why were there no stories of our adventures together? I was sure she would say something like, "Oh, I thought that might upset you," or "You need to be more focused on starting a new life." But that was bullshit. Scott interrupted my thoughts with another question. "Millie, does Vicky have any other access to your life? Did she help you make any changes? Your bank accounts or something?" I thought back to those first weeks. The funny thing about amnesia was that, once you had fewer old memories, the recent ones were easier to keep track of. I had made sure no one else had access to my bank account. But... "Mail," I stated. "What?" "Oh my God, she had me switch all my mail to a P.O. Box. And she kept a key, saying she could hang on to it in case I forgot where I put mine. Scott... she can intercept my mail! What if someone has tried to get in touch with me?" He gave me a sad look. "So have you gotten any personal mail?" "No," I said, my breath quickening. "And no phone calls, either. I thought...I just thought my former self was a lonely person." Scott pulled me tighter into his arms and said, "Trust me, Millie. A woman like you would never be without people who loved her." I sank down a little, trying to avoid the feeling that my world - such as it was - had begun to crumble around me. Scott was the only thing that felt stable. "Why... why would she do all that?" I asked, feeling even more violated than when she had kissed me. "Why would she erase my past like that? Why cut me off?" "Can you think of a reason?" Scott asked gently. I tried to. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. I could only come up with one idea. "I know... I know she's always trying to get me to move away, to start a new life somewhere else. She says it's for my own good. She really hates what my ex-husband, Maurice, did to me. Maybe she wanted to get rid of any trace of him? But this all seems a little extreme." "Maurice? Right... Interesting. So she's protecting you? I guess that's one possibility," he said softly. "There's probably more to the story, though. Another possibility is that she has some vested interest in you being gone, one way or another." "Well," I said, a little sadly, "it seems like everyone is hiding something. Everyone except me, because I have nothing left to hide." I thought for a moment, then trying to lighten the mood, I said, "What a crazy coincidence, though, that you got dragged into this." "Yeah," Scott mumbled, staring across the room. "Small world." Then making a move to get off the couch, he said, "Hey, wanna see the pictures from last weekend?" "Yes!" I said, swinging my legs onto the floor and standing up to follow him. "Just hang tight. I'll bring them out here," he said, so I sat back down on the couch. A minute later, Scott returned with a stack of large photos. "Whoa, you had them enlarged?" He laughed and said, "No... I always have them made this size. Anything smaller and you lose a lot of detail." Then he sat next to me and spread the photos out on the coffee table. I carefully placed my wine glass on the opposite end of the table and wiped my fingers on my shorts. Scott began holding them up, one by one. I was amazed at how close-up he could get with those lenses; some of the pictures of birds were amazingly detailed and colorful. We chuckled at some of the pictures he had taken of me. I had been a little self-conscious and had acted silly to cover it up. Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 06 One picture really struck me; it was of an older couple sitting on a bench. She was leaning over to try to feed a squirrel and he had his hand on her back, smiling as he looked at her. Without thinking about it, I wrapped my arms around Scott's bicep and leaned against him. I wanted that. I wanted someone who would look at me that way in forty years. Scott had also taken a few pictures of kids running and playing. One picture had two toddlers blurry in the foreground - they must have just run past as Scott took the picture. The focus was on a young father cradling a sleeping infant. I remembered that family. I remembered feeling happy for them, feeling curious about what their days were like, and feeling a little envious. I remembered that once the kids had noticed the camera, they just wanted to be in front of it. So innocent and playful. I missed laughing like that. We spent almost an hour looking through the pictures, going back to spend extra time on some of the ones we really liked. Once we were done, I was leaning against Scott with my eyes closed. I wasn't very sleepy, but neither did I feel a strong need or desire to move. We sat in comfortable, companionable silence for a while, listening to some music playing softly on the stereo. When I felt the need to shift positions, I poked Scott's arm and joked, "You need to put on some weight. These hard muscles aren't soft enough for me to snuggle with." Scott pulled me onto his lap and said, "Someone else used to say that to me. She tried to fatten me up but the poor girl just didn't know how to cook." "Well I've been trying a lot of recipes lately. In fact, I made a delicious lasagna yesterday." "Really? Delicious, you say?" "Honestly, I don't know. I was too distracted thinking about my lesbian pseudo-lover that I barely noticed how the food tasted. But it wasn't awful. If this evening is any indication of what I can expect, I'd rather just let you do the cooking." Scott squeezed me and buried his face in my hair. I leaned my head onto his shoulder, nuzzling his neck and breathing in. He smelled familiar and nice. I moved my lips over the blood vessel pulsing near his throat and gave it a small kiss. His neck tightened in response and he laughed softly. "That tickles," he whispered. Encouraged, I kissed around his throat a few more times until he lowered his jaw and blocked me out. Giggling, we pressed our mouths together and explored the space between them. We paused for a moment and our eyes met. Scott's smile faded a little and he looked worried... or concerned. "I love you," he said, his expression serious. "You know that, right?" "You barely know me," I replied, rolling my eyes and smiling. "Hell, I barely know me." "Well... I love all of you that I know. And love is a promise to accept even the things we don't know." Leaning forward, I put my arms around his neck and hugged him. My smile faded and I said softly, "That's a much bigger risk with some people than with others." Scott rubbed my back and said, "You don't have to say it yet. That's not why I told you. I just want you to feel safe... to know where I'm at. You have the freedom to get there... or not... at your own pace." He was so perfect for me. Honestly, I couldn't have designed a better personality to handle my quirks and fears and passions. I almost spoke up to tell him that I loved him, but I wasn't yet ready to vocalize those confusing thoughts. But I wasn't afraid that it would bother him that I wasn't ready to reciprocate his confession. Pulling back, I wiggled in his lap and teased, "And here I thought you were saying it just to get inside my pants!" "I had to think of something to get you in bed," he said sarcastically. "You usually put up so much resistance." "Oh yes," I joked. "Carry me to bed and see how much resistance I plan to put up tonight." ******* We had been laughing as we made our way to the bedroom, but once we got there and began to undress, the tone of our evening changed. Maybe it was because I had already lost so much, because so many people had slipped away from my life, but I was beginning to feel desperately scared of losing Scott. Having lost him once due to Vicky's meddling, I now knew how incomplete I felt without him. For his part, he seemed fueled by his confession of love that evening. The result was a mood that felt urgent and fragile. I wanted to force our bodies together before it was too late, before they could be forced apart. I was consumed with lust, but not just for his body. I lusted after his person, after him, after how he made me feel. I could see that lust echoed back whenever our eyes met. I could feel it in the way he would lunge at me and pull me towards himself. We wrestled around on the bed, articles of clothing being shed like nuisances, tossed aside like unholy things. My heart raced faster as he pushed me onto my back. There was a fire in him that night, and it almost made me afraid. In any other man, it would have been frightening. But not in him. Not in him because I knew there was a stronger passion that protected me. Still, when he lined himself up and thrust himself into me, I cried out in sharp discomfort. I gladly accepted it, though- the price of not waiting another moment to be joined. Once he had pushed through and was fully inside me, fully embraced by my warmth, I realized I was trembling. Scott's jaw was quivering, too. "Cold?" I asked, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "No..." he said breathlessly. "Excited. I'm so... so excited by you." Then lowering himself onto me and slowly pulling back, he pushed back in and said, "I don't know why. It's not like we haven't done this before." "It's because we're not machines, love," I explained, recalling something I had read months earlier. "Machines can do the same thing over and over, because they don't change. We can't do the same thing the same way, ever. We change. Our... our emotions are always in a different place. This... this moment... every moment... is unique. For whatever reason, it's special." "All I know is that I feel like my heart is going to burst before... well, before anything else does," he panted. "Then kiss me again," I whispered. "What will that do?" he asked, putting his lips just in front of mine. "I don't know," I whispered, "but it feels good, doesn't it?" Our lips touched, then slowly parted. Our tongues met, then took turns as the aggressor, passing the lead back and forth. Scott barely moved his hips. We let our hands travel all around, slowly touching every bit of exposed skin. I moaned into his mouth as my excitement began to build. I needed to move. I shifted my hips very slightly, squeezing around his shaft in the process. Scott broke our kiss and gasped. Abruptly, he breathed in deep then rolled to the side, pulling me with him. I landed astride his body, and Scott's hands quickly moved up to cover my breasts. I put my hands over his as I undulated on top of him. That urgency, that desperation, that thirst to be as close to him as possible was beginning to concentrate into the small area where our bodies were still joined. I felt my pussy warming around him as I slid back and forth. I was getting just enough pressure on my clit to guarantee my toes would soon be curling in ecstasy. As I felt the pressure build, I started whimpering. I was so close... so near to the edge. My hands squeezed Scott's, making him in turn squeeze my breasts. That sensation made my hands squeeze again, which Scott took as an indication to keep massaging. I let go of him and put my hands on his chest, knowing I would soon be losing my ability to stay upright without support. My orgasm didn't hit with a crash. It swelled and overtook me and before I knew it I was in the middle of it. I leaned down and cried out, my cheek pressed down on Scott's chest. He moved his hands to my ass and held me firmly against him. "mmmmaaaahhhh yessss!" I groaned as I shook all over. I needed to hold him. I tried to force my arms under him so I could feel him even closer, but it was too hard to do. I settled for putting my hands under his shoulders and pressing my elbows into his sides. My legs shook as I continued to climax. I felt so helpless, so much at the whim of the moment, that when Scott moved a hand to the back of my head, I groaned out a tearful, "Yes... " I felt like he was there to catch me. Before long, the shaking subsided and my muscles relaxed. I was able to notice Scott's racing heartbeat in my ear. "Are you OK?" he asked. "What do you think?" I asked softly. "I think you seemed almost scared," he said, stroking my hair. "It was a little bit like that," I confessed. "It was almost too much. I don't think I've ever felt like that before - so exposed and vulnerable." He continued to run his hands along my body, slowly, in a way that wasn't distracting. I thought for a moment and added, "I'm glad it was with you. I think I would have felt lonely otherwise." Scott made no reply. Maybe there was nothing to say. Sometimes, just being there and listening is enough. Once I felt like I could continue, I propped myself up and looked at Scott, who had his eyes closed. He wasn't sleepy, though, I was sure. He was breathing through his nose and was trying to control himself. I smiled at his struggle. Without opening his eyes, he said, "Millie... can I grab a condom? We kinda skipped that earlier." I traced my fingers on his chest and mentally counted back a few weeks. When I didn't answer for a few seconds, Scott lifted his head and opened one eye. His eyebrows arched, questioning me. Convincing myself that the math was good, I assured him, "We're fine." The words had barely left my mouth when Scott began pushing up, driving himself into me. His hands moved to my waist and gave me almost no freedom of motion. I used what mobility I had to arch my back and press my breasts towards his face. Scott lifted his head and took a nipple between his teeth. I gasped at the sudden pinch, squeezing my channel around him in response. His thrusts became more forceful, pressing up and holding inside for a second before dropping down to the bed again. His hands left my waist and ran up my back, forcing me down onto him. My breasts squished between us and I tried to push down with my hips in time with his thrusts. His breath, hot in my ear, became raspy, straining to keep up with the tempo of his passion. I turned my head, which was already pressed against his, and found his ear. Taking his earlobe between my lips, I mumbled, "Do it. Give it to me." Scott began groaning deep in his chest, and the force of his last few thrusts pushed me up and almost out of his grasp. His hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me down to him just as I felt the first pulse of his release. "oooOOOHHH GAH! Fuck!" he shouted to the ceiling. Regaining my leverage, I planted my elbows and knees on the bed and pushed down, ensuring that he was buried to the root inside me. I clenched my PC muscles and smiled wickedly at the way his face contorted in response. "Damn! Millie," he exclaimed, impulsively smacking my ass with one hand. I cried out, more in surprise than pain, then laughed as he finished spending inside me. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... " he breathed out, smiling. I still felt the last twinges of his climax and gave him a few more pumps with my hips, for good measure. He rubbed the red spot where he had smacked my butt cheek and said, "I'm sorry, that was... " "...not something I blame you for," I laughed. "Just don't make a habit of it... without asking me first." He breathed out and shook his head. I pulled off and went to clean up. After Scott had done the same and gone to make sure his place was locked up for the night, he crawled under the sheets next to me. I wiggled closer, putting my head on his shoulder and my leg over his thigh. In the light of his bedside clock, I watched in contented fascination as he fell asleep. My hand rested on his firm abs and I planted a small kiss on his chest. Sure that he wasn't able to hear me, I whispered, "I love you, too." ******* I woke up disoriented. For a very brief moment, I felt panicky. I wasn't used to sleeping in any bed other than my own. The lights from clocks and street lamps were different here, and different was a little scary at first. I heard Scott's light snoring nearby and remembered where I was. Rolling towards him, I curled up against his body and sighed. But the need to pee forced me to get up after a minute. I stumbled through the dark room, tripping over a shoe and bumping my knee against a bookshelf. Finally, I found the bathroom. By the time I was finished, I was feeling more awake. It was just after 5 a.m., not long before my usual weekday wake-up time. Scott and I hadn't stayed up too late, either, so I was feeling well-rested. I decided to do a little exploring. I found a T-shirt of his that didn't seem dirty and put it on. Then I quietly slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind me. I hadn't really looked at his apartment, but neither was there much to see. It was small - just two bedrooms, one of which had a desk and a lot of bookshelves. I wandered around the small living room looking at pictures hanging on the walls. Based on resemblances, I was pretty sure I could pick out his family. He seemed to be redecorating - there were nails in the wall with no pictures on them. I wondered if he meant to frame some of his new photos. The door to the other bedroom was cracked, so I pushed it open. I recalled how Scott had looked at my books and determined that a garden might be something I needed. I wondered if I might be able to do something like that for him, figure out something special he might enjoy. And heaven knew his place could use a woman's touch. I scanned the shelves of books. He seemed to be partial to classic novels and poetry. One book was out of place, and I smiled to notice that he had a copy of Ginny Bowers' last novel. His desk was a bit messy with papers strewn around. There was a large manila envelope on the desk, and I saw some photos sticking out. I gently emptied the stack into my hand and a note fell out: R- Glad to see you're shooting again. Good stuff. Lenses need a little cleaning - bring it in sometime. -S I set the note down, slightly puzzled, and started flipping through the pictures. The top few were blurry or just bad takes from the park. I almost returned them to the envelope, but then the corner of one lower down caught my eye. Snow? Flipping to that picture, I looked at a wintry scene: pine trees, a lake, footprints on a path. I'd been there. I didn't know when, but I'd been there. I remembered stacking wood for a fire and I remembered drinking hot chocolate. I recalled that there was an owl there that day, I could almost hear it in my mind. Of course! The roll of film that was originally in the camera must have already had pictures on it. How exciting to find some pictures of my former life! Setting aside all the photos from that week, I was left with eight or nine pictures. They were all at a snowy cabin in the woods. Yes, there was a good picture of the owl! And a close-up of the boat, covered in a tarp and tied up at the snow-covered dock. Oh God, there I was, looking... well... younger, I guess. Actually, it was a really good picture of me in the snow. And then there was a picture of a man chopping wood. It was an action shot, the ax swinging down and his head turned away from the camera. I studied it, wondering if it was Maurice. I flipped to the next picture. It was the same guy, standing behind a woodpile, leaning on his ax and smiling at the camera. My stomach sank. It was Scott. ******* There was one more picture. It was probably taken with a timer. Scott and I sat on the front porch of the cabin, dressed in sweaters and holding mugs of something warm. We were kissing. I dropped the photos onto the desk and backed up. I spun around and looked at the open office door, afraid he might show up at any moment and confront me. I wrapped my arms around my torso but then let go when I realized I was gripping his shirt. More lies! Was anyone telling me the truth? I took a few deep breaths, getting myself calm enough to sneak back into the bedroom. All I knew was that I had to leave. Whoever Scott was to me before my accident, he hadn't been telling me the truth since then, and I was tired of the lies, and scared. I took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. I quickly put my clothes back on, and each second of searching for them on the bedroom floor felt dangerous. I had to get out of there unnoticed, I didn't know who anyone was anymore. I feared that Scott would wake up at any moment. I might bump something and make too much noise. I had to hurry. In the end, I never found my bra and decided it had to be sacrificed. I managed to get out of the bedroom while Scott was still snoring softly. I slipped on my shoes and out the front door. The faintest hint of daylight was on the horizon as I hurried down the steps and out to my car. As soon as I started my engine, I relaxed a little. I drove home, showered, and started packing. I didn't know where I would go, but I knew I needed to get away. My plan was to just go, hoping an idea would occur to me while I was on my way. I rushed around my house, grabbing clothes, snacks, some music for the car, and a few books. I wanted to be gone before there was a chance that Scott... or Vicky, for that matter... might show up at my doorstep. Once I had a large bag all full, I threw it over my shoulder and looked around. I frowned as my eye wandered out the back window to my garden. I hoped it would be OK for a few days. Was that how long I'd be gone? A few days? I should probably call work and take the whole week off. Figuring I'd have time to do that later, once offices were open, I shrugged and headed out the door. I could hear my phone ringing as I locked the door. I paused, my hand on the doorknob. Then I turned and walked down the steps. Just as the full sun was visible over the horizon, I was pulling away from my house and onto the main road. Not sure where I was going, I drove. ******* Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 07 Mid-June, 2001 Counselor: And you think she knows everything now? Patient: I don't know what she knows. She had to have seen the pictures, she probably saw my real name... It won't be hard to put the pieces together. Counselor: But she didn't confront you. Patient: No. I was asleep. I woke up, the pictures were out on my desk, and she was gone. Counselor: Let me guess, she's not answering her phone. Patient: Or her door. Counselor: Can we talk about... Patient: (angrily) This... is what I want to talk about! Counselor: (sharply) I am not your friend who is supposed to listen and help you problem-solve once you've made another self-destructive choice! My job as your counselor is to make sure that you have the emotional skills to keep you from swallowing another bottle of pills the next time she... or the next woman... shuts you out of her life. You scheduled an emergency appointment, now let me do what you pay me to do! Patient: (softly) There won't be a next woman. Counselor: Excuse me? Patient: I said, there won't be a next woman. There's only her. I've only ever loved her. ******* I drove east for a few hours, then stopped for breakfast and a fill-up. I found a pay phone and called work. It was Sunday, but I knew the offices were open all weekend for a special project we were working on. I was glad when Lee Ann answered. Better her than Monica. I still had all my vacation days available, so I took a week off. Getting permission to do that at the last second was a stretch, but the thing about data entry is that the work is mind-numbingly routine and there's no shortage of temps to be found. I still didn't know where I would go; I figured I would drive until something made me want to stop. After another hour I saw a rock formation that felt familiar, making me think I should exit the interstate. Upon reaching the intersection at the end of the ramp, I was surprised to notice that my finger had instinctively flicked on my left turn signal. Another forty minutes up a winding, two-lane road and I was beginning to worry I was getting myself lost. I nervously drummed the steering wheel with my fingers. That craving was back. Dammit! What did I want? The road crept up through hills, and green fields gave way to light woodlands. Finally, I came to a crossroads and didn't know which way to go. At the corner there was a general store that seemed to beckon me, so I stopped there to... Well, I guess I couldn't really ask for directions if I didn't have a destination. But I at least needed something to drink, so I pulled into the empty parking lot. I walked into the store, which matched the stereotype for every country store you could imagine. The symphony of smells hit me as soon as the door opened, and I knew there was going to be a whole selection of baked goods, local honey, and some other things my stomach already knew but my mind couldn't yet name. I wandered towards the counter, where a gray-haired woman was stocking a shelf. When she turned and saw me, she smiled warmly and shouted, "Irwin! One cabin special!" From the back, a man's voice hollered, "On it!" I got to the counter, feeling a bit confused, and the woman said, "I was wondering when you'd be back. Just the usual, right?" I nodded, a little stunned. While I was still thinking of what to say, a spry, older gentleman hurried past me with a box and began grabbing things from the shelves. "Should be a good week," she said. "Weather's supposed to be nice. You staying longer than that?" "No, I don't think so," I answered softly. "OK. Just holler if you need anything. I had Irwin go check on things this winter. He said everything's fine, but if there's a problem... "I'll holler," I said, faking a comfortable smile. "You should have called," she chided me with a worried expression. "We could have gotten everything ready for you – aired it out, washed the sheets, the usual. You know we don't mind." "Kind of a last-minute trip," I explained. "And... I seem to have lost my address book and all my phone numbers." "Oh! Heavens, how inconvenient," she tutted, grabbing a business card from next to the register and slipping it into my hand. "We tried calling you a while back, but..." She was interrupted by Irwin, who walked up, struggling with the awkward size of an overstuffed cardboard box. "I'll just put it in the back seat," he said. "Do I need the keys?" Realizing he was talking to me, I said, "Uh... no. Should be open." As he walked out, the older woman put her hand on mine, her finger gently touching where a wedding ring would have been. She smiled sadly and said, "It's good to see you, dear." "You too," I said, sniffing as my eyes teared up. I was mourning the loss of this friendship. While I hadn't missed them, for two years I had missed the idea of people like them in my life. They knew me. I missed being known. Irwin came back in, dusting his hands. Leaning his wiry frame against the counter and crossing his arms, he peered down at me. I hastily wiped my eyes and looked up at him. He was a good foot taller than me, and it seemed like the top of his head poked out above his hair. He pointed out to my car and said, "You need some air in the back tire. I'll get that before you go." His accent wasn't local, but he seemed quite at home in these hills. "I doubt you'll need much firewood, but if you end up needing more than you can collect, I can have Barry come up and chop some for you." "Thank you, I'll be fine," I said. "Cheryl tell you about the plants?" he asked. "No..." Cheryl said. "Thought I'd let her be surprised, but since you brought it up... " Irwin jumped in. "Your wildflowers went wild. Prettiest damn sight on the mountain right now. They run all the way down your drive and right up to the road. They'll meet you at the turn-off." I nodded and smiled. Hopefully that would spare me from needing to ask directions. Irwin continued. "Your herbs didn't last long, though, 'cept for the mint. Damn stuff just takes over, don' it? You're gonna wake up dreaming you're in a mouthwash factory. It's all over your south lawn." "Well, isn't that something?" I said with amazement. "Yep. Sure is," agreed Irwin. "Welp, let me see to that tire." He trotted out the door, and I reached into my purse to retrieve my wallet. Looking at Cheryl to ask for the total, I was stopped by her bewildered expression. "What are you doin', Miss Millie?" she asked me. "Same as always – find us on your way out." I almost broke down and told her everything right then. In any case, I was pretty sure I would tell her before the week was over. I felt like I wanted to ask them to be my new mom and dad. Putting everything back in its place, I shook my head and said, "Sorry... I'm a little out of it today. Long drive." "Well, that's what this place is good for," she said. "Coming back to your senses." ******* The trees got thicker, and the elevation was steadily increasing. I wondered how long I would have to drive before I found the turn. I wondered how long I would continue to drive if I missed it. Twenty minutes later, I had my answer – thankfully to the first question, and not to the second. I rounded a bend and saw a splash of color on the right. Just past the large patch of flowers was a hidden driveway. I managed to slow down just enough to make the turn. I had to stop and collect myself. Stretching down the dirt road for about a hundred yards was one long swath of wildflowers. It was like my own personal rainbow leading me on my way. I rolled my car slowly along. Coming down to a clearing, I saw exactly what I had come to expect: the cabin from the photos. In the colors of early summer, it looked quite different from the snow-covered one in the pictures, but there was no doubt it was the same place. I followed a worn path to what seemed to be the parking spot. Stepping out, I breathed in deep. The scent of mint was strong. I stepped up on the porch, running my fingers along the handrail. I thought of the picture of Scott and me taken on that very porch several (how many? I wondered) winters before. I walked up to the door and tried the handle. Locked. Looking around, I hoped some hiding place would become apparent. Stepping back a little, I tried again. I walked forward towards the door and my right hand instinctively reached out to the planter under the front window. Anything that had been in the planter was long dead, but it was not in the planter that my fingers traveled. Reaching under the rectangular box, I felt a little recess. Inside was a cloth pouch. I pulled out the pouch and shook a key into my hand. The whole thing had happened almost on auto-pilot. For much of the day I had been feeling like an observer inside my own body, following what I could only call 'instinct' in the place of the memories that should have guided me. I unlocked the door and pushed it open. Hesitantly, I stepped inside. My eyes needed a few seconds to begin adjusting to the lower level of light. Once they did, I began walking around. It was simple, but livable. There was a kitchen, a living room with a fireplace, a bedroom, and a bathroom. The kitchen had a small fridge, which I plugged in. That reminded me to bring in the box Irwin had put together, the "cabin special." I retrieved it from the back of my car and started unpacking it. In addition to essentials like basic toiletries, matches, and so on, it contained enough food to feed me for the week. I put the perishables in the fridge and left the rest sitting out on the counter for the time being. I went back to the bedroom and looked around. There was a queen-sized bed, a single dresser, and next to the window was a desk with a lamp and a well-preserved manual typewriter. But as interesting as that set-up was, it wasn't what demanded my attention. The walls were lined with pictures. The first one that caught my eye was of Scott in an exact copy of my beach photo. I was sure it was the same spot because I had practically memorized my photo, thinking it some key to my past. And here was a much younger Scott – younger by about a decade – standing in the same place I had stood. Walking slowly around the room, stopping at each frame in turn, I saw pictures of Scott and me, pictures of one or the other of us, pictures of the two of us with friends... it was clear that we had been very happy once. In a sad way, the pictures seemed to play out the future I had begun to hope we would have together, the memories I had wanted to make with him. But now it seemed those memories had already been made, and, in my case, forgotten. I was becoming convinced that "Maurice Knight" may never have existed and that Scott was my ex-husband. If that was so, then a more disturbing question came to mind: What had happened to drive us apart? If Vicky were the only one advising me to stay away from my ex, I could dismiss that at this point. Her words meant nothing to me. But my mother had said the same, as had other friends who connected with me after my accident. Scott himself had admitted he had done something to hurt the woman he loved, who I could presume was me. But... now what? ******* I was getting restless; I had the feeling that there was something I should be doing there. I looked out the window and decided to take a walk. It was only mid-day, and I had a lot of nervous energy. Stepping outside, I left the door unlocked and walked into the sunshine. There was a clear path down to the lake. I followed it, and as I got down to the water I could see that the path split. My guess was that it circled the lake, a loop that I estimated would be about two or three miles long. I started walking, seeing things that felt familiar. I sometimes knew what would be around a certain corner, but seeing it still felt like a surprise. I chose a leisurely pace, taking over two hours to make the loop, which included a long stop on the shore opposite the cabin. I sat in the grass and watched birds and fish and bugs act as if I wasn't there. I thought a lot about Scott. I thought about whether or not I would let myself continue with him. I could probably understand why he hadn't told me up front about our history, but at the rate I was being deceived lately, my self-protective instinct was in overdrive. I had finally begun letting go of that instinct when I was with Scott. I had been starting to feel not only that I could trust him, but that I could even let him protect me. Perhaps that was why my discovery that morning seemed like all the more of a betrayal. As I made my way back to the cabin, my stomach rumbled. I had skipped lunch after my late breakfast on the road. Pulling a few items from the box on the table, I made a simple meal, which I ate on the porch. It was just approaching evening, but I was already getting sleepy. It had been a long day, a day that had started early and that had pushed my emotions to the limit. After cleaning up from my dinner, I started searching drawers. There were more pictures, some of them saved in photo albums. Most of the pictures were of isolated events – ordinary, everyday sorts of things. I saw my garden as it used to be. There were some silly pictures of me smiling and holding up each Ginny Bowers book in front of a store display, like some kind of super-fan. But then I found one photo album that stood out. Someone (I assume it was me) had made a scrapbook. It was titled "Thailand, December 1990." I tossed it onto the bed, then changed into a tank top and boxers. While brushing my teeth, I noticed a prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet. Pain-killers. It had my name – or my first name with Scott's last name, rather – Amelia Melik. The date on the bottle was from three years earlier. My hands trembled as I held it. I felt a strong urge to open it and swallow a few pills. The craving! It had found its object and was in high gear. My heart raced and my breathing quickened. I wanted it. My hands started shaking so much that the pills in the bottle were rattling. I twisted open the lid and looked inside. There were maybe a dozen pills at the bottom. How many could I take? Just one? A few? I could hear the panicked sound of my breath echoing off the tiles in the small room. My pulse was throbbing in my ears. My eyes started watering and I choked back a scream. Who was I? Why did I feel like this could actually make things better? Not trusting myself to keep up the debate, I acted on a better impulse and dumped the pills in the toilet. Flushing them away, I tossed the empty bottle in the trash and leaned over the sink. Looking at myself in the mirror, I started to weep. Some things are better left forgotten. ******* After a cathartic bout of tears while standing there over the sink, I washed my face and locked up the cabin for the night. It wasn't even dark, but I figured time and schedules weren't an issue for me that week. I would probably enjoy waking up at dawn and going to the lake. Had there been a coffee maker in the kitchen? There must have been, I thought. Irwin had given me filters and grounds. Crawling into bed, I picked up the scrapbook. I flipped through pictures of Scott and me riding elephants, hiking through jungles, playing at waterfalls, feeding monkeys. There were a lot of beach photos, including one of the two of us at the same beach whose image I had come to know so well. As I studied the pictures, I could almost hear some of the sounds. I closed my eyes and remembered the humid walk through a tropical fruit plantation. I recalled the surprisingly bristly feel of the elephant. I couldn't remember the events themselves, but I was beginning to remember how they had felt. I remembered my amazement at finding an endless field of starfish at our feet one evening. And beneath all those sensory memories was an undercurrent of one emotion, happiness. I remembered feeling warm and happy and loved and complete. A honeymoon, maybe? I wished there was a wedding album somewhere. I saw rings on our fingers. What had become of my wedding ring? The sky was getting dark earlier than I had expected. Then I remembered the trees and hills would block the sun sooner than the flat city sprawl I was used to. With a sigh, I set the book on the nightstand and lay down. The sheets smelled a little musty, but not too unpleasant; they would do. My body promised me that sleep wouldn't wait long. ******* A cabin on the beach. It was nighttime, and the only light was from the stars. The only sound was the crash of the waves and the heavy breathing of the man above me. The only people on the island were the two of us, myself and him. We were the only people in the world, it seemed. We had kayaked out there and rented the cabin for a few nights of beautiful solitude. We had played in the waves and watched the stars come out. And now, in this cabin that was no bigger than our bedroom back home, we had put up the mosquito netting and removed our clothes. The smell of sunblock lingered on our skin as our bodies glided against each other. My mind was drifting between dreams and wakefulness. The images and scenes that my dreams had initiated were fueling my fantasies. But it wasn't a fantasy, was it? It was a memory, an honest-to-goodness memory. Or was I still asleep and dreaming about being awake? It didn't matter, as long as it continued. My hands slipped under my clothes as I pictured the scene again. "Do you have the condoms?" I asked breathlessly. His cock was poised to enter me, the tip just breaking past my folds. "We ran out yesterday," he whispered, his lips brushing mine. "We'll have to get more in Bangkok." I groaned softly, moving my hips a little, teasing his tip. "Bangkok isn't for three more days." "I didn't think we'd go through so many in our first week," he said, both of us smiling at the memories of using up our supply. "We can't..." I sighed, then reconsidered. "You'll have to... unnnnh..." I was interrupted by the sensation of his cock starting to press into me. "You'll have to pull out." "I don't know if I'll be able to," he confessed, pushing the rest of the way in. "Just do your best," I breathed, giving in to my own desire and pushing my hips up. It didn't last long. We were both so excited, and the novel experience of taking me unprotected was too much for him. After only a few beautiful minutes of our bodies sliding together – in sync with the sound of the waves hitting the shore – he gasped, "I'm close, baby." "This moment is just too perfect," I murmured, looking into his eyes. "It's only perfect because we're together," he replied, slowing down as he spoke. But then, as if he had been too close to stop, he pushed hard into me and sped up again. I opened my mouth in a silent cry, trembling as a small orgasm surprised me. Just then, he gasped, "I've gotta... gotta..." Not wanting anything to ruin the perfection of that moment, a perfection I saw extended in the way we were climaxing together, I put my hands on his bottom and pulled him into me. "Oh God, baby... Oh... I love you!" he gasped, sliding firmly into me and releasing. The throbbing of his cock inside my clenching walls was the only thing in the world for a few seconds. Then, as the intensity wore off, the sound of the waves drew us out of our euphoric fog. Putting his hand on my cheek, he said, "I do, Millie, I love you so much." Pushing my face up to kiss him, I said with a heartfelt passion that took me by surprise, "You're my everything." ******* I didn't know how much was dream and how much was fantasy, but my fingers didn't care. They skillfully brought me to a healthy climax, and I shouted in release. The sweat on my brow from the warm summer evening made me confused enough to wonder if I was still on that blesséd beach; but it was the sound of crickets and not waves that lulled me back to sleep. Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 07 ******* I woke up a bundle of nervous energy. At first I was disappointed – such a good release during the night, surely I would still be feeling the effects of that! I had coffee by the lake and watched the sun crest over the hills. I cried about Scott and the fucked-up version of life I had landed in. I silently thanked whatever deity I might believe in that I had flushed those pills the night before instead of giving in to some self-destructive craving. But still, I thought about Scott the most. I knew I loved him – the Scott whom I had come to know in the past few months. I also was certain that I had loved him before. Not only had I loved him, but we were so happy and so good together. What bothered me was that something happened in between, something so serious that it wrecked my life and drove a wedge between us. It had to do with Vicky, I knew, but was that all? If I could ever be with Scott again, I had to know what had happened. But I was afraid that, once I knew, I wouldn't want to be with him anymore. ******* Later that morning, I was thinking again of my dream/fantasy/memory from the night before, and I realized I was feeling drawn to, of all things, the typewriter. At first, I thought it was because on most Monday mornings I would be at work, typing. But the urge grew, and it wasn't just the compulsion to type that was pulling me there. The images and pictures of my dream were growing, fighting for expression. Words and phrases, whole scenes were coming to mind. "Enough!" I shouted into the cabin. I pulled open a drawer where I had seen some paper the day before. Putting a few sheets next to the old machine, I slipped one page in. The ink was dry, but I figured out how to roll the tape to a section that still worked. I sighed, placed my fingers on the keys, and began. It was fluff; it was a Ginny Bowers knock-off. I had the couple meet on the airplane, cross paths in the night market, go out for drinks, and ultimately end up in bed. But then trouble started: he was mistaken for a drug runner, some tough guys chased them around, they slipped away on a boat to a private island, sex on the beach, and so on. She's never sure who he really is, despite his protestations of innocence, but the bad-boy image makes him all the more alluring. But then... Oh wow, what if she was setting him up the whole time? What if she's the drug runner? Wouldn't that be a fun twist? A few pages became a stack of pages. An impulsive whim became a three-day stretch of writing, walking, cooking, and sleeping. How much of the story was sheer invention? Probably most of it. But a lot of the sex and some of the experiences were drawn from a different well, one that felt more familiar. I didn't think it would be any good. I was completely making up the geography and cultural details. There were continuity errors and other problems, I knew. But it was fun to write, and it gave my mind some much-needed focus. I was at least half-way through the book by the end of the third day. I had found my hobby. ******* Late Thursday afternoon, I was sitting on the dock, throwing crumbs to the ducks and fish. It was the first day of summer. I heard a car pull up and figured that it must be Irwin, coming to check on things. But Irwin usually honks to warn me, I thought, smiling at how naturally that memory had come back to me. Standing, I tossed the remaining handful of crumbs into the water and laughed at the clumsy feeding frenzy that ensued. Turning around I looked up the embankment and squinted. There was no one in sight. The cars were on the other side of the house. As I started to walk, I saw the front door open and a figure stepped down off the porch. Scott. He stopped and leaned against the porch, looking in my direction. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans and he seemed to be waiting for my reaction. I walked evenly up the slope, trying to keep my emotions in check. Yes, part of me wanted to run to him, to kiss him, to tell him of all the happiness I could remember of our life together. And part of me wanted to start picking up rocks to throw at him, to scold him, to yell at and berate him. By the time we were a few steps apart, I was a quivering mess, sniffing back tears and still not sure what to say. "So," he began, looking down at his feet, "how much do you know?" "Huh-uh," I said, wagging my finger in the air. "I'm not playing that game anymore. That's just a way to see how much you can still hide. Vicky did it, you did it... I'm done falling for that. You explain." "You're right," he said, looking guilty. Then nodding off to the woods he said, "Wanna go to our rock?" I cocked my head and gave him a look of confusion. "OK, so you don't remember everything yet," he commented. "Follow me." We walked down the path to the lake and followed it as it went to the left, but after a hundred yards or so, we left the path and walked straight into the woods. A few minutes later, we reached a clearing. In the clearing was a large rock jutting about four feet above the ground. The top of it was flat but slightly sloped. We clambered up onto it, and I saw many sets of initials and dates carved or drawn onto it. "I'm glad you found your way here," he said. "Did the pictures remind you?" "No... Sort of..." I said softly. "I needed to get away, so I just drove. I ended up here." "Well, ever since I first brought you here, it was always your sanctuary," he explained. "So this is your place?" "My grandfather's," he said. "On my mom's side. My mom's allergies are so bad she never wanted to come here, so it became mine." "Have you come here a lot since... since whatever?" "No," he answered solemnly. "In fact, I about gave the woman at the store..." "Cheryl?" I interrupted. He smiled warmly, "Cheryl looked like she'd seen a ghost when I walked in. Almost didn't let me come up here." "Then I suppose Irwin'll be by soon to check on me," I sighed. "You should probably be the one to do the explaining when he gets here," he said with a serious look. "But no, I haven't been back since the last time we were here together, the time those photos were taken – December '97. After... after the divorce I told you that you could still use it without worrying about me showing up. Like I said, it was your sanctuary. You used to come here to write." "I used to write?" I said, still surprised, despite the way I'd spent the past few days. Scott leaned back and laughed. "You really don't remember, do you? I saw the pages on the desk and thought... Well, never mind. Yes. Yes, you used to write a lot. This is Bower Mountain, in West Virginia... That's why you wrote under the name Ginny Bowers." ******** Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 08 Once again, I wish to thank GaiusPetronius for his helpful edits and suggestions on this series. ***** June 21, 2001 Patient: I'm just calling to let you know that I won't make my appointment this week. Counselor: If you need to reschedule, you'll have to talk to my secretary. Patient: No, it's OK. I just wanted to let you know that... I found her. I'm with her, and... and it's OK. Counselor: Just OK? Patient: I'm going to tell her everything tonight. Counselor: Everything? Patient: Well, that's going to take some time. All the important stuff, though. Counselor: We've disagreed in the past on what that includes. Patient: Your definition this time. Counselor: Good. And if she... doesn't take it well? Patient: Then... I guess maybe you should keep that appointment open after all, just in case. Counselor: (chuckles) Well, despite what you may think of me, I really hope I don't see you on Saturday. ******* Call me thick, call me slow, say what you will, but when Scott told me that I was Ginny Bowers, I couldn't believe him at first. I had to be persuaded. It wasn't an "Aha!" moment at all, but something that just started to make sense as Scott helped me connect the dots. I had all her books, but they didn't look like they had been opened until I started reading them the year before. Her last book was published a year before my accident, and nothing had come out since. Her last novel had been written around the time of our divorce, which was why it had such a noticeably sadder tone. The pictures in the cabin of me posing with each new book... "Who is R.S.M.?" I asked as my mind turned over the facts. "Almost all her books were dedicated to R.S.M." Scott shifted around on the rock and looked at his feet. "I... I thought you knew about that, too... " He sat up and wrapped his arms around his bent legs. "Reuben... Scott... Melik," he said slowly, separating each name. "Ru... " I muttered. He nodded. "I didn't plan to go by my middle name with you. But then again, I wasn't planning to talk to you at all that night. So when you caught me off-guard, I reacted... I don't know... poorly, I guess. Maybe I thought that when you heard my name it might evoke memories that I wasn't ready to deal with." "So... " I began, my fingers tracing the letters R+M scribbled on the rock at different points, with dates going back more than ten years, "you were stalking me, right?" "No!" he objected, "Not really. Well... sort of, I guess. It was a crazy coincidence, you know, the first time we met after your accident." "When I startled you to the point of spitting out your drink?" "Can you blame me? I was trying to just get away for a little bit. I was thinking about you, and so I went back to the bar where we first met." "We met at Darla's place?" "Before it was Darla's, yeah. Anyway, I turn around and there you were. We'd been divorced over two years. You talked to me only through a lawyer. You hated me - you had slapped a restraining order on me, even. I could get in trouble for being in the same room with you. And then there you were, hitting on me in a bar. I didn't even know about your accident." I started to laugh. "I wish I could go back and see the look on your face again, knowing all that." "When I got back from cleaning up in the bathroom, you had moved on. The old guy at the bar told me what had happened to you. He and I had never met, so I got his unfiltered version." "Zeke? I didn't think he knew," I mused, wondering it maybe Darla had said something to him. "Zeke knew because you should have known Zeke. You weren't friends or anything, but he did your taxes for years. When you didn't recognize him, he pieced it together, and Darla confirmed his suspicions." "Aww, I had no idea. I've been seeing him for two years and he's never said anything." "Well, don't feel too bad. He told me he's hoping you'll get forgetful and desperate enough to take him home one night." "Ewww," I shuddered. "Anyway, after I found out what was going on, I watched from a distance that night as you picked up a guy and walked out the door with him. I felt sick to my stomach. I had still been hoping that the divorce was just a really low point for us and that we would eventually get back together. So I started making weekends at Darla's a habit. I don't know why. I think I just wanted to make sure you weren't being hurt. Or maybe I wanted to see what your new life was like. And yes, I was partly hoping I could win you back. I just hadn't figured out how to do that." "And then, one slow night at the bar," I commented, "and I took away your chance to finish planning anything." "Boy did you," he said, shaking his head. "I bet you were glad things moved so quickly," I said wryly. "Huh? Are you kidding? It was agonizingly slow," he lamented. "We slept together the first night, Scott... Ru... whatever." "Not that," he sighed. "I knew that part would be easy..." "Ru!" I snapped. "You know what I mean," he said, a little dismissively. "You were there to pick up guys. How easy would it have been for me, knowing you as well as I do, to convince you to take me home?" I exhaled loudly and shrugged. "You're right. Go on." "I've told you this already. It's not just your body I want. It's you. And that would take time, especially since, well... you didn't even know who you were, really." "And so the garden, and the food..." I reflected. "Exactly. And a bunch of little things that I hoped might spark a subconscious sense of attachment." "When were you planning to tell me who you were?" I asked, knowing we still hadn't gotten to the hard questions. "I didn't have a plan," he groaned, shamefacedly putting his hands up to his forehead, then slowly dragging them down. "Part of me wanted to see if we could just start fresh. A new life together, a happy life again. Cut ties and move somewhere new. I wasn't pretending to be someone else. Everything you know of Scott is true - it's me." "But if I remembered... or when we inevitably talked to someone who knew you... like my mom... " "I knew there'd be hell to pay." "She really doesn't like you," I commented softly. "Hm? Oh, Sylvia you mean? Yeah, she hates me," he said with a hint of a laugh. "What's the story there?" Just then the honk of a car horn broke the stillness of the afternoon. "Let's go talk to Irwin," Scott said, sliding off the rock. "I'll tell you on the way." We walked back to the path and Scott told me of our real first meeting, in Darla's place, back when it was a college hang-out. We were in a creative writing class together and he approached me to talk about an upcoming assignment. It was Scott who first started telling me I should write more. We dated, and after our first night together, I wrote an erotic story about it. Scott insisted I had real talent, the kind that could sell books. I finished my first novel before I graduated. I completed a pre-med degree but never went any further in that field. I had become a devoted writer. My mother hated it; she had wanted a doctor in the family. She said I'd wasted four years and she blamed Scott for all of it. She scowled through the wedding. Even when I found modest success in my career, she told me how ashamed and disappointed she was. She told me she wanted me to pay her back for all the money she had wasted on my education. Just to spite her, I sent her a check for almost twice that - all the money I'd earned from my third book. She never cashed it. But she also never mentioned money again. Just then, we were coming into the clearing and saw Irwin by the lake, squatting down and looking at the boat, which he had pulled ashore. We walked up to him and he said, "She's almost sea-worthy. Reuben, can you run up to my truck and grab a bucket of pitch? There's one little spot here I'm worried about." Scott looked at me and grinned, then jogged away. Of course Irwin had a plan to get me alone for a minute. Once Scott was out of earshot, Irwin asked without looking away from the boat, "You OK?" "I'm fine, Irwin, thank you. We're finally talking some things through. We've been together for a few weeks now." Irwin raised his eyebrows and half-smiled. "OK, then," he mumbled. Then standing up he said, "You know, I think that spot'll be fine for a while. I'll come fix it next week." We walked back to the cabin, where Scott was still rummaging around in the bed of Irwin's truck. "I don't see anything, Irwin," he hollered, playing along with the ruse. "No? Well, maybe I forgot it. Never mind, then." Irwin climbed into his truck and leaned out his window as he started it up. "Cheryl sent some more supplies up, in case you was staying," he said, nodding to Scott. "I put them on the porch." "Thanks!" I yelled, waving as he drove off. Scott was already carrying the box inside. I followed him in and he went right to the kitchen. Evening was coming, and we were both hungry. Scott busied himself in the kitchen, and I tried to help. "You never really could cook," he said with a smile. "I'd rather just blame that on the amnesia," I said. "A convenient lie," he joked. "Scott... I think I'm going to keep calling you that for now... you're avoiding talking about something." He was silent for a moment while onions sizzled in a pan. "I know," he said solemnly. "Let's talk about that after dinner, OK?" "Alright," I conceded. I tried to think of something happy. "Tell me about Thailand," I said. Without looking up from the pans in front of him, Scott smiled. ******* We ate dinner on the living room rug. Cheryl had sent steaks and wine. I think she was hoping things were going well between us. I wished it was a bit colder outside, cold enough to warrant a fire. As we ate, Scott turned the pages of the scrapbook, filling in the stories of our trip to Thailand. We had been married almost two years. When we had gotten married, funds were low. My mother had cut me off financially, thinking she could bully me away from the path I was on. We used what little we could spare to pay for the simple wedding. But then my first novel was published, and Ginny Bowers was a hit. The second book was published just six months later and kept the momentum going. On our one year anniversary, we started planning a honeymoon. At that point money was really no object. Scott's teaching paid the bills (barely) as long as we lived simply, so all my earnings were free to be saved, invested, or spent. Fortunately, we did little of the latter and a lot of the first two. But Thailand was our big splurge. For three weeks over the winter holiday we backpacked in Chiang Mai, explored Bangkok, lounged in Hua Hin... It was wonderful. We were young and in love. We really did run out of condoms before kayaking out to a private island for a few nights. Scott said it was the most exciting love-making we'd ever experienced. The thrill and intimacy of going bareback was something we only ever risked during those three days. I told him of my dream from the first night in the cabin. He said it sounded about 20% fantasy and 80% reality. Imagining again our time on the beach caused me to consider skipping any further conversation for the night and take him to bed. Whatever conflict was between us could wait until the morning, I thought. Scott may have been thinking the same thing, but instead of acting on it, he stood up, carried our plates to the sink and rinsed them off. Wiping his hands on a towel, he said, "Let's go out to the boat." Still on the floor, I turned my body towards him and asked, "Now? In the dark?" He gave me that warm smile that inspired trust. "Even if you don't remember it, try to imagine floating on the lake and staring at the stars." I closed my eyes and did imagine it. "It would be like floating in space," I whispered. I opened my eyes when I heard Scott at the front door. I quickly stood and looked around. "You never wear your shoes," he said. It still amazed me how well he knew what I was thinking. ******* Scott had found only one of the oars, but it was enough to get us away from from the dock and out to the middle of the lake. We floated in silence, him leaning back and me between his legs, resting against him. His arms were on the edges of the boat, and I pulled them close, wrapping myself in his embrace. Scott had brought a large fleece blanket in case it got too chilly. I spread it out on my lap and draped it over our legs. "About seven or eight years into our marriage," he began, "it got rough. Some of it was the usual - just stress. Your books weren't selling as well as they used to, and that upset you. I think you were worried you'd lose your contract. Anyway, we also started talking about kids, which we were both eager to have. But... I was worried. You had some... issues... that complicated things., and I didn't want to start a family until...until you made some changes." He was obviously uncomfortable and was choosing his words carefully and delicately. "The pills?" I prompted. "You know?" "I've guessed. I found some in the cabin." "Did you...?" his voice quavered. "No," I whispered, fighting tears. Scott exhaled slowly. "No, I didn't. I flushed them. I wanted them so badly, though." I squeezed his arms tighter around me, wanting him to keep away all the things that frightened me. "I know," he said, after a moment of floating in the stillness of the night. "You had gotten addicted to pain killers. You thought I didn't know how bad it was, but you couldn't really hide it from me. When I suggested rehab before trying to get pregnant, you flipped out on me. It was bad timing, too. You had been distant, and I was lonely. Vicky started working at my school that fall." At the mention of Vicky's name, I stiffened involuntarily. "She pursued me... but that doesn't excuse what I did. I still made my choices. I'm responsible for them. I blamed you at first, but that was a cop-out. After a few weeks, a few weeks of just... harsh words between us... I gave in. Vicky and I went to her place after work one day. She and I lasted almost six weeks. With Vicky it was just a physical thing, mostly. I mean, she said so many nice things and was so very eager to please, and a guy can't help but like that, too. Especially when you... when we had been missing that in our marriage." He was silent for a moment. I started to get lost in thought, imagining what it must have been like to live with Scott but to always be at odds with him. What was it like to lie down at night next to a man that you didn't even want to talk to? He continued, "You were here at the cabin for a lot of that time, and Vicky tried to act like she and I were dating or something. It became clear she thought I was going to leave you for her; she kept saying I had never loved you and that she and I were soul mates. I knew that wasn't true at all. I knew that what I felt when I was with her paled in comparison to what you and I had. So I ended it." "I bet she went ballistic," I said. "Actually, no. Worse than that. She was totally calm and totally convinced I'd come back to her. She said she'd wait for me." "She's still waiting, and scheming, I think," I said. "Yeah, well, Vicky was never your friend, so her showing up in your life after your accident is proof of how far she's ready to go." "I was wondering about that," I commented. "Her whole story of our friendship was starting to seem contrived. So she basically showed up in my life and tried to erase you from my apartment, didn't she?" "Looks like it." "But we were divorced. Why did she still need to worry about me?" Scott sighed and squeezed me a little. "The divorce was all you. I made it clear to you and to Vicky that you were the only woman I loved. Whether or not you and I were together, you were a threat to her." "The divorce was all me?" "All you. After I ended the affair, I brought you up here to talk about it. That was when we took the pictures you saw." "Oohh..." "After a really good day or two of starting to reconnect and heal and even talk about rehab, I told you about Vicky. In retrospect, it was horrible timing. Anyway, I swore it was over and I asked you to forgive me and to go with me to see a marriage counselor. I swore I'd do anything to make it right. But I had hurt you badly. I don't know...I thought...I don't know. There was a lot of fighting and a lot of crying. What it came down to was you saying that you couldn't forgive me. You said that as long as you lived, you would never be able to forget how I'd betrayed you. And that was it. It was a long, silent ride back home." I closed my eyes and thought about that, trying to imagine what the end of a marriage looks like. "How... strange," I finally said. "Strange?" "Turns out I did forget. And that was all it took to get us back together." Scott sniffed a little laugh. "Oh, that was all, huh?" "No big deal," I said, squeezing his arms tighter around myself and leaning my head on his arm. I looked up at the stars. My problems seemed so small and inconsequential. My life seemed so short and frenetic. I waited for Scott to go on. I didn't mind the silence, though. The lapping of the water against the boat was enough to fill my ears and my mind for now. "That's it?" I finally asked. "Hm? Yeah, pretty much." "That doesn't sound right," I mused. "Why would I react so strongly to... to that? It seems, maybe, a little disproportionate, you think?" "I didn't blame you for it. Look at it this way. You're used to being alone. But the old Millie had been rejected by her mom over me. She changed the whole course of her life and married me. You would tell me that I was your everything, and I don't think you were just being sappy. You meant every word of it." "And then you betrayed me," I said softly. "It was about the worst thing I could have done to you. I didn't think of it that way at the time. I just thought of satisfying myself. Vicky was... a convenient body at my disposal. The way I treated her was bad in its own way. I tried to apologize, but she only wants to hear one thing from me." Craning my head back to get a look at his face, I asked, "And she's not going to hear it, right?" "Never, love." "Did you ever tell her you loved her?" Laughing, he said, "No. And it irked the hell out of her because she had been saying it since day one. She was so sure we were meant to be." "Not was. Is. She is still sure of it." I shifted around to get more comfortable. The rise and fall of his chest moved my head slowly up and down. Cool air moved across the lake, and I could smell the mint on the breeze. I felt myself dozing off. Scott ran the back of his fingers along my cheek. Softly he told a story of how I had once fallen asleep in his arms just like this, on the boat at night. I must have dreamed something startling, because I awoke with a shout and a full body spasm. Trying to stop me from going into the water, Scott had over-corrected and we flipped the boat. I would later joke that Scott had engineered the whole thing just to get me naked in front of the fire. He would point out that I was the one who had started it all. I smiled. I liked listening to him tell stories of us. An owl hooted nearby and I wondered where on the lake we had ended up. "So what now, Millie?" Scott asked very softly. Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 08 "You mean for tonight or... or for us?" "I think sleep is in order for tonight," he said with a yawn. "My question was regarding the future. But maybe you still need to think about it?" I felt too sleepy to make any big decisions. And I did want to sit by myself and think about what I'd heard that day. There was an awful lot to take in. "Yes, we need to talk more tomorrow, after I have a chance to think." "I understand," he said, slowly rubbing the exposed skin of my arms with his hand. "You always were an internal processor. Take your time. And if you need, take your space. I can go back whenever you want, or I can hang around. It's summer break, you know." "Oh, you're staying right here for now," I told him. "I might have more questions. But I reserve the right to kick you out on your ass at any time." "Fair enough," he chuckled. He probably knew it was an empty threat at that point. "But at least let me stay the night. After finally getting all that off my chest, I think I'm fixing for the best night's sleep I've had in a while." "Well, that's too bad," I said, smiling in the dark. "Hm?" "I said that's too bad. Because I'm all worked up from writing this story and I could sure use some help clearing my head." "That was always one of the best things about being married to Ginny Bowers," Scott sighed. Then pushing me up into a sitting position, he grabbed the oar and said, "You know, I think I just felt a surge of energy come over me. Perhaps I'm getting my second wind." "Don't worry, lover," I said, grabbing his jaw and pulling him in for a kiss. "You'll get your sleep tonight. But not until R.S.M. inspires another few chapters." ******* Scott got us back to shore somehow. I really couldn't tell where we were. There was no moon, and the stars were bright, but not so bright that they lit the way to the cabin. But Scott knew. It felt so easy to trust him. As he rowed us back, I said softly, almost to myself, "You tried to kill yourself." It wasn't a question - just a comment, a reflection on how much he'd been hurting. "I did," he said. "Why?" The oar dug into the water, pushing us a little bit more into the darkness. Scott's breathing was getting heavier. He spoke in short sentences in between pulls on the oar. "We'd been divorced over a year. It was your birthday. I couldn't even call you. I couldn't find a way back to you. And I knew you weren't happy either. I thought neither of us would ever be happy again. And I knew it was my fault. Your mom called to remind me that I'd ruined your life twice: first by marrying you and then by cheating on you. And I wanted it to stop hurting. Then I found a bottle of your pills in my stuff. I thought it was fate." I didn't know what else to say, what else to ask. It seemed like enough. I didn't need to know more, not now. "Your accident was about a month later. I never heard about it; I was still in a funk." I felt a slight chill on my arms and rubbed them. "I'm sorry, Scott. I shouldn't have asked." "Yes, you should have. I'm glad you did," he said. "Hang on." His warning barely registered, giving me just enough time to grip my seat before the boat slipped alongside the dock. Scott grabbed a post to stop us, then climbed out and secured the line. Once the rocking had subsided to a minimum, I stood up and took the hand Scott offered to help me up. We walked the short distance of the pier and I smiled when my feet left the coarse wooden planks and found the cool, dry grass. Scott put his arm around me and led us towards the cabin. It was a gorgeous night. A breeze was rustling the leaves and the gentle lapping of water on the shore was soothing. Everything in the air felt... perfect. "Wait," I said softly. I breathed in deep. "It's so different with the mint," Scott commented. "Different bad?" I asked, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. The night was much cooler than the day, and the change was refreshing. "No... just different. Something new. I don't think I'd want it the old way again. It wasn't bad before, but this is better." I turned to face him, making out hints of his serene smile in the darkness. Putting my hands around his waist, I had only meant to kiss him. But I was suddenly struck with an inexplicable urgency. I looked down at my hands on his sides, then began unbuckling his belt. "Millie?" he questioned, looking down, trying to find my eyes. I unzipped his pants and began lifting the hem of his shirt. Scott raised his arms in compliance and I dropped the garment to the ground next to us. No sense in tossing things around in the darkness. Once he was shirtless, Scott got in the game and removed my shirt in one quick motion. I shook my hair free then gasped as Scott knelt in front of me and took a breast into his mouth. His strong hands roamed around my torso, evoking chills along their path. When I began to whimper at his attentions, Scott tugged at my shorts. Wiggling my hips a bit, I helped him get me fully naked. Scott abruptly stood up in front of me, pulling down his pants and kicking them to the side. "How do we...?" I began. Glancing around, he answered, "I'm not sure." "Have we ever...?" Laughing, he said, "No, never." Then, as if a solution had suddenly occurred to him, Scott stepped into my embrace and then sat down, pulling me with him. Landing on his shirt, he crossed his legs and made a comfortable seat for me. I settled onto his lap and circled my legs around his waist, feeling his erection tapping at my bottom. Scott picked up the blanket from where it had fallen, and he wrapped it around our bodies, making a cocoon from which only our heads emerged. Arms wrapped around each other, we kissed, fiercely at first, then slowly and with the calm of unhurried lovers. We had all the time in the world now. There was no moon to mark the hours, morning might never come. It mattered not. I began shifting around. I sensed his need, a need I shared. Sliding a hand between us, I reached down and gripped his warm shaft. It pulsed with need and eagerness. I moved my hand up and down, teasing and preparing him. Scott broke our kiss with a gasp. I smiled mischievously, wondering how long he would let me keep that up. Fortunately for him, I had no intention of finding out. I aimed his tip at my opening, ensuring it was placed just right. Then I angled my hips so that I could slide down onto him, his entry unhindered thanks to my own arousal. Scott spread his legs a little, giving me room to sink further down onto him. I pulled myself towards him with my heels planted on the ground behind him. A few wiggles of the hips and we were fully joined. I knew that if there had been enough light, I could have looked down to see my lips wrapped around his base. We could not possibly have been any closer. I held on to the blanket that covered both of us. I didn't mind the chill, knowing we would soon be sweating. Nor was I worried at all about privacy. The blanket did keep away any bugs that might be tempted by all that otherwise exposed flesh, but mostly what I liked was the way being wrapped in the blanket seemed to symbolize how the two of us together occupied our own private world in that moment. Scott pressed up towards me slowly with very slight movements. His shaft seemed to swell inside me with each thrust. I leaned back a little, still keeping my arms around his neck, and began a very small rising and falling motion in his lap. I hardly pulled up at all, not wanting to lose the feeling of him so deep inside me. Pressed so tightly against him, I could rub my clit at the place where we were joined, and I gasped at the mixed sensations of pressure and smoothness. Amid the swelling pleasure from our contact and our simple swaying together, I felt a storm of mixed emotions. I was bitter over the loss of years between us and was angry that I could find no one to blame for that. I wanted to be with Scott if only as an act of defiance against whatever fates and furies had driven us apart. I leaned in close and gripped Scott out of desperation. He returned my embrace with a muted moan. I was elated over finding a real connection to my past - not just a casual connection but the one person who could really pull back the curtain and tell my story back to me. I rubbed my face against his until our lips found each other. Our kiss was punctuated with soft, breathy cries as my grinding became a little more vigorous. I was confused over how to feel about his deception. He had lied to me - far more than just withholding the truth - and that had caused me a great deal of frustration and pain over the past several months. He had also, earlier, hurt me and been unfaithful. Even though this version of me hadn't experienced that betrayal directly, it still figured in our history and our relationship. I paused and put my head on his shoulder, facing away. My eyes were adjusting more to the darkness and I could discern the outline of the trees against the infinite sky. Scott held absolutely still for a moment. I was sad, and I grieved over the pain we had both suffered after our divorce. I wondered if I had had second thoughts, if I had ever wanted to reconcile. I wondered if I had tried to escape the pain with more pills, just as Scott had. I felt sad for all the nights I had gone to bed alone, probably missing him in every way. I pushed down, pressing against him and making sure he filled me. I wanted to be reminded that I wasn't that woman anymore, I wasn't alone. He was here, filling me, holding me, supporting me. It was his breath hot on my shoulder. It was his lips finding my neck. It was his hands moving down to cradle the curves of my bottom, guiding my motions. That sadness gave way to a moment of true contentment. It was a contentment tempered by the memory of loss, and that potent mix surged through my body, heightening my desire for him. Regardless of what had passed between us - years ago or weeks ago - I loved him now, and we were together. When the sun came up, would my heart agree that that was enough? I let his arms move me, increasing the power of our thrusts. I was getting close, I needed his touch. Whimpering, I reached behind myself and grabbed his wrist. I pulled his hand between us and pushed it towards my need. Scott understood, and his arms pivoted until his thumb was circling its target. I began crying out, knowing how close I was to experiencing the fruits of our labor. I put my hands on his face and stared at him. I felt the tension build and I saw Scott's brow wrinkling in his own beautiful agony. Suddenly, he stopped rubbing me and used both hands to force me all the way against himself. With a shout of release, he began to spray inside me. I was so close and would not be denied. Pressed tightly against him as he pulsed inside me, I gyrated my hips, finding that last bit of contact I needed. My breasts squished against his chest, igniting the explosion toward which we had been building. We both shook, our lower bodies twitching and grinding. Together, we held on, arms around each other, riding out the storm of pleasure and catharsis. I cried out softly, surprised as each spasm overtook me. Coasting down, I felt Scott return the blanket to our shoulders. I had no memory of it slipping off. Though I knew it wasn't true, it seemed as if the crickets and all other night creatures had gone respectfully silent as we climaxed, only resuming their chatter as we caught our breath. Suddenly, unbidden, Scott began to laugh. We were both panting, our foreheads touching. He couldn't see my quizzical look. "Maurice Knight. Isn't that what she said your ex-husband's name was?" "Are you serious?" I gasped. "What brought that on?" "I just got it. I bet you were at the cafe on Clifford Street when she told you, the one next to the deli, right?" "Oh my God, that's right... How did you...?" "Maury's Night Club and Lounge. It's right across the street. She probably looked right over your shoulder and made up the name." "Should I even ask why that popped into your head just now?" "A song. We went there once, you and I did. Someone was singing on stage. I'd never heard the song before, but I've never forgotten it since - something about how... some people turn their memories into chains, while others turn them into wings." We sat there breathing heavily, heads still touching. Scott's hands moved slowly up and down my back. "I want to make more wings with you." I laughed lightly. It was a little sappy, but meaningful and touching nonetheless. "Tonight was a good start," I assured him. Then, with a quick kiss to his sweaty forehead, I moved off his lap and stood up. Scott gasped as his sensitive head slipped out of my depths. Then he stood up, picking up our clothes before leaving the ground. If anyone had been around to see it, we would have made quite a sight on our way back to the cabin: both naked, one with an armful of clothes and the other wrapped only in a blanket. I felt his spend leaking past my entrance and dripping down my thigh. There had been no question of "protection," in any sense of the word. I wasn't concerned. Just like that perfect moment in Thailand, this had been so perfect, so right. Once we stepped inside, Scott tossed the clothes to the floor then quickly grabbed me around the waist. I squealed in surprise as he picked me up. Still clutching the blanket, I wrapped it around both our bodies as he carried me to bed. Laying me gently on the mattress, he crawled into bed next to me. Sheet, fleece, and a lover's warm embrace surrounded me as I drifted off. ******* It amazed me how easily I rose before the sun here in the mountains. Maybe it was the birds beginning to chirp that signaled to my subconscious mind that night was nearly done. I rolled onto my side and propped myself up on one elbow. The cool sheet slipped off my breasts and my nipples hardened when they were so suddenly exposed to the slight chill of the room. I looked at the man sleeping soundly next to me, his face barely visible in the pre-dawn gray. "You never were an early riser," I mused. I found a shirt and sweatpants to wear before starting the coffee maker. Soon I was down by the lake, dangling my feet off the dock and watching the sunrise. It was inconceivable to me that I wouldn't stay with Scott. I had been planning that before I learned about our history, and nothing I had learned since then had affected my intentions. But I needed time to think about how I felt in light of new revelations and about what next steps were in our future. I was afraid. That was one thing I hadn't expected. Scott had chased away so many of my fears, but the thought of being with him again made me anxious. I had to think about why that might be. By the time the sun was visible in the sky, I understood that most of what bothered me was the same fear that drove me in and out of the arms of strangers for all those months. It was the fear that anyone who got to know me - even Scott - would realize that there wasn't really a person for them to know. Only the shell of a person remained. Scott had pushed past that once. But this was different. Sure, he was patient, but what about in a year? In five years? In twenty years? When would he get tired of me not remembering our past? Of not remembering Reuben? What then? When he realizes that that treasury of shared memories is something I can only access through him, will he finally realize I'm not the woman he once loved? My thoughts were interrupted by the gentle thumping of Scott's footsteps behind me. Holding two mugs of coffee, he handed me one, saying, "I thought you could probably use a refill by now." I took it from him and said, "Thanks. How long have you been up?" "About five minutes," he answered. "But if I know you... and I do... you've been out here since the crack of dawn." "Just before that," I corrected him. "May I join you?" he asked. "Or...?" "It's fine," I smiled. "You can stay." Sitting next to me on the dock, he said, "I'll try not to read too much into that statement." I crinkled my brow, not catching his meaning at first. Then I realized how I'd worded my invitation. "That too, I think," I assured him. He exhaled loudly. We sat side by side, arms touching, sipping from our coffee mugs. The day was beginning to show hints of the warmth it had in store. "Is the lake swimmable?" I asked, thinking of how nice a dip would be if it got hot. "Anything is swimmable if you fall out of a boat," he dead-panned. I nudged him with my elbow and said, "You know what I mean." "I never liked the thought of sharing it with the snakes and leeches, so I don't think of it that way. It's a little dirty, but otherwise safe, I guess." I hummed in understanding. After a few minutes of comfortable silence I said, "I can't shake the sense that fate has given us a second chance." Scott stayed silent and let me think through how to put into words what I wanted to say. I could tell he knew the best way to have a conversation with me. "The old me told you I couldn't forgive you because I could never forget what you'd done. And yet here we are. I've been forced to forget, like a big reset button has been pressed on our lives. I don't feel like I have the right to forgive you; I don't feel like I was the one hurt by what you did. But for what it's worth, I do forgive you." "Thank you," he whispered, clearing his throat. "I guess... I guess knowing about what happened is different from remembering it. If I remembered experiencing it, I might feel differently. But it just doesn't affect me in the same way, so I don't feel like my forgiveness is that meaningful." "It still means something," he interjected. "Much more to me than to you, I think." "But what hurts me more - this me, not the old me - is just the overall deception you've been a part of for months now. I wonder if I would have preferred for you to just have been up-front with me. To say, 'Hey, I'm Reuben. I used to be special to you. I'd like the chance to be that guy again.'" "I'm sorry about the deception. Really, I am. And if I had thought for one moment that the direct approach would have worked, I would have gone for it." "You were so sure it wouldn't have worked?" I asked skeptically. "Who wants to hear from an ex-husband they don't know anything about?" "Good point." "And best case scenario, let's imagine you had given me a shot. What was it like hanging out with friends and family after your accident?" I shuddered. "Awkward. Stressful. Uncomfortable. Lots of expectations laid on me. Jokes I didn't get. Always feeling like an outsider and a disappointment." "Yeah, I did my research on that," he said, giving me the first indication that he had put some thought into getting back into my life. "It would have been an uphill battle for both of us, one that you probably wouldn't have been highly motivated to fight." "And I did launch a surprise attack before you had your battle plan ready..." "Too true," he agreed. "But all I knew for sure was that, one way or another, I had to woo you." "Woo me?" I smiled. "Woo you. Yes. If I could get the new you to love me for who I was, then I thought we might actually have a shot at making this work. But that... Vicky," he said her name with disgust, "really set things back." "I have to say, you're actually making sense. And I could probably second-guess all your decisions in retrospect. You could have told me sooner, you could have handled something better, whatever. But what I've decided is that I'm not going to focus on the details but on your heart. I believe... I choose to believe that you really love me and that you weren't acting selfishly. I think you really had my... our... best interest at heart. That's enough for me right now." Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 08 "Thank God," he said softly. "It won't always be enough, mind you. This is a special case. I'll be watching you like a hawk from now on." "Don't worry. I have no more secrets," he swore, putting his arm around me. Our mugs were empty and sitting on top of the poles on either side of us. The sun was up and the day was looking beautiful. My stomach had been ruled by nervousness that morning. But that had given way to excitement as I talked with Scott. But then excitement gave way to hunger. I thought of our breakfast options, and I made some comment to that effect. "The mosquitoes will be out soon, too," Scott added. With a quick tap of my toe on the water, I stood up and turned around. Scott picked up our mugs and joined me in heading back to the cabin. I stopped mid-way, gripping Scott's wrist and pulling him close to me. I pulled his head down for a tender kiss to start the day. "I love you," I told him. Then I felt the need to clarify. "The new me loves you. Not because of our past, though. I fell in love with Scott, the guy I found reading in the bar in March. Our history adds another dimension to that, but I can't love you with all the memories you have when you love me. My love feels... thinner. So maybe I can't love you in the same way that the old me did, but such as I am now, I do love you. I wish there was more." Scott moved some hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I love both of you... all of you. To me, you're one whole person." "It doesn't feel that way to me," I lamented, gazing off past the treetops. "I know," he said with a hint of sadness. Then smiling, he added, "But... if you let me, I can try to be a bridge between the two. And you're more like her than you realize. She'd be proud of you." ******* Epilogue As we were packing up to leave the next day, I saw a red marker in a drawer. I picked it up and smiled at Scott. "We almost forgot," I said. "I'm glad you remembered," he said, and we both laughed. After that afternoon, our rock bore some new initials. Among the hundreds of scrawled letters with dates going back to the 1920's, we added M&S, June 2001. Cheryl was beaming when Scott and I left together. She didn't pry, and in return I promised to be back in a few weeks. I still had a book to finish, after all. I told her we could talk then. Especially if she would teach me how to bake. Irwin bellowed with laughter and said something about drinking from a fire hose. During the next few weeks, with Scott's help, I pieced a few more things together. I had relied too much on Vicky after my accident. She had changed my phone number while I was in the hospital (clever girl), which explained why no one ever called me. She hadn't known my email address, so I had a few years' worth of messages to sort through. Neither had she known about my other bank account, one connected to my Ginny Bowers income. It had accumulated a healthy sum in two years' time. Nothing ridiculous, but enough to support me after I quit my job and got my next novel ready for publication. My old publishing contract had expired before my accident, so it was time to shop around again. Thankfully, I was in no hurry. I still remember almost nothing from before the accident. I have mixed feelings about that. I wish I did remember, but I also know that there was a lot of sadness that is now out of my memory forever. Scott is my living memory. He's very good at quickly picking up on things he needs to explain. When it's just the two of us, he seldom needs to do that; he's here in the present with the new me. He'll tell stories of our past, but not in a way that makes either of us sad. Usually his stories serve to ground us and to remind us how thankful we are to have each other. And sometimes, comically, I find myself jealous of the "other woman" in Scott's past - I'm jealous of the first Millie and the joy she shared with him. Vicky's purging of my apartment had been thorough. She destroyed everything she removed, including my address book, years of photos (everything since college), and even our wedding album. Though I have no proof, I'm sure she took my wedding ring, too. Her obsession knew no pity. I swore I'd never forget what she did, but then Scott warned me to remember what had happened the last time I said something like that. We told Vicky we wouldn't press charges (not that we had much evidence, anyway) if she suddenly decided to move away and start a new life. That was the last we heard of her. Anyway, Scott and I mourned the loss of those things for a while, but we eventually began to consider it like a natural disaster - something that just happens, something that can't be helped. You just have to move on. We even started referring to things lost in "Hurricane Vicky." Somehow, that makes it easier. Also helping is that we are busy making new memories, including a new, simple wedding album. It has a few pictures of our first wedding - ones we scrounged from some family and friends - as well as a slew from our second wedding. It was a very small, intimate gathering, and my mother is there, seen scowling in the background of the photos. Scott is resuming his photography, and I started planning trips that will help us fill up plenty of photo albums. The rest of that summer was like an extended honeymoon, filled with travel and sex. It was amazing that the garden survived. We started planning to retun the extra bedroom to its original status as a darkroom for Scott's photos, but by the end of the summer, it was clear we'd need to use it as a nursery instead. Neither of us had had the courage to ask Cheryl and Irwin for condoms, so those two nights reconnecting at the cabin was all it took to force our attention away from the past and onto the future. Sometimes I jokingly introduce Scott as my ex-ex-husband. It's funny to hear him go by Reuben with other people. I usually call him Scott. Sometimes, though, like when I'm angry, or surprised, or lost in sexual pleasure, the name Ru slips out without me noticing. I like it. It's as if the old Amelia is assuring us that she's still there, and she approves. And when Ginny Bowers' next novel is published it will have a new dedication: To Scott: Keeper of my memories and bridge between all that was and all that can be The End *******