Love Will Always Remember, page 11
Gib smiled and followed him out of the office. “Oui, Chef!”
Chapter Ten
Leighton sat on the bed with her back against the headboard and her knees drawn up to her chest. Every click, knock, bang and creak sent her heart bursting from her chest, leaving her behind to seek safety.
It was easier to be strong when she was in a hospital surrounded by doctors, nurses and staff, or even when Jonathan had been here. Her bravery went on strike as the sun set and she found herself alone, surrounded by strangers, in an unfamiliar neighborhood, in a house she didn’t know, unable and unwilling to contact the only person she could call.
That’s right, Veronica Mars, maybe before you set out to discover what Jonathan isn’t telling you, you solve the mystery of your missing courage.
Something buzzed near her and she almost leapt out of bed. It took several seconds before she understood it was a phone and another one before she realized it must be hers. Her eyes followed the sound until she found its source sitting on the chaise lounge where Jonathan had placed it. She didn’t want to move, feeling relatively safe in her spot where she had clear views of every entry into and exit from the room, but curiosity won out. She crawled across the thin sky-blue blanket and reached for the device.
It was large, almost twice the size of what she remembered. The name Andrea Ferris flashed across the screen. Leighton blinked several times in succession and stared at a picture of the woman many considered to be one of the most influential political consultants in the country.
“Hello.”
“Oh Leighton, thank God! I’m so glad you’re okay.”
It was the Andrea Ferris. She’d had the privilege to meet this woman when she’d been invited to a luncheon for young women in politics at Andrea’s home in Falls Church. She’d believed they’d hit it off, but this outpouring of affection seemed a bit excessive.
“I was so worried when I heard you were in the hospital. How do you feel?”
She squinted. “Better.”
“I couldn’t stop replaying our conversation. If that had been the last time I’d seen you, the last thing I’d said to you,” Andrea said, speaking so fast Leighton had to concentrate to follow her, “I never would’ve forgiven myself.”
Leighton’s head recoiled slightly.
“Thank you for coming. We must get together soon.”
Those were the words Andrea regretted?
“How bizarre is it that I saw you the day before your accident—”
Leighton stilled and focused on the other woman’s words. “You did?”
“Yes,” Andrea said haltingly. “Remember . . .”
Ha! Wasn’t that the word of the year?
“. . . you saw me in Tysons Corner? You caught me sneaking a cigarette.”
Leighton pressed her index and middle fingers against her left temple. She’d been so caught up in determining how she was going to handle her new normal that she hadn’t given any thought to how she’d explain her situation to others. Assuming she planned to tell them anything.
“Are you okay?” Andrea asked.
Andrea Ferris was a well-respected person whose services were in demand. Despite that, she’d taken time to call and her concern seemed genuine. Leighton didn’t know the extent of their relationship but the other woman might possess information about the life she’d forgotten. She took a deep breath. “Do you know what happened to me?”
“Not the specifics. No one does. All that’s going around is that you were in an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital. That was a week ago. No one has heard from you since then. I couldn’t even get in touch with your fiancé.”
Had her tone changed when she mentioned Jonathan?
“I’m not in the hospital anymore. I was discharged today.”
“That’s good news! Your assistant called me when you didn’t show up for work on Tuesday. She wasn’t too worried when you didn’t come in Monday; she thought you might have decided to work from home. But when she didn’t hear from you on Tuesday, she became concerned. Especially since she would be out of the office for the rest of the week. Something about a cruise.”
Leighton took a deep breath. She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. “You asked if I remembered seeing you in Tysons Corner. I’m sorry, but no. I don’t.”
“Oh, doll.” Andrea’s voice wobbled.
“My doctor says it can happen with the type of injury I sustained, though it’s unusual. Still, I expect to make a full recovery.”
“I’ve heard of that. People can forget what happened right before the accident. It’s like the body’s way of dealing with the trauma. Andrea sighed. “I feel like a grade-A ass, calling you and blathering on about that day.”
“It’s okay. How could you have known?”
“Does your mother know?”
Andrea Ferris knew her parents? Of course she did. Anyone in politics at her level would’ve had dealings with the Clarkes, even if it was just socially. “Yes. I talked to my mother yesterday.”
“I’m sure she’s happy to know you’re okay.”
A sense of urgency cascaded through Leighton. Here was a person who contained some of the pieces missing from the puzzle of her life. She needed to take advantage of the situation. “Can you tell me about that day when I saw you?”
“It won’t hinder your recovery, will it?”
“It’s fine,” Leighton said.
“Well, I think you were coming from a business meeting when you saw me.”
“What did we talk about?”
“We had a conversation about your work and my next project.” She hesitated. “You don’t remember any of this?”
“No.”
“What memories are you missing? Is it the hours before the accident or that entire day?”
The air stilled in the room as if even the molecules waited with bated breath to hear her response.
What should she do? Did she dare admit any more to this woman? What if she meant her harm? Maybe something had happened during the years she was missing and this woman was no longer someone she held in high regard, but her foe? God, is this what every day would be like for her? Every encounter a distressing exercise in parsing the true intentions of everyone she met?
Her instincts had screamed at her regarding Jonathan and they hadn’t led her wrong. Maybe she’d listen to them regarding Andrea, too.
“I don’t remember anything from the past six years.”
The silence was heavy. “What are you saying?”
“I have amnesia.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not. It really exists and apparently, I have it.”
“But you remembered me.”
“In my mind, we just met at the luncheon you hosted.”
“All we’ve been through, our time together, our conversations, everything . . . it’s gone?”
She winced at the dismay in Andrea’s voice. No matter what she did, she managed to disappoint everyone. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. This happened to you. And we’ll get through it. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, okay?”
The sting of tears burned her eyes and stole her voice.
“Well that explains why I hadn’t heard from you. Is it fair to assume you haven’t contacted anyone from your job?”
How could she when she didn’t know where she worked? She hadn’t gotten her cell phone until the morning she’d been released.
“Do I still work at the Women’s Defense Fund?” Leighton asked.
“That was your first job on the Hill.”
Her first job? “Where do I work now?”
“Faulkner & Ingersoll.”
She was a lobbyist? And not just any lobbyist. Faulkner was one of the best lobbying firms in DC. “They’re big league. I must be doing well.”
“Depends on your metric for ‘doing well.’”
“You don’t seem to approve.”
“It’s not my life. I will say that you were satisfied with the decisions you’d made to get to that point.”
On the surface it sounded good, but the woman’s manner and carefully worded statements suggested the opposite.
“You said our conversation upset you.”
“That was before I knew—”
Leighton leaned forward on the bed, gripped the phone tight in her hand. “Please. I need to know.”
“Maybe it’s better if you remember on your own.”
“Why? You can tell me what happened, what was said.”
“It’s not that simple. Anything I remember, all of my impressions, will be from my own point of view, filtered through my thoughts. They wouldn’t be fair to you or what you were thinking.”
“You know what isn’t fair? That I can’t remember any of my recent life. Choices I’ve made, who I work for, who my friends are. None of it. It’s like time stopped for me for six years. I’m still living in 2010, but life has moved on. Help me. Leaving me in the dark is like torture.”
“What do you want to know?”
She exhaled, unaware, until that moment, of how tense she’d been. More puzzle pieces. “We met at your luncheon, but we seem to have a personal relationship, right?”
“That’s right.”
“When did that happen?”
“Not long after the luncheon. When I came into the industry, I didn’t have anyone looking out for me. It was always my intention to give back by mentoring.”
Leighton understood the importance of mentoring, especially when you were the minority in your field of choice. Politics was still an old boys’ network and it was critical to see someone who looked like you succeeding at what you wanted to do. That mirroring lent credence to the belief that it was possible to achieve your dreams.
“A couple of weeks after the luncheon, I called and asked you to meet me for coffee and the rest is history.”
A history I don’t remember.
“I became your mentor.”
“Really?”
“That’s what you said. Though I feel I’ve learned just as much from you as you have from me.”
It appeared that Leighton’s instincts toward the woman had been spot on. “So what happened that night?”
“We talked about your engagement.”
Jonathan.
“So I am engaged?”
“Yes.”
She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. Jonathan was her one constant right now. She needed to know she could still believe in him. In them.
“What else?”
“I congratulated you on making the top lobbyist list—”
Pride firmed her posture. “I did?”
Everyone who worked on the Hill knew about that list. It was huge, it—
“Wait, is that still a big deal?”
“Oh yeah,” Andrea said, the smile in her voice clear.
“And then?” At Andrea’s apparent hesitation she urged, “Don’t stop now.”
“I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing.”
“Based on what you’ve said, we have a close relationship. I don’t understand why we were arguing that day.”
“We got into a discussion about where you were heading with your life.”
“It sounds like I was going in the right direction. But you had a different opinion?”
“I did.” Andrea sighed, the sound weighted, as if she’d concluded some inner argument with herself. “From the moment we met, you’ve been a straight shooter and you’ve expected the same from me. In this city, in this business, that type of trust is valued but seldom found. It’s one of the things I love about our relationship. I’m going to assume that even though you’re missing some memories, you’re the same woman underneath. So no, I wasn’t happy with the direction your life was taking.”
Her stomach tightened into knots. “Why not?”
“Because I felt like you’d let the things that you’d discovered change your perspective and affect the decisions you were making.”
“What things?”
“Now that I’m not going to tell you.”
“What happened to all of that ‘straight shooter’ talk?”
“It’s not my story to tell. Besides, you deserve the chance to recover your memories on your own.” Andrea swallowed. “And your fiancé? How has he been throughout your ordeal?”
Leighton pictured Jonathan standing in the room, talking to Shaniece, making her food.
She shivered in pleasure. Knowing he’d been there when she’d been in the coma and that he’d stopped by to see her almost every day since she’d awakened made her feel supremely cared for. She wanted to know everything about him, recapture every memory she’d lost.
And she would.
It would take time, but that appeared to be something they would have a lot of in the foreseeable future.
“He’s been great. Having him by my side has made this whole situation bearable.”
Andrea cleared her throat. “Then it appears I may have been wrong. You probably don’t remember, but I hate to be wrong. In this instance, I don’t mind.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“I’m glad I did. I needed to know for myself that you were okay.”
Leighton looked around the room and closed her eyes. “I wouldn’t say I’m okay . . .”
“Considering what I’d been imagining, I think you’re doing incredibly well. I’ll call your assistant and let her know what happened.”
“Don’t tell them—”
“I won’t give them any details,” Andrea assured her. “I’ll confirm you were in an accident, and that you’ll need some time to recuperate. You can call them when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime, doll.” Andrea hesitated. “Do me a favor? Give me a call before you head back to work, whether you get your memories back or not.”
The woman had done a lot for her. Leighton had more insight into who she was before the accident, even if she didn’t like what she’d been hearing.
“I will. I promise.”
“Take care of yourself.”
Leighton ended the call, swirling in a vortex of her thoughts. Since she’d awakened from her coma, she’d assumed the solution to her situation was to regain her missing memories. Naively, she’d believed the life she couldn’t remember had been perfect and once she was made whole, everything would fall into place and she’d continue on as if nothing had ever happened.
First the feeling that Jonathan was keeping something from her and now this cryptic phone call from Andrea Ferris . . .
For the first time Leighton considered the notion that getting her memory back might be the beginning of her problems.
Chapter Eleven
It was after midnight and the house was dark when Jonathan returned home from Sedici.
Six hours. He hadn’t meant to be gone that long. The cooks had finally memorized the menu and he’d been able to put them through their paces. The kitchen wasn’t anywhere near what he’d envisioned, but after this evening, he had faith they could get there.
And that wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t gone in. So his unseemly desire for Leighton wasn’t all bad. It had gotten him out of the house before he’d done something stupid, like confess his sins or kiss her until he could recall her taste on demand. But he wasn’t in the clear yet. That’s why he planned to go straight to bed—do not pause at her door!—before his ever present stupidity reared its dumb head.
He shut the door behind him, tossed his keys in the wooden bowl on the credenza and tripped over something on the floor by the entryway.
“Dammit!”
He flipped the light switch on the wall and was surprised to see Leighton’s bag from the hospital sitting where he’d dropped it when they’d first come home.
Why was it still there?
Did it matter? It wasn’t like it contained anything she needed. It only held the dress she’d been wearing the night of the accident and the few personal items she’d acquired during her hospital stay. Not like her purse—he peered into the living room . . .
Which still lay, like petrified remains, on the chaise portion of his sectional where she’d initially deposited it.
He fought the unease that prickled his scalp.
You’re letting your guilt from leaving her alone drive you to Crazytown. She’s fine.
The pep talk didn’t work.
He strode down the long, narrow hallway to the kitchen, disturbed by the deathly still atmosphere that greeted him. Tumbleweed rolling aimlessly across his slate floors wouldn’t have been out of place.
Nothing had been moved.
There were no dishes in the sink, no containers in the trash. He opened the refrigerator and saw the food he’d put there earlier.
Untouched.
What the hell?
He retraced his steps, reaching the stairs and taking them two at a time.
Setting aside propriety, he flung open the door—
And rubbed the spot on his chest over his heart.
Her room was shadowy, save for the streetlight that shone in from the window, highlighting the huddled figure on the bed. Leighton lay facing away from him, her back curved, head bowed, arms and legs drawn up to her torso. There was an even tempo to her breathing, a steady rise and fall that indicated she was asleep.
He leaned against the doorjamb, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated his brother in that moment, but no more so than himself. Why in the hell had he ever agreed to this? Her need for love and support from her fiancé was obvious and yet he couldn’t provide it.
He’d had to employ every trick in his disciplinal arsenal to keep his distance from her. It’d been much easier in the hospital. Nothing like the scent of antiseptic, the sight of machines and tubing and the sound of heart monitors and children crying to depress his libido and remind him of the inappropriateness of his carnal thoughts.
But seeing her in his house, looking like she belonged: tall, lush, beautiful, with skin like dark satin?
His willpower had failed him and his hands had transformed into sentient beings, tingling with the need to touch her, to hold her. He’d had to restrain himself—literally—holding his mail, crossing his arms, shoving his hands in his pockets, anything to keep them from straying to where they’d craved to be.
