Love Untold

Love Untold: Chapter 22

Love Untold: Chapter 22

Dinner that night was a solemn affair.  The four members of Chrissie’s family sat around the dining table, picking at their chicken piccata.  She wished someone would say something, but not what her mother had in mind.

“Dr. Newell seems like a lovely man,” Dolly said, sipping her wine.

“Mom, no,” Chrissie told her as she pushed around her salad, looking for another carrot slice.

“What, dear?  I find him fascinating, and I think it’s time this old lady started looking for a man to share the rest of my life with.”

Chrissie sighed.  “Mom, it was time twenty years ago, and as much as I am happy that you are showing interest in men again, this is not the time or the person to be doing it in.  This whole situation is messed up enough without you making it even more complicated.”

“Well,” Dolly huffed, “It won’t matter anyway.  I have to get back to the resort soon.  And since there is nothing more for me to do here, I think I’ll book a flight tomorrow.”

No one said, “Oh, please, Mom, don’t go.  Please stay another night, or two, or eternity.”  Nope, the absence of her mother, though Chrissie did truly love her, would be a pleasant thing.  Dena met Chrissie’s eyes, and they shared a small smile.  Race, on the other hand, had not looked at anyone since he sat down to dinner.  He’d been pouting over Dr. Gray all afternoon.

“I think we need to celebrate,” Chrissie exclaimed, rising up to grab some champagne out of the refrigerator.

Dolly frowned.  “You want to celebrate my leaving?  How thoughtful.”

Chrissie laughed.  “No, Mom, but I am glad to know you understand sarcasm after all.  Sometimes, I wondered.  I want to celebrate the fact that there is nothing wrong with me.”

Race’s eyes shot up at her.  But before she could read the emotion in them, he lowered them again as he scooted back his chair to get some flutes from the china cabinet.  Gently, he took the champagne bottle from her and popped the cork.  He filled the glasses and handed them out to everyone.  The one he presented to Chrissie shook, as though he could barely hold onto it.

“Thank you,” she murmured.  He raised his own glass to her, said, “To Chrissie, my perfectly healthy wife.”  He clinked their glasses together, drained his dry, and set about clearing the table of the uneaten dishes.

Dena’s gaze flicked between them.  She put her flute on the table, still full, and said, “I, uh, need to go check on my apartment.  I’m sure my mail is piling up.  Mom?  How about I give you a ride to the hotel?”

Dolly was on her second glass.  “Oh, thank you, dear, but it’s too early—“

“Now, Mom.  Let’s go.”  Chrissie’s sister hauled their mother to her feet and shooed her out the door.  Chrissie barely noticed that they left.  Instead, she concentrated on Race’s back as he scoured a pan and rinsed off plates.  Something was bothering him, and Chrissie didn’t think it was her memory problem…or not the only issue.

“Can I help you with that?” she asked, placing the champagne flutes on the counter next to the sink.

“I’ve got it covered,” he replied.  She continued to watch him, but he didn’t look in her direction.

“My offer still stands, Race,” she said, studying his profile.  “You can still walk away.  I won’t blame you for it.  You deserve better than this…than me.”  This had not been the first time she uttered this offer, yet in the days past, whenever she did, he only flashed his dimples at her and said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t make that response tonight.

He loaded the dishwasher and closed it up, not quite slamming the door, but there was a very audible click as the latch took hold.  Leaning his palms on the edge of the sink, he stared down at the floor.  “If that is what you want, Chris,” he said softly.  There was no emotion in his voice, so she didn’t know what he was thinking.

She shook her head, more so to keep her tears behind her eyeballs rather dripping out the front.  “This isn’t about me right now.  What do you want?”

“I want…I want…”  He sighed and brought his head up, but the knobs on the upper cabinets received his scrutiny.  “I want to know if there’s someone else.”

“Someone else?”  She frowned, not sure what he was talking about.

“You never wear your wedding ring, and I saw how you looked at Dr. Gray, and…”  He went back to staring at the floor.  “I can’t help wondering if…  Did I not make you happy, Chris?  Is that why you’ve forgotten me?”

There was a light bulb flashing above her head, but she was still too confused or overwhelmed or exhausted to grasp at it.  “Race, I…I don’t know if I was happy.  I can’t remember.”

“Are you in love with another man?” he blurted out, now staring right at her.  The light bulb got right up in her face as she finally understood.

“What?  No…I’ve not been in love with…anyone.”

That probably wasn’t the best way to answer his question.  His face shut down even more.  A spark of anger ignited somewhere below her heart cavity.  “You think I’m making all this up because I’m in love with someone else?” she asked.

“I don’t think you’re faking,” he explained, but his expression remained passive.  “I’m just wondering if…if in your memory, there was someone else…if there had been another man in your life…If you’re angry because he’s gone now.”

Chrissie planted her fists on her hips.  “According to you, I’ve been married for the last two years.  I don’t know what kind of person I’m supposed to be, but I would not cheat!”

“It wouldn’t be cheating if you believe you weren’t married,” he said, and Chrissie got madder.

“You think I’m so messed up that I would psychologically forget my husband – my marriage – because I wanted to be with another man?!”

“I don’t know what to think, Chrissie.  Sometimes you look at me with fear in your eyes.  And then you look at that doctor with…”

“With what?  Lust?  Passion? Desire?  Schoolgirl love?  He’s a handsome man, and I’m a woman who appreciates a handsome man, but that doesn’t mean I have any fantasies about going after him!  I’m married!  And I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you.”

He shook his head and laughed bitterly.  “What am I supposed to think?  My wife doesn’t know me, she doesn’t love me, she doesn’t even want me.  Then you go and bat your eyes at your psychologist, and…yes, I wonder if you cheated on me in your past.  I want to know – even because you weren’t conscious of your marriage -- if you’ve had a love life that I’m not aware of.”

Chrissie could only stare at him.  He wanted to know if she’d slept with someone in the past two years of her memory.  Was he jealous of something that wasn’t real?  Were they really having this conversation?

“I’m assuming I’ve told you about my past relationships,” she said, notching her chin up.  He jerked his head in a nod.  “Well?  What did I say?”

“What do you remember?”

“Okay…fine,” she scowled, walking the floor of the kitchen, but not getting within two feet of him.  She’d punch him if she did, and at least while she paced, she couldn’t throw anything accurately enough to make it worth the effort.

“I lost my virginity in college to a guy who dumped me the next day and marked his bedpost with my initials, making me the laughingstock of my sophomore year.  And I only did it then because I was tired of being a virgin and wanted to know what all the fuss was about, but after what that jerk did to me, I knew I couldn’t sleep with someone I didn’t care deeply about.

“After that, there was Joe.  We lived together for a little while, and I guess I thought I was in love with him, but he up and left me, too, so now I know it wasn’t love, but some kind of misguided desire to be in love.  That was three years ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since.  I’ve been too busy building my business and making something of my life that didn’t revolve around the male species, like Dena tends to do.  Is that good enough for you?”  She stopped to pierce him with a scathing glare.  “I have not had sex in three years, so whether I was ‘consciously’ aware of being married or not, I – did – not – cheat – on - you!”

If tension had substance, it would be a pool on the floor around Race’s feet.  She literally watched his whole body relax and shake off whatever irrational fear he’d been battling with all afternoon.  “And that’s how you really remember it?  You’re not lying to me?”

“Go to hell, Race,” she hissed at him and stomped out of the kitchen.  She whirled around when she reached the living room.  “I am not, have never been, nor ever will I be, a casual sex kind of woman!  If that were the case, I would have jumped you in the basement that first day all this started!”

He actually had the audacity to grin at her.  “Really?”

Chrissie clenched her jaw and flashed him a sarcastic smile.  “No, not really.  I wouldn’t have slept with you then either!”

He crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall.  “What about now?  Would you sleep with me now, Chris?”

Chrissie’s fingers grasped around air, clenching and contracting and itching to snatch him bald-headed.  Her teeth chomped together repeatedly as she tried to gain control of her fury.  “Get out!  Get out of my house!”

“Our house,” he corrected.

“Our house, your house....I don’t give a fu--fu--fig newton who’s house it is!  Get out!”

“Aw, come on, Chris, it was a reasonable worry, you have to admit.  It’s been cleared up now.  We can move on.”

“No,” she screamed pointing a finger at him, tears streaming down her face that he insinuated she was...could possibly be...a slut.  “You can move on...you can move out!  I don’t want you here anymore!”

He shook his head.  “I can’t.  I don’t have the strength to leave you,” he replied and pushed away from the wall, walking slowly over to her.  Chrissie backed up and her butt hit the back of the couch.  She toppled over and tried to scramble back to her feet, but he was right there, and all she could do was huddle into the cushions, vividly aware of the predatory gaze he gave her.

“You promised,” she whimpered.  “You promised you wouldn’t touch me.”

He leaned over, bracing his hands beside her head.  “I’m not going to touch you, Chris.  I want you to touch me.  I want you to love me again.  And I’ll not stop until you do.”

“Being a butthead won’t make me love you,” she retorted.

Those damn dimples winked at her again.  “How about a charming butthead?  One that will rub your feet, even when they’re smelly--”

She gasped at him.  “My feet don’t stink!”

“Or a charming butthead that will wash your hair for you...”

She snapped her jaw shut and blinked.  Ooh...she actually paid her stylist to do that occasionally, even when she didn’t need a cut.  Her irritation was slowing dissolving, and she wanted it back.  The nerve of him!

“Or one that would love nothing more right now than to feed you cheesecake, smothered in fudge sauce...”

Her eyes popped.  “We have cheesecake?”

“We do,” he said, getting closer and closer, and her vision blurred, seeing two noses on his face.  “I can smear it on my lips and you can lick it off...just like you did on our honeymoon.”

Chrissie swallowed...thickly.  “Our honeymoon?” she asked weakly because he was so close and so warm and she wanted to crawl into that warmth and lose herself in it.  “Where...where did we go?”

“Pokai Bay in Hawaii...we laid on the beach, we watched the sunset...mostly we stayed in bed...”

She sat straight up, not really caring that she bumped his forehead to do it.  “We went to Hawaii, and I don’t remember?!”

Race rubbed his new injury and smiled.  “We can go back...right now, if you want.  I’ll get us the first flight out of town.”

Temptation...  She scrambled around in her brain, searching for her anger again, but it escaped her.  She was ashamed of how quickly he could change her moods, but he was being so sweet right now.  “You’d do that?  Right now?  What about my doctor appointments and...and...”

“Screw the doctor appointments,” he growled.  “If you want to go to Hawaii, we’ll go to Hawaii.”

Chrissie gave him a wry grin and rolled her eyes.  “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to face Dr. Gray.”

“I don’t like the way the man looks at you,” he said, frowning and getting jealous again.

“He didn’t look at me any differently than any other man,” she said, feeling better that they were starting to talk and act like friends again.  She didn’t like being mad at him -- it made her feel guilty -- but sometimes he got so irritating that he deserved the rough side of her tongue.

“Exactly,” Race returned.  “I don’t like how other men look at you either.”

Chrissie tossed her hair and clicked her tongue flippantly as she laughed.  “Hey, you can’t blame them because your wife is a beautiful woman.”

“No, I blame your mother,” he said, but his smile was sexy and charming...just like him.  His eyes lit up when she called herself his wife, and Chrissie wondered how much longer it would take until he finally convinced her to fall in love with him.  If she ever stopped lying to herself, she’d realize she was already half way there.

“Yes, I blame my mother, too,” she joked back, and then sighed.  “Race, I’m sorry for lashing out at you.  You were right.  It was a reasonable fear, and I guess a part of me thinks that I should wonder the same about you...if you would ever cheat on me.”

He opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a raised hand.  “But I don’t worry about it.  Somewhere deep inside me, I know you’re not that kind of person.  It just hurt that you thought I could be like that.”

He tipped his head down so that he looked right into her eyes.  “I’ll never doubt you again.”

“See that you don’t,” she grumped and smiled and pushed him away so she could get a shower and go to bed before she decided she just might be the casual sex kind of woman.