For Better or Worse (Book 2 in the Forgiving Hearts Trilogy) (14 page)

* * * *

Jackson closed his laptop and reached for his bag. He’d been thinking of nothing but Hannah’s reaction to his letter all day. His decision to write to her had been borne out of a wish to help her remember. In spite of all that had passed between them, he couldn’t stand by and do nothing. It was only later that he began to wonder if he’d done the right thing. Given the circumstances of their relationship, he hoped he wasn’t setting either of them up for disappointment by getting too involved in her recovery.

Jackson remembered the call he’d received earlier from the manager of the Best Western hotel. In the course of their conversation, he found out Hannah had stayed there a few days. When she failed to return, the manager contacted the police, and they helped track down Jackson. He told the man he’d stop by to take care of her bill and pick up her things.

His eyebrows soared when he saw the pile of luggage stacked against the wall of the hotel manager’s office. As he loaded the bags into the cab of his truck, he wondered why Hannah had brought so much stuff and why Mitchell hadn’t been with her.

Stopping at his house, he put her things in the closet of the room he only entered when necessary. Then he grabbed the bag of personal items Amber had given him at the hospital. He hated invading Hannah’s privacy, but he needed some answers and since she wasn’t in a position to provide them, it was time to look elsewhere.

Opening her purse, he remembered teasing Hannah about how many things she felt necessary to carry around. Either she’d changed or she’d downsized for the sake of traveling. Jackson found only a wallet, checkbook, a pair of expensive sunglasses, two sets of keys, and thankfully, her phone. He scanned the messages and noted several texts from Mitchell, but only one reply.

In reading the messages in more detail, Jackson learned that Hannah had left without telling Mitchell.
Why wasn’t he surprised? She was good at disappearing when she wanted to.
Had she come to see Sophia on her way somewhere else? There wasn’t enough information here to know.

One thing was certain: even if she hadn’t told Mitchell where she was going, this was the first place he’d come looking for her. Jackson disliked the thought of running into Mitchell, but that was nothing to how much he hated the thought of being forced to see Hannah and Mitchell together.
Wasn’t there any way to avoid this? As her husband, couldn’t he refuse to let Mitchell see her?

The idea might sound appealing, but Jackson knew he wouldn’t do it. This wasn’t the time to indulge his personal prejudices. Though it was hard to accept, it was logical that Hannah’s first returning memories would involve the man she loved, not the husband she left behind.

Putting the items back in her purse, he returned everything to a box on the top shelf of the closet, well away from where Sophia could find it. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Freya barking outside. He went to let her in and spent a few minutes letting her express her joy at seeing him. Then he got back in the truck and drove the short distance to Colton’s house to pick up Sophia.

* * * *

Jackson didn’t recognize the car parked in Colton’s driveway. He was almost to the front door when it flew open and Taryn strolled out. “I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said with a grin.

A teasing smile touched his lips. “How long have you been back?”

She glanced at her watch. “Six hours. You’re looking at a fully certified midwife.”

“You’re delivering babies? Now, that’s a little scary.”

Taryn slapped his arm. “That’s not very nice, Jackson. Especially since I spent most of the afternoon entertaining your daughter.”

“Are you on your way somewhere?”

“No, I forgot to get something out of my car.”

He turned to walk with her. “Let me get it for you.”

She laughed as she opened the car door. “I’m not helpless, you know. Just a little quirky.”

“I like your new ride,” he said as he took the bag she handed him.

“Thanks. My old car finally died so I thought I’d splurge a little.”

“Are you going to stick around for a while?”

“Sure am. I’m staying with Laurel and Colton until I decide where I want to live.”

He laughed as he followed her back inside the house. “The more the merrier.”

“You know you love me, Jackson.”

“It’s called respecting my elders.”

“Hey, watch it; I’m not that much older than you.”

This conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Sophia. “Daddy, Miss Taryn and I have been coloring. She doesn’t go outside the lines like you do.”

Jackson leaned down and kissed her cheek. “It sounds like you had fun. Let me help Miss Taryn carry this stuff upstairs. While I’m gone, start getting your things together.”

Taryn led the way to the guestroom. There wasn’t a surface that wasn’t covered with something. “Just put that on the bed.”

His eyes surveyed the chaos. “Where
is
the bed?” he asked in an innocent voice.

“Very funny! Now get out of here so I can clean up this mess before Laurel sees it.”

Jackson was still smiling when he reached the kitchen. He found Colton standing at the stove stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious.

“Did you make whatever that is?”

Colton shook his head. “Laurel started it before she left. She and Amanda had some kind of Girl Scout function to attend. They should be home by seven.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Hannah wanted me to give you this.”

Jackson took it from him. “How was she today?”

“Happier than I’ve seen her yet. She asked me if you were her boyfriend. I told her not to worry about what you used to be.”

“Good answer. I don’t want to scare her any more than I have already.”

“I know this isn’t easy for you, Jackson. Hang in there.”

“I appreciate everything you and Laurel have done. I don’t know how I’d be managing without your help.”

“This is what friends do.”

Jackson only half-listened to Sophia’s chatter on the way home. It had been an emotionally exhausting week dealing with Hannah’s accident, her subsequent memory loss, and his own confused state of mind. He hardly knew how to react to her sudden reappearance in his life, and the uncertainty of the situation made it difficult to make plans. All he could do was wait, and being patient wasn’t something he was good at.

It wasn’t until Sophia was in bed that he finally sat down to read the letter that had taunted him with its presence all evening.

Dear Jackson,

Thank you for giving me such a delightful glimpse of the past. I’m looking forward to hearing about our subsequent meetings. I’m hanging on the edge of my hospital bed wondering under what circumstances you finally speak to me.

Please forgive me for not remembering you. From what I can tell, it’s definitely my loss.

Hannah

Jackson couldn’t help but compare this note to the other one she left for him. The first had sent him into a chasm of disillusionment and pain so deep he thought he’d never be able to climb out of it. The second produced a myriad of feelings, most of which were well outside his comfort zone. His heart, so long bereft of any kind of hope where Hannah was concerned, beat heavily in his chest. How could he be moved by words that meant so little?

Why did You send her back to me like this, Lord? With no memory of what she’s done? You’ve robbed me of my defenses and left me with nothing to guard my heart. I should be the one who gets to forget what happened.

Into his mind came the words, “For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
Here I go again, Lord, thinking I know better than You. Forgive me for focusing on how this situation affects me. My feelings are the last thing I should be worried about. What matters now is getting Hannah better.

Reaching for the tablet of paper, he began to write.

Dear Hannah,

At your request, the saga of our childhood exploits continues. Picture in your mind a warm day with just a hint of wisteria in the air. It also happens to be a windy day, and I’m excited about the prospect of trying out the kite I recently bought.

I’ve been staring at the kite for what seems like hours while I wait for my father to finish mowing the grass. Finally, it’s time to leave for the park. Once we arrive, my father shows me the basics of getting the kite in the air and, more importantly, keeping it there. After a few unsuccessful tries, my beautiful kite is part of the cloudless blue sky, and I’m lost in admiration of my obvious skill in making such a thing happen.

Everything is going great until some older boys arrive with the intention of playing football. During one of the numerous passes that mysteriously keep getting closer and closer to where I’m standing, the football hits me square in the face. Within seconds, my nose is bleeding. The new kite is forgotten. I drop the spool of string and look around for my father. I finally spot him halfway across the field talking to someone I don’t recognize. He carts me off to the car where he proceeds to halt the flow of blood by stuffing wads of napkin in my nostrils. He also comments on that fact that one of my eyes is swelling shut.

Do you get a sense of what I look like by now? If not, let me review: my t-shirt is streaked with blood, my nose has wisps of white napkin hanging out, and I’ve got the beginnings of a black eye. Into this chaotic scene walks a girl with pig tails. In her hands is my kite, looking much worse than the last time I saw it. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the girl is you.

You look me over in fascination; clearly, you’ve never seen anything like the picture I present. As had happened previously when I first met you, I lose all power of speech. All I can do is look at you helplessly. At this point in our young lives, you’re a few inches taller than me. (I do finally overcome that disadvantage by the time we’re in high school, but on this particular day, I’m mortified.) After putting my kite on the ground, you reach over and pat my shoulder.

“You’ll be okay, little boy,” you say to me. “But you need to stop crying; that only makes it worse.”

Having delivered your advice, you kindly leave me to lick my wounds in private. I watch you walk back to the playground and get on one of the swings. Then I reach down and pick up my kite. I know with a sinking feeling in my stomach that it will never fly again.

Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean I got rid of it. I’ve got you wondering, don’t I? Would a grown man really keep a mangled kite? You’ll have to wait on that answer. I don’t want to reveal all my secrets at once.

Until next time,

Jackson

Philippians 4:6-7

Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Jackson looked back over the words he’d written. He hadn’t intended to tell her the kite story. Not only was it kind of gross, it wasn’t the sort of thing she would remember in the normal way. It really only had meaning for him. Maybe he should tear it up and write about something else.

A wave of exhaustion swept over him. He couldn’t do it; not tonight. He was drained, physically and every other way. With a shrug, he folded the paper in half and slid it into an envelope. His gaze moved back to her note. Feeling ridiculous, he reached for it and reread the words.
She’d liked hearing from him. He wished he could say that didn’t mean anything to him, but he’d be lying.
Before he went to bed, he put her note in the drawer with the other one.

Chapter Eight

Hannah regretfully finished the latest letter from Jackson. This was number four and it was no less captivating than the previous three. Already she was less concerned with filling in the missing pieces from her past and more interested in the man behind the stories. If she was honest, she was becoming a little obsessed with Jackson. He consumed her thoughts to the exclusion of anything else.

She was torn between the desire to meet him face-to-face and the fear that she’d be a disappointment to someone who’d been so devoted to her. Hannah wasn’t that little girl anymore; in spite of all her efforts to remember, her mind remained a blank canvas, void of anything but the last few days.

Her eyes moved restlessly around the room and then settled again on the letter in her hand. Today’s narrative had been more that usually satisfying. She’d begun to believe the little boy who’d taken hold of her imagination and was fast finding a place in her heart would never work up the nerve to speak to her.

In the end, it was something as simple as food. The eight-year-old Jackson had forgotten his lunch. Seeing his predicament, she’d shared her sandwich with him. Such generosity had overcome his shyness, and he thanked her.

Unconsciously pulling the letter close to her heart, she longed to know the next step in their friendship. Had they gradually grown closer over the years?
Had they become more than friends?

At this point, she forced herself to stop. It wasn’t wise to look too far ahead. Right now she had the very real problem of what was going to happen when she left the hospital. No one seemed to have an answer to that question.
Where had she been living before the accident, and why couldn’t she simply go back there?
None of it made any sense.

* * * *

Jackson’s steps automatically quickened when he recognized the man standing by his truck. The situation he’d hoped to avoid had finally caught up with him.
What should he do? No matter how much he disliked Mitchell’s involvement with Hannah, he couldn’t allow his emotions to dictate his actions. And as much as he’d like to see Mitchell disappear, he couldn’t lie to make it happen.

When he got close enough, he asked, “What can I do for you, Mitchell?”

“You know why I’m here. I’m looking for Hannah.”

Jackson nodded. “She was in a car accident last week.”

Mitchell’s face paled. “That’s why I haven’t been able to reach her. Where is she now?”

“In the hospital. She was in a coma for four days. Right now, she doesn’t seem to remember anything prior to the accident.”

“How long is that supposed to last?”

“They’re not sure. In the meantime, we have to be careful how much we tell her. She’s confused and gets upset easily.”

“When can she leave the hospital?”

“I haven’t been given a date yet.”

Mitchell bit his lip. “I have to be back in New York tomorrow.”

That was fine with Jackson. He didn’t want Mitchell to stick around. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you.”

“You’re not sorry. You can’t wait for me to leave, and I understand why. I hope you’re not depending on Hannah’s loss of memory to save your marriage, because when she does remember, she’ll come back to me. She always does.”

Jackson’s fingers clinched into fists. He’d love to wipe the satisfied grin off Mitchell’s face, but he wasn’t going to get into a brawl in his work parking lot. Fist fighting was for teenagers, not grown men. “Once Hannah is recovered, she’s free to do whatever she wants.”

“Since I’m here, I’d like to see her.”

“She’s at St. Francis Hospital, room 410. It’s down the street a few blocks. If you care about her at all, please be careful what you say.”

Mitchell turned away. “Thanks for the info and the advice.”

Jackson watched Mitchell’s car until it was out of sight. Then he got into his truck, but he didn’t make any move to turn the key. The ambiguous and uncertain nature of this situation galled him. His hands were tied both by the circumstances and his own conscience. Why did he feel so torn about Hannah seeing Mitchell?
And why did he want to protect the woman who’d left him? Was Mitchell right? Was he hoping that her reason for being here had something to do with him?

Bowing his head, he prayed, “Father, please don’t let Mitchell upset Hannah. I know it’s selfish to think this way, but she’s vulnerable right now. He can tell her anything, and she’ll believe him. I don’t want her to leave again without knowing why she came.”

A knock on the window of the passenger side of his truck brought his head up abruptly. Feeling embarrassed, Jackson put the window down.

“Hey, Colton.”

“Anything wrong? You look upset.”

“Mitchell is on his way to see Hannah.”

“He showed up, huh? I don’t think he’s going to get the reception he’s expecting.”

Jackson smiled faintly. “She might remember
him
.”

Colton leaned against the truck. “There’s a chance she might, but it’s a very small one. According to something Dr. Koutoucki said, the immediate events leading up to the accident that caused the amnesia usually take longer to resurface. Once Mitchell realizes she doesn’t know him, he won’t have any reason to stay. He’s found out what he wants to know and from what you’ve told me, he’s not the type to hang around when times get tough.”

“He mentioned that he had to get back to New York.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all. He’s at a disadvantage here, and he knows it. I’ll run over to the hospital and see how the reunion is going.”

“I was hoping you’d do that, but didn’t want to ask.”

“I’m good at reading minds. Just ask Laurel. I’ll see you at the house. This won’t take long. Tell my beautiful wife not to start dinner without me.”

“I will and thanks, Colton.”

* * * *

Hannah was finishing a bowl of vanilla pudding when a man walked into her room and approached the bed. Her eyes took in the coal-black hair, light blue eyes and stubble of beard. Her heart started to pound in her chest.
Was this Jackson?
She hadn’t pictured him as being so good-looking or so intimidating. He hadn’t smiled yet.

“Hello, Hannah. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I just found out about your accident.”

She held out her hand. “You’ll have to tell me who you are. I’m having trouble remembering.”

“I’m Mitchell Staverly.”

Hannah was relieved to find out he wasn’t Jackson. He didn’t fit her mental image of the man capable of writing such wonderful letters. “It’s nice to meet you, Mitchell. Do you live around here?”

“I live in New York. I’ve been there almost two years now.”

“So I knew someone who lived in New York. That’s amazing.”

“You really don’t remember me, do you? It’s hard to believe. I’ve known you for a long time.”

“I don’t remember anyone really. I get brief flashes from time to time, but nothing I can put together. The doctor says I’ll probably remember more when I get out of here.”

“Where are you going? To Jackson’s?”

His question hardly registered. “Do you know Jackson?” she asked eagerly.

“I knew him in high school. I hadn’t seen him in years until today.”

“I’m curious about him.”

“Hasn’t he been to see you?”

Hannah tilted her head to the side. “I think he came while I was in the coma. He’s been writing me letters.”

Mitchell frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would he write letters when he lives here?”

His questions confused Hannah.
Why did Mitchell seem so hostile toward Jackson?
“Maybe he’s shy about meeting me when I don’t know him.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy him, either. “That doesn’t make sense, Hannah. Hasn’t he told you who he is?”

She was beginning to wish Mitchell would leave. His intensity made her uncomfortable. “Jackson and I grew up together.” Her eyes strayed to the flowers. “I think he might be my boyfriend.”

Mitchell laughed harshly. “I’m your boyfriend. Jackson is your husband.”

Hannah looked at him in confusion.
What was he saying?
“That can’t be. I’m not married.”

He finally seemed to notice her agitation. “Maybe I was misinformed.”

She didn’t know what to think.
Was Jackson her husband or not?
If so, why hadn’t he told her from the beginning?
Why would he hide his identity from her?
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” she asked in a low voice. “I’m not the same person I was before.”

Looking more and more uneasy, Mitchell glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I better go now. I have to drive back to Atlanta tonight.”

She made no attempt to stop him. “Thanks again for coming by. I hope you have a safe trip home.”

After he left, Hannah moved the tray of food to the side. What little appetite she had was gone. Something about Mitchell made her nervous. She hoped he wouldn’t come again.
Why was that? If she couldn’t remember him, why would she be uncomfortable around him?

Everything had been fine until he started asking all those questions. She reached for Jackson’s letters and skimmed the contents, but there was nothing in them that even hinted at him being her husband.

“How’s my favorite patient doing?”

She looked up to find Colton standing at the end of the bed. “Tired of lying around, but otherwise, pretty good.”

He pointed to the letters in her hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t. I’ve already read them several times,” she admitted. “Someone came to see me today. He told me that Jackson is my husband. Is that true, Dr. Samuels?” When Colton didn’t immediately answer, she went on. “Please tell me. I need to know.”

Colton moved closer and took her hand in a light clasp. “I thought we agreed not to worry about what Jackson was.”

A tear slipped out of her eye and moved slowly down her face. “He
is
my husband, isn’t he? Why doesn’t he want me to know? Is it because he’s not sure he wants to stay married to me?”

His smile was gentle. “Jackson doesn’t want you to feel pressured into something you aren’t comfortable with.”

“I want to see him – to talk to him. Will you ask him to come?”

Colton sighed. “You have seen him, Hannah,” he said softly.

“But that’s not possible.” She stopped for a second and her face paled alarmingly. “Was he the man with the scarred face?”

“Yes. Like you, Jackson was involved in a car accident, but it was many years ago.”

More tears slipped down her face. “I’ve been refusing to see my own husband. What must he think of me?” she whispered.

Once again, Colton pointed to the letter. “The answer is in your hand.”

“I have to apologize to him. I never meant to hurt him like that.”

“I know you didn’t. I’ll tell him what you said.”

“Thank you, Dr. Samuels.”

“You’re welcome. Goodnight.”

* * * *

Jackson had never liked having his hand forced; he found it even more disagreeable now. He’d been so worried about the harm Mitchell could do to Hannah that he hadn’t considered how much trouble Mitchell’s visit could wreak on his own precarious position in her life. Now the cat was truly out of the bag. A few letters weren’t sufficient to make Hannah feel comfortable enough to accept him as her husband, especially in view of her earlier reaction to his appearance. And even if she did, he was still presenting himself to her under false pretenses.

Hannah didn’t understand the true circumstances of their marriage. She only had a small piece of a huge puzzle. Jackson could picture her desperately trying to remember events that never happened. In essence, she believed something that had no basis in reality. How long would it be before she found out the truth, either by someone telling her, or by her own returning memory? When that happened, she would be upset, and all of her disappointment and irritation would be directed at Jackson.

What should he do? Did he pretend everything was normal until she was more herself? Or did he explain the true situation and hope she could handle it?
Neither of these options was appealing. The first would be difficult to maintain for any length of time, and the second ran the risk of undoing all the progress they’d made, not to mention having to involve Mitchell.

* * * *

Hannah hardly touched the food on her tray. She’d been on pins and needles ever since Dr. Samuels dropped by to tell her that Jackson was coming to see her. Her mood had alternated between nervous anticipation to outright dread. At the present time, she was closer to the latter and wished Mitchell hadn’t felt it necessary to be so outspoken. There were times when ignorance wasn’t only bliss, it was preferable.

In spite of her misgivings, she was determined to make amends to Jackson. She couldn’t imagine how badly her actions had hurt him and possibly damaged their already problematic relationship. Had she always been this irrational and judgmental?
You didn’t decide what someone was like based on one glimpse of their face in a dark room.