If She Only Knew (23 page)
Authors: Lisa Jackson
“And what would that be?”
“I don't know,” Nick admitted, “But I sure as hell intend to find out.”
Marla realized a little too late that she should never have come down to dinner. The entire family had collected around an expensive linen-covered table replete with china, crystal and silver. Candles had been lit, soft music played and a centerpiece of freshly cut roses, irises and daisies had been placed beneath a chandelier that had been turned down low. Alex was at the head of the table, she at the opposite end. On one side Cissy sat next to her grandmother, on the other Nick had taken a chair, sent her a cold glance, then appeared to merely tolerate the conversation around the clink of silver and soft music. Prime rib, potatoes with parsley, thin spears of asparagus garnished each plate, the aromas blending deliciously.
Marla felt completely out of place with her bowl of specially concocted bisque. This was the first formal meal she'd taken with the family and it felt wrong. Maybe it was the amnesia, or the prescription she was taking, she thought, grasping at anything that would explain her feeling of separation, from this, her family. Maybe it was paranoia returning. Or maybe it was because she remembered meeting Nick in the garden and wanting him to kiss her.
Awkwardly using a spoon she took a sip of her shrimp bisque and her stomach, tight with nerves as it was, felt worse.
The conversation had been stilted, stiff as a corpse. Alex had brought up the stock market and the business while Eugenia had mentioned Cahill House and the problems they were having trying to find a supervisor. Cissy, mostly quiet, had endured it all with long-suffering sighs and a bored expression. Marla hadn't blamed her. Nick had kept his comments to one-word responses and sliced into his slab of prime rib.
You were involved with him.
He'd said as much. They'd been lovers. She felt her cheeks burn because she could well imagine it. Though she had no memory of making love to him, not one glimmer of his naked body in her mind's eye, she believed it. There was something about him she found irresistible. Unconventionally handsome, weather-beaten, with a cutting sense of humor that was downright irreverent, she found him sexy as hell and hated herself for it. Surely it was the drugs, her own state of confusion, this damned amnesia that screwed up her thinking, and yet, as she noticed the stony set of his features, his tanned skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, a broad forehead and square jaw, she felt that same pull she'd felt in the garden and in the hospital room.
He'd said as much. They'd been lovers. She felt her cheeks burn because she could well imagine it. Though she had no memory of making love to him, not one glimmer of his naked body in her mind's eye, she believed it. There was something about him she found irresistible. Unconventionally handsome, weather-beaten, with a cutting sense of humor that was downright irreverent, she found him sexy as hell and hated herself for it. Surely it was the drugs, her own state of confusion, this damned amnesia that screwed up her thinking, and yet, as she noticed the stony set of his features, his tanned skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, a broad forehead and square jaw, she felt that same pull she'd felt in the garden and in the hospital room.
She took another sip of soup, tried to concentrate on the conversation and didn't hazard another glance his way. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of real food and she couldn't wait to get the damned wires off.
Just one more day.
Just one more day.
“Mother says you invited Cherise and her husband to the house,” Alex finally said on the other side of the flickering tapers.
“That's right. She called. They're coming over tomorrow.”
“Do you think that's a wise idea?” Alex was cutting the fatty edge off his prime rib. He sliced off a morsel then dipped it into a mound of horseradish.
“You know how I feel about guests,” Marla said.
“But . . . well, Cherise and Montgomery, they aren't really friends.”
“They're family.”
Eugenia set down her fork. “There's some bad blood, you see.”
“Oh, brother.” Cissy took a long gulp of water from a crystal goblet where ice cubes and a slice of lemon danced.
“We'll talk about this later,” Alex said as he glanced at his daughter.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Eugenia flushed. “No reason to bring it up at the dinner table.”
“Why not?” Nick asked.
“Cissy doesn't want to hear it.” Eugenia forced a smile and reached for her glass of wine.
“That's right, I don't.”
“I think it's a good thing they're coming by,” Nick said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes a darker blue in the dimmed light. “Maybe it'll clear the air.”
Alex scowled and shook his head. “It'll just be trouble. It always is. Even after I tried to help Cherise's husband out and gave him the job down at Cahill Houseâ”
“Well, that's water under the bridge,” Eugenia said frostily, and Alex scowled.
“Right.”
Nick shoved his plate aside; looked as if he wanted to bolt from the room as the tense seconds ticked by. Marla set down her spoon and decided this was as good a time as any to make her request. “As soon as the wires are off, I'd like to visit my dad,” she announced.
Eugenia was pronging some potato with her fork. She didn't flinch, but Alex's head snapped up. His gaze narrowed on her. “Conrad? Why?”
“He's my father for one thing. And it might help. For me to remember. IâI understand he's very ill.”
“That's true and I'd love to take the family over to Tiburon to see him. Especially the baby. But I have to think of the poor guy.” Alex shoved his plate aside, leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin upon his knuckles. “What would it do to him, to see you this way?”
She caught a glimpse of her image in the cut glass over the sideboard, but she didn't cringe. She was healing. The bruises were fading, the swelling diminishing, her hair neat in the candlelight. “I think . . . I think he would be relieved to see that I was all right.”
Eugenia washed down a small piece of prime rib with a swallow of wine. “I guess I could run over to Tiburon. Not this week, I'm afraid. I've got errands and meetings but maybe next . . .”
“I could probably go on my own,” Marla said, sick of being treated like an invalid. She was beginning to think of this house as some kind of glamorous prison, which, of course, was ridiculous. But she wanted to see her father alone, without the trappings of the family.
“You can't drive,” Alex reminded her.
“Why not?”
“The Porsche's in the shop for one thing and you've been in a comaâ”
“And I'm not anymore. There's no reason to bother your mother with my errands. Or for you to make a special trip with me. He is, after all,
my
father.” It was all Marla could do to hang on to her patience. Beneath the veneer of civility, the soft music, flickering candles and polished silver in this huge looming house, there was a thick, inescapable tension, secrets hidden in the dark corners. “And if driving is the issue, then Lars could take me.” That thought wasn't particularly pleasant but she didn't care. And she felt the need to see her father and she needed to see him alone.
my
father.” It was all Marla could do to hang on to her patience. Beneath the veneer of civility, the soft music, flickering candles and polished silver in this huge looming house, there was a thick, inescapable tension, secrets hidden in the dark corners. “And if driving is the issue, then Lars could take me.” That thought wasn't particularly pleasant but she didn't care. And she felt the need to see her father and she needed to see him alone.
“It's no bother,” her mother-in-law assured her with the patient smile that was beginning to grate on Marla's nerves.
Since subtlety wasn't working, she decided to be more direct. “Look, I need answers. I want to be well so that I can remember . . . all of you . . . everything and it's time I became independent. I'd like to see my friends, go to the club, and as soon as the wires are off, out to lunch.” She watched for a reaction and Eugenia, cutting her prime rib, only elevated her eyebrows a fraction over her glasses. Alex tossed his napkin onto the table.
“Of course you do. As soon as Phil gives his okay, then you can do whatever you want. Besides, didn't Joanna come by and visit the other day?”
“Yes, but I didn't remember her.” Marla looked from one face to another as Cissy reached for her water glass again and Nick didn't say a word. “Now, wait a minute. Am I under some doctor's orders to remain housebound?”
Eugenia sighed and adjusted her fork and knife on the edge of her plate. “Dr. Robertson just wants to make sure that you're up to any activities. And then there's your memory loss to considerâ”
“I've considered it and I'm sick to death of it,” she said, surprised at her own vehemence. “I think seeing other people, getting out of the house, reacquainting myself with some of my usual haunts, finding some stimulation might just trigger something, and I might remember.” More than anything, she wanted to know more about herself. Her life. Her family. Why did she feel like such an outsider?
“I'll talk to Phil tomorrow,” Alex promised as if that were the end of it.
She nearly shot to her feet. Instead she grabbed the edge of the table and forced her voice to remain calm. “No, I'll talk to him. I think it's time I did some things for myself.”
There was a moment of tense silence, then Alex laughed. “Bravo!” he mocked with sarcastic enthusiasm. He clapped his hands as if he were at a tennis match. “That's the spirit! Now that's the Marla I remember!”
Eugenia frowned. Nick leaned back in his chair. Cissy rolled her eyes expressively.
“Why don't you call him in the morning?” Alex suggested.
“I will,” she said, wondering why she'd thought even for a second that her husband was trying to somehow hide her from the world. No, not hide her, but coddle her, treat her like some kind of porcelain doll that he thought might break. Or crack. As if she were fragile.
“Do we really have to talk about all this stuff?” Cissy demanded, and Marla cringed inwardly. “I mean, all this memory stuff, it's all so weird.”
Eugenia tossed Marla an I-tried-to-warn-you look.
“Cissy's right, this isn't the place,” Alex said, a note of warning evident in his voice.
“Then after dinner,” Marla insisted.
Carmen appeared as if on cue.
“But, really, there's no reason,” Eugenia said, shaking her head and scooting her chair back. “I think I'll have my coffee in the sitting room,” she said to Carmen who quickly disappeared again.
Nick leaned forward. “If Marla wants to discuss this, she should,” he said. “It's
her
memory.”
her
memory.”
“Oh, God,” Cissy mumbled.
Marla plowed on, grateful for some support, even if it came from Nick. “And I want to go to the ranch and see you ride,” she said to her daughter.
Cissy rolled her eyes. “Oh, pulleeez, when have you ever cared about riding?”
“I told you before,” Marla insisted and all eyes turned her direction. “I remember riding. It's just a hazy little image, but I know I used to ride horseback. I thought maybe you and I . . . at the ranch . . .” her voice nearly failed her at the censure in Cissy's gaze. “Maybe we used to ride together.”
“Are you kidding?” Cissy shook her head and she almost laughed. “Now you're really jumping off the deep end! Mom, you're afraid of horses. Something about being thrown off as a kid. Right?” Cissy implored her father with a searching look.
“That's right honey,” he agreed, and her heart sank. “A nasty spill. No broken bones, but you've been deathly afraid of horses ever since.”
Could she have been so wrong about herself? Were those flashes of memory nothing but . . . what? Dreams? False images? No! She was certain. “I can't explain it, but I feel like . . .” Her voice fell away as everyone had stopped eating and was staring at her, as if expecting her to say something. “I think . . . I think I liked to ride.” She looked at her daughter. “With you.”
“Give me a break. Don't you even remember your phobias? God, Mom, this is really pathetic and weird andâ”
“Cissy, that's enough!” Alex interjected angrily, his voice commanding and harsh over the quiet strains of classical music.
“No, she's right.” Marla met her daughter's worried gaze. “It is weird and pathetic and scary and I wish it would just go away. But it's going to take some time, so please, just be patient with me, okay?”
“May I be excused?” Cissy asked, tears forming in her eyes, then without waiting for an answer shoved her chair back so hard the legs scraped against the floor. She was up in an instant, her napkin falling as she dashed from the room.
“You've upset her,” Alex charged, staring at his wife.
“And you've upset me,” Marla flung back, her fingers curling in frustration. “I can't stand this anymore. This not knowing. I'm not going to hide up in my room until I look presentable enough to go out and I'm damned well not going to shun my friends who want to see me, nor am I going to ignore my father and brother or Cherise and her preacher of a husband or anyone else. I'm going to get well, come hell or high water.”
“You'll have to be patient,” Eugenia said.
“I'm sick of being patient, okay? Now, I think I will start remembering if I get out of this house and start doing some of the things I did before the accident.”
“I think she's right,” Nick agreed.
“Won't you be embarrassed?” Eugenia asked. “I mean your friends are . . . well, socially prominent women andâ”
“And they must be snobs or idiots or a bunch of phonies if they can't accept me for what I am. Joanna Lindquist didn't run away and cower at the sight of me, did she?”
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