If She Only Knew (9 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: If She Only Knew
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Beneath black eyebrows that had slammed together, Nick stared at her.
He didn't so much as smile, didn't offer any words of encouragement. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest, his leather jacket creaking and stretching as he observed the tender scene between husband and wife through his narrowed, jaded eyes. What was it he witnessed? What caused his square jaw to clench so hard?
Suddenly she had to know what she looked like, how everyone else saw her. Was it what had happened between them, or her appearance now? She yanked her gaze from his and silently called herself a dozen kinds of fool. “Is there a mirror over there anywhere?” she asked.
For a second, no one said a word.
“Don't either of you two have one?” Marla's gaze moved from her mother-in-law to Cissy.
“A hand mirror?” Eugenia shook her head, apricot curls unmoving under the overhead light. “Well, only in my compact.”
“Could I see it?”
“I don't know if that's such a good idea . . .” Eugenia was nervous and Marla realized she must look worse than she imagined.
“Is it that bad?”
“No, dear, but—”
“Give her the mirror,” Nick cut in.
She glanced his way again, saw an emotion akin to anger dart through his gray-blue eyes. “Yes, get it. Because if you don't, I swear I'll climb over the rail of this damned bed and crawl to the sink and its mirror if I have to.” She flung a hand toward the cabinet mounted above the basin, then pushed the button that elevated the head of the bed even higher.
“But your IV and, well, you're still . . .” Alex gestured to the bed and she realized that he was probably indicating her catheter and urine bag hidden discreetly under the sheets.
Heat washed up her cheeks and she groaned inwardly, then squared her shoulders. “I don't care.”
“Give it to her.” Nick's lips were blade thin.
Eugenia swallowed hard. “Well, I suppose it's only a matter of time before you're able to get up anyway, but remember, you're still healing and soon you'll look much better and . . .” She started riffling through her little purse. “Oh . . . here we go.” She withdrew a shiny gold compact and handed it to Marla.
Cissy winced.
Eugenia stiffened her shoulders.
Alex turned away.
Only Nick's posture didn't change. He continued to watch her as, with trembling fingers, Marla snapped the compact open and stared into the tiny mirror.
Oh, God,
she thought, sucking in air through teeth wired shut. It was worse than she'd imagined. Not only was she bruised and swollen, discolored in shades of yellow-green and pale purple, but the face staring back at her was that of a stranger.
Chapter Four
Watching Marla, Nick gritted his teeth. With the hand not attached to an IV, she gently touched her face, her fingers tracing the bruises and scabs, even the stubble over the part of her head that had been shaved. To her credit, she put on a brave show, not giving in to tears that he suspected were just beneath the surface. She swallowed hard and tenderly fingered a row of stitches that showed through the fuzzy growth of new hair. “Oh, God,” she whispered, blinking several times before finding some grit and visibly stiffening her spine. “I . . . I don't think I'd even pass as the Bride of Frankenstein . . . you know what they say, always a bridesmaid, never a . . .” Her words were mumbled, said with difficulty. She tried to smile, but failed and her chin trembled ever so slightly.
Nick could barely watch this woman he'd sworn to hate, the one who had used him, betrayed him, and ended up his brother's wife.
“It'll be all right,” Alex said, taking the compact from her hand and snapping the gold case shut. “Just give yourself time.”
“That's right. In a couple of months, you'll be yourself and you'll laugh . . . well, at least put this behind you,” Eugenia forced a grin that showed a hint of gold fillings. “We all will.”
“I will
never
laugh about this,” Marla shot back.
“None of us will.” Alex shot his mother a warning look.
Nick silently agreed. In his estimation, the truth was better than false hope and the facts spoke for themselves: Marla Amhurst Cahill had nearly died and right now she looked and probably felt like hell. The road to her recovery was bound to be long and bumpy.
“I . . . I don't know if I'll ever be myself.” Marla, still stricken, glanced at Nick, her gaze skating across his for only an instant, as if he alone understood. “I just don't feel that I'm . . .” She let her voice trail off.
“You're what?” Alex said.
She looked from one person to the other. When she met Nick's gaze, a shadow of an emotion he couldn't read chased across her eyes, only to quickly disappear. “I don't know who I am.”
“Oh, brother,” Cissy intoned and was rewarded with a don't-even-say-it look from her father.
“You'll be fine,” Alex predicted.
Nick didn't believe it. She'd never be fine. Never had been. Yet a needle of guilt pricked his conscience as he saw her bruised face. For years he'd shoved her out of his mind and when he had thought of her it had only been with jaded disregard. Now he witnessed her wan and battered and fighting for some grain of dignity.
Cissy pretended to be staring out the window as she ran her fingers absently over the vents of the air-conditioning unit, but Nick could almost see the gears grinding in the teenager's mind. From the corner of her eye she was watching her mother. Something was definitely going on there.
“Don't you worry, things are going to be just fine. Once you get back home, with the baby . . . and the rest of us. You'll see.” Eugenia took the compact from her son and dropped it quickly into her purse.
Nick wanted to get the hell out. This was about as much family togetherness as he could take for one day.
“You were here before.” Marla was looking at him again.
He gave a cursory nod and held her gaze. “A few hours ago.”
“I remember.” She said it as if awed and then lines deepened on her forehead. “The outlaw.”
“That's right.” Was it his imagination or was there a flicker of more than idle curiosity in her gaze?
“There was someone else here, too,” she said.
“With me?” Nick shook his head.
“No . . . no . . . I mean before you came in. At least . . . I think . . .” Her eyes clouded and she looked away, studied the folds of the blankets that were bunching at her waist. “Yes, I'm sure of it. Someone who didn't say a word, he came in and . . . and stood right there by the bed . . . Oh, damn it, I know this sounds paranoid, but it . . . it seemed real.”
“Nonsense,” Eugenia said with a high-pitched, isn't-that-a-silly-notion laugh. “It was probably a nurse.”
“No.” Marla was frustrated. Agitated. “Maybe I was dreaming. But I do remember, or . . . I think I do . . . that I actually heard all of you here . . .” Her eyebrows drew together over a face that had once been breathtakingly beautiful. “You were here another time . . . or was it twice before? Oh, God, I can't remember.” She lifted a hand to shove the hair from her face and then stopped suddenly when her fingers encountered the bald spot above her left eye and the stitches in her scalp.
“Many,” Eugenia said kindly. “We were here many times.”
“And you sent Cissy down for soda. Sprite?”
“That's right. We did once,” Alex agreed, smiling, though from Nick's perspective, the grin seemed strained and out of place. “We thought you were in a coma, that you couldn't hear us.”
Eugenia fiddled with the clasp of her purse, and before she offered up a cheery grin, the corners of her mouth turned down for just a second, just the way they did when she was perturbed. “So, you could hear us. Why didn't you respond?”
“I tried. But it was impossible.”
“Don't worry about it.”
“But I can't remember anything else, not the accident, not . . . anything.” Still holding Alex's hand, she turned to look at Cissy, who rolled her eyes theatrically. She sent her father a look that said more effectively than words,
Can we just go now?
Nick didn't blame the kid.
Alex didn't take the hint. He leaned closer to his wife and said, “Now, listen, honey, even if you can't remember much—”
“No, it's not that I can't remember much, Alex,” Marla cut in, her tongue tripping over his name, “I don't remember
any
thing about
my
life, though other things—general things are fairly clear. But my parents, my birthday, if I have brothers and sisters, or—”
“You mean you don't remember us?” Cissy asked, suddenly getting it.
Marla didn't reply.
“This is temporary,” Alex cut in.
“It had better be.” Marla turned her eyes to her husband as if seeking answers, and Nick's gut clenched. “I'm sorry about all this . . . trouble and Pam . . . oh, God, I feel awful that she died.”
“You remember her?”
“No,” she whispered, struggling not to break down. “I . . . don't recall the accident . . .” Her voice strangled as she tried and failed to control herself.
“You'll be better soon,” Eugenia said.
Marla turned to face her mother-in-law. “Promise?”
“No, but—”
“Then don't give me any platitudes, all right. I have to get out of here, to do something. I need to talk to Pamela's family. I want to remember all of you.”
Cissy blinked hard and sniffed, then turned away as if embarrassed.
Nick wanted to think that for some unnamed reason Marla was playing a game with them all, but she seemed incredibly sincere. He wouldn't have believed it of her, of being capable of caring for anyone but herself, but then maybe she'd changed. Maybe when she'd lost her memory, she'd lost her manipulative edge.
Or else she was faking them out.
Alex grabbed his wife's hand. “Why don't you try to get some rest?”
“I will, but I have so many questions. What about
my
family? Where are they?” she asked. “My parents? My siblings? I must have someone? Do they live nearby or far away?”
“Oh, honey,” Alex said, sidestepping the questions. “There's so much to tell you, but now isn't the time.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice low. She seemed to steel herself. “Are they all dead?”
“No, no . . . just your mother, but your father isn't well.”
“Oh.” Confusion crossed her features. Sorrow. Grief.
“We'll discuss it all, go through pictures, visit your dad, anything you want. But not until you're home and well, okay?”
She didn't answer but seemed to shrink a little in the bed, become smaller. Insanely, Nick wanted to comfort her and tell her everything would be all right; but he reminded himself of his place. And this was Marla they were dealing with, she could handle herself. If not, she had a husband to do the honors.
It was time to end this agony. “Look, I'll be shovin' off,” he said to Alex and hazarded one last glance at the woman in the bed before striding out of the room. Away from his family. And Marla. God, he needed to get away from her.
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for her. Once upon a time she'd been young, vibrant and sexy as any woman on earth. Now, she was just another patient, lucky to be alive, and destined never to be the same.
Shit.
He jabbed the button for the elevator and the doors whispered open. He nearly bumped into a tall, broad-shouldered man with a trimmed beard, dark glasses and thin lips compressed into a hard expression. Wearing a parka, jeans and hiking boots, he brushed past Nick, walking with a slight limp past the open door to Marla's room. Then he quickened his pace down the corridor.
For a reason he couldn't name, Nick hesitated. Had the guy swept a quick look inside room 505, seen the family and decided to keep going? Or was he visiting someone else in the wing? He seemed familiar, but Nick couldn't name why.
Not that it mattered. Probably his imagination working overtime.
On the first floor, Nick found his way through the general reception area and was out the doors to an evening where the first wisps of fog were gathering and the mist dampened his cheeks and forehead. He hazarded a glance up to the fifth floor and found Marla's room. Cissy was still in the window, staring out to the parking lot, probably wishing that she, too, could escape. Well, he couldn't blame her. He climbed into his pickup and glanced at his watch. He had a few hours to kill.
So maybe he should go take a look at the accident site, then check out the crashed Mercedes. He twisted the ignition and the old engine sparked.
As he looked over his shoulder to back out of his parking space, he caught a glimpse of a man running with an uneven gait through the fog, the same vaguely familiar guy he'd nearly bumped into outside the elevator just a few minutes before.
Nick followed the guy with his eyes, saw him climb into a dark Jeep and wondered why he'd gone up to the fifth floor only to come down again so fast.
“You're borrowing trouble,” he told himself. “And you've got enough as it is.”
Two days later, she was getting ready to be released. Dr. Robertson had given her every test imaginable, seemed satisfied with the results and now she was just waiting for the paperwork and a ride when the door to her hospital room creaked open. “Mrs. Cahill?” a man said, poking his head inside. “I'm Detective Paterno. San Francisco Police Department.”
Her heart plummeted as he, dressed in dark slacks and jacket tossed over a casual shirt, eased into the room. He would be full of questions. Questions for which she had no answers. Her head was clearer, but the glimpses she had into her past were like the flame of a lighter running out of fuel; images would spark and sputter, flicker and die, leaving her with nothing. He flashed his badge and Marla's heart sank.
“Sorry to bother you here at the hospital,” Paterno apologized. With a hound-dog face, deep brown eyes and a solemn, concerned expression, he seemed like a nice enough guy, yet Marla was wary. She couldn't help remembering her daughter's concerns that she might be charged with murder or negligent homicide or God-only-knew-what. And the police were masters at getting a person to say something they shouldn't . . . Dear God, where did
that
attitude spring from? He was studying her with dark suspicious eyes that were at odds with his rumpled, I'm-just-one-of-the-guys attitude. “I'm helping with the investigation of the accident. A favor to the California Highway Patrol. I'd like to hear what you remember about what happened.”

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