Forget Us Not Read online

  The building was an old speakeasy converted and modernized into a business with a couple of apartments above. It’s all mirror and copper now, decorated in muted reds and golds. There’s a circular counter about twenty feet in from the door that allows the staff to walk in a complete arc to serve customers. He’s moved from behind the bar and is popping buttons on the antique jukebox. With the stride of a panther, he comes to me and holds out his hand. “Dance with me, beauty.”

  Though I’m not a great dancer, there’s nothing more I want to do than sway across the scarred floor, dodge chairs and tables while he holds me. An electric guitar coupled with a piano play on the air. I know this song. It is one of those 1980s rock ballads about the kind of love that drives a man to the brink of insanity. “Our song?”

  “Whenever I think this is too much and the world is too big for me, I used to play this song. Now all I have to do is think of you.” His hand at the small of my back pulls me closer as we stop moving, and he lowers his head and claims my mouth. Sam is magical and romantic and…mine.

  We don’t break apart until the last note plays, and he blows out a breath as he hugs me. My heart is full of him and pulses all the wonder of love through my veins. “Take me home.”

  He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “You are my home.”

  CHAPTER 13

  SAM

  She tells me everything she remembers as we drive toward the cottage. I should be happy for her, glad she’ll find all the parts of her missing self. But I’m equally sad for me. With every memory recovered, I’m one step closer to losing her again.

  Long after we’re inside the house, she’s still talking, though she’s moved on from memories to remodeling, and then to books lining a shelf in the house. She runs her hand along the spines. “Are these mine or yours?”

  “Mostly yours. I have a couple of fix-it manuals on the bottom.” I’m not a big reader, more of a TV guy.

  “Have I read them all?”

  “I didn’t ask for book reports, but I assume so.” There are classics, romance novels, some best sellers and others that were made into movies.

  Kenzie picks the one with the most worn cover and a spine barely legible for all the cracks. “This must be a favorite.” She lowers herself to the floor in front of the shelf and flips it open. I go to the kitchen. When she reads, she usually does it with a cup of coffee in her hand. But halfway through the brew cycle, I decide to give her tea and hate myself for it. I’m consciously trying to change her routine, so she doesn’t have familiarity to grasp onto. What kind of ass does that make me?

  The kind with a dainty cup of tea and a few cookies on a tray for my wife who’s lying on her stomach on the floor with a book open in front of her and a smile on her face. The happy kind.

  I hand her the tea, and she wrinkles her nose in the most adorable way before she takes a sip and hands it back. Instead of speaking, she reaches out, snatches a book from a low shelf and pats the spot on the wood floor next to her.

  Instead of refusing, I stretch out beside her, and she twists to lay her head on my back with her feet resting on the shelf above her head. She hands me a romance novel, and with little else to do and less inclination to move, I open it.

  Twenty pages in, I’m pretty sure I’m holding a road map for how no real man will ever treat a woman—at least not unless he wants a restraining order slapped against him.

  This book is full of euphemisms and smutty one-liners, but as I check out the cover, I take note of the well-thumbed corners and the ease with which it stays open. My wife must have liked this one, and if so, maybe there are some clues inside that will help me keep her.

  After a few more pages, I think I should get a pen and start jotting some stuff down—the love scene has a few moves I’m more than willing to put to use—but I remain still with my ribs digging into the hard floor. Kenzie’s head is nestled into the soft tissue of my back and moving would fracture the magic. To disturb her would be to break the connection we’re building, and I’m not willing to do it. I mark the page by turning the corner down for later rereading.

  When it’s almost too dark in the room to read, she lifts her head, and I roll over to sit up. Her face is at my zipper, and I’m doing my best to keep my thoughts away from anything that will make me hard again. Not that I don’t want her, but I don’t want to scare her away either. I’m leaving the decision in her hands for now.

  She smiles when she looks up at me, and I want to carry her upstairs. I have suddenly turned into a horny teenaged boy. She has other ideas. “Tell me about your family.”

  I nod. “I’m an only child. Mom died when I was seventeen, and Dad lives over on the corner of Baker and Elm. They opened the bar together after Dad lost his hand at the factory and I was born a couple years later. I grew up working there, sweeping floors and doing my homework in the kitchen.”

  “That must be why you’re so good with customers.”

  “Maybe.”

  “How did we get this house? You said I didn’t like it, so why did we buy it?” She doesn’t say it as though she blames me for anything or even that she thinks the world revolves around her—although mine certainly has started to.

  “Dad used to rent it out, but he got tired of all the maintenance.” She runs her finger down the skin on my arm from elbow to wrist and across the hand I’m leaning on. Her touch sends fire burning through every cell in my body. “He thought it would be easier on us if we didn’t have to worry about a house payment right away.”

  “Did they build it?”

  I’ll answer anything as long as she keeps her hands on me. “No. They bought it for the rental income.” My voice is a full octave higher as she moves closer and trails her fingers over my chest.

  “Do I get along with your dad?”

  “Yes.” That’s all the answer I can manage before her lips are on mine and she’s kissing me with such abandon, it steals my breath. This is the woman of my dreams, and her lips are on mine. Thinking isn’t nearly as important.

  When she pulls back, I lean my forehead against hers.

  “When I woke up, I didn’t know anything, but I felt safe. And now, being with you in this house…it feels right somehow. As though this is where I belong.”

  Now is my chance to tell her she was on her way to divorce me when she had the accident. I should give her all the information and let her make the decision for herself. But I don’t. Because I’m selfish. Or because I love her and want more time to convince her she loves me. Either way, I keep my mouth shut and my eyes focused on the wall behind her.

  CHAPTER 14

  MAKENZIE

  Sam is beautiful in ways that men usually aren’t, with perfect bow-shaped lips, eyes bluer than the sky, hair that makes my palm itch to run through it, and a body that would make a superhero weep with jealousy. I can’t help but wonder how I got him.

  But I don’t ask, even though the question is burning on my tongue.

  I just stare at him, glad he’s mine to stare at. And he stares back as though he knows what I’m feeling. Finally, he clears his throat. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little.” But I’d rather sit right here and drink in the essence of him, touch him and kiss him until neither of us can think or move. He stands up and reaches a hand down to help me. In a motion neither fluid nor graceful, I find myself against his chest, his heartbeat thumping under my hand. “Sam.” I don’t say more than his name because I can’t. He’s all that’s in my head. No other thoughts fit in there.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you, Kenz.”

  “What if I want you to?”

  He grins and my pulse speeds off. “Well, then, you’re going to need food to keep up your strength.” He has a way of looking at me from the corner of his eyes with his head slightly lowered and tilted to the side and the smallest hint of a grin on his face. And he’s doing it right now. “What can I fix you?”

  I’m not hungry enough to crav
e anything, and I don’t know what we have in the house, nor do I know what I particularly like. “What do I usually eat?”

  “I have a sneaky suspicion that somewhere in this house there is a stash of junk food that I’ve yet to come across, but when I’m home, you eat salad and vegetables. Occasionally, you might eat a steak or grilled chicken, but not very often.”

  “And what do you eat while I’m enjoying salad?”

  “Pizza, steak, a deli sandwich. Whatever we have here.”

  He’s mentioned steak twice, and my brain latches onto the idea. Suddenly, the word famished isn’t strong enough to describe my stomach pains. “Do we have steak?”

  His dimples are as hot as the smile that accompanies them, and he leans down to give me a peck on the cheek. “I’ll butcher a cow if I need to.”

  “Maybe we could just go to a grocery store? It might save some time.”

  “Grocery shop? Together?” Could the idea really be so foreign to inspire such incredulity?

  “Why not?” I test my leg with a bit of weight and wince at the accompanying pain.

  He nods to my still unbooted leg. “Maybe we should wait until you can walk a bit better.”

  Damn the injuries. “Okay.”

  “Let me check the freezer.” He dashes out to the kitchen and returns with two packages. “The secret to late evening hunger is a well-stocked deep freeze.” I don’t see him for the next half hour as he is busy making our house smell delicious. I, on the other hand, sit on the sofa and continue to wonder about our lives. Curiosity gives me the strength to hobble to the kitchen.

  “Sam, why don’t we have kids? I mean, we’ve been married for five years, right?”

  “We wanted to wait until we had a place big enough.”

  I go to the back door. A yard complete with the remnants of a summer vegetable garden, a fence, three large trees and a small shed sit beyond the door in a space big enough that ideas are forming in my mind. “That’s dumb, right?”

  He looks up from plating our food. “Before the accident, we’d talked about it again.”

  “And?”

  “I thought we were going to try.” I have to pull every word out of him.

  “But?”

  He sets a plate on the counter and turns to face me. “You stopped having sex with me, Kenz.”

  “Oh.”

  He slaps a baked potato on each plate and some steamed vegetables while I stand thinking, imagining what our house could be, the children we could have running around, the life I want with him.

  I turn away from the door and lean against it. “Can we talk about it at least?”

  He’s giving me that look again. “Now?”

  “During dinner.” When we are seated, I bring it up again. “Now, about those babies…”

  His eyes point at the table, the wall, the floor, in his lap, anywhere but at me. There is no need for him to elaborate, and I put a hand over his.

  “I don’t know if this is the right time, Kenzie. If you get your memory back and decide…”

  As much as I would gladly say the words over and over again, I can’t convince him with words alone. Instead, I go to the far left of what I really feel and rely on some logic I can’t get behind to convince him. “I don’t have a clue about the future, Sam, but I know what I want right now.”

  “And what if it changes, Kenzie?” There’s so much in that sentence he didn’t say.

  “Are you giving up on us already?”

  He shakes his head. “I just think you should have your memory back before we make a decision we can’t unmake.”

  CHAPTER 15

  MAKENZIE

  It’s cute in a Snow White and the Seven Dwarves kind of way, but only big enough for that crew if the dwarves could somehow manage to clown car themselves into a closet and Snow White trades her full skirts for a pencil design. I can’t imagine it being big enough for me, the husband I already have and the babies—plural—I want.

  He wants me to love it, to see its charm. I can tell by his expectant gaze, and I even concentrate on happy thoughts to produce a grin that could pass for enthusiastic, but I just can’t see the family I want living here. Forcing a smile I don’t feel isn’t fair to either of us, so I walk in front of him where he can’t see.

  “You hate it.”

  All I can come up with is a sort of whine that has me rolling my mind’s eye. “I just thought it would be bigger.”

  Sam grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sweetheart, there is never a time in a man’s life when he’ll like that sentence.” He wraps his arms around me from behind and stoops to rest his chin on my shoulder. “I know it’s small, Kenz, but it’s just a place for us to start. It’s ours free and clear. We can spend a couple years saving money while we live here. Then when we have enough put back, we’ll sell it and buy that place you dream about.”

  There’s such promise in his words, I finally manage to turn the corners of my mouth up. “Let’s go inside.”

  He nods and steps around me to open the door. I put one foot on the living room carpet and see the potential right away. Some paint, maybe some airing out, and it could be home for a while. I wanted babies right away. I would be happy with us living on top of one another, but I fear this house is his way out of the children conversation he never seems to want to have. Granted, we have only been married a few months, but I’ve never hidden the fact that children top my list of wants. Impatience aches inside me.

  I’m standing in what’s to be my home, imagining the faces of children I don’t get to have until he is ready. Anger surges inside me, and I seethe. “Well, I guess we should get home and pack.” Bitterness flattens my tone.

  “Maybe we should paint or something before we move in?” This is a test, and damned if I care if I pass.

  “Whatever.” I stomp outside and fling myself into his truck.

  “Kenz!” It takes him a minute to lock up the house and come outside. He yanks the truck door open and glares at me. “I’m sorry I can’t afford the McMansion you want, Kenzie. I never kept my finances a secret, so if you want out, now’s the time to say it.”

  If he can be touchy about money, I can be touchy about our lack of babies. Right?

  “Is that what you want, Sam?”

  “No. I would rather you pout about your sad lot in life for the eternity of our marriage.” He plunges his hands through his hair. “I can’t afford trips to the French Riviera or huge houses with housekeepers and butlers.” His voice quiets. “But there’s nobody who will love you more than I will. So, the choice is yours, Makenzie. Stay or go.”

  “Well, Samuel”—if we’re going full names here, his isn’t off limits, either—“I never asked for a McMansion or trips to the French Riviera. I asked for a baby. And I didn’t keep it a secret that it’s what I want. You, on the other hand, seem quite happy to wait ten years or however long you plan to live in this dollhouse before you give me the only thing I’ve ever asked of you.”

  He slides in the seat beside me and lifts my hand to his lips. “I would like nothing more than to have ten babies with you, and I wish I could give you a house big enough to put them all in right now, but I can’t. The bar is almost there, baby. Can’t we just wait a little while until I get everything turned around?”

  It isn’t as though I have a choice if I don’t want to fail at marriage. And more than anything, I don’t want to have to run back to the parents who told me it wouldn’t work with the son of a home wrecker.

  “How long?”

  “Not long. I promise.”

  I’m staring at a man who makes my world better once again. It’s no longer edged in the red of my disappointment. But if I don’t have a baby in five years, I’m leaving. And that’s all there is to it.

  CHAPTER 16

  SAM

  Leaving Kenzie to go to work is the hardest thing I’ve had to do lately. Leaving while she’s pissed off is worse. She wants her cell and her wedding rings. She thinks the secrets of the uni
verse are hidden in that phone, and for reasons far more nefarious than could be real, I’m hiding it from her.

  “Listen, Kenz, I’ll only be gone long enough to sign some checks and stop by your mom’s.” In truth, I need to do some orders, check why the cooler is ten degrees warmer than usual and repair some shingles on the bar roof, but for today, I’m sticking with signing my name a few times to get the employees paid. I can’t leave her upset and alone for very long.

  She rolls her eyes and snaps to the next page of the magazine in her lap.

  “The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.” I drop to one knee beside the sofa and take her hand in mine. “Don’t be mad.”

  “Whatever.” She jerks away and goes back to abusing the pages in her magazine.

  I sigh because I can’t help it and kiss her cheek before I stand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  In the truck, I can’t help but compare her surly morning mood to her former self. She’s coming back all right, and I should be happy for her that she’ll be whole again. But, as selfish as it is, I’m not. Instead, I try to choke the plastic off my steering wheel.

  ***

  Though I’d only intended to sign a few paychecks, I end up patching the hole in the roof because it leaks over my desk which is now nothing more than a small, paper-covered lake. Since I’m already dirty with grime, I decide to also tinker with the cooler compressor. By the time I’m finished, and we’re back to cold beer, three hours have passed, and I still have to pick up Kenzie’s phone.

  I’m only inside her mother’s for a few minutes, but I’m filled with the old apprehension that comes from being “not good enough” for their daughter, from being born on the wrong side of the bank. It isn’t that they say anything. Generally, it’s only the look her mother gives me, and it’s worse today since I’m wearing as much roof tar and small engine oil as cotton T-shirt and jeans.