Her Eyes (7 page)

"I know what you mean."

They pulled into the grocery store parking lot, and Catherine realized that she hadn't made a list. At the moment, she couldn't even remember what Frank's favorite foods were. That was terrible. What kind of wife couldn't remember the food her husband likes?

"Are you in the mood for anything special?” She hoped to gain a hint.

"Whatever you want.” Frank's reply wasn't any help.

Like the perfect gentleman, he opened her car door for her, and they walked arm in arm into the grocery store. Frank looked a little lost and suddenly she felt the same. She remembered cooking, but couldn't remember ever shopping with Frank. Funny, her memories seemed to be of a different kitchen, but maybe when he built the deck he remodeled the kitchen too? Would he think it odd if she asked?

She shook her head. She would make steak and potatoes tonight. All men loved that. She could also pick up ingredients for chili, broiled snapper, and maybe lasagna. If Frank made a face at anything, she would put it back. The last thing she needed was for Frank to think she'd lost her mind and couldn't even remember what kind of food he liked.

Sure, odds were she had lost her mind. That would figure. Finally out of the hospital and she would have to go right back, back to those sterile walls where not even Win could protect her from the voices.

"Something wrong?"

Catherine realized that she'd stopped in front of the shopping carts, not moving, only staring straight ahead. Maybe she should tell him what had been going on with her. He was her husband, yet she didn't want to repeat her newest troubles. Somehow telling another that she'd lost her mind made it more real.

"Nothing.” She pulled a cart out. This was ridiculous. He was her husband and would love her regardless, wouldn't he? “I guess I should tell you something. My memory isn't coming back right. I've had weird lapses. I don't even remember what your favorite food is.” She tried to look at him but she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor. “I must be the worst wife ever."

Frank lifted her chin, studying her with an intensity that made her nervous. “Catherine, I'm not going to lie to you. You have really changed since you went into the hospital. There was a time that you probably were the worst wife ever? Not now.” For a moment, she thought there were tears in his eyes. “Anything you need to know, just ask. We don't need to have secrets. Not anymore."

They started rolling the cart up the aisles. Catherine loaded it up, and Frank put a few items back. He wasn't big on fresh vegetables. She would have to work on that, but for now, there were other things they needed to discuss, other than groceries.

"Frank, if I tell you something, will you promise not to take me back to the hospital."

"What is it?” He raised an eyebrow. She could tell he was unwilling to make a promise he didn't want to keep.

She tossed a can of beans into the cart. She didn't want to do this but talking about it at home would be worse. At least here he couldn't overreact. Here they could keep walking and shopping like normal people.

"Do you think someone that hears voices in her mind is crazy?"

He stopped walking and cocked his head to the side. “Have you been hearing voices?"

"No.” She immediately lied, then hated herself for it. “Maybe. I've heard that head injuries can cause some strange things to happen."

She tossed in a can of carrots, which Frank immediately removed and put back on the shelf. Even dazed by her question, he wasn't going to willingly purchase a vegetable. The next shopping trip she would have to go alone. And, now that she thought of it, maybe buy some clothing. For some reason, the low-cut blouses and tight jeans that she couldn't take a deep breath in just didn't feel right. Almost like someone else bought them. Although, if Frank had picked them out, he may like a woman to dress provocatively all the time. Then again, he hadn't said anything when he saw her in his shirt when he came home. Somehow wearing the flannel shirt was comforting, not just for Frank's scent in it, it just felt right.

"I don't know. The injury wasn't like you fell and hit your head or anything like that. Well, your head did hit the ground, but, well, never mind. Some interesting things have happened, but if you start hearing lots of voices, we'll need to have a doctor talk to you. Not necessarily go to the hospital, just talk to a professional."

What that professional might say frightened her. It was best to drop the subject. Whatever had happened wouldn't happen again. She was fine. Everything would be good, and she would not be haunted by a disembodied voice. That her inner dialogue was a subject best dropped didn't stop her, however, from looking at the “Elvis is alive” magazines. One headline caught her attention, “I got Jaybird's vocal cords in a transplant and now I can sing.".
Geesh!

They finished their trip and drove back home. Things started to get a more familiar edge to her. She helped unload the truck, and this time she knew where the items belonged. It made her feel better, like she belonged.

She cooked dinner, although Frank managed the grill, saying that fire was man's work. Her job was shoving potatoes into the microwave and rolls into the oven. Hardly an arduous task, but the way Frank pampered her, she doubted he'd let her do much of anything for a while.

They sat down to a delicious dinner. The steak was a little too pink in the middle, but she didn't complain. He ate his with fervor so it must've been prepared correctly. He should know how she liked her steaks. Maybe she'd always eaten them this way.

Win jumped to his feet moments before a knock at the door. The dog was smart. He sensed so much more than she ever could.

Catherine didn't like their dinner disturbed but didn't complain. Again, she only wanted him near her, needed to touch him as often as possible. When Frank went to the door to answer it, she tried not to pout.

She poked the underdone steak, wondering when she'd acquired this particular taste. Catherine considered feeding it to Win when that icy prickly sensation crept over her skin, causing the hairs on her arms to rise. She didn't want this happening again. Not now. She managed to stand but couldn't take a step or call out to Frank. Win quickly took note, turning from the door and facing her.

Again ready to bite, the dog growled and snarled. She started to move toward the dog when the dizziness came. The world grew fuzzy, and then darkness washed over her. She gripped the table but couldn't find the seat. Everything seemed to slip away.

Win.

Jim stood in the living room, giving Frank another account of the dog barking at Catherine when a loud thud caught their attention. Both men moved toward the kitchen. Jim froze at the edge, but Frank went forward, almost close enough to touch Win.

"Boy, what's wrong?” He looked at Catherine, her back pressed against the dining room window. Win had gone crazy, maybe rabid. Drool ran from sharp teeth and his full attention was on Catherine.

"Get that bastard away from me!” Catherine yelled, panic reverberating in her voice.

Frank reached for Win. The dog snapped a warning to Frank then turned back toward Catherine. One wrong move and Win would pounce on her. Even though Frank was a large man, he wasn't sure he could get Win away without giving the dog a chance to hurt Catherine.

"Don't you give a shit about me?” Catherine screamed, high-pitched and angry. “You're worthless."

Win rose on his hind legs, front paws on Catherine's chest. His jaws stopped inches from her throat, ready to rip into it. Frank looked back at Jim. He couldn't let Win hurt Catherine.

"Get to the bedroom. My hunting rifle is in the closet."

Jim moved instantly. Frank refocused on Catherine, her wide eyes staring at the dog. Frank eased closer, trying to put his hands between Catherine's throat and the dog's teeth. He got his left hand between them, and tried to ease the dog back. They had to be calm to get Win down. He looked deeply into Catherine's eyes, hoping to convey this when he realized they were both blue. Those were the old Catherine's eyes.

"Your eyes?"

The dog lunged, putting its teeth on Catherine's throat and Frank's hand. He didn't apply pressure though. Frank heard Jim running behind him, but Frank had the dog blocked with his body.

"I belong here,” Catherine cried, her voice raspy and hard.

"No, you don't.” She also answered, but the voice was softer, panicked, but still determined.

Win started applying pressure, and Catherine screamed. Frank shoved his hand into Win's mouth, pulling him down at the same time. The two wrestled for a moment on the floor, but Win never bit Frank, only tried to use his body to get back to Catherine.

"Don't shoot.” Catherine ran toward them and waved at Jim. “Win, it's okay. It's over. It's okay, boy."

As if the dog had learned some new command Frank was not aware of, he stopped. Catherine reached down and petted him. Instead of barking, he leaned to her with his tail wagging. He gave her sloppy wet kisses, happy without the slightest aggression.

Frank stayed sitting on the tiled floor. This time when Catherine looked at him, her green eye had returned. Her voice had also lost that shrill edge from moments before. She hugged the dog, practically held onto him for dear life.

"Please don't hurt Win. He wasn't going to hurt me.” She looked frightened, but not like before. This time her fears were for the dog who'd just been at her throat.

"Jim, would you take Win to your house for the night?"

Jim started forward without saying a word. His body moved with rigid intensity as he stepped towards the dog. Catherine moved between them, keeping Win behind her. After what had just happened, she protected the dog.

"You can't take Win. I want him to sleep with us tonight.” Panic filled her voice, her eyes growing wide. “Please. I have to keep the dog with me. I have to."

"Lady, you've got to be crazy.” Jim spoke, then brought his hand to his mouth.

She nodded, but Frank wasn't sure what she was agreeing to. She reached for the hunting rifle still in Jim's hands and put it on the floor. Without putting up any sort of argument, she led Win outside, closing the door behind them.

"What in the hell just happened?” Frank realized that he was sitting on the floor in a mess of dog hair and drool. A few scratches marked his forearms, but the dog hadn't drawn any blood.

"It's like what happened earlier.” Jim offered him a hand and helped him to his feet. “Strangest thing I've ever seen. I figure you know your wife, Frank, but it's like there's two of her. Like one of those multiple personality people.” He glanced to the back door then back to Frank. “What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. I guess go on home. I'll stop by in a little bit. I need someone to talk to.” He picked up the rifle from the floor. “Did you notice Catherine's eyes just now?"

He waited, but Jim shook his head no. Shock clung to the old man's face. It had a hold of Frank too, but he didn't want to admit it. Not yet anyway. He needed logic to right this, and so far, this wasn't in the same ballpark as anything rational.

"Both Catherine's eyes were blue just now. Not the one green, one blue, they were both blue.” He swallowed hard. “They were the old Catherine's."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. How does that happen?"

"I didn't think it did.” Jim rubbed his eyes, making Frank believe he was trying to force the images out manually.

"Me either."

"You go talk to her. I'll be at the house. Bring the dog if ya want, but I won't keep him inside."

"Thanks, Jim."

Frank watched Jim go, not walking him out but waiting in the kitchen until the front door slammed shut. He wasn't sure what to do, or even what to say to Catherine. Suddenly he had to hold her in his arms. He wanted to see those beautiful mismatched eyes. It felt like he'd lose her at any minute. Something vicious beyond his control threatened his wife, his love.

He ran out the back, finding her sitting in the grass, near the roses he'd planted. Both her arms were around Win. From the look of them, hell and high water couldn't part those two. He sat on the ground with them.

"I don't want you to take him, please."

Frank gave Win a hug too, then pulled Catherine to him. Win was a little stubborn about moving, but finally gave in. Frank pushed Catherine to the ground, trying to see those eyes in the bit of light from the house. The green one appeared brighter, almost twinkling.

"Win, go in the house and play.” He couldn't explain it, but he needed her, to have her as part of him.

That's all he said before pressing his mouth to Catherine's. Her kiss was reluctant, but grew in intensity as their tongues intertwined. Even the taste of her had changed since her stay in the hospital. He wanted to drink it in, taste every bit of her. This was his wife.

He pulled her top free, nearly ripping her bra before he could reach her breasts. Her pants took less time. While enjoying her nipples, he unfastened her pants. She reciprocated, jerking away his clothes, but there, naked in the grass, their passions slowed as they gazed at each other, and he took in every detail of her body. Frank watched Catherine's reactions. Light touches down her sides made her coo while his lips on her breasts caused her to gasp in pleasure.

She opened her thighs to him, exposing her sex. He touched the outline then slipped lower, wanting to taste those lips too. She started closing her legs, almost nervous about his slow downward progression.

Frank flicked his tongue lower and her hips moved, involuntarily she spread her thighs. She watched him, ran her fingers through his hair. A strange quiver filled his belly, as if they'd never been together before now. They were learning each other. Their years of marriage were erased, and here they were, a man and woman. Whatever happened between them, he'd remember this moment, the look on her face, the way she sounded when he gave her pleasure. This woman had never betrayed him or never caused him pain.

"I love you, Catherine,” he whispered climbing higher over her.

"I love you too."

At her response, he entered her. Her soft body moved in time beneath him. They were one and more than physically. This was his mate.