The Choice (6 page)

Marcie climbed into bed. She could hear Sam tinkering with something. She knew he planned to sleep on the lumpy couch. She didn’t know how long she lay there mystified by the strange, sexy man who took her in. To learn second hand his wife wasn’t nice, touched some part of her she couldn’t explain.

She should be devastated not knowing who she was and where she came from, which seemed to be stuck behind an
impenetrable
brick wall. But she wasn’t. Marcie struggled past the slight ache in her head to understand why. Finally, after much deliberation and no answers, she relaxed into a dream-filled state, another time, but a familiar place.

“The house is burning.” Marcie bolted upright and smacked her head on the RV’s low vinyl ceiling. Someone pounded the door. Jolted awake, instant alarm hammered in her chest—boom, boom. Her wide eyes scanned the dim confines of Dan’s second hand fifth wheel, parked on his newly acquired rural property.

She jumped down from the top bunk, landing hard. In a flash, she pulled on day old clothes, shoved the door with so much force the metal frame smacked the side of the trailer. She leapt down and bolted to the old house already engulfed in flames. Heat pushed her back as angry fire burst skyward. Richard drove the yellow loader, and Dan maneuvered the compact excavator. Both pushed in an opposite wall. To anyone else their actions resembled two desperate men trying to contain a fire. Marcie feared judgment day was battering her unruly wings. Alarmed, she closed her eyes and listened to the wail of high pitch sirens, louder and closing in.

“Hurry!” Marcie ran closer and cupped her hands around her mouth, but angry sparks blocked her way.

“Get the hell back,” Richard shouted. Gears ground and he reversed the loader.

All four walls collapsed. There was so little time. Flames shrieked in fury, consuming what was left. Two fire trucks, sirens screeching, arrived followed by three sheriff’s cruisers. Lights flashed in unison against the backdrop of rippling flames. All authorities were here and closing in, covered in protective gear, assuming full control. They shouted; they yelled, “Shut it down now.” Over and over—angry words barked at Richard and Dan to pull back.

Hoses were pulled out, connected and hooked to a standpipe at the front corner of the property. Every maneuver synchronized. Two more red fire trucks pulled in;
Discovery Bay
scripted on the side.

Marcie couldn’t keep track; there were too many people—too many lights. Richard and Dan refused to stop. It was too much for her eyes. She didn’t know where to look: the heat, the sparks, the overwhelming smoke and surrounding darkness. “Oh my God.”

Two firefighters climbed up on the moving equipment and forcibly shut them down. The sheriff arrived, angry—shouting, waving his powerful authority.

Three abandoned cars in front of the house were scorched. One by one, windshields exploded from the heat. A uniformed deputy grabbed her arm. He held tight, when she tried to move away. The Sheriff and another deputy cornered Richard and Dan. Dan locked his hazel eyes on her. She knew instinctively the unspoken words he sent her.
Shut up. Say nothing.

An agitated volunteer approached the deputy. He let go of Marcie and turned away. A white flash drew Marcie’s attention. She peered behind her in the dark and glimpsed a strange woman in front of the RV. She stood horribly unnatural. A breeze kicked up, waving her long blonde hair in an odd rhythm. The woman smiled in a way that was cold, mischievous and vaguely familiar. The woman’s hand seemed to reach right in Marcie’s heart and squeeze. She’d never get used to that sudden chill.

“Who are you?” Marcie couldn’t breathe. The air stuck somewhere beneath her stomach; she choked. This sultry, kick ass woman didn’t answer. She just aimed her index finger and thumb like a loaded gun, a direct line of fire, straight at Marcie. The eerie sound of metal grinding jarred the marrow inside her bones. Then the strange woman laughed a deep throaty chuckle, tossed her head back and strode around the trailer to the old woodshed, hidden in plain sight.

Panic licked the back of her throat. She didn’t know how she moved. All she knew, no one could go near the shed. Heat closed around them. She became deaf to everything, but the drumbeats filling her head. Shivering and haunted by nothing but darkness, the padlocked wooden shed and a crazy, dead woman. Marcie felt very much alone.

Marcie bolted upright. Out of breath, she gasped for air. Her chest hurt as a vice-like pressure from her pounding heart wouldn’t give, even a little. She pressed her hand to her heart. Dizziness blurred her vision. Until one by one, her sense of body and awareness returned, to the pinching ache of her swollen gash, taped on her
fore
head.

Pots clattered, and she breathed in the fragrant aroma of sizzling bacon. She slid her legs over the side of the bed in this strange, cramped room. Marcie gazed at her pale, bare legs as awkwardness hit hard. She dropped her pounding head into her hands, covering her face. There was nothing, but a big blank in her memory, although she remembered her handsome knight and the dark, disheveled detective, who cared so deeply for Sam he risked his friendship by speaking truthfully about Sam’s dead wife. A thick, dark fog of nothingness hid every memory before the airport floor and blood on her hand.

She touched her soiled clothes dumped in a heap at the end of the bed and wondered if she was decent enough to leave the room and say good morning. She slid off the bed. Sam’s large T-shirt slid down to mid-thigh.

Her head hurt after the dream-filled, restless sleep. She padded barefoot across the cool wooden floor into the apartment-sized kitchen.

“You’re up. How’d you sleep?”

Marcie stood in the doorway of his open kitchen. “In fits really, I’m not sure…” She trailed off when the room took a sick, slow spin. Before she could stagger and lean against the wall, Sam raced across the room and scooped her into his arms.

“Whoa, whoa, girl, you need to lie down. I’ll get you back to the doctor.” He deposited her on the sofa as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. “Lay there.” He pulled a knitted blanket over her.

“Look at me. You got a headache?” He examined her eyes, the same intent way the intern did last night.

“I’m good, sorry. I don’t know what happened. I think I kind of got up too fast. I didn’t sleep that well and…”

“And what, come on, what were you going to say? Finish it—don’t leave me hanging out there sugar.” He sat in front of her on the cluttered coffee table, scattering beer bottles. He ignored the mess even when they clanked on the floor.

Her face heated when he aimed those magnificent blue eyes at her.

He coughed to bring her back to his world. Was she ogling him? Flustered she dropped her eyes, confused by this need growing inside for him. Her dream blazed clearer, and so did the implication of something not quite right. Fear, guilt and worry spiked up the heated connection between them. She studied her clasped hands, before looking back up. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You remember who you are, where you come from, something?”

Marcie lowered her eyes again, and shook her head, saturated by a ridiculous instinctive response to deny. She couldn’t meet his intense, honorable eyes. She felt cornered, unable to tell him about her dream. Because she knew deep in some private, secret hollow, her dream was a very real memory.

Drenched by a miserable guilt, she felt warm when she glanced up. Sam watched her with grim eyes—eyes that slipped into the soul of a person. Searching for secrets, lies, and she supposed how a person ticked.
What did he see?

He grew silent. And seemed to pull all his feelings back inside, behind a heavy armor, right before he stood and walked away. She couldn’t stop her hands from trembling, so she squeezed them and slowly sat up. The unsteady breath she’d been holding escaped, sounding a little too much like relief.

“Just remember something Marcie. I know when people are lying to me.”

Tiny beads of sweat drenched her forehead. Thick knots tightened her already anxious stomach, and Sam didn’t look back.

After breakfast, Marcie carted the Walmart clothes Jesse picked up for her last night into the bathroom. She climbed in the hot shower and scrubbed her head a little harder than she needed, but she was mad—mad at herself for not coming clean about the dream. What was the big deal? Well she already knew the answer. Listening to Jesse last night talk about Elise, Sam’s wife, and how untrustworthy she had been; there was something about Sam in his quiet confliction making her want his respect. She didn’t want to be like Elise.

After she dressed in the pale shirt and khaki shorts that were a size too big, she wandered out to Sam.

She found him on the balcony in the bright sun, barefoot, wearing blue jeans and a clean, white T-shirt. He appeared lost in another world, a deep thinker who leaned over the railing, staring into the street. The wind fluttered the sheer curtains, beckoning her forward. So she stepped closer to the lively chatter drifting in from outside. Marcie clenched her damp hands and then relaxed, releasing a slow, measured breath. One step closer, almost there. The floor creaked on the threshold of the small balcony. Sam turned and leaned against the black iron rail. He crossed his strong arms. He said nothing, but his hardened eyes reflected suspicion.

“I lied.”

“I know.”

Marcie stood so close; she could feel his warm breath whisk over the top of her head. She licked her bottom lip, sucking a breath for courage. The breeze whipped up her damp hair
. Don’t be scared.
“I don’t know if it was real…” A sharp knock hurled her insides a little closer to the edge. Frustrated, she let her head drop toward her chest. How could she confess with this unwelcome interruption?

“That’s got to be Jesse.” Sam brushed past Marcie. His heavy steps echoed down the hall.

Marcie claimed Sam’s spot, leaning over the rail, a beautiful view from this second floor apartment. The vibrant energy from the colorful crowds of people on the street below rose up and connected with her. For a moment, she was pulled into the flamboyant revelry, like a powerful magnet intercepting a rainbow of emotions from all the people on the street: joy, lust, anger, jealousy, being hurried. “Oh my God—what the hell.” She jumped back. Her whole body stung as she trembled. Flustered she pressed her hands flat against the white stucco, flooded by some instinct, to breath. Her mind stilled. She sucked in another deep breath and the tightness twisting up her tummy eased. “I must be going crazy.” Spooked she remained plastered against the wall.

“Marcie.”

She jumped as if a fist jabbed her heart and slammed shut some secret door inside.

“You okay? What are you doing, you talking to someone?” Sam reached out and grasped her elbow, a gentle touch filled with such tender concern.

“Yes, no—sorry, just some weirdness that’s all.” Nervous flutters began to rap inside her chest. He was so good looking, and those solid tanned arms of his, a girl could get lost in them. His closeness became too much. She needed to look away, so she stalled and tucked her unruly damp wavy hair behind her ears. To shake off Sam’s amazing intensity, a gaze like the deep end of the ocean, weaving its way into the heart of a woman.

“What?” Sam moved closer.

“This is going to sound nuts, but I got scared. I leaned over the balcony and suddenly I was in all those people’s heads. Picking up what they’re feeling.” She shut her eyes and refused to look at him. “See I told you. It even sounds crazy to me. Maybe I’m going crazy.” She rambled and he stopped her by gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes popped open. His touch stirred some lovely odd feelings in her tummy. The way he looked at her made her feel as if what she said was not so crazy—not to him.

“Jesse’s here.” She must have been staring like a fool, because he coughed to break the spell and held out his large hand. When she placed hers into his, it was like a soft wing with all the strength of a gentle vice, stroking her skin, tipping her belly with a faint thrill, while she allowed him to lead her inside.

A large canvas bag lay heaped on the scratchy beige sofa, with a crumpled airline tag dangling from the strap. The kind dark skinned detective was wearing the same rumpled blue suit, but a clean light blue shirt and striped tie. He eyed her now with a look that had Marcie taking a step back.
Something’s happened. He doesn’t trust me.

“Jesse retrieved my bag from the airport.”

Jesse shrugged his bulky shoulders and loosened his sloppy blue tie, but his hard eyes remained glued on her. “It was the least I could do for an old friend. Funny thing though, couldn’t find yours.”

Her stomach twisted. “I don’t understand?”

“Come on Jesse, it’s more than possible the airline lost the luggage.”

“Sure it is. They do it all the time, why just last year they sent mine and the missus’ to Florence. Always wanted to go there; at least my bags got to go.” He chuckled at his dry attempt at humor, except Marcie couldn’t shake off the implied distrust. He looked at her with the same hardness he used when he spoke of Elise last night. And that worried her.

“Don’t forget the backpack Jesse. Maybe it was her only piece of luggage.”

“Okay, maybe. But then, what woman carries only an itty-bitty backpack with all her things for a trip? None I’ve met. But hey, there’s always a first.”