Conard County Marine

Chapter 3

Coop didn’t know how to respond. All the appropriate words sprang to mind about traumas, major life changes, all of it, but speaking them wasn’t going to fix a damn thing for Kylie, and she’d probably heard it all already from the medical people. He understood what she was trying to say—he could even identify with some of it—but he had no handy-dandy answers to offer.

Finally, carefully, he said, “I’m not as comfortable as I look.”

That brought her head up, and her reddening eyes fixed on him. “You look like you own your space.”

“That’s easy to do when you’re a big guy and a marine. But it’s all on the surface.”

She started to shake her head, and he could tell she didn’t believe him.

“Look,” he said. “I’m living in your sister’s house for a few weeks. Nice offer and all that, and I wouldn’t want to offend her or cause my cousin to feel bad, but frankly I’d be a whole lot more comfortable in that motel no one wants me to stay at. Instead I’m a guest in a stranger’s house.”

The disbelief began to fade, and interest leavened her face a bit. “That makes sense to me.”

“It probably does. I’m just sorry you’re feeling that way in a house you grew up in. That’s wrong. Anyway, what did that guy do to you? He stole from you, and he stole things that no one should ever have to lose, but unfortunately people get robbed of them all the time. You might be fairly unique with your memory loss, but lots of people lose their sense of safety. I don’t know what he did to you physically, but I can see the emotional results and, while they’re normal, they stink. And they’re something you’re just going to have to ride out.”

He wished he had more to offer, but all he could give her was honesty. Call it what she might, Kylie had some grieving to do, and grief was never an easy road. More like a roller coaster—it would come in waves and just when you thought maybe you were on top of it, it would slam you once again.

Then he decided to change the subject. It was all he could think of that wouldn’t make her brood more about her situation. “So this Todd who came earlier. Old friend?”

Kylie shrugged. “We went to school together. We dated a few times but...” She sighed. “What can you say about dating someone in high school? Relationships change fast. I think he was mad at me for not going to the prom with him, but by then we hadn’t dated in months. I was surprised he even asked.”

“You liked him?”

“Sort of.” He was relieved to see her expression lighten a bit, and hear a small laugh escape her. “We were kids, Coop. He’s good-looking, and that got my attention, but when it came to the actual dating part... We just didn’t hit it off. It was a relief to move on. I enjoyed time with my girlfriends more.”

He nodded. “Well, it was nice of him to stop by.”

“I suppose. Ashley might have been right about curiosity, though. I wonder if I’m going to get a lot of that. Maybe I should charge admission. Come see the woman who lost her memory.”

Then she really did laugh, and a prickle of unease ran through him. Her mood seemed to be swinging fast. But instead of worrying him further, she simply leaned back, smiling. “Well, I can still remember high school, including giving Todd his letter sweater back.”

“You only had a couple of dates but he gave you his letter?”

“I know. We moved fast back then, didn’t we?”

Coop didn’t remember it that way, but after a moment’s thought he could remember a few couples who had. For his own part he’d never dated much until after he’d left home and joined the corps. Even then his job and tastes had limited him.

“Anyway, he did seem mad at me for a few months after I refused to go to the prom with him, but it blew over. It was hardly the end of the world, after all, and he went with another girl, so he didn’t miss out on anything.”

“And you?”

“I skipped it.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t just Todd I didn’t want to go with. I didn’t want to go at all.”

“Well,” he said, feigning surprise, “now I’m shocked. I thought every girl wanted to go to the prom.”

“I didn’t. It all seemed so plastic. A rite of passage left over from another era. For some it may have been a high point, but for me I was already focused on starting my nursing classes, and that seemed like a much bigger deal. It wasn’t like I was going to settle down with one of the guys from high school...although quite a few girls did. But that wasn’t me.”

He smiled. “Memory check good.”

At that a small laugh escaped her. “I guess so.” Then she swiftly changed subject. “So what did you do in Germany?”

“I was on leave. I had some extra time built up and decided to see a part of the world where bombs weren’t flying. And since there was a military transport flight headed that way and they offered me a bucket seat, I went.”

He almost ached at the way she seemed so eager to think about something that had nothing to do with her situation. While he was used to feeling sympathy for people—it came naturally to him—he wasn’t used to feeling something deeper and stronger, but Kylie seemed to be pulling that out of him. Dangerous. He was supposed to be taking some R and R, not giving himself a new mission. Or creating new problems for anyone, himself or Kylie.

“Anyway,” he said, deciding his boring little travelogue would at least distract her, “I was only there a few days but I got to see a couple of castles. I fell in love with their bratwurst and German cooking in general, and they have the most wonderful public transportation system.”

“Really?”

He didn’t know if she was feigning interest, but he plunged on, anyway. “Trams in town, trains to almost every place you could want to go. I got chills touching old Roman walls.”

She perked up. “Chills? Really?”

“Think about it. I touched stones that had been cut and laid by Roman soldiers nearly two thousand years ago. It was like I could feel this connection to those long-ago workers. Of course, I had the same reaction to a few places when I was in Iraq. Call me crazy, if you want, but it was like stretching across the millennia and reaching out to people long gone who had left a real mark of their passing.”

Her gaze grew almost dreamy. “I don’t think that’s crazy. I like it. Maybe you should be an archaeologist.”

He shook his head a little. “I may be past making such a major life change. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. Maybe it meant more to me because my job doesn’t involve building much.”

He liked the way she was brightening as she listened, and he sought other stories to tell her that might please her. Unfortunately, the kinds of jobs he’d had to do were best told only to other combat vets. And maybe he had enjoyed those ruins more because his job involved a lot of demolition and destruction. On the other hand...

He spoke quietly, almost forgetting her for a moment. “Roman soldiers had to be builders, too. They built their own forts, their own barracks. Eventually they helped build towns. The modern military doesn’t require that of most of us.”

“Do you think it should?”

He stirred and finally drank some of his cooling coffee. “I guess that depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. The Romans were making their forts a permanent presence—establishing outposts for an empire. That’s not our goal.”

“Maybe not,” she answered tentatively.

He summoned a smile and tried to leave reflection behind. Now that he was evidently home for good, he’d have more than enough time to sort through his own baggage. Right now all he was concerned about was making one woman feel comfortable with him. “Anyway, I hope to go back to Germany for a longer visit. And if I do, this time I’m damn well going to see Paris, too.”

That elicited a chuckle from her. “I guess you missed all the good stuff in your travels.”

“Yeah, it was very mission oriented. Go here, do that. Not a whole lot of time for sightseeing.”

“And probably not safe, either.”

“Rarely.” He tried to study her without staring, wondering if she was trying to bring up the subject of her own fears.

Then she answered his unspoken question. “How do you live with being afraid all the time?”

Ah, crud. He stared at her openly now, thinking that she was truly lovely and life had dealt her a hellacious hand, and seeking some kind of answer that wasn’t trite.

“Do you ever get over it?” she asked.

Another good question. “Some people do,” he answered finally. And others got sucked dry by it, depending on the intensity and persistence, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“It must be different for you,” she argued. “You must have gone into a lot of scary situations.”

“You mean I had practice at it?”

She bit her lip. “I guess that came out wrong. I just know I’ve never felt this way before, and I can’t shake free of it. Which is really strange, because I can’t remember what happened, and it’s obviously over and I’m mostly fine. How can I be scared of what I can’t remember?”

He hesitated again. This woman was making him very hesitant, and he wasn’t used to that. He felt like he needed to tiptoe, to be very careful he didn’t say the wrong thing. He was no professional, and he had no idea how psychologically vulnerable she might be. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her problems.

“We don’t just remember with our brains,” he said after a moment. “Our entire bodies remember some things.”

That caused her to draw a sharp breath. “I didn’t think of that.”

“And fear can be a good thing.”

“It’s awful,” she said bluntly.

“But if there’s a reason for it, it’s useful. So you never want to lose your ability to feel it. It can be directed, it can be protective. Or...it can overwhelm you.”

“So how do you deal with it?”

“Like a warning system.”

“But I have nothing to be afraid of!”

At that moment he would have liked to gather her into his arms and hold her, as if he could soothe her. As if. But a hug wasn’t going to take care of the invisible demons stalking Kylie. Certainly part of the problem was that they were invisible. If she could see them, name them, face them...he suspected her fear would find direction and maybe even ease somewhat.

“You don’t know that you don’t have anything to be afraid of,” he pointed out. She might be trying to believe it, but she didn’t actually know it. Whole different thing.

She nodded slowly. “You’re right. That man is still out there. I can’t remember him. What if he wants to finish what he started? What if he walked up to me right now? I wouldn’t even know it!”

That was the crux of her problem, at least in part, and for this there was nothing he could say or do. “That’s rough,” was all he offered when she remained silent.

“And maybe a bit crazy, too. I’m home in a safe place. And I’m willing to bet Glenda asked you to keep an eye on me. You don’t have to, you know. I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

“I never thought you would. Would you rather be alone?”

Her face froze, paling a bit. “No,” she whispered. “Coop, I don’t want to be alone.”

* * *

Kylie hadn’t been alone for more than short periods since she emerged from a medically induced coma in the hospital nearly two weeks after the attack, once her brain had stopped swelling. Not really. Even in the middle of the night when her room had been darkened and the door closed, she could still hear the voices in the hallway outside, the voices of medical staff moving around. A hospital was never completely silent, and solitude was the illusion of a door.

Then Glenda had been there almost every minute. After the hospital, Glenda had taken her back to her apartment to help her pack, and at most she’d been alone for twenty or thirty minutes when her sister ran out to get more boxes or something for them to eat. Those minutes had seemed endless, her nerves crawling every single second, impatience for Glenda’s return driving her nearly nuts. How many times had she come close to hiding in a closet during those interludes?

The memory of that could shame her, but the feelings had been overwhelming. Were still overwhelming. The idea of coming home had looked like the answer to everything. Apparently not.

She sat in the house she had spent a lot of her childhood in and she still felt the crawling fear, still felt that if she just looked over her shoulder she’d see...what? Something. Something bad. God, she must be crazy.

Coop stirred finally and came to sit cross-legged on the floor at her feet. “I won’t leave you alone,” he said. He held out a hand, palm up. Asking, not demanding. Apparently aware that he was a stranger and she might fear a man’s touch.

That careful, gentle invitation called to her, however, and she reached out, laying her hand in his. He squeezed gently, but in no way made her feel trapped. She could slip her hand away as easily as she had given it.

“You can’t promise me that,” she said finally.

“Not every minute of the day, obviously. I need to visit Connie and her kids. But I can do that when your sister is home, which is most of the day usually. And tonight, for sure, I can be right here in this house.”

She started to feel small. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the right to ask that of you. You came here to see family, not to babysit me.”

“Who said I’d be babysitting? You’re an attractive, interesting woman. I won’t mind at all.” He smiled, but only with his blue eyes. They crinkled at the corners, and his expression was warm.

For a few seconds, Kylie didn’t answer. In those moments she was suddenly a girl she’d almost forgotten, one who had once thought it would be wonderful to share her life with a man, a man like this one who could be powerful and gentle at the same time. She had the worst urge to climb off the chair and curl up in his lap. To let him take care of her. Almost at once she rebelled. What the hell was she thinking? The Kylie she had been before the amnesia had been strong, capable of taking care of herself. She couldn’t let this weaken her like this.

She spoke, dragging her thoughts back to reality. “I don’t know what could be interesting about me. All I’ve done is whine.”

“I hadn’t noticed. Look, you’re dealing with a tough problem. Talk about it as much as you want.”

“Do you talk about your problems?” She watched him start.

“My problems?”

“You’ve been in combat, haven’t you? Surely you’ve got some wounds from that.”

He looked down, but didn’t release her hand. “I don’t talk about that much, for obvious reasons.”

“But you’ve learned to live with it?”

He glanced at her, his expression almost rueful. “I’m still learning. I’m good at hiding it.”

She sighed, feeling the warmth of his hand. This wasn’t wise, not in her current state. She was letting a man get too close—worse, a stranger. What was she thinking? Had she become that desperate for comfort? The only comfort she was going to find evidently had to come from within herself. “Maybe I should hide it, too.”

“Why? I talk with other people about my experiences. I’ve just found it’s wiser to reserve them for other combat vets. We’re all on the same page. Unfortunately, I don’t know who else would be on the same page with you.”

Except him, she thought. He probably came closest. He’d undoubtedly been under attack. Maybe even wounded. He might understand better than anyone.

“I don’t like being scared,” she said quietly. “Especially of something that’s over. I don’t like the fact that my whole career plan blew up. If I had to forget something, the attack would have been quite enough, without forgetting all the time I put into school. But that’s where I am, and I’m already sick of feeling sorry for myself. I need to move on.”

“Of course. But you’re scared. So...it’ll take a little time. You’ll grow comfortable again. Promise.”

Then he smiled and astonished her by leaning forward to drop a quick light kiss on her hand. Then he rose and stretched. “I want more coffee. You?”

She hadn’t even touched hers and it had grown cold, but it sounded good now. “Thank you.”

Then she was alone again, although not entirely. She could hear him in the kitchen, but it was as if her internal vision was shattered somehow. She could look around the room and recognize every single item except the new TV. Her grandparents’ living room, hardly changed over the years except for the chair she sat on. It should have felt like home. Except something was preventing her from feeling that. In its silent emptiness it had become part of the threat that stalked her. An unresolved threat. The man who had tried to kill her was still out there, and from things she suspected she hadn’t been intended to hear, they thought she’d been attacked by a serial killer. Someone who had done this before and would do it again.