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“Dr. Thomas just wants to run some final tests this morning. Provided he’s happy I should be able to leave here later this afternoon.”
“Well, that’s great news,” Olivia said. “I’ll shoot back home and get some things for you.”
Xander reached out and caught her hand in his. “In such a hurry to leave me? You just got here. Don’t go yet.”
Her fingers curled around his, and he turned her hand over before lifting it to place a kiss on her knuckles. He felt the light tremor go through her as his lips lingered on her skin and her fingers tightened, saw the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.
“I miss you when you’re not here,” he said simply, then examined the hand he held more closely. Her nails were short and practical, and even though she’d scrubbed at them, he could still see traces of paint embedded in her skin. It made him smile. “I see you’re still painting. Good to know some things haven’t changed.”
She bit her lower lip and turned her head, but not before he saw the emotion reflected in her eyes.
“Livvy?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine. I’m just worried I’m going to have to cart you home in those,” she said lightly as she tugged her hand free and pointed at his striped pajamas with a disparaging look on her face. “And yes, I’m still painting. It’s in my blood. Always has been, always will be.”
He laughed, like she wanted him to, at the line he’d heard her say so many times. He saw the strain around her eyes lift a little.
“Fine, you better go then, but come straight back, okay?”
“Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said, bending down to kiss him on the forehead.
Xander leaned back against his pillows and watched her departing back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. They’d talked about him going home for days. Now that the time was finally here, was she afraid? He mulled the idea over in his head. It was possible. He’d been through a lot, and maybe she was worried about how he would cope on his reentry into the real world. She was such a worrier, always had been. He guessed that came with the territory of being the eldest out of four kids growing up on a farm without their mother. His Livvy was used to micromanaging everything around her so that nothing would go wrong.
When he’d married her, he’d silently promised himself that he would never be a burden to her—that he would never make himself one more responsibility she had to shoulder. Even now, he was determined to make certain that his recovery didn’t weigh her down. He’d do whatever it took to ensure that the rest of his recuperation went smoothly so that the worry would disappear from her eyes once and for all.
“Nothing will go wrong,” he said aloud, earning a look from the guy in the bed opposite his.
* * *
Olivia hastened to the car parking building and got into her car. Her hand shook slightly as she pressed the ignition, and she took a moment before putting on her seat belt and putting the car in gear.
He was coming home. It was what she wanted, so why on earth had she run like a startled rabbit the minute he’d told her? She knew why. It meant she would have to stop putting her head in the sand about the life he’d created when he’d left her. It meant taking the set of keys that she’d been given, among the personal effects the hospital had held since his accident—ruined bloodstained clothing included—and going to his apartment to get his things.
She knew she should have done it before now. Should have gathered together what he would expect to find at their home. His wardrobe, his toiletries. Those were pretty much all he’d taken with him when he’d left. There was nothing for it but to steel herself to invade the new home he’d created. At least she knew where he lived. That was about the only thing the legal separation documents had been any good for, she thought grimly as she drove the short distance from Auckland City Hospital to the apartment block in Parnell where Xander had taken a lease.
She parked in one of the two spaces allocated to his apartment and rode the elevator to the top floor. Letting herself in through the door at the end of the corridor, she steeled herself for what she would find on the other side. As she stepped through the entrance hall she found herself strangely disappointed.
It was as if she’d stepped into a decorator’s catalogue shoot. Everything perfectly matched and aligned—and totally lacking any character. It certainly didn’t look as though anyone actually lived here. There was none of his personality or his love of old things, no warmth or welcome. She walked through the living room and toward a hallway she hoped would lead to his bedroom. It did, and she was surprised to discover the bedroom was in the same pristine, sterile condition. Not so much as a stray sock poking out from the simple valance that skirted the king-size bed. It wasn’t like the Xander she’d known at all—a man who was meticulous in all things except what she teasingly referred to as his floor-drobe. Maybe he had a cleaning service come through. Or maybe, the thought chilled her, he really had changed this much.
Anyway, she was wasting time. She needed to get his things and take them back to her house on the other side of the harbor bridge and then get back to the hospital again before he began to think she wasn’t coming to take him home after all.
In the spare room closet Olivia found a large suitcase, and she quickly grabbed underwear, socks and clothing from the walk-in wardrobe in Xander’s bedroom. From the bathroom she grabbed shower gel, cologne and his shaving kit. She wondered briefly if he remembered how to use it. It had been a while since he’d shaved properly. Only last week she’d teased him about the furry growth that ringed his jaw. Privately, she found she quite liked it. It made him seem a bit softer, more approachable than the cold stranger who’d stalked so emphatically out of her life.
She shook her head as if she could rid herself of the memory just as easily and wheeled the case to the front door. Should she check the refrigerator? She cringed a little at the idea of finding nine-week-old leavings rotting inside, but she figured she would have to do it sometime. She poked around in the drawers until she found a plastic garbage bag and then, holding her breath, opened the shiny stainless-steel door of the fridge.
Empty. How odd, she thought as she let the door close again. Not even a half bottle of wine stood in the door. If she hadn’t taken Xander’s things from his bedroom and en suite herself, she would hardly have believed he even lived here. She pulled open a pantry door and was relieved to see neatly labeled containers and a box of his favorite cereal stacked on the shelves. Okay, so maybe whoever had made the apartment look so spick-and-span had cleaned out the fridge, as well. She made a mental note to try and find out from somewhere, perhaps among his personal papers, if he had a cleaning service. If so, she’d need to put their visits on hold indefinitely.
She looked around the open-plan living room and dining area to see where he might keep his personal files and records. There was nothing to suggest a desk or office space in here. Maybe there was another bedroom? Olivia went back down the hall that led to Xander’s bedroom, and spied another door. She opened it, stepped inside and immediately came to a halt.
Her heart thumped erratically in her chest as her eyes fixed on the photo on the desk in what was obviously Xander’s home office. She recognized the frame as one she’d bought for him for his first Father’s Day and in it was the last photo they’d taken of Parker before he died.
Three
Her hand went to her throat as if she could somehow hold back the sob that rose from the deepest recesses of her grief. She hadn’t even realized Xander had taken the picture with him when he’d left. He must have hidden it away when, after the funeral, she’d packed up Parker’s room and shoved all the boxes in the attic, along with his albums and the framed photos they’d had scattered around the house.
It had hurt too much to see the constant reminders of his all-too-short life.
If only...
Those two words had driven her almost insane. If only Xander hadn’t left the gate open, or hadn’t thrown the ball quite so vigorously for Bozo, their dog. If only Bozo hadn’t run out into the street in pursuit of the ball and—even now, she gasped against the pain from the memory—if only Parker hadn’t run out into the street after him. If only she hadn’t told Parker to run outside and play with Daddy in the first place, instead of staying safely in the studio with her that day.
Racked with her own guilt and her anger at the world in general and Xander in particular, she’d done the only thing she could to alleviate the searing pain. She’d packed up Parker’s short life and hidden it, telling herself she’d look at his things again when she was able. Every piece of clothing, every toy, every photo—hidden away.
All except this one. She reached out a finger and traced the cheeks of her little boy, locked behind the glass. A child forever—never to grow up and go to school, play a sport or meet girls. Never to stretch his wings, push his boundaries or be grounded for some misdemeanor or another.
Her hand dropped back to her side. She stood like that for several minutes before shaking herself loose from the memories and trying to remember why she’d come in here in the first place. Yes, the cleaning service, that was it. Olivia rifled through Xander’s filing system—as linear and exact as she remembered—and found the number she was looking for. A quick phone call to suspend services until further notice was all that was required, and then she was on her way.
Before she left the room, though, she lifted the photo from Xander’s desk and shoved it in a drawer. It hurt to shut her baby away like that, but if she had to come back here again, she couldn’t bear to see the stark reminder of all they’d lost.
Thankfully traffic through the city to the harbor bridge approach was lighter than usual and she made the trip home in good time. She dragged the suitcase up the flight of stairs and into the guest bedroom, and quickly unpacked and hung up Xander’s shirts and trousers and a few suits, still in their drycleaner bags, in the closet and shoved his underwear, socks and T-shirts into the small chest of drawers. She put his toiletries in the bathroom across the hall. It wouldn’t be a lie to tell him she’d moved his things in there so he could recuperate in his own space. She just wouldn’t mention that she’d moved them from across town rather than from down the hall.
Before leaving the house again, she folded a set of clothes and a belt into a small overnight bag for him and then flew out the door. She was jittery with emotional exhaustion and lack of food by the time she got back to the hospital. Xander was standing at the window when, slightly out of breath, she finally arrived.
“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about taking me home,” he said lightly when she approached him.
Even though his words were teasing, she could hear the underlying censure beneath them. And she understood it; really she did. Under normal circumstances she would have been back here much earlier. But their circumstances were far from normal, even though he didn’t know that yet.
“Traffic was a bitch,” she said as breezily as she could. “So, are we good to go? I have some clothes for you here, although I’m thinking you’ll find everything on the big side for you now. We might need to get you a whole new wardrobe.”
Her attempt at deflection seemed to work. “And I know how much you love shopping,” he said with a laugh.
She felt her heart skip a beat. He’d always teased her about her shopping style. While she liked getting new things, she hated crowded stores. She had the tendency to decide what she wanted before she left the house and, with no dillydallying, get in, get the product and get right back out again as quickly as possible. No window-shopping or store browsing for her. Unless it was an art supply store, that was.
Olivia told herself it was ridiculous to be surprised that he’d remember that. After all, he hadn’t lost all his memory, just the past six years. She forced a laugh and handed him the bag of his things.
“Here you go. Will you need a hand to get dressed?”
He’d had issues with balance and coordination since awakening from his coma. Physical therapy was helping him regain his equilibrium and motor skills, but he still had some way to go.
“I think I can manage,” he said with the quiet dignity she had always loved so much about him.
“Just call me if you need me.”
Xander looked her straight in the eye and gave her a half smile. “Sure.”
She smiled back, feeling a pang deep inside. She knew he wouldn’t call her. He was nothing if not independent—and stubborn. Yes, there’d been a time, early in their marriage, when they’d each been the center of the other’s world. But that had all changed.
He was so lucky he didn’t remember, she thought fiercely. Lucky that he was still locked in the best of their marriage and couldn’t remember the worst of them both.
* * *
Xander took the bag through to the shared bathroom and closed the door behind him. A tremor ran through his body as he allowed the relief he’d felt when he’d seen Olivia return run through him. Ever since she’d left earlier today he’d been tense and uncomfortable, so much so the nurse preparing his discharge papers had remarked on the spike in his blood pressure.
He couldn’t understand it. Olivia was his wife. So why had he suddenly developed this deeply unsettled sensation that things weren’t what they should be between them? He shoved off his pajamas and stepped into the shower stall, hissing a little as the water warmed up to a decent temperature. He couldn’t wait to be out of here. Even with Olivia’s daily visits to break the monotony of sleep, eat, therapy, eat, sleep, over and over again, he wanted to be home.
Xander roughly toweled himself off, swearing under his breath as he lost his balance and had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. His body’s slow response to recovery was another thing driving him crazy. It was as if the messages just weren’t getting through from his brain to his muscles.
He looked down at his body. Muscles? Well, he remembered having muscles. Now his build was definitely leaner, another thing he needed to work on. He pulled on his clothing and cinched his belt in tight. Olivia had been right. His clothes looked as if they belonged to another man entirely. He couldn’t remember buying them, so they had to be something from his lost years, as he now called them.
A light tap at the door caught his attention.
“Xander? Are you okay in there?” Olivia asked from outside.
“Sure, I’ll be right out.”
He looked at his reflection in the small mirror and rubbed his hand around his jaw, ruffling the beard that had grown during his stay here. He looked like a stranger to himself. Maybe that was part of Olivia’s reticence. The beard would have to go when he got home. Xander gathered his things off the floor and shoved them in the bag Olivia had brought and opened the bathroom door.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“Let’s go then,” she answered with that beautiful smile of hers that always did crazy things to his equilibrium.
Had he ever told her how much he loved her smile, or how much he loved to hear her laugh? He couldn’t quite remember. Another thing he would have to address in due course.
They stopped at the nurses’ station to say goodbye and collect his discharge papers, and then they began the walk down the corridor toward the elevator. It irked him that Olivia had to slow her steps to match his. It bothered him even more that by the time they reached her car he was exhausted. He dropped into the passenger seat with an audible sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry—I should have gotten you to wait at the front entrance and driven round to get you,” Olivia apologized as she got in beside him.
“It’s okay. I’ve had plenty of time to rest. Now it’s time to really get better.”
“You say that like you haven’t been working hard already.” She sighed and rested one hand on his thigh. The warmth of her skin penetrated the fabric of his trousers, and he felt her hand as if it were an imprint on him. “Xander, you’ve come a long way in a very short time. You’ve had to relearn some things that you took for granted before. Cut yourself some slack, huh? It’s going to take time.”
He grunted in response. Time. Seemed he had all too much of it. He put his head back against the headrest as Olivia drove them home, taking solace in the things he recognized and ignoring his surprise at the things that had changed from what he remembered. Auckland was a busy, ever-changing, ever-growing city, but it still disturbed him to see the occasional gaping hole where, in his mind at least, a building used to stand.
“Did the school mind about you taking time off to spend with me?” he asked.
“I don’t work at the school anymore,” Olivia replied. “I stopped before—”
“Before what?” he prompted.
“Before they drove me completely mad,” she said with a laugh that came out a bit forced. “Seriously, I quit there just over five years ago, but I’ve been doing really well with my paintings since. You’d be proud. I’ve had several shows, and I’m actually doing quite well out of it.”
“But it was never about the money, right?” he said, parroting something Olivia had frequently said to him whenever he’d teased her about not producing a more commercial style of work.
“Of course not,” she answered, and this time her smile was genuine.
By the time they arrived at the house he felt about a hundred years old, not that he’d admit it to Olivia, who, to his chagrin, had to help him from the car and up the front stairs to the house.
As she inserted a key into the lock and swung the door open he couldn’t help but twist his lips into a rueful smile.
“Seems like not that long ago I was carrying you across that threshold. Now you’re more likely to have to carry me.”
He regretted his attempt at humor the moment he saw the concern and fear on her face.
“Are you okay?” she said, slipping an arm around his back and tucking herself under his arm so she supported his weight. “You should rest downstairs for a while before tackling the stairs to the bedroom. Or maybe I should just get a bed set up down here for you until you’re stronger.”
“No,” he said with grim determination as they entered the hall. “I’m sleeping upstairs tonight. I’ll manage okay.”
She guided him into the sitting room and onto one of the sofas.
“Cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
While she was gone he looked around, taking in the changes from what he remembered. French doors opened out onto a wooden veranda—they were new, he noted. There’d been a sash window there before and—he looked down at the highly polished floorboards—there’d been some ancient and hideous floral carpet tacked onto the floor. Seems they’d done quite a bit of work around the place.
Xander levered himself to his feet and walked around the room, trailing his hand over the furniture and the top of the ornate mantel over the fireplace, which was flanked by wingback chairs. Had they sat here on a winter’s evening, enjoying the warmth of the fire? He shook his head in frustration. He didn’t know. He sat in one of the chairs to see if it triggered anything, but his mind remained an impenetrable blank.
“Here you are,” Olivia said brightly as she came back into the room. “Oh, you’ve found your chair. Would you like the papers?”
“No, thanks. Just the coffee.”
“Still struggling with concentration?”
He nodded and accepted the mug she handed him. His fingers curled around the handle with familiarity and he stared for a while at the mug. This, he knew. He’d bought it at the Pearl Harbor memorial when they went to Hawaii for their honeymoon. He took a sip and leaned back in the chair.
“That’s good—so much better than the stuff they serve in the hospital.” He sighed happily and looked around the room again. “I guess we did it all, huh? Our plans for the house?”
Olivia nodded. “It wasn’t easy, but we completed it in just over a year. We...um...we got impatient to finish and hired contractors to handle a lot of it. I wish you could remember haggling for those French doors. It was a sight worth seeing.”
He must have pulled a face because she was on her knees at his side in a minute. She reached up to cup his cheek with one hand and turned his face to hers.
“Xander, don’t worry. It’ll come back in its own good time. And if it doesn’t, then we’ll fill that clever mind of yours with new memories, okay?”
Was it his imagination or did she sound more emphatic about the new memories than him remembering his old ones? No, he was just being oversensitive. And overtired, he thought as he felt another wave of exhaustion sweep through him. It was one thing to feel relatively strong while in the hospital, when there were so many people in worse condition he could compare himself with. Quite another to feel the same in your home environment, where you were used to being strong and capable.
He turned his face into her palm and kissed her hand. “Thanks,” he said simply.
She pulled away, a worried frown creasing her brow. “We’ll get through this, Xander.”
“I know we will.”
She got up and smoothed her hands down her jeans. “I’ll go and start dinner for us, okay? We should probably eat early tonight.”
He must have fallen asleep when she left the room because before he knew it he was awoken with another of those featherlight kisses on his forehead.
“I made spaghetti Bolognese, your favorite.”
She helped him stand and they walked arm in arm into the dining room. It looked vastly different from the drop-cloth-covered space he remembered. He looked up at the antique painted glass and polished brass library lamp that was suspended from the ceiling.
“I see you got your way on the prisms,” he commented as he took his seat.
“Not without a battle. I had to concede to the ugliest partner desk in all history for the study upstairs to get this,” she said with a laugh.
He smiled in response. There it was. The laugh he felt had been missing from his life for so long. Odd, when it had only been nine weeks since his accident. It felt so much longer.
After dinner Xander propped himself against the kitchen counter while Olivia cleaned up. He tried to help, but after a plate slipped from his fingers and shattered on the tile floor, he retreated in exasperation to the sidelines to watch.
“Stop pushing yourself,” Olivia admonished as she swept up the last of the splinters of china on the floor with a dustpan and brush.
“I can’t help it. I want to be my old self again.”
She straightened up from depositing the mess in the kitchen trash bin. “You are your old self—don’t worry so much.”
“With Swiss cheese for brains,” he grumbled.
“Like I said before, we can plug those holes with new memories, Xander. We don’t have to live in the past.”
Her words had a poignant ring to them, and he felt as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she continued tidying up. When she was done, she looked at him with a weary smile. Instantly he felt guilty. She’d been doing a lot of driving back and forth from here to the hospital and helping when she could with his physical therapy. And he knew that when she was painting, she’d often work late into the night without eating or taking a break. Why hadn’t he noticed the bluish bruises of exhaustion under her eyes? Silently he cursed his weakness and his part in putting those marks there.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for an early night,” Olivia said with a barely stifled yawn.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he teased.
Together, they ascended to the next floor, too slowly for Xander’s liking but an unfortunate necessity as his tiredness played havoc with his coordination.