Her Eyes (4 page)

"I don't know why you waited on me. How can you love someone so messed up?” She relaxed, and she flopped her hands at her sides. She'd gone through so much, but the disgrace over her physical deformities seemed less for vanity and more for him this time.

"It will heal.” He didn't know what else to say. Not only was he stymied by what to say to someone who went through all the pain she had, but he also wasn't sure what to say to the woman who had for so long tormented his existence, the woman who cheated on him. The woman he thought he loved. “Don't worry about it."

Catherine seemed so unsure, nervous to disappoint him. He searched desperately for some gentle words to ease her pain. None would come. This was foreign territory. She never needed reassurance before and never cared about anything he said. He pulled her into his arms and held her, wondering what new trials were coming into their lives and when her caustic remarks would return.

"The backyard is beautiful. You are very talented."

She pulled away, stepped into the small rose garden and sat on the bench he had placed in the middle. Her arms wrapped around herself and she rocked back and forth like a small child. Odd, that was something Pam did when she was worried about a test. The day before her driving test she rocked so much he told her she was going to start an earthquake. He'd never seen Catherine so vulnerable. And why was he suddenly thinking about Pam?

"Would you like to be alone, or may I join you?"

"Only be with me if you want to, not for pity.” She looked at him, tears in her mismatched eyes. “I'm not just talking about now. I want you, but only if you really want me for a wife, not for some vow or some sense of loyalty."

Frank sat next to her and put an arm around her. She leaned against him, gave into his presence. The sensation was unlike any he experienced with Catherine, yet reminiscent. A pull kept him in place, and he could swear a bond developed between them.

In his mind, an image flashed of a carnival he'd gone to with Pam years before. Sitting by the pond, sharing a hot dog, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. Warmth filled him, and for once in many years, he enjoyed his wife's company. This was the Catherine he had always wanted to be with.

They sat there in silence for hours, and then Frank noticed the time. His stomach gave a second opinion on the late hour. Touching Catherine may be nice, but he needed food.

"I'm starved. How about some dinner?"

"What would you like?” She asked him, another rarity.

"I don't know."

She stood and started into the house, going through the back door and into the kitchen. There she opened the refrigerator, made a face, then opened the freezer. Very odd. He'd never known Catherine to cook.
Now I'm being silly, looking for ghosts when there isn't anything but my wife struggling to recapture her life.

"You don't have any food here. Poor guy. What did you do while I was in the hospital?” She looked in the pantry, jostled a few cans around, then turned to look at him.

"The same thing I did before.” He scratched his head, wondering if he'd missed some joke. “Ate out or had a frozen dinner."

"What? I'm a great cook. Why would you...” Catherine's face turned white.

"What's wrong?"

She gripped the edge of the counter. “It's like a bad dream.” She reached down, pulled her shirt free from her pants then looked at her stomach, running her fingers over the smooth skin. “This doesn't make sense."

"What?"

"This may sound weird, but did you ever try to hurt me? Stab me?” Her stomach was smooth, perfect, not a scar or scratch and this seemed to amaze her. She kept looking at it, pulling at the skin as if checking for something.

Frank took a step back, confusion and horror washing over him. “No. Never."

"I didn't think you had.” Then she closed her eyes. “No. He was smaller, dirtier. Always smelled of greasy car parts."

"Who?"

"What?” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, what?"

"Who are you talking about?"

"I don't know.” She tried to smile, but it was a poor effort. “I keep having this bad dream."

"Tell me about it."

A knock at the door startled Frank as it echoed through the house that had grown too quiet. He stood, glad for any excuse to get away from this conversation for a minute. When she told him her dreams, his skin turned to gooseflesh, especially when he knew part of it wasn't a dream.

He walked away and glanced back, happy she hadn't followed him. Another knock hurried his steps through the house. He pulled open the door to find his neighbor Jim standing there holding Win's leash tightly and a box tucked under his arm.

"This a bad time?” His Southern drawl always relaxed Frank.

"No. Come on in."

He opened the door wide, and Win bolted inside. The dog sniffed Frank, then stood on his back legs and gave him a big wet lick down his cheek. Frank patted him softly. He loved the old dog.

"I saw your truck and thought you'd want Win back over. My wife also fixed you two supper."

"Hello,” Catherine appeared at the edge of the room.

Win ran to her, stopped, and Frank watched Catherine visibly steady herself against the dog. He sniffed her feet, then sat on his haunches, lifting one paw. She bent slowly, holding out her hand for the dog. He licked it then they shook as if meeting for the first time.

"Well, aren't you friendly?” She got down on her knees and petted him. “What's his name again? Oh wait. I remember, Win."

"Well, Catherine, you're looking well.” Jim had his old dirty ball cap on.

"Thank you. It's good to be home and out of that hospital.” She stepped towards the door. “I think I remember you. Jim? And your wife is ... Mary? Right, Jim and Mary?"

"That's right.” Frank reached down and gave the dog's head a rub.

"Glad your memory is coming back.” He handed her the box, one of those that Jim brought home from the grocery store. “My wife fixed ya'll some supper."

"That is so sweet. She didn't have to do that."

"Our pleasure."

"Why don't you join us?” She peered inside. “There's enough food here to feed an army."

"No. No. My wife is setting the table right now."

"Well, thank you. Next week I expect you and your wife over for a dinner. It'll be fun. Maybe we'll play some cards afterward."

She turned and carried the box back into the dinning room with Win on her heels. Frank watched her leave and was surprised to find Jim doing the same. The old man just shook his head, brows furrowed, a serious expression plastered on his wrinkled face.

"She was nice to me?” Jim posed a question that Frank wasn't sure if he should answer.

"Catherine's different. I can't get over how well Win took to her. That dog never liked her, and she wasn't crazy about him either."

"Are you sure you brought the right woman home from the hospital?” He scrubbed his scraggly gray chin then looked toward the kitchen again. “Catherine ain't actin’ like herself."

"I've noticed.” The same thought had entered his mind, but he was starting to like the changes he saw in her. If only they were permanent. Yes, Catherine had changed. “Sounds like she's invited you over for dinner and cards. That could be fun."

"I didn't know she cooked.” Jim looked back toward the dinning room. “What kind of cards?” He scratched his head. “Weird. Really weird."

"It truly is.” For the time being, Frank wasn't sure if the weird behavior was good or bad. Cooking, playing cards, being nice to the neighbors. Pam used to like to play rummy ... and why was he thinking of Pam again. He kind of liked this version of Catherine.

"We'll come by. Just call me with the day and time.” While holding that serious expression, he added, “find out what kind of cards we'll be playing. I ain't doing no strip poker."

"Believe me, Jim. I don't want to play strip poker with you."

Jim laughed heartily then patted Frank on the back. “Call me. Even if it's just to talk."

Frank let him out the door and waved goodbye. He tried not to let Jim get to him but in truth, Catherine never liked their neighbors. Not once had she invited them to dinner, nor did she ever stop to speak to Jim when he visited.

"Can I help you with that?” Frank asked as he went through the house and saw Catherine setting dishes on the table.

"No. I like doing routine things. Sort of helps me feel like I'm at home."

She tore off a couple of paper towels and folded them, placing each beside the plate. For a minute, she seemed to have trouble finding the silverware, then her slack memory caught, and she found the forks. She seemed to have the same momentary loss for the glasses, and then she found them and put them on the table. She'd chosen wine glasses, although there was no wine.

"Sweetie, do you have everything you need?"

"Sure.” Her face nearly glowed. She seemed content to set the table. “You know I don't drink, but I thought we could use the wine glasses since this was a special occasion.” She pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and poured it in the glass. “Oh, wait, you prefer beer, don't you?"

"Whatever you're having is fine."

"Are you sure?” She never offered to get him a drink before today. She might've in the early months of their marriage but that was too long ago to remember.

"Absolutely. Water is fine."

Catherine not drink wine? That was the first Frank had heard of it. Catherine drank, and often passed out on the couch. She wouldn't drink water under any circumstances. In fact, he remembered her complaining that it didn't have any taste.

He was being silly. Catherine looked like the same woman he'd married. Her body was perfect, the long blonde hair was brushed the same way. Nothing physically had changed. Then he noticed her hands.

"Sweetie, where are your rings?"

"I took them off. They felt weird. I hope you don't mind.” She shrugged. “I think a nurse ran off with one of those rings anyway."

Catherine was never without her jewelry. From the moment she woke, she wore some ornaments. Special occasions had never been special unless he shelled out a small fortune for some gold or diamonds. Only one ring adorned her hand now, a plain gold band. The one he'd given her on their wedding day. The one he had to replace with something fancier before her nagging drove him insane. “I'll call the hospital right now."

"Don't bother. It's only rocks, right? Maybe the nurse needed it.” She glanced down at her hands. “I hope you don't mind, but I found this one in the jewelry box a few minutes ago when I put up the others. It fits better."

"I don't mind.” He'd always preferred the plain band to the showy crap. “It looks perfect on you."

Emotion swelled in his gut. The mix of pleasure and pain brought tears to his eyes. Something amazing had happened in that hospital, something wonderful. As he watched Catherine serve dinner, he couldn't help wondering if and hoping that she would stay this way.

"Here, boy.” Catherine took a bit of sausage from the ziti Mary had prepared and fed Win. Win wagged his tail, also content with this new version of Catherine.

"You're amazing.” Frank sat down, unable to stop staring.

They sat to dine, and Catherine lifted her glass. “A toast. To us.” She brought the glass to her lips, and all at once, she turned pale. Her mouth tightened in a straight line. The glass broke in her hand, water covering her lap and the table while shards littered the floor. Win started howling, and the room grew cold, as if someone had turned on the air conditioner.

"Catherine?"

He reached toward her, but she was unresponsive. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her body jerked, Frank grabbed her before she hit the floor. Win stopped howling and went to her. Frank almost stopped him until he saw the dog licking her face, as if trying to wake her.

"What happened?” Catherine leaned into Frank, broken glass falling from her clothes and clinking around them.

"I think we should take you to the hospital. It looked like you were having a seizure."

"Please, Frank, no more hospitals. I can't stand to be locked up in that place again.” She sat up and saw the mess she'd made. “Oh, no. Look what I've done."

"It's nothing. I'll get it."

"No. I'll get it.” Her hands shook. “I'm so embarrassed.” She tossed a few of the bigger pieces that had landed on her pants into the trash. “I've ruined our lovely dinner. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't ruin anything."

Together, they got on their knees and started cleaning up the broken shards. Win, in his very unique way, helped by dragging over a dust pan, and Catherine got the broom. In a few minutes, everything was back to normal. They sat back at the table, Catherine with a fresh glass. This time when she brought the glass to her lips, Frank held his breath, but nothing happened.

"Catherine, promise me something."

"What?” She looked at him, nibbling her bottom lip in an odd way Catherine never had. In fact, only Pam ever nibbled at her lip that way.

"Never mind."

Frank took a bite of his now-cold ziti. They ate their dinner, and occasionally, he would catch Catherine looking at him. Her eyes were big, a soft smile played at her lips, and he could almost believe that she loved him.

The knife sliced through the air. He intended to kill her. In her heart and soul, she knew it. There was no mistaking the look of hatred in his eyes or the rage in his voice. For all the times he had struck her, beat her, threatened her, she knew tonight was the night she would die. That face, she didn't want to die looking at that face.

"Please don't."

He came closer, swishing the knife back and forth in front of him. The fillet knife was from his tackle box, not even a clean one from the kitchen. Dirty, smelly, crude—like him. This one had the remains of something brown and a few scales clung along the backside.

"You can't leave me, Pam.” His voice, the epitome of redneck in his slow and careful way, hung in the air and added to her terror. “You're my wife."

"Stop it. Don't do this, Robert.” Robert, who had promised her the moon and left her with only dust. Robert, the man who tried to destroy her spirit and when he couldn't, he now tried to destroy her body.
I don't want to die, not this way. I want to live and have a full and fulfilling life. Someone, please hear me. I want to live!