White lies

They were to stay at a different motel than the one they’d been in before, because Frank didn’t want to take the chance the desk clerk might recognize them. They even used different names. When they got there, Frank had already arrived, and he’d made reservations for them under the names of Michael Carter and Faye Wheeler. Separate rooms. Steve looked distinctly displeased, but placed Jay’s overnighter in her room without comment and went along to his own room. The eye specialist checked Steve’s eyes immediately; then he was taken to an optometrist to be fitted for glasses, which would be ready for him the next morning. Jay remained behind, wondering what strings Frank had pulled and whose arms he had twisted to get everything done so fast.

They returned a little after dark, and Steve came immediately to Jay’s room. "Hi, baby," he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. Before she could answer he was kissing her, his hands tight on her arms, his mouth hard and searching.

She shivered with excitement, crowding closer to his body as she dug her fingers into his cold hair. He smelled like wind and snow, and his skin was cold, but his tongue was warm and probing. Finally he lifted his head, a very male look of satisfaction stamped on his hard face. He rubbed his thumb across her lips, which were reddened from contact with his. "Sweetheart, I may freeze my naked butt off sneaking into your room tonight, but I’m not sleeping alone." "I have a suggestion," she purred. "Let’s hear it."

"Leave your clothes on until you get here." He laughed and kissed her again. Her mouth was driving him crazy; it had the most erotic effect on him. Kissing her was more arousing than actually making love had been with other women– and just for a moment, before they faded away, some of those other women were in his mind.

"The doctor is already on his way back to Washington. Frank is staying until the morning, so it’s the three of us again. Are you hungry? Frank’s stomach is still on Washington time."

"Actually, I am a little hungry. We don’t keep late hours ourselves, you know." He looked at the bed. "I know."

Jay hoped to have the chance to ask Frank about the agent’s name; she couldn’t take the risk of asking him in Steve’s presence, because the sound of his own name might trigger his memory, and she couldn’t face the possibility of that. She wanted him to remember, but she wanted it to be when they were alone in their high meadow. If the chance to talk to Frank didn’t present itself, she could always call him after they’d retired to their individual rooms for the night, pro- vided Steve didn’t come straight to hers, but she didn’t think he would. He’d probably take a shower first, and put on fresh clothes. She sighed, weary of having to second-guess and predict; she wasn’t cut out for this business.

Steve noted the sigh, and the faint desperation in her eyes. She hadn’t said anything, but that look had been there since he’d had that first flash of memory the day before. It puzzled him; he couldn’t think of any reason why Jay should dread his returning memory. Because it puzzled him and because there was no logical reason, he couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t in his makeup. When something bothered him, he worried at it until it made sense. He never quit, never let go. His sister had often said he was at least half bulldog– Sister?

He was quiet as the three of them ate dinner at an Italian restaurant. Part of him enjoyed the spicy food, and part of him was actively involved in the easy conversation around the table, but another part of him examined the sliver of memory from every angle. If he had a sister, why had he told Jay he was an orphan? Why hadn’t Frank had a record of any relatives? That was the screwy part. He could accept that he might have told Jay a different version of his life, because he didn’t know what the circumstances had been at the time, but it was impossible that Frank hadn’t had a list of next of kin. That was assuming he was remembering "real" things.

A sister. His logic told him it was impossible. His guts told him his logic could take a flyer. A sister. Amy. Unca Luke! Unca Luke! The childish voices re- verberated in his head even as he laughed at something Frank said. Unca Dan. Unca Luke. Unca Luke Unca Luke… Luke… Luke…

"Are you all right?" Jay asked, her eyes dark with concern as she put her hand lightly on his wrist. She could feel tension emanating from him and was vaguely startled that Frank hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual.

The pounding left his head as he looked at her and smiled. He’d gladly count his past well lost as long as he could have Jay. The sensory umbilical cord linking them was as acutely sensitive as the strings on a precisely tuned Stradivarius. "It’s just a headache," he said. "The drive was a strain on my eyes." Both statements were true, though the second wasn’t the cause of the first. Also, there hadn’t been that much strain. His problem was the precise, close-up focusing needed for reading; his distance vision was as sharp as ever, which was better than twenty- twenty. He had the vision of a jet pilot.

Jay returned to her conversation with Frank, but she was as aware of Steve’s fading tension as she had been of the fact that he’d been as taut as a guide wire. Had something happened that afternoon that he hadn’t told her? A feeling of dread almost overwhelmed her, and she wanted badly to be back at the cabin.

When they returned to the motel, she noted with relief that Steve went to his own room rather than stopping to talk with Frank or immediately following her to hers. She darted to the phone and dialed Frank’s room. He answered on the first ring.

"It’s Jay." She identified herself.

"Is something wrong?" He was immediately alert.

"No, everything’s okay. It’s just that something’s been bothering me, but I didn’t want to ask you in front of Steve."