Just A Memory Away. Helen Myers R.
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As she cautiously peered around the door, she found her guest seated on the commode lid. He looked much the same as when she’d left him.
Not one to stifle too many emotions, she sighed and touched his shoulder gently so as not to startle him. “Hey. Didn’t you hear me?”
He looked up at her, and her heart did a little jig as his eyes brightened, warmed. “Hello,” he murmured.
“Hi. You’re supposed to be taking a shower.”
He glanced at the stall as if only now realizing its purpose. “I guess I forgot.”
Forgot the only instruction she’d given him? Frankie’s spirits sank again. “Please, don’t say that. You don’t know how close I am to calling the police for help.”
“No. No…don’t.”
“But you’re hurt, and it’s obvious this didn’t happen by simply falling over a tree stump. I could probably be put in jail for the infraction of some civil law by not already having you at a hospital. Failure to render aid or something—I seem to remember they have that law here.”
He frowned. “But you did help me.”
“Proper. Proper aid is the key word in this case.” Frankie crouched before him to make him meet her studious gaze. “Look…you have to work with me. You have to take that shower. You’ll feel much better if you get cleaned up, I’m sure of it. If not, I’ll let you lie down for a while afterward. You really don’t want to lie down on my clean sheets when you’re caked with mud and who knows what else, right? Can you do that for me?”
He inclined his head. It wasn’t, however, a full-fledged nod.
Not sure that he fully comprehended, Frankie gestured toward the fiberglass cubicle. “Well… anytime you’re ready.”
Obviously it wasn’t now. Her guest simply continued sitting there staring straight ahead.
Beginning to feel as if she was fighting an unwinnable battle, she took hold of his hands, which hung loosely between his knees. “Let me try a different approach…. Are
you making sense of anything I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to go in there.”
Frankie eyed the shower stall. What did he mean? Sure, her trailer didn’t look like much from the outside, even through the kind filter of darkness. After the death of her grandmother, her grandfather had towed the thing from one part of the States to another and then some, not missing a single pothole or dusty canyon on his journey of selfdiscovery. And there was no use trying to ignore the obvious: she could almost open her own zoo. That had its own cost. But concussion or no concussion, surely he could tell she was a painstaking housekeeper?
“I don’t understand,” she told him with quiet urgency.
“It looks—I can’t see.”
“See what?”
“See. In there.”
It took her a few seconds, but she finally understood what he meant. He would feel claustrophobic in the stall. Whether this was a result of his injury, or something deeper, she had no way of knowing; but it didn’t appear as if she was going to be able to talk him out of it before the sun rose.
“Holy Moly…” She sat back on her heels. “I’m definitely in way over my head here. You have to let me take you somewhere.”
“No.”
“To a doctor? For your own good?”
“No!”
Before she could react, he took possession of her wrists in a blood-draining grasp. He had impressive strength for an injured guy; in fact, his touch was so intense she had to bite back a cry. Sure, she’d been clawed, bitten and bullied time and again by the strays and abused animals she’d taken into her home; but this was different. This was more personal, more dangerous than anything she’d experienced before.
“Listen to me.” Ever so slowly, she lowered her head so that her cheek stroked against the powerful fingers shutting off the blood supply to her hands. “You’re hurting me… and you’re frightening me.”
He immediately let her go. Looking shocked, he touched her hair. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”
The anguish in his voice was real, his touch gentle. Frankie abandoned her momentary impulse to run; however, she did sit up and eye him with renewed concern. “What am I going to do with you? Don’t you understand that you have to get cleaned up and get that dirt out of your wounds?”
He frowned, looked at the shower stall and then at her again. “Can you help me?”
Whoa.
He couldn’t be serious? But no sooner did Frankie open her mouth to tell him that, than she realized she didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t an act. “Aw…no,” she moaned, “don’t do this to me.”
“Please. It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m just not sure I can-”
“Manage on your own in such a small space?” At his brief nod, she groaned inwardly. Granted, the male body was hardly an unknown commodity to her, but she hadn’t seen all that many. Did he realize what he was asking of her?
Of course he did, she realized a moment later when a dark flush crept into his face. Otherwise he wouldn’t look as miserable and trapped as she felt.
She sighed. “Am I a wuss or what?”
“Sorry?”
“Anyone can be a marshmallow,” she said, rising to slide open the shower door and turn on the water. “It takes a rare talent to be a wuss.”
From the cabinet behind her, she took the biggest towel she owned and set it on the edge of the sink for when they were done. Then she slipped out of her sneakers.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she told the injured stranger as she tugged off her socks. “Any funny business and you’re dead meat, got it?”
“Not feeling very funny.”
“We’ll see.”
She didn’t turn away from him as she stripped off her jeans. Modesty wasn’t the issue; and despite her comment, she didn’t think he looked as if he was in any shape to really pull something. What’s more her T-shirt and panties left her more covered than when swimming with Holly at her friend’s apartment pool.
It was the stranger who presented the problem.
“Okay,” she said, adjusting the hot-and cold-water taps. “I guess I’m ready if you are.”
Frankie’s curiosity as to whether he was the modest type or not was answered seconds after she spoke. The stranger used her shoulder and the wall for support, and eased himself to his feet. The abandoned blanket simply fell away, and he stood before her as naked and unsteady as a one-year-old testing his legs for the first time.
And you thought keeping something on would make things less sexual? Jonesy, you are daffier than Honey.
She already considered the man a heartthrob, but that proved the father of all understatements. He was what the girls at the club would call a “stud.” Simply beautiful, as far as she was concerned. One inevitable cheater-glance downward, and she knew it would be a miracle if she got through this without making an absolute fool of herself.
She slipped an arm around his waist to offer additional balance. “Easy. Easy.” She coaxed him into the stall. “You’re doing great.”
“Feel lousy.”
“There’s a built-in seat in here.