Lyons Den Ch 17

Eleven fifty-two Post Meridian, Bruce closed the last explicit picture for the last time. He took a deep breath, right clicked on the 'financial' folder, selected delete, and, before any lustful second thoughts could prevent his hand from completing the mission, he hit 'ENTER', and then quickly emptied the Recycle Bin. If nothing else, he felt better, lighter in spirit, for not having totally lied to Jenifer, because he did eventually delete the pictures.

Rising from the hospital recliner, Bruce glanced at the bed. Erotic images still swirling in his mind's eye, he felt anything but sleepy. In fact, some of Bruce's missing memories seemed to be returning. Nothing substantial, just flashes of Jenifer, Daniel and, strangely enough, Daniel's new friend Mary. Or maybe it was just the photos playing tricks with his libido. Whatever the cause, a nagging headache drove him to the door to ask a nurse for an Excedrin to help relieve the pain of what must be headache number 69.

Stopping just outside his room, Bruce looked left and right. No nurse in sight.

'The night crew must be busy.'

He looked left again. The daytime police guard had been replaced by a much older officer.

'This must be an easy assignment. No stress. Comfortably warm and dry.'

In fact, with his hat pulled low and his chin resting on his chest, he looked asleep.

Movement inside the prisoner's room, a shadow darker than the doorway itself, caught Bruce's attention. Then a soft clink of metal and the rustle of fabric reached his ear. Not wanting to alarm the officer for no justifiable reason, Bruce warily crept along the wall to peek into the room. Just as he reached the open door, a handcuffed man stepped into the hallway with a detached bedrail held above his head, prepared to strike the unsuspecting officer.

Reacting on instinct, Bruce grabbed the bedrail and shouted, "Stop!"

He pulled backwards and kicked the criminal's knee forward. The man fell hard on his back, screaming through his wired jaw.

The startled officer sprang to his feet. "What the fuck!" Quickly assessing the situation, he said to Bruce, "Shit! I'll take it from here. Go back to your room, Sir."

Bruce raised his hands 'no problem' and eased back to his room with a new throbbing pain in his chest. The aggravated bullet wound replaced the discomfort of his headache. Resting in the recliner, he watched nurses and security personnel scurry past the doorway.

Twenty minutes later the police officer entered, hat in hand. "Mr. Baxter, thanks for stepping in like that. I really appreciate it. I'd also appreciate it if you kept what happened to yourself. If anyone finds out I was asleep on the job... well... I'm retiring at the end of the month-"

"I understand," said Bruce. "Congratulations."

Relief flowed into the officer's face. He shook Bruce's hand. "Thanks again."

A nurse entered and interrupted. "Mr. Baxter, how are you doing?"

The officer, eager to leave, waved goodbye and quickly exited the room.

"I'm a little sore. Can I get something for the pain? I need to get some sleep."

"Sure. I'll be back in a minute."

The pain medication was much stronger than Excedrin. Bruce fell into a dreamless sleep and didn't awaken until Jenifer stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers.

"Wake up, sleepy head. Time for breakfast."

Her hand slipped down over the bed covers and briefly covered the lump created by his morning erection. "I miss waking up with this bad boy pressed against me."

Groggily, Bruce smiled back at the beautiful woman bent over him. Her touch, like an electric jolt, brought him fully awake. His face warmed. "Wow, I was out. What time is it?"

"Eight twenty." Rolling the tray near the bed, and lifting the plastic cover off his breakfast, she asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I could eat." Bruce sat up and looked over the powdered scrambled eggs. "I won't promise to keep it down, though."

"Well try," she said, while removing the cellophane from the plastic fork. "You need your strength for the trip home. The doctor is coming before lunch to release you."

"Can't wait." With renewed determination, Bruce began to eat.

Jenifer patted his thigh, "Neither can I," then sat in the recliner and stared at her phone.

Between bland mouthfuls, Bruce glanced at his mystery wife. She looked different today - relaxed. No makeup, a natural beauty in faded jeans and a pink sweatshirt, sporting a no nonsense ponytail. She'd smelled good - clean, not perfumey. He felt the opposite - apprehensive and dirty.

"What're you reading, Jen?"

"Well, Bruce," she smiled. The use of her name seemed to please. "I'm thinking about taking some business classes. I have a job offer."

"Really? That's great!" Then an unpleasant thought crossed his mind - the thought that she might be trying to distance herself from him. His stomach twisted. "Is it close by? In town?"

Her eyes narrowed, and the phone dropped to her lap. "That's a weird question. Are you hoping it's not?"

Bruce's mouth went dry as the toast, making it difficult to swallow for long seconds. "No," he finally blurted, "Just the opposite. I was thinking you might want to... get away."

"Seriously?" Tears welled up. "You took a bullet for me. You love me that much... At least you did. You think after that I'd want out? No such luck. I want you back. I want us back. You're stuck with me." She wiped her eyes and lifted her phone back to read. "Daniel wants me to take over running the gallery, so Mary can focus on her painting, and travel with him on business trips. It's nice to finally see him in love."

Although Bruce didn't remember their life together, he felt comforted by her commitment. Knowing a little about the abuse in her past, he wondered if she would want to escape from this recent emotional upheaval. But for now, at least, he wasn't alone.

Then another disturbing thought came to mind. Bruce remembered the pornographic photos in Daniel's erotic collection, and his mouth dried up again. He wondered if some of their explicit photos were hanging in the gallery.

"I remember that place... from before. It's almost a porn shop."

Once again the phone dropped onto Jenifer's lap, as she looked at her husband in dismay. "There was never any pornography there. Yes, they were explicit. But the pictures are of friends and lovers enjoying life, enjoying one another, sharing their bodies for mutual pleasure. Daniel is a sensitive and artistic photographer, trying to capture human sexuality in all its variations." She lifted her phone back up, and continued, "Besides, those photos were taken down. Mary is turning the place into a studio for struggling artists. She's an amazing painter, herself."

"You sound like you're familiar with Daniel's work."

"I am." She looked up and met his gaze. "We both are... or in your case, were."

Uncomfortable with where this conversation might lead, Bruce changed the subject. "So, what kind of work have you done in the past?"

"Menial stuff. Nothing worth mentioning. The past is the past." But her suddenly bobbing foot indicated the question made her nervous.

That seemed to end all conversation. Bruce silently finished breakfast, a cloud of uncertainty hovered over him.

"I should get dressed," he said, pushing away the tray and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Jenifer lifted a duffle bag next to her chair. "Want some help," she asked, giving him a wink.

Bruce smiled, and said, "Thanks, but I can manage," while thinking, 'Why am I embarrassed by the suggestion? She's my wife. I need to remember at least that much.'

"Party pooper."

He carried the duffle bag into the bathroom and closed the door. The reflection in the mirror looked haggard and scruffy. Today, he'd brush his teeth and shave himself. It felt uncommonly good to do something so common. When done, Bruce removed the hospital gown. A bright red spot on the bullet wound bandage gave him pause. The brief altercation last night must have opened the wound. He pressed a finger to the bandage. Didn't feel any worse. He reached into the duffle bag, and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs and black sweatpants. Once they were on, he pulled out a tee-shirt and a zippered hoody. The navy-blue shirt had a design on the front. Shaking the folded garment open, he spied a familiar red and yellow logo - Superman. Glancing at his reflection, he couldn't help but smile at her choice of shirts. Afraid of getting blood on it, which would be inconsistent with a bulletproof superhero, Bruce put it back in the bag and donned only the loose fitting hoody.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Jenifer sat up at attention and smiled brightly. "There's my handsome hero."

Bruce took a step.

"Wait, stop!" Jenifer stood, "Do the reveal thing for me."

"Reveal thing?"

"You know." Jenifer pantomimed pulling apart her shirt at the chest.

Bruce laughed, "Sorry to disappoint, but I didn't put it on." In explanation he unzipped the hoody and pointed at the bloody gauze. "He must've used a kryptonite round. I didn't want to stain my uniform."

Her smile was replaced by a frown of concern as she approached. "Baby, you need that checked out," she said, placing her warm palms on his flesh, pushing the fabric apart for a closer look. "Does it hurt more? Maybe it's infected. Let me get the nurse."

As she turned to go, a sudden affection swelled within him. Bruce gripped her shoulders, and looked down into anxious eyes. "I'm fine. I don't need a nurse. This is what I need." Slowly, he lowered his head.

Her expression changed from concern to anticipation.

Just before their lips touched, Jenifer closed her eyes, and whispered, "Fine. Whatever you need."

Whether it was a memory or just instinct, when their lips touched Bruce slipped his hands across her shoulders to cradle the back of her head. While his thumbs traced behind her ears, his kiss deepened. His tongue probed, and she allowed entry, groaning with desire. Her arms wrapped around his back and pulled him tight. But the pressure against his bruised side caused a sharp pain that made him wince.

"Sorry! Sorry!" she said, breaking the connection. "I got a little carried away."

Bruce smiled, "I'll survive. My side is still pretty tender, but 'carried away' sounds very reassuring."

Jenifer gently stroked his cheek. "I know the feeling... wanting reassurance that is. And I want more of it like that!" She left his arms and headed for the door. "Let me find a nurse before I get so carried away I block the door with the bed."

He laughed as he watched the sway of her jean clad bottom leave the room, and thinking 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.'

A few minutes later, Jenifer returned with a nurse in tow. The nurse removed the bandage from Bruce's chest and gently pressed around the stitches. "They're not broken, but it looks like they were stretched. Did you strain them somehow?"

Thinking fast, Bruce said, "I stubbed my toe on the way into the bathroom and tripped. I grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling."

Wiping the wound with an alcohol swab, the nurse said, "It's not bleeding now. I'll bandage it back up. You be more careful. Don't do anything strenuous."

Looking over the nurse's shoulder, Jenifer winked at Bruce and said, "He won't. I'll do all the work for a while. He'll just lie in bed and relax." Then she slowly sucked her index finger into her mouth.

Bruce felt his face warm, as the nurse answered, "A little physical activity is good for healing. Just no heavy lifting."

Jenifer replied, "Good to know. I have ways to get his heartrate elevated without him lifting a finger."

Laughing, the nurse taped on clean gauze. "I'm sure you do." The nurse now winked at Bruce before turning to go. "You two enjoy the rest of your day."

"We will." They answered at the same time, and then grinned meaningfully at one another.

An hour later, Bruce rolled down the hall in a wheelchair with a list of wound care instructions in his lap. The door next to his was closed, but he could hear loud groaning from inside. He felt sorry for the guard stuck listening to that whiney prick.

He recognized his pickup truck waiting for him at the curb, with his mystery wife holding open the passenger door. A more inviting chauffeur could not exist.

She surprised him with a quick kiss, and said, "Let's go home, Sweetie."

"I'm all for that!"

They exchanged a few pleasantries, but most of the ride was filled with an electric silence, both of them seeming on edge about this relational reboot.

"I bought chicken," said Jenifer, as they turned into driveway.

Bruce, caught off guard trying to remember living in his farmhouse with a wife, didn't catch on. "What? Chickens? We have chickens?"

She laughed. "No, not alive anyway. Yesterday, you asked for something to barbecue. I bought chicken."

"Oh yeah, I remember. Good." He looked at the barn. "But do we have any animals?"

Turning off the engine, Jenifer looked at Bruce, sadness in her eyes. "We don't. I know you want some. We talked about horses the day you... were hurt."

He nodded. "Okay. And how do you feel about it? Do you like animals?"

"I've never had pets. Well... I brought home a stray cat once, but my mother's boyfriend was allergic. It disappeared the next day. So I have no experience with animals, but I'm willing to try anything, for you."

The flirty wink that followed sent a pleasant shiver down Bruce's spine.

Apprehension about the forgotten years occupied Bruce's thoughts as they entered the backdoor. Stopping to look around, the kitchen was as he remembered - bright, clean, utensils in crocks, organized how he liked it.

Jenifer put her arm through his. "Glad to be home?"

"I am. I know this house. It's familiar," said Bruce, as he walked into the living room on the way to his office. Stopping at the sofa, he studied the room, and was struck by its sameness. Where were his wife's things? Where were her influences?

"How long have we been together?"

Jenifer looked surprised by the question. "Why?"

"I just thought the place would look different." Bruce smiled, and added, "You know... chickafied."

She didn't laugh. Bruce missed the hurt look on her face.

He stepped into his office, still as he remembered. That was to be expected. Placing his laptop on the desk, he turned to see Jenifer leaning against the doorjamb. She'd released her hair from the ponytail, and it cascaded across her shoulders, one eye hidden by the soft curtain.

She gave him a half smile, and softly asked, "Are you feeling up to cooking the chicken?"

"Sounds good. I'll start the grill after I use the bathroom."

"Do you want me to slice up some tomatoes for a salad?"

"Okay."

She turned to go, and then looked back. "It's so nice to have you home."

Bruce stood for long seconds staring at the empty door. Finally breaking the spell she'd cast, he walked to the master bedroom. This room too, was just as he remembered except for one thing, a new work of art hung on the wall. It was a magnificent rendering of a reclined nude, a beautiful woman ablaze in the sun's glow, who also happened to be his wife.

He used the bathroom, contemplated the artwork once again, and then returned to the kitchen.

Jenifer stood at the counter, slicing a third tomato. "You think that's enough?"

"What do you think?"

She looked at the juicy pile. "I guess. Do you want carrots in the salad?"

"Do you like carrots?"

"Not really."

Walking over, he stood beside her at the counter. "Make the salad the way you want it. That'll be fine with me."

"Are you sure?"

He said, "Surprise me."

"Isn't everything I do a surprise now?"

He laughed, as he left to go outside and start the grill. "That's true."

In his opinion, burning real charcoal briquettes was the only way to get true barbecue flavor. But lifting the heavy bag sent a sharp pain down his side. He switched hands, and that didn't hurt as much. Even squeezing the lighter fluid can caused a twinge. While the black cubes caught fire, he sat at the picnic table lost in thought. The cool, autumn breeze smelled invigorating after the clinical hospital odor. He took deep cleansing breaths, and thought about the best way to get reacquainted with Jenifer.

When the coals glowed red, Bruce went inside to fetch the chicken.

Jenifer stood bent over, looking into the freezer. "What kind of vegetable do you want?"

He sat on a counter stool. "What do I like with chicken?"

She looked up. "Corn."

"What do you like with chicken?"

"Why?"

"You know all about me. I don't remember anything about you. I need to get to know you again."

She rolled her eyes. "What kind of vegetable do I like? That's on the top of the list?"

"It's a start."

"Okay, I like peas."

"Then let's have peas."

"We don't have any."

"How come?"

"Stop with the interrogation. Corn it is." She pulled out a bag, and then opened the refrigerator. "I marinated the chicken in your favorite sauce." Holding out a plastic tub of legs and breasts, she said, "I'm hungry. Get to work."

"Come outside and sit with me."

"In a minute. Let me put some fries in the oven. You want fries, right?"

"Love some."

A few minutes later, chicken sizzled on the grill, wafting a stomach rumbling aroma into the light breeze. Bruce stood upwind with tongs, turning the meat to prevent burning. The fire flared up when drippings ignited. He turned to retrieve the spray bottle of water from the table and found Jenifer sitting quietly watching. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long." She handed him the bottle. "How are you feeling?"

"So far, so good," he said, as he doused the flare-up with a couple of squirts. "Have you decided on some business classes?"

"Nah, college is not for me."

"Why not? You seemed excited about it before."

No answer. He looked to see her staring off in the distance.

Changing the subject to something more immediate, Bruce said, "That's a beautiful portrait of you in the bedroom. When was that done?"

"A couple weeks ago. Mary did it. I asked her to, as a gift for you."

"She's very talented, and the subject is breathtaking."

Jenifer got up, laced her fingers through his, and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

Bruce asked, "Are you and Mary close?"

"Getting there. I think we'll be good friends for a long time."

"Do you have a lot of friends?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Sorry. Just trying to get up to speed on the whole 'us' thing."

"Believe me, the less you know about my past the better."

Taken aback by the sudden frostiness in her voice, he said, "That can't be true. I fell in love knowing who you were."

Separating from him, she said, "The chicken looks about done. I'll bring out the rest."

Bruce sighed heavily. The distance between them seemed to be widening, not shrinking. He knew she was embarrassed by some things from her past. She'd had a horrific childhood. But ignoring it wasn't going to make it go away.

Before the attack, maybe he had been unhappy with their marriage. Maybe they'd been on the verge of a breakup, and she's trying to hide it.

Sitting across from each other at the picnic table, they ate silently for a while.

Breaking the somber mood, he asked, "How's the chicken?"

"Delicious. You didn't forget how to cook." Then she added in a sullen tone, "That's good, because I don't know how."

"What's the matter? Your mood seems to be going down hill since we've been home."

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"About what?"

Jenifer looked away in contemplation, then pushed her plate off to the side, and folder her hands on the table. "Us. This fucked up situation. Now that you're home and healing up, I'm thinking it would be best if I left."