Kneeling beside him, she put her hand on his forehead and saw the mark on her finger from the absent ring. The reminders of her past life.

Rolland held her until she was still. “Besides liking that you’re blocking the sun, I would really like to kiss you.”

His lips greeted hers in a kiss that defined perfection in its simplicity. There was a knowing about the way his mouth moved over hers, an assuredness in how his head tilted, and hers dropped to the side and back to accept his mouth and tongue, that made her know this wouldn’t be the last time. That thought brought reality screeching back.

She planted both her hands against his chest and moved herself away.

“Melanie?”

“Wait. I need a minute.” All of her senses began to work again and she heard birds caw. Squirrels hustled about their business and a deer ran past heading east.

Rolland got closer and though she didn’t want to, she had to stop him.

About the Author

CARMEN GREEN was born in Buffalo, NY, and had plans to study law before becoming a published author. While raising her three children, she wrote her first book on legal pads and transcribed it onto a computer on weekends before selling it in 1993. Since that time she has sold more than thirty novels and novellas, and is proud that one of her books was made into a TV movie in 2001, Commitments, in which she had a cameo role.

In addition to writing full-time, Carmen is now a mum of four, and lives in the Southeast of America. You can contact Carmen at www.carmengreen.blogspot.com or carmengreen1201@yahoo.com.

Dear Reader,

This is my inaugural book for Mills & Boon® Cherish, so I thought I should introduce myself. I am Carmen Green and I’ve been a writer since the mid-nineties. I love writing funny, offbeat novels, but I have a serious side too, so you’ll never really know what to expect. I love learning, flowers, family, friends and food. I never go on loops, but I don’t mind talking to people, doing interviews or appearing at conferences. I love travelling and experiencing new things. I have great friends in this business and those that know me well know that I’m funny, straightforward and honest.

This book is quite special to me. Traumatic Brain Injury is a very serious condition, and for those that suffer from this condition and their families it is often life-altering. My prayers and thoughts go out to all of those who continue the battle to improve their lives and the lives of those affected by TBI. I try to reply to all of my readers. My e-mail address is carmengreen1201@gmail.com, and my website is www.authorcarmengreen.com.

I look forward to hearing from all of you.

Peace and blessings,

Carmen Green

The Husband

She Couldn’t

Forget

Carmen Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to the US Military, and to Lori Bryant Woolridge and Nina Foxx, two of the women along with myself who founded the Femme Fantastik Tour. It’s been a humbling experience travelling to bases and speaking to the soldiers and their families. I became interested in the subject of Traumatic Brain Injury because of an injury to a soldier, and I have a healthy respect for all that they and their families must endure on the path to recovery. I’m very proud of our soldiers, and I hope to see you all again soon.

Prologue

Melanie stood on the top step of her Atlanta, Georgia, home and wondered how any woman in her right mind could be wearing stockings in this kind of June heat. The tall black woman who’d just rung her doorbell smelled faintly of cigarettes and looked as if she needed one bad.

An odd expression crossed her face, and Melanie looked at her own left hand and jerked it behind her back, embarrassed. She was still holding the Not Pregnant test stick from the pregnancy test she’d just taken, and her flush of disappointment sizzled into nothingness under the bright noon sun.

“I’m sorry, I just heard the door a second ago,” Melanie said, pocketing the apparatus.

“Mrs. Melanie Bishop?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Regret passed over the woman’s face before she tapped Melanie’s arm with a large manila envelope. “You’ve been served.”

Hubert, Boyle and Stein. Divorce attorneys. She’d heard whispers about them in the ladies locker room at the country club her husband had insisted they join. They were the best. Or the worst. Depending on which side of the table you were on.

Her smile felt parched and false.

The woman took the winding steps down to the sidewalk in a hurry but sensing no threat, slowed down as she walked to her old grayish-looking Civic and got in. The car rumbled to life, but she didn’t pull off.

Melanie stared at the envelope, knowing, but not wanting to know, why Deion was having her served.

The massive front door was blue. Deion wasn’t fond of blue, but he hadn’t said he hated blue. She could’ve changed it. Would’ve, had she known.

Maybe they shouldn’t have compromised on the Porsche he’d wanted, and should have gotten it instead of the Lexus SUV.

But where would he put the baby when they had one?

That had been her argument.

Maybe he’d gotten tired of her arguments for everything.

Maybe Deion hated—

“Melanie?”

“Yes?” she said, looking around, unsure of who was calling her. It was the process server.

The woman had leaned over the passenger seat and was looking out the window. “You got a mama?” she called up to her.

“She died seven years ago.” What an odd question coming from a stranger.

“A sister or best friend?”

“A friend.” Him. Only him.

“Go in your house and call her right now. Okay?”

“Okay.” Melanie turned the knob and put her shoulders into pushing the heavy door open. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Inside the house, her sneakers made hush, hush sounds on the nearly black hardwood floors and not for the first time, she felt as if the cool silence was mocking her. She’d only agreed to this house because she’d thought they’d fill it with children. But they’d been trying for five years and she didn’t need telepathy to tell her that the papers in her hand were her expiration notice.

“Dial Deion’s cell phone,” she said aloud to the voice-activated system that controlled everything in the house.

She walked to their bedroom to Deion’s closet and didn’t notice more than the usual amount of clothes gone.

Deion was in New York at a conference for portfolio managers. She could hear his cell ringing, then roll over to voice mail. She sat on the end of their bed.

“This is Deion Bishop. I’m making deals happen, and if you’re ready, I’ll make them happen for you. Leave your name and number.” His voice was still sexy after seven years of being together. She hadn’t tired of it. Would never.

“Honey, we need to talk,” she said, injecting a smile into her voice. “There has to be some way we can make this work. We can talk about anything. Please call me here at home. I love you. Goodbye. End call.”

Two weeks after she was served, Melanie slid her maid’s paycheck through the crack in the front door, but wouldn’t open it all the way. “I don’t need you this week, Juanita. I’m just not feeling well and I don’t want you to catch my germs.”

“Mrs. Bishop, I clean two times a week, every week for five years. Mr. Bishop says so. He doesn’t like his bathroom with any dirt. I’m coming in.”

“No!” Melanie swallowed her tears. “Mr. Bishop isn’t here right now, so there’s no need to worry about his bathroom. Here, I’ll pay you for the entire month. I’ll call you when I need you. Thank you, Juanita.”

“Mrs. Bishop, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, closing out the concerned-looking woman. “Goodbye. I’ll call you. Really. Bye, now.”

“Mrs. Bishop.”

Melanie closed the door and walked back to her bedroom. “Call Deion at work,” she commanded, relieved when she saw Juanita’s car slowly leave the cul-de-sac.

“Good morning, MJM Portfolio Management.”

“This is Melanie Bishop. May I speak to Rod Burke?”

“Just a moment, please.”

At least this time she didn’t get the baffled silence from the receptionist.

“Melanie, it’s Rod. I heard that you’ve been calling.”

“I have, Rod. Deion isn’t home from a trip he left from two weeks ago. I’m worried. He hasn’t answered his cell and I’m not sure where exactly he is.” She’d been weeping so long, her throat was raw. She cleared it, knowing she sounded like a desperate housewife. “Where is he?”

“Melanie, Deion quit working here two weeks ago.”

“What?” Shock and panic and a desperate sense that everything was coming to a close enveloped her. He loved his job and if he quit there, he had much bigger plans.

“Deion walked in one day, said he had an opportunity he couldn’t pass up and handed in his resignation. I wasn’t happy at all, but I couldn’t stop him.”

“When was this?”

“Exactly two weeks ago today.”

“Rod, do you still hold his license?”

“No, I gave it to him. We severed all ties, and he left. Funny thing, though, I thought he was going to try to undercut me and take his top clients, then I’d have recourse to sue him, but he hasn’t touched them.”

Melanie knew better than to say Deion wouldn’t cheat Rod, but that’s how Rod had gotten his start—by avoiding his former firm’s client list.

“Nothing at all, Rod?”

“Not a peep. Mel, I wish I could help, but I’ve got a meeting. I don’t know any more than I’ve told you.”

“Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother. Bye,” he said and hung up.

Melanie listened to the dial tone. All communication between her and Rod was probably over forever.

The tears poured from her as she walked from room to room, opening doors, letting her pain fill each space. Open-mouthed she cried out her sorrow in the nursery that would never know the rhapsody of her children’s glee. The guest room that had never experienced the joy of a guest, and the master bedroom that had lost its master and mistress.

Tripping on her slippers, she tumbled down the step in the den and lay there, wishing her pain would end. Why hadn’t he just told her face-to-face it was over?

How could he break her heart this way?

A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped.

“Mrs. Bishop, why are you crying?”

“Juanita? You’re back.”

“Yes, ma’am. I was worried about you. Come on, get up. I was afraid. This is my husband, Jusef.”

They helped her off the floor and to the sofa. Juanita dispatched her husband to the kitchen for a towel and glass of water. “What’s wrong?”

“He left me and I don’t know why. Just served me with divorce papers weeks ago and he’s gone.”

Juanita rubbed Melanie’s back and closed her eyes. “Let me pray for you.”

Softly in Spanish she prayed for Melanie as Jusef stood in the doorway and waited. When his wife was done, he brought the water. “May I see the papers? I’m in law school.”

“You are? Juanita, I didn’t know.”

Shame filled Melanie because she’d never gotten to know the woman who cleaned her house and had indulged her and Deion’s nonsensical wishes. “I’m so sorry.”

“No. I came here to do my job not to talk, talk, talk. I do enough of that at home. I’m helping Jusef through law school and then he will help me through culinary arts school. We will do well together.”

There was love in this family, Melanie saw, and respect. She wished she’d been able to have that with Deion.

Melanie finished the water and felt better.

“Jusef, the papers are on the dining room table. They’re clear-cut and he even signed them. I’m leaving. I was just walking around thinking about all the dreams that were lost, and I guess I got overwhelmed. This morning I accepted a job in Kentucky.”

“Are you sure you won’t give him a little more time?” Juanita asked, her own eyes sympathetic.

Melanie wiped her tears and accepted Juanita’s hug. “No. I talked to his boss and he said Deion quit his job. I’ve called everyone and nobody’s seen him. Nobody knows anything and if they do, nobody’s saying. He doesn’t want me to find him. It’s time to face reality that he’s gone for good.”

Jusef returned, reading the papers. “You can take what you want. Do you want to contest this?”

“No. He’s being more than generous.”

“He may have more assets.”

“No, I’m not going to fight over anything. I put some things in the car and I shipped my gardening tools and seasonal clothing yesterday.”

Juanita looked around. “You didn’t take anything.”

“I did. Some papers and other smaller things I wanted. I kept the personal things he gave me, but overall I want to make a fresh start. I have money, so I’ll buy whatever I need once I get there. Do you need anything, Juanita?”

“No, ma’am. We are just fine.”

“Juanita, we need a bed. Our bed is twenty-five years old and we are only thirty. Why are you saying no?” Jusef said. “You didn’t learn anything from church on Sunday.”

Melanie smiled for the first time in days. “Jusef, I’ve got just the bed for you.”

The next morning, Melanie felt the tears building, but kept them at bay. She swept up the last of the trash and pulled the garbage can to the curb, waited as the garbage man dumped it, then dragged it back to the garage where she hosed it down. She washed her hands, then walked back down the driveway.

“Mrs. Bishop, you sure you want me to take all of this?”

“Yes, please enjoy everything.”

Melanie looked at Juanita’s overloaded Chevy Trail-blazer. She’d filled the SUV with all the items a new couple would need to start a home. Jusef’s brother had brought his big truck and had carted away the bed this morning after Jusef and Juanita had awakened. They’d been kind enough to stay overnight with her.

Melanie stood by Juanita’s side, then hugged her fiercely. Jusef came down the driveway and handed her the keys. The house was locked up and she couldn’t look back.

“I’ve paid the utilities and taxes. You’re going to come by every two weeks to check on the place and make sure nobody bothers it,” Melanie said to Juanita, looking at the ground.

“That’s right, Mrs. Bishop, I mean, Melanie.”

“Here’s my number if you need me. The alarm company has your number. If you want to quit, move, or whatever, please call me.”

“I won’t quit. You paid me a year’s salary in advance. If he comes back, shall I call you?”

“No. Just tell him all the bills have been paid, and he’s officially divorced.”

Melanie climbed into her car, which had been backed down the driveway by Jusef moments ago. He’d turned the Volvo around and positioned it on the cul-de-sac so she wouldn’t have to look at the house as she drove away.

“You are sure?” Juanita asked.

“Stop, Nita,” Jusef cajoled. “She is ready.”

Melanie took a deep breath, then stuck her left hand out the window, and they grasped it and blessed her. She let go first and drove away, tears blurring her eyes, listening to the recording as she drove, “I’m sorry the number you have reached is not in service or has been temporarily disconnected.”

Chapter One

“Rolland, you’re doing great.”

Rolland Jones didn’t doubt for a minute that he was doing better than great. When he’d first arrived at Ryder Rehabilitation and Spinal Center, he couldn’t even sit up without help. Now he was in a mad race to the finish on his stationary bike against Horace, his physical therapist.

Horace perspired like crazy as if they’d been riding for hours, when they’d been on for only twenty-five minutes. Rolland couldn’t help but laugh at the enthusiastic man who never seemed to have a bad day.

“Okay, big Ro,” Horace challenged. “What is a biathalon? Forty-five seconds.”

Rolland’s legs were longer but he stayed at a moderate pace as he’d been taught. “A biathalon is a cross-country skiing and shooting event.”

“Correct.” Horace pumped his arms in the air cheering. He picked up his water bottle and used it as a pretend microphone. “And now for the final two thousand points, and to be crowned the unofficial, unolympic winner of the miniature-size trophy of a chocolate candy bar with peanuts, you must answer this question correctly.”

Rolland was already laughing. “Give me the question.”

“Sir, don’t rush the announcer. Who is the all-time highest scoring male basketball team of the U.S. Olympic Games? Sixty seconds.” He started an offbeat drumroll that spun crazily throughout the workout room to the other patients and therapists.

Shelby, a physical therapist who occasionally worked with Horace, stopped by. “You’re looking good, Rolland,” she said, mischievously.

Rolland had no problem identifying Shelby because of her green eyes and red hair. One of the first things he’d learned with his injury was how to associate people with their eye and hair color.

“Shelby, don’t cheat and help him, or when you need chocolate, I’m not going to help you.”

Shelby’s mouth dropped open in mock hurt. “Are you accusing me of impropriety? I thought Horace and I were friends, right, Rolland?”

“That’s right, Shelby. I’m hurt for you.”

“Shake your head, Rolland,” she told him, and he did.

Horace didn’t buy it for one second. “You two are full of hot rocks. Shelby,” Horace stood pedaling fast, “if you tell him, you’re going to suffer. You know how you get. You’re gonna need some chocolate.”

Rolland laughed. “Give me a hint, Shelby. Come on, my friend. I know where he keeps the candy stashed.”

She pretended to fall asleep, with her hands by her cheek. “I’m so tired. I can’t wait to go home and have sweet—”

“The Dream Team!” Rolland shouted just as Horace hopped off the bike and ran after Shelby who sought refuge behind two large male nurses.

They grinned at Horace who was the most senior therapist because of his candidacy for his Ph.D. But he maintained a sense of humor about himself and made everyone laugh by jumping around, never quite reaching Shelby.

Horace went around the room, harassing other patients by doing a couple squats with Harold, and some legs lifts with Lavenia, and some arm curls with Maven, until their therapists shooed him away.

Rolland mopped his brow while Horace guzzled water. “Four miles, man. I swear, I think you’re trying to kill me.”

“Me?” Horace shook his head. “I’ve lost fifteen pounds since you got here. My wife thinks I’ve got another woman. I keep telling her it’s you.” He chuckled. “She can’t believe I’m losing weight because of a dude.” Horace tried to look disgusted, but lost his frown to a smile. “You’re not even my type.”

“And people think I have the brain injury,” Rolland said, playfully shoving Horace as they headed for the weight room. Everyone applauded as they walked by.

Horace bowed on his way out. “Second show, three o’clock,” he called.

“Do you think I was in shape before the accident?” Rolland asked him when Horace caught up in the state-of-the-art weight room. They passed the therapy tables where Rolland remembered spending many a day getting his knee back to working order.

“Yes. You had good muscle tone when you got here two months ago. You spent a month in that hospital in Las Vegas and that was to heal the fractures and for reconstructive surgery of your knee. You had good muscle memory. That told me you’d been athletic.”

They passed a mirror and Rolland didn’t stop and look at himself as he used to. He’d had work done on his face, too, but he was healed for all intent and purposes.

Most of the people here were in some form or another of reconstruction. Be it physical or mental. Fortunately, he was, physically whole. It was his brain that didn’t know who he was.

“Come on and show me what you got,” Horace said, adjusting the weights to forty pounds for the chest press.

Rolland sat down, planted his feet and breathed through the first ten reps.

“Good. You got ten more in you?”

Rolland nodded. “With this brain injury, do you ever remember your favorite color?”

“Possibly. Good,” Horace praised. “Even if you don’t, you develop new taste. It’s like, do you like green now? Is that important? Is your wife green? Does that matter?”

Rolland laughed. “You’re sick, you know that?”

Horace shrugged. “Yes, sir, I do, and I appreciate my gift. You’re meeting someone new today. Melanie Wysh. W-y-s-h. Wysh. It’s not the conventional way you’d spell wish.”

“No?”

“No. That’s w-i-s-h. A good sentence would be I wish I was taller than you. You’re an average-looking bloke at six-feet tall, and I’m smashing looking at five-foot eight. Want to try ten more reps?”

“Yes.” Rolland did eight and struggled through the last two. He was almost done at Ryder and this Melanie would have a lot to say about his next steps in his life.

Horace handed him ten-pound weights. “Are you comfortable with the weights?”

“Yes. Is Melanie already here?” Rolland asked the same questions each time he was introduced to someone new, but Horace never got tired of them.

“Yes, she is.”

“Have I seen her before?”

“Occasionally. She’s a tiny woman. About five-four. She wears dresses all the time. Brown-skinned. Nice lady.”

“Is she black?”

“Yes, she’s a black lady.”

“Okay.” Rolland closed his eyes and tried to picture her, as his brain flipped through the women he’d met at the facility. He still couldn’t place her, but the frustration he used to feel from not remembering someone didn’t come today. “What else do you know about her? Is her hair short like Purdy’s?”

“Nobody’s hair is like Purdy’s, and you don’t want it to be with that permanent hairnet she wears.”

Rolland laughed and pumped the weights. “I don’t think I’ve met Melanie. Has she seen me?”

“No. She hasn’t seen your crazy-looking self.”

Rolland took the ribbing in stride. “I’m a lot better than I was. I don’t know what I looked like before, but this isn’t bad, right?”

“You are correct there, my friend. Do ten curls, slowly. Melanie arrived two months ago, but she had to go through training on how to do things the Ryder way, and then she took over cases for Barbara Greenspan who went out early on maternity leave.”

“The lady with the cats.” Rolland chuckled. “I’m glad she’s gone.”

Horace held his curled arm for a second, then guided it down. “You scared of cats?”

“I don’t know, am I? She had like fifteen cat calendars, cat mugs, cat hats and cat chair covers. Her office is enough to scare anybody.”

Horace laughed and Rolland kept pumping iron, alternating arms. “She had a cat clock that chased a mouse. Do they screen people before they hire them here?” Rolland put the weights on his leg and watched Horace lie on the floor and laugh. “Get up. You’re making me look bad.”

“You’ll like Melanie,” Horace told him. “She’s really good. She’ll help you return to society with hardly any glitches.”

“Not if she has cats, she won’t.”

“Now listen, in all seriousness.”

Rolland stopped moving. This was their code phrase when to listen closely. “You’re almost done here. Physically, you’ve passed every test. The four-mile ride, and then you shook your head when Shelby was talking to you. Coordination, balance, stamina. You did it.”

Rolland leaned back and smiled. “Really? Well I’ll be—” he frowned. “I’ll be what, Horace?”

“A son of a gun.”

“That’s right. I’ll be a son of a gun. Why aren’t we celebrating with some of that bad chocolate cake Purdy cooks in the lunch room?”

“You have high-class taste buds, too, but don’t say that too loud. I like Purdy’s food.” Horace looked around as if Purdy had spies. He crouched down in front of Rolland. “The truth is that physically you’re healed. You might have a little difficulty with balance, but otherwise you’re okay. And you’ve got your cane, if you need it.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Okay,” Horace said, putting his hands out, knowing how Rolland felt about it. “We didn’t know Barbara was going out early on maternity leave, or we’d have already started you with someone on the last phase of your treatment.”

“I’m not mad about that, Horace.”

“I know the cat thing. Melanie is taking you on as a favor to Barbara. You have to get past Melanie Wysh before you can go into the world. You may never remember your old life, but you can start a new one. She’s the gatekeeper.”

“Melanie has the key, right?” Rolland said slowly.

“That’s right. Your memory is getting better every day. You’re remembering all the new things you’ve been taught. I feel as if my child is growing up and going off into the world.”

“I’ll miss this place.”

“You can always come back to visit, but once you’re gone you’re going to be fine. I promise. Besides, you’ll always know where to find me. Let’s finish up and get some cake.”

Rolland did ten triceps presses and stretched. The other therapists watched him and he realized they’d been charting his progress all along. These people had become his friends to replace the ones he didn’t know if he had.

“Horace, I’m going to shower and change. I want to meet Melanie today. Let’s get this last phase started.”

The door to the gym opened and Horace looked around him. “I guess you’re going to get your wish sooner than later. There’s Melanie now.”

“Dude, I’m sweaty.” Rolland threw the towel over his face and mopped himself dry.

“She won’t care. She’s down-to-earth people, like me. Melanie,” Horace called. “You might as well meet your new client. Melanie Wysh, this is my pal, Rolland.”

Rolland pulled the towel off his head and shoved it under his arm before extending his hand. “I’m sorry for my current state. I’m Rolland.”

Her eyes were the color of rust, her skin warm-looking like honey-baked bread. She’d been smiling as she walked, her hair bouncing in frivolous curls. Then she gasped twice and her hand flew to her cheek.

Her lips lost their smile, and she licked her teeth showing just a hint of pink tongue.

“Is everything all right?”

She nodded in a jerky manner.

Her hand fluttered in mid-air and he took it, knowing it would be as soft as it was. He’d learned people would sometimes react oddly to him and he forgave her.

“I’m Melanie Wysh,” she said. “And your name again?” She reclaimed her hand and put it behind her back. Her hair was red. He loved red hair.

“I don’t know. Three months ago it became Rolland Jones.”

Chapter Two

The colored letters on the side of Rolland’s case file seemed to follow her as she walked barefoot through her cottage home. Melanie carried the glass of wine to the living room sectional and sat down, folding her legs beneath her.

Plumping the pillows, she leaned back and felt her back relax, yet the tension in her body remained until she reached for the file that had dominated her mind. She used her fingernail and opened it.

John Doe aka Rolland Jones had been in a car accident in Las Vegas, Nevada, June 16, a little over three months ago.

His injury list was extensive. Broken nose and eye socket. Dislocated jaw. His front six top and bottom teeth had been knocked out. Sustained lacerations to his upper body, arms and hands. The injury list to his knee was gruesome and she winced, and then read, Traumatic Brain Injury. He’d been pulled from a car that had burned, but he had been spared injury from the fire.

After lying in a coma for twenty days, he’d been brought to the Ryder Rehabilitation and Spinal Center in Kentucky for complete rehabilitation.

His physical recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, except for the resulting symptoms from TBI. He knew how to write alphabetical letters and words, but he couldn’t write numbers anymore. He reversed things, his shoes occasionally, words, which hand to shake with. He had image memories of his past, but not of the past six years. Sometimes things had to be defined for him. He didn’t know his name, his age, but he thought he’d been married. He confused right and left and didn’t have a mental edit button. Whatever he thought came right out of his mouth. He still suffered with balance problems and he sometimes got lost.

Melanie raked her hands through her new short haircut and stared at the auburn strand that came away between her fingers. Why had she dyed her hair this color?

Because it was different and she’d wanted a fresh new look to go with her new life.

She did a few deep breathing exercises. How could she help Rolland Jones?

She jotted down the standard treatment plan, but given his physical advancement, decided maybe Mr. Jones might like to do some of his therapy outdoors.

He was handsome. Gorgeous, really and she wondered why she hadn’t spotted him before. She’d heard his name mentioned several times, but had never known who the women in the break room had been talking about.

She tried to put Rolland to words and realized there weren’t enough. He was the mmmph women talked about with a shake of their heads and an open-mouth laugh. He was the reason for the raised eyebrows and the twisted lip at the laundry center. He was the double sigh, neck roll, wrist flick, teeth suck, hip switch, six feet of mocha-mocha, hot, scarred, but still fine black man.

She rubbed her aching heart with her thumb, telling herself love was not in her cards. She was here to help make others whole so they could go into the world and become productive.

Her time had decidedly passed.

Sipping her wine, she closed her eyes and listened to the water and the sounds of the children playing around the man-made lake outside.

It was September, typically hot in Georgia this time of year, but Kentucky boasted moderate temperatures with low humidity, and she was glad she’d chosen this place to relocate.

The vacationing families had left after the holiday, and everyone who had stayed had already gotten acquainted.

She’d been welcomed, and while grateful for the warm reception, Melanie liked that her neighbors respected her desire for privacy. After her initial refusal to be set up with everyone’s brothers, they left her dating life alone.

She leaned back on her pillows, the file on her chest, watching the sun fade behind the Appalachian Mountains.

How could she give Rolland Jones reasonable hope that he’d be all right in the world without any help? Most TBI patients had family to aid their recovery in the outside world. Having TBI wasn’t easy. It wasn’t like he was ever going to wake up and not have the debilitating condition.

His brain would not be restored to its former state, but she could help make his life reasonably comfortable. Her job was to make sure he had the skills, but not to give him false hope. She’d teach him how to live within his limits.

Resting her eyes, Melanie listened to the distant strains of Michael Bublé singing Me and Mrs. Jones on the stereo and dozed.

Melanie stood behind her desk, then on the side, then sat in the visitor’s chair, then went back behind her desk.

Where was Mr. Jones? He was thirty minutes late.

Walking to the door she peered out and then decided she wasn’t going to search for him, but get some other work done. She had other clients to see besides him.

Melanie sat down, then got up to adjust her fan to blow right on her, because her office got too much morning sun. She held her arms out so she wouldn’t perspire all over her summer sweater as she reviewed two client charts. Making notes, she reached for her diet soda.

“Soda isn’t good for you.”

His voice made her feel as if a hundred hands were bathing her with warm oil.

“You’re late. I expected you at ten.”

He looked at her, then down at the card in his hand. Large hands, capable hands turned the card over and she wondered what else they could do.

She pulled her gaze away.

“Melanie, I’m sorry. I can reschedule.” His sincerity made her feel guilty for being so blunt.

“Oh. Okay,” she said taken aback. Her husband had never apologized for anything. “Of course not. I’ll see you.”

“I get times wrong sometimes, but this says eleven o’clock. I can’t read numbers anymore. Although that may say ten o’clock. It looks like it says eleven.” He walked inside the office and came around her desk, the card extended. “You can see for yourself, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

The last few months, she’d uncovered so many untruths that Deion had told, she’d stopped believing in anything. She had to remind herself that they weren’t the same people.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you’d lied, Rolland.” She tried to rise just as he leaned down to show her the card.

Their heads connected and the card fell to the floor.

“Ow!”

“Oh,” he said, backing up, a smile as big as sunshine on his face.

“Are you okay?” she asked, up and out of her chair in an instant. “I’m sorry. Is there a bump? Can you see me? Are you having any trouble?”

“Melanie?” His voice moved boulders in her.

“Yes?”

“My foot hurts.”

She looked down and realized she was standing on tiptoe on his toes. “Oh my goodness, I’m going to kill you. No! That’s a figure of speech. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

He laughed now, sidestepping his foot from beneath hers. “I think I’d better sit down.”

“Of course. Come over here to the couch. I’ll get some ice.”

“It’s just a head butt. You didn’t hit me with a Crown Victoria. Now that needed some ice.”

Melanie hurried across the hall to the break room and was back in a few seconds with an ice pack.

Rolland had sat on the couch with his head back. A knot the size of a pea had formed on his forehead close to his hairline.

“A Crown Vic hit you? Who drives those these days?” Melanie studied the knot, trying to decide how to apply the pack that was now freezing her fingers.

“Old people. Well, in my case their granddaughter who wanted to sneak out on the town. They’re paying for my care and offered a healthy settlement, which I accepted.”

“I’m glad you’re being taken care of.”

He touched her wrist. “You sound like you really mean that.”

“Of course I mean it. Everyone here wants the best for you.”

“Melanie?”

“Yes,” she said, holding the pack by her fingertips.

“I think we might need to cover that with something or when you take it off, you might peel off my new skin.”

Mortified, Melanie stepped away. She was standing between his legs. Looking down into his eyes, all she wanted to do was cup his face and ask him where had he been all her life?

She knew the thought was irrational and she’d have a serious talk with herself tonight over sushi. But for right now, she was not going to cause him further harm.

“Rolland, I’m a very capable rehabilitation specialist. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I’ve clearly started on the wrong foot. I’m going to get a towel, apply this pack and then call someone to check out your head.”

“That’s not necessary, Melanie. I’ve had worse injuries playing football.”

Melanie hurried to her desk and opened her lunch bag. “So you remember playing football?”

“Yes, when I was a kid. I remember running with the ball and laughing. But not my name, the team and all that. A cloth napkin,” he asked, once she wrapped the pack and put it on his head.

“They make me feel special.” Melanie tried not to look down at him.

“I feel pretty special for you letting me use it,” he said.

“And you should,” she tried to joke. “I don’t usually do wound treatment. But considering I caused this bit of trouble, I’m obliged to help you.”

“Thanks,” he said smiling.

“So what do you hope to learn, Rolland?”

“How to cook. Add numbers.”

“Like nine plus seven?”

“That’s going to take me a few minutes. Write numbers. I recognize it’s a number, but I can’t write it for anything.”

“The alphabet.” Melanie listened as he recited the whole thing without stumbling. “Backwards.”

“You’re kidding.”

She smiled, surprised at herself. “Yes, I am. What else can you identify that you want to learn?”

“I want to find out about my old life. Was I married? Did I have a family? Where are they? Did they look for me? I want to learn how to drive. I love cars.”

“Well,” she said. “Some of those things are on my list, too. Learning how to use numbers so you can dial a phone and cook are very important.”

“Do you use lists a lot?” he asked, gazing up at her.

It occurred to Melanie that she didn’t have to stand over him and hold the ice pack. “Yes, for everything. It helps you stay on task and helps me track your progress. You don’t like lists? Here, hold this.”

She guided his hand up to hold the ice pack and went back to her desk and sat. Feeling silly for leaving him on the couch alone, she took her pad and the contract she had every client sign.

“Lists are fine, but you have to keep them in the right, what’s the word?”

“Perspective?” she offered.

“Right. Everything has a right perspective. So let’s get started. Am I going to learn how to cook first or drive?”

She laughed. “No, but I was thinking, the most important thing for you is to always know your way home, right?”

“I don’t know that I’ll ever find my home, Melanie.”

Her heart pounded. “You—you will, Rolland, and you know, I’ve found, a home is wherever you make it. But first thing’s first. I’m giving you a contract and by tomorrow I want you to read it and sign it. If you don’t understand something, just ask me and I’ll explain it to you.”

“I’ve got homework already, Melanie Wysh.”

“That’s right. Now, here’s a compass. Let’s go get lost and find our way back. I just need to do one thing.”

She went behind her desk and changed her pumps to sandals.

Coming back to his side he looked down at her. “You’re short.”

“Thanks, Rolland, that was honest.”

“Was I supposed to lie?”

She saw the confused look on his face. Bless his heart, he really didn’t know social rules. “No, you’re not supposed to lie, but you’re not supposed to say everything you think, either.”

He towered above her by more than half a foot.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I get what you’re saying. Shelby perspires like a man and some of the guys joke about it in the locker room. I’m not going to tell her.”

Melanie laughed. “Good example. Don’t ever tell her. Now let’s go?”

Rolland stepped outside and Melanie closed her door behind them. She pushed her sunglasses in place before joining Rolland and heading out into the sunny and breezy day.

“I love the color of your hair.” He let his palm touch the spikes and smiled down at her.

“Thank you, Rolland. Now, you know north, south, east, west, right?”

He stopped at the intersecting sidewalk and shook his head. “The cafeteria is blue. The dorms are brick red. The gym roof is orange and rehab center is white. The administration offices are beige. If north isn’t a color, you have to tell me where it is.”

Even though she had on her sunglasses, Melanie had to lean backward to use her hand to shade her eyes because Rolland was so tall. “Okay, this is a compass. North faces the sun. Anywhere in the world. North always faces the sun.” She showed him the compass in her hand and looked at his, but they weren’t reading the same.

“Hold on a second.” She took his and shook it. “Yours is broken.”

“You trying to get me lost already?”

“No,” she said, banging on the instrument. She stopped hitting it. “Rolland, don’t follow my bad example. Hitting something never makes it work.”

He laughed. “If you say so. We’ll just have to use yours.”

“Okay,” she said, more softly than she intended. Clearing her throat, she held her compass out and the needle pointed north. “We’re facing north. Behind us is south. To our left is west and to our right is east. Okay, let’s walk west. Which way is west, Rolland?”

“Right,” he said and stepped on her foot.

“No,” she yelled too late.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Okay, let’s try it again. West is left and we’re going left,” he sang and walked to his right.

Melanie screamed when he stepped on her foot the second time.

Rolland jumped, and she slammed her hand over her mouth.

Neither of them moved.

Other people around them stopped and Melanie waved them away. She was going to recover.

“You scared me,” he said.

“You hurt me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, Rolland. I’m sorry for scaring you.” She reached out but didn’t touch him. “Let’s try tomorrow. I’ve got an idea of how we can get this perfect tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, not looking at her.

“I’m fine, Rolland, really.”

“Don’t lie to me, Melanie. If you lie, I can’t trust you.”

“I’m not lying. I promise.”

“Yes, you are. Your toes are bleeding,” he said, and walked away.

She saw that they were and wished she could take back the words.

Chapter Three

Rolland sat outside his dorm, sunset streaking the sky in blues and mauve. He looked at the book in his hand to verify the color he was witnessing. Yes, it was mauve. Left of pink and right of rose, it was beautiful and calming. He leaned his head back and let the breeze dust his neck in coolness before he sat back up and looked straight at Melanie Wysh.

“Melanie.”

“I owe you an apology, Rolland. May I sit down?”

He moved over on the swing and made room for her. “Do you like to swing?” he asked, pushing it with his foot.

“I do. I haven’t in a long time,” she told him. “I have something to say.”

“Then you have to swing for a few minutes. You’ll enjoy it. Put your head back like this.”

Rolland pulled Melanie’s head back just as a happy breeze floated by.

They sat this way for a few minutes and it gave him time to study Melanie undisturbed. She was a tiny woman, no more than a hundred and fifteen pounds, and if she was five three, he was being generous. Her hair was short, freshly cut with auburn/reddish highlights that looked cute with her eye color.

She was a pretty woman, a classy woman, someone he wished had known him long ago. She had kissable lips like the women on TV, but Melanie was real. She was someone he could see himself coming home to and having dinner with.

“Why did you come see me?” he asked her.

She seemed embarrassed to have been caught relaxing. She straightened her spine and folded her hands. “I came to apologize for lying to you earlier. I did it because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings—”

Rolland let her drift off, his mouth pursed. “I didn’t cut you off,” he said, laughing.

“I know you didn’t,” she jumped in, hurriedly, then laughed. “I just mean to say that it was easier to say I wasn’t hurt so that we could get to the greater goal of you learning which way west is.”

He gazed at her out of the corner of his eye. “Okay.”

“Do you understand anything I’ve just said?”

“Yes. So it’s better to lie than to tell you you’ve confused the hell out of me.”

Melanie crossed her legs and touched his arm and it felt like fire had been set to his limb. Rolland liked the heat and didn’t want it to stop. For the past three months he’d been cut, sewn, stapled, massaged, twisted and rehabilitated by so many people that he thought he was immune to the human touch, until now. He moved his arm closer so she would touch him again.

“I don’t want you to lie to me. If I’ve confused you, then tell me. What I mean to say is that I’m sorry for lying to you. It won’t happen again.”

She drew her hand back.

“So what happens when you don’t want to tell me something?”

“I just won’t answer you.”

“That’s not fair, Melanie. That’s the only way I get information.”

He could tell she was considering what he’d just said.

“As your therapist I have to keep some things confidential, so I’ll just tell you it’s confidential and you’ll have to respect that.”

“That’s fair.” He opened the book he’d been reading and pointed to the sky. “Melanie, have you ever seen mauve? It’s a cool color.”

She leaned over to look at his book, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. “Yes, it’s cool,” she said.

“You have to look at the sky,” he told her.

“Oh.” She sat back embarrassed.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. I know cool has two meanings.”

“You’re a mess.”

He looked down at his clothes, then at her and she started laughing until her meaning dawned on him. “Oh, you’re funny. Mess has two meanings. I can see therapy will be fun with you.”

“What do you do when you get upset?” she asked him as they watched people walk the large campus.

“I try to figure out what went wrong,” he said, crossing his legs. “I never get angry with people. I get disappointed. I mean, what can anyone do to make me angry? They’re trying to help me. If they don’t give me cake? Sometimes that’s not so bad.”

She smiled and his stomach fluttered.

“This is all I know. So I don’t get angry. I get frustrated. I want to leave the campus and come back like real people do. I feel like you’re all having more fun than I am.”

“What kind of fun?”

“Driving.”

She laughed. “Driving is important, but I wouldn’t say it’s fun.”

“You have your arm out the window, your sunglasses on. You wave to people, blow your horn. You’re going somewhere. It’s fun.”

“You’ve seen me driving?”

“Yes, I’ve seen everyone driving. Even Purdy and she’s not a good driver. She’s hit everybody’s car.”

Melanie’s mouth fell open. “No way.”

“Does that mean am I lying? I’m not. I’ve seen her. Horace and I have seen her hit cars in the parking lot.”

Melanie cracked up and looked around. “Did Horace tell you not to tell people?”

He considered her question for a moment. “Maybe he did.”

She patted his arm. “Let’s talk about something else. May I ask you something?”

“My life as far as I remember it is an open book.”

“Okay,” she said, and he liked the way she squeezed her lips together. “Why don’t you have a sock on your left foot?”

He stretched his long leg out and flexed his foot.

“Melanie, we were having a hard time earlier with west. I’m not sure if it was me, but let’s just say it was. I decided that to spare your foot anymore damage, I wouldn’t wear a sock on this foot as long as your toes are healing. No sock will remind me that left is west.” He stood up. “Left is west,” he said and turned left.

Melanie applauded. “If left is west, which way is south?”

Rolland stopped and closed his eyes. Other patients and their family members walking by on their way to the dorm watched Rolland.

Melanie gave them the sign to be quiet.

“If you’re facing north and west is left of north, then south is left of west?” Rolland pivoted to the left and looked at Melanie expectantly.

“Yes! Rolland, that was great.” She’d gotten off the swing and hurried over to him. “Which way is east?”

“Left,” he said confidently.

And she gritted her teeth and jumped before he could catch her toes.

“We’ll work on it,” she told him. “You did great.”

“Almost perfect. Horace would say I got too cocky trying to impress you.”

“Impress me? Why?” Her smile faded a little.

“You’re my new therapist and who wouldn’t want to impress the person who holds their future in the center of their hands?”

“In the palm of my hands.”

He took her hand and drew a circle in the center. “Right, and that’s a lot of responsibility to place right there. Besides, you’re beautiful and when I see you, I get a fluttering feeling in my stomach.”

“Oh, Rolland.” She drew her hand back and her smile disappeared.

“It’s not like when they gave me the medicine that made me throw up, Melanie. Now you look ill.”

“No.” She reached for him and her hand stopped midair. Then she touched him anyway. “I’m not ill. It’s just—well. Do you understand about relationships? Man and woman relationships?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday. I didn’t forget everything. I see how these women look at me. I’m scared of’em.”

She nearly laughed, but smothered it behind pursed lips. “Right. Why?”

“They whisper when I walk by, but I can still hear. Once I got my new face, well, I was the cat’s meow.”

Melanie burst out laughing and tried to hide behind her hand. “Who told you that?”

“The optometrist who worked on my eye after my facial bones healed. I had been developing cataracts, so I had Lasik surgery to fix everything.”

“No.” She looked horrified, but remembered reading this in his file.

“Dr. Hoover said I was the cat’s meow.”

“Okay, don’t you say that again.”

“Why?”

“Men don’t say that about themselves.”

“What do they say?”

“Nothing.”

“Women say they’re hot, cute, sexy, and men can’t say anything?”

Melanie looked lost. The sidewalk lights flickered on and he could fully see her face. “I’m not a guy. I don’t know what they say.”

“But it’s not the cat’s—”

“Don’t keep saying it.” Her hand was on his arm in a strong grip, her lips threatening to smile again.

“Melanie, I get a lot of attention and I’ve never been attracted to anyone. Not a doctor, nurse, aide, therapist or driver, and I think that covers just about everyone—until I met you. You’re very pretty and not just in that you-put-on-makeup way, but I like you. More than Purdy, but not more than Horace.”

She looked so serious for a moment and then she burst out laughing. “Not more than Horace? Okay, that’s fair. You’ve known him longer. Okay, but this is the deal, Rolland—”

“I like when you say my name. It sounds as if you really mean to get my attention.”

“I do. I need for you to hear this. We have to maintain a businesslike relationship.”

“Sit down, Melanie.”

He sat on the grass while she continued to stand. Her legs were at his eye level and he got a good view of her legs.

“Your legs are smooth.”

She quickly sat beside him.

“I understand that you can’t like me in a romantic way. We have to maintain a professional distance. But I can’t be honest some of the time, Melanie. See, you missed it.”

She looked up as a streak faded in the sky. “What did I miss?”

“The fireworks. There’s a company that sets them off every Monday even though the big shots at Ryder get angry.”

Melanie finally looked at him and she wasn’t angry anymore. “Why do they get angry?”

“Because they feel as if it’s distracting to those of us with brain injuries, but we disagree. Look behind you.”

Melanie turned around and then looked at Rolland. “Everybody is outside.”

“It’s kind of special. If you watch long enough you can tell what they’re practicing for. Fourth of July, New Year’s. Sometimes people even have them for weddings.”

The words Happy Birthda glittered into the sky and everyone laughed because the Y was missing.

“I’ve never known this to go on,” Melanie said, watching for the next fireworks. Suddenly a pink Y sizzled in the navy blue sky, and the audience applauded.

“You probably leave on time. Why are you here so late today?”

“Because I wanted to make sure that I talked to you. Now that we’ve talked, I’m going to head home.”

She stood up and people started making catcalls at her until she ducked down onto the ground. “It’s a tough crowd,” he told her. “This is entertainment, but you get to drive.”

Melanie laughed and took out a small notepad. “I’ll make a note in your chart that you want to learn how to drive.”

“And I want to be your friend.”

“Rolland—”

“Melanie, I’ve been here for over three months and nobody has looked for me. My fingerprints were taken in Vegas where the accident happened and nothing. They were sent across the country and nothing. Horace said I was born to wolves, but that’s not true.”

“No, it isn’t. He shouldn’t tell you that.”

“He’s just kidding. If he didn’t get me to laugh, he’d have a crying man on his hands and that wouldn’t have been any fun either. You know what, Melanie? I must not have been a nice person. How big of an ass do you have to be for nobody to care for you or even ask about you?”

“Maybe they didn’t know where to look,” she offered, her gaze on the ground. When she looked at him her eyes seemed to be filled with tears.

“Don’t spend any tears on me.”

“Okay.”

“My prints came back negative. My wallet and briefcase burned in the fire. That’s why I’m Rolland Jones. I got this flutter in my stomach for you, but I’ve had a busted face and knee that hurt and a whole lot of really painful injuries. I need friends. I’ll get over this flutter like I’ve gotten over everything else. Be my friend, Melanie.”

“Okay, Rolland. Let’s be friends.”

He stuck out his hand and she shook it and by damn if his whole body didn’t tingle.

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