As You Were (23 page)

“What?”

Tru moistened her lips, stood and pulled out her eCig, took a deep draw and blew out her pent-up frustration with the vapor. “That night he told you about. He said I was with Liz in the hotel room...she wasn’t there at all. But he was. I was drunk off my ass, and he tucked me in, and the next thing I know, I woke up the next morning and he was in the bed with me and we were both naked.”

Brittany’s eyes darted back and forth. “Are you saying that you didn’t have sex with Liz, but you did have sex with Travis?” her voice had risen a few decibels.

“No, I’m saying that’s what he wanted me to believe. But I had a conversation with Macy, and she told me it was impossible. He had been given salt-peter while he was in jail, and he couldn’t have...done anything to me. But he failed to tell me that. He wanted me to believe that, so he could run to you and make you want to break up with me.”

“Did he do anything else to you when you were passed out?”

Tru’s eyes shot open wide at the thought. “God, I hope not.”

Brit sat on the hearth and ran her finger between the cracks in the stones.

“I’m tired of holding things in.” Tru said, emphasizing her words with her clenched fists. “I’m tired of secrets.” Fresh tears appeared and slipped down her cheeks. She sobbed once, caught her breath, and rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes.

“Tru, I don’t know what to think about all this.” She leaned forward with her forehead in her hands.

She sniffed. “I guess I can’t blame you for not knowing who to believe.” Tru said, moving to sit on the other side of the hearth again. “I thought—I thought after all this time we’ve spent together, I feel like you should know who you can trust.”

Brittany stood up and took the poker and pushed it against a burning log, holding it there thoughtfully. “You never would talk about that night...
I knew it had something to do with the shower, and you did say we had had some sort of fight...”

Tru locked her fingers behind her neck and bent forward, her elbows on her knees.

“But what happened with me and Travis...I did it? Tru...I really did it? With him?” When Tru turned her head to meet Brittany’s inquiry with a wordless grimace, she found the answer in Tru’s weary eyes, and sat down on the ledge again. “Oh, Tru...” The ramifications of this fresh disclosure numbed her. She reflected on all of those times when Tru became upset about that night...and about the shower, and about how Travis had moved smoothly into a physical embrace this evening, and she could see the truth clearly. She had been the one. And Tru may have even been violated. And by the same man.

“Brit—” Tru ran her hands through her dark hair. “I wanted to forget. I didn’t want you to remember, because then I’d have to remember it, too. I mean, I relived it a hundred times while you were gone. If I could have amnesia—”

Brittany went over to her. “I don’t know what to say, Tru. I’m...
I can’t remember any of it, you know. It’s like it was another person we’re talking about.”

Tru brushed a tear away from her cheek. “The thing is, I still don’t know why you did it. It seemed out of character for you—for us. Usually, when something like that happens in a relationship, it’s not a total shock, like it’s been leading up to that for some time, but—” Tru rubbed her forehead as if to remove a stain.

“I guess I was mad about what he told me...” Brittany said. “If he told me this same story, then...
that night you caught me and Travis in the shower...maybe he told me you were with Liz then, too.”

“That’s likely. It worked like a charm the first time. I guess he thought it would work again.”

“Who knows what the right story is?” Brittany stilled Tru’s hand as she rubbed her brow, and held it. “I wish I could remember, so we could sort through all this.”

Tru nodded. “Me, too. But that may never happen. You and I both know it.”

Brittany hauled Tru to her feet and held her as Tru began to cry. “So, Travis showed up here today to stir the coals, right?”

Tru spoke into Brittany’s shoulder, “That’s about the size of it.”

28

AFTER ONE LAST LOOK AROUND, TRU DECIDED she had everything she needed. Brittany sat at the table in the kitchen, staring at the day’s newspaper, with her fingers laced around a fresh cup of coffee.

Tru set the last bag down on the kitchen floor. “Well, I guess I’m about ready to go...”

Brittany watched her secure the written instructions from Macy in the back pocket of her jeans. “Is the weather going to be okay to drive in?”

Tru rubbed at a smudge on the floor with the toe of her black leather boot. “Supposed to be. I’m not sure how it will be after I get there, though. Never am.”
Why do I feel empty when I look at you?
Tru wondered, taking in the pink nightshirt and sweatpants that Brittany still wore.

Brittany swallowed the coffee slowly, feeling it warm her throat all the way down. “When did you say you’d be back?”

Tru came over to the table and picked up Brittany’s cup and took a sip. “Should be the end of the week. Saturday. Maybe Saturday night.”

Brittany nodded, and pushed away from the table to stand by the bay window. She spoke into the frosty panes. “I wish I could think of something appropriate to say—”

Tru took a deep breath, as if to clear her lungs of some heaviness. “I know. I went shopping yesterday so you’d have some time to yourself to absorb all this. The pantry and the freezer are stocked.” She smiled. “So you won’t have to kill any bunnies. There’s still some deer meat in there, too. Recipes are in the pantry.”

“Thanks.”

“We’ll talk more when I get back from Denver.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t forget to feed the horses every day. That feeder isn’t working right. I ordered another one, but it won’t be here for a few more days or so.” Tru took her long black raincoat from the back of the chair and put it on, looking at her watch. It was difficult to take that first step out the door, the memory of the trip to Seattle still vivid in her mind.
But things have changed
, she assured herself. “Well,” she picked up her bag. “I don’t want to be late meeting Macy.”

Brittany turned around and studied Tru’s face and eyes. She stepped over and put her arms around her softly, saying into her ear, “I’m sorry, Tru...”

Tru hugged her back, squeezing Brittany’s shoulder, aware of her need to hold on tight, and not wanting to fall into a maudlin trap like that one, right before she had to give a couple of concerts. “I feel like I lost you again.”

Brittany clung to her a few seconds longer than she expected to. “I’ll be here, when you get back. Have a safe trip.” She absorbed Tru’s reminiscent expression and watched her step out across the patio and into the frigid Colorado air.

Perching on the bay window seat, Brittany observed as Tru trudged to the Jeep which she had parked near the back door, tossed her bag into the back along with the others, circled the Cherokee and got in. Tru paused once she settled into the front seat, leaning her head on the steering wheel for a moment before she started the engine and backed out to the driveway.

Brittany released a long breath, deciding she would have to use this time to herself as productively as possible. Enough time had passed now, and she would have to make some decisions about the rest of her life, and how she wanted to live it—memory or no memory.

She went to the cabinet beneath the sink and took out the basket of cleaning supplies. If her environment was clean and clutter-free, perhaps her brain would not be distracted from the task at hand; the house would sparkle if she had to clean it for the next three days.

Brittany had gathered all the laundry, taken out the trash, and vacuumed all but the master bedroom before she sat down for a fresh cup of tea and some banana vapor. She was really starting to become addicted to these electronic things. Dropsi felt it her duty to accompany her, and the feline took her place on the seat in the bay window. Brittany watched the cat lick her

paws and wash her face with them, idly wondering what sort of thoughts cats have when they alternately groom themselves and stare out the window, and she was vaguely aware of something —some thought—on the edge of her own consciousness. The thought was oddly disturbing, but it was important, yet she could not seem to give it form or meaning.

An image of drying her hair with a towel seemed to return to her, and she was not certain if this image had anything to do with the memory that seemed to be materializing in her mind’s eye. She tried to relax into it, tried to concentrate on her eCig, and the cat, and what she still wanted to do around the house while Tru was gone, hoping the memory would present itself if there was little pressure mentally for it to do so.

While finishing her tea and smoke, she put away the dry dishes and donned a pair of fuzzy house-boots. She shuffled over the living room carpet back to the kitchen and deliberately touched Dropsi on the nose with her finger, igniting a spark of static electricity which sent the cat dashing through the house from the sting of it. The prank had been fun, but she was sure the feline would hate her from then on, and perhaps even seek vengeance one night while she slept. Dropsi was one of those cats with that knowing look in her eye.

Brittany decided not to pursue that possibility, preferring to believe the creature was too dumb to have feelings of vengeance. She rounded the corner into the living room and saw the calico sitting on the ledge in front of the fireplace, worrying at her nose with her front paws, stopping only to glare at her, and Brittany mumbled, “Sorry, cat, it was a joke,” before she slipped into the hallway. She put a can of food in the dish for the feline, hoping it might make her feel less vengeful.

Brittany kicked the overflowing hamper out of the way and opened the French doors which concealed the washer and dryer. She turned the water onto hot and sorted a load of whites into the machine, watching nonchalantly for the avenging feline. Grabbing a container of carpet deodorizer labeled ‘Country Berry,’ she then dragged the vacuum into the master bedroom.

She sprinkled the perfumed powder on the carpet and had swept most of it up, making a final few swipes around the bed, but had to turn off the vacuum when a stroke under the edge of the bed produced a loud clatter as something heavy flailed upon the beater-brush. She lifted the vacuum and shook it to dislodge the offending article, and the dark metal of an Army Specialist insignia fell to the carpet. Curiously, she picked it up and studied it for a moment before laying it on the night stand. Fearing other foreign objects would damage the machine, she dropped to her knees and bent to look under the bed. There were the obligatory dust-bunnies and old shoes, but near where she had vacuumed the pin, she saw a box nestled, and raked it out.

Once Brittany saw the postmarks and addresses on the top of the cardboard box, she went through the contents of what proved to be the military memorabilia of her erstwhile jouster-cum-housemate. She knew the box belonged to Tru, because Brittany’s name was on the outside of it as a return address from Fort Lee, Virginia. The box had been mailed to Tru at this address. The postmark was July, 2001. From her conversations with Tru, she knew this must have been shortly after they graduated from AIT, while Brittany was waiting at Fort Lee to ship out for Germany.

Included in the trinkets and keepsakes, was a rifle badge with what looked like a wreath on it. When Brittany thumbed through the dog-eared soldier’s manual also in the box, she discovered it was the badge of Hawkeye, which meant that Tru had achieved the highest skill in marksmanship. A flutter of silly pride went through her and she swiftly quelled the reaction.
What was so great about being able to kill a defenseless little bunny with one shot?
But then, she had tried to harpoon Travis with that nail gun, and Brittany had to smile in spite of the scenario that could have taken place.

The letters in the box were all held together with a rubber band, and Brittany began to read them, experiencing the odd sensation that she was reading the private thoughts and feelings of a stranger. The words painted a vivid picture of her blooming affection for Tru, and though she was not surprised by this, the intensity she had felt from Tru since that first day at the shelter began

to take on a new meaning—one which she gradually began to understand, as her eyes swept over the lengthy missives from a restless and unhappy young woman named Brittany Jabot.

Well into the sixth letter, Brittany suddenly stopped reading, and looked over at Dropsi, who lay on the bed above her. The cat appeared to be only half-sleeping, apparently forgiving her for the shock earlier, her paws stroking the air rhythmically with each breath. Brittany smiled as she saw an image of herself placing headphones on the cat from her Walkman, and watching her eyes respond to the music. As the image faded, Brittany realized it had not been a daydream but a memory, and she could almost feel her blood pressure rising with the thought that she might be regaining her past, if only in small, insignificant pieces.

She looked back down at the box of keepsakes and at once felt guilty, more because of her betrayal of Tru with Travis, than because she seemed to be reading someone else’s mail. The keepsakes represented a history with Tru—one she had not shared with Travis or anyone else— and it was a sad commentary on the ability of one human being to hurt another. She replaced the lid and slid the box back under the bed.

She stroked Dropsi once before heading instinctively for the stereo. Moments later, she had chosen a CD entitled
Empty Hands
and Brittany finished the housework while Tru’s alternate identity serenaded her.

She paused by the bay window with a glass of Chardonnay, and focused through the foggy pane to the line of trees by the barn, almost certain she had seen movement.
No way.
When a second look revealed nothing but the sway of snow-laden limbs, she decided it was her paranoia, and nothing more. Max knew she had no romantic interest in him, even if he didn’t believe the reason she tried to give him; if he was prowling around outside again, he’d pay some cold consequences according to the thermometer on the wall.
Serves him right
, she decided emphatically.

Brittany settled on the couch with an easily-found copy of Rita Mae’s infamous Rubyfruit Jungle.