Elisabeth Naughton: Wait for Me

“No. If I don’t get it all taken care of, I’ll go nuts.” She leaned back in her chair. “I can’t stay here.”

“You have to give it time. You can’t make rash decisions right now.”

“No. This house was his idea. Living here…” Her eyes slid shut. “He made every major decision in our lives.”

“He was your husband. And you’ve been through so much this last year and a half with the accident. Of course he made all the decisions. It’s logical given your medical history.”

Her medical history. The memory loss. It had been Jake’s excuse for everything. Why he ran their finances, why he arranged it so she was never alone, why he’d chosen which publisher she freelanced for.

She should have insisted he include her in decisions. She should have played a bigger role in planning for a day like this. She didn’t even know where to look for his life insurance policy.

Her stomach rolled, and she swallowed back the bile. Leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table and her head in her hands, she knew she needed to get as far from this house as possible. She’d felt the pull to leave months ago, but she’d fought it because of Jake. Because her life was here. Now…now she didn’t know what to think anymore.

“Jake was the one who loved Houston. Not me.” Her head throbbed. She wasn’t taking pain medication tonight. Not when her mind was already in a fog.

“It’s your home, Kate. You can’t just leave. Jake’s family’s here.”

A pathetic laugh erupted from Kate’s lips. “He and his father haven’t spoken in more than a year. The man barely even acknowledges he has a grandson. That’s not the type of family I want for Reed.” No family was better than that in her mind.

“Just promise me you won’t make any spur-of-the-moment decisions. Please?”

Concerned brown eyes gazed into Kate’s face. Mindy wouldn’t get it. Not really. She wouldn’t understand that this feeling of not belonging had been festering for a long time. That it had been haunting her ever since the accident. And tonight wasn’t the night to get into it with her.

Kate squeezed Mindy’s hand. “Sure. I’m not really thinking clearly tonight.” Rising, she took the untouched mug of tea to the sink. “I need to turn in. Thanks for everything today. I don’t know how I would have gotten through it all without you.”

Mindy rose from her seat and rested both hands on Kate’s shoulders. “Will you be okay tonight? Reed’s already asleep upstairs, but I could take him over to my house if you need some time alone.”

Kate looked to the kitchen stairs that led up to the second floor where her four-year-old son was sound asleep, then shook her head. She hadn’t told him the news yet. She didn’t want him hearing it from the neighbors. “No, but thanks. I need to be with him if he wakes. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m always here for you, Kate. Remember that. If you need anything, I’m just across the street.”

“Thanks.” Kate forced a smile she didn’t feel.

With a quick hug, Mindy made her way to the front of the house. When the heavy mahogany door clicked shut, Kate turned and surveyed the empty house. She was alone. Totally alone. No car would be pulling into the drive in the middle of the night. Jake wouldn’t come bounding through the door, apologizing for missing yet another dinner. She wouldn’t see his face or feel his arms around her again. It didn’t matter if he’d been a lousy husband. He’d been her husband. And now he was gone. From now on, it would just be her and Reed.

Shaky lips blew out a long sigh. She tamped down the grief that wanted to pour over her again. Even though it was close to midnight, she knew there was no way she’d be able to drift into a slumber, peaceful or otherwise.

Making her way into Jake’s office, she rubbed the chill from her arms, then sank into the chair behind his desk, letting the butter-soft leather cushion her aching body. With trembling fingers, her hand feathered the dark wood in front of her.

Her gaze washed over the room. A tall bookshelf graced one long wall. Medical books packed the shelves from floor to ceiling. A computer blinked on the short arm of the L-shaped desk. A picture of Reed smiling in the summer sun faced her.

Jake’s room, Jake’s things. She’d rarely come in here because it was his private space. An odd sense of unease settled over her as she sat in his chair.

She flipped on the Tiffany lamp sitting next to the phone and fanned through the stack of mail on the corner of his desk. The mundane task took her mind off details she had yet to address, calmed her frayed nerves.

Bills, a renewal for a medical journal, a letter claiming they’d won ten-million dollars in a sweepstakes. She tossed junk mail into the garbage can at her knee, sifted Jake’s professional mail into one stack, their personal mail into another.

She reached for the letter opener in the pencil holder and found it missing. Pulling open a drawer, she pawed through the contents, then another when she couldn’t find it.

In the back of the third drawer, she found it, along with another unopened letter. Kate shook her head, a melancholy sensation deepening her sadness. Reed had probably put these here. He was always getting into stuff he shouldn’t. Jake always got so upset when Reed moved his things.

But no one would have to worry about that anymore. With renewed sadness she ripped open the letter and glanced at the bill in her hand. Her brow creased when she saw her name. She reached for the envelope she’d just torn. Jake’s medical office was listed as the address on the outside, but it was clearly a bill for her time in the hospital after her car accident. A revolving balance showed an amount of ten thousand dollars still owed.

Jake had told her their insurance had covered everything. Looking closer, she realized it wasn’t a hospital bill at all, but an invoice from a nursing home.

Nursing home? That wasn’t right. She’d been in the hospital for a little more than a week. Four days in a coma in ICU, another three until they moved her to a regular room, then five on the med/surge floor recovering from her injuries.

She looked at the bill again.

San Francisco.

No, that wasn’t right either. The accident had happened outside Dallas. She’d been driving home from a geology conference in Ft. Worth. Her journal had been covering the event. She’d never even been to San Francisco.

The dates of service were wrong as well. They spanned more than two years.

Her hands shook as she set the invoice on the desk. A chill settled over her.

Medical records. Jake was meticulous about his files.

She swiveled toward the file cabinet and flipped through the files, looking for one with her name.

Nothing.

She yanked open the second drawer. Taxes, appraisal information on the house, medical journals he belonged to. The man even had a file with all his grades from college. He was OCD to the max.

But where were her files?

Impatience settled over her, a dismal feeling she didn’t want to acknowledge. She yanked open the third drawer, breathing out a sigh of relief when she saw medical folders for Jake, Reed, and herself.

Yes, it would be here. Someone had screwed up, billed the wrong person.

She drew her folder open on the desk, flipped through the stack of forms. A claim for stitches in her toe when she’d stepped on a piece of glass last month. A dental claim when she had to have a tooth repaired last spring. Medical updates from Dr. Reynolds, the neurosurgeon she’d been seeing since the accident. Forms and evaluations spanned the last year and a half of her life, then stopped.

No records on her pregnancy, none on Reed’s birth. Nothing from her stay at Baylor University Medical Center where she’d been treated after the accident.