The Choice

Chapter 5, The Choice

Chapter Five

Marcie's head CT came back negative for any serious head trauma. The psychiatrist assessed Marcie briefly and said there was no clinical explanation for her memory loss. He suspected her memory could easily return in a few days, but if it didn't return in a few weeks, he suggested she explore it further with a neurologist.

Jesse drove Sam and Marcie back to Sam's small apartment in the French Quarter. Instead of going right home, Jesse accepted Sam's invitation to come up.

"Let me open some windows." Sam slid open the balcony door. An instant breeze stirred the musty air.

Marcie leaned against a bare wall, crossing her arms over her blood-splattered shirt. She looked around the simple box room. Every dingy wall remained free of pictures or adornments. This place was merely four walls and humble furnishings.

"How long's it been since you were here last?" Jesse had a heavy rhythmic walk, swaying his shoulders with each step, wandering the plain apartment kitchen as he spoke. He had a tanned, slightly scarred face; mysterious, dark eyes; cropped, curly hair, and a wide mouth, which smiled on command to shamelessly flash a gleaming silver tooth.

Jesse appeared distracted and distant, pulling open the fridge and then the old, scratched cupboards as if inspecting the unmaintained unit's condition.

"Over six months. Don't know why I keep the place. Guess I can't figure out what to do with everything. So I keep paying the rent." Sam fiddled with an old clock sitting on a cluttered desk in what Marcie supposed was part of the living room. The way he smoothed his hand over the brass cover and then pulled his fingers back as if burned, she realized some emotional link kept him here.

"You've got no food. Do you want me to make a run to the market for you?" Jesse's concern appeared brotherly, as if he were playing the familiar role of watching over Sam. He swaggered over to Sam, hiking up his baggy pants just under his heavy beer belly.

"That would be great. Grab us some burgers too." Sam pulled out a worn wallet and fingered out a handful of bills, mashing them into Jesse's hand. "And don't forget the beer." Something passed between the men; hesitation, awkwardness.

Jesse didn't linger. He turned and shuffled to the door. He stopped when his hand turned the knob and gave a look of kind consideration to Marcie. "Do you need anything, Marcie?"

She blinked and moved away from the wall. This compassion, for some reason, pulled a little in her heart. It was foolish, really, but it meant something. She darted a quick glance at Sam. He, too, looked thoughtfully. "Thank you. I don't know what I need."

Sam flushed and firmed his lips as he stalked across the room like a man secure on his feet. He handed more bills to Jesse. "Get her a new shirt, toothbrush, some essentials. I don't know what else. You have a wife."

"So did you. Don't mean I know what she needs nor pay any mind to what she buys." Jesse tucked the money in his pocket and went out the door. "I'll do my best."

Sam patted Jesse's back. "Thanks, Jesse." Jesse left, and Sam rested his palm against the closed door, watching Marcie with his mesmerizing blue eyes.

"Let me get your room done up for you." He continued on into the only bedroom, walking slower, putting his lean linebacker body into each step. He filled the doorway when he passed through it, and she was glad he didn't see the dreamy clouds that came into her eyes.

He was so much the shabby, fallen angel, confident, oozing with integrity, and quite the package. She lingered in the doorway, watching while he pulled bedding from a cupboard and made the double bed.

"Why didn't you go for coffee with that doctor when she asked you?" Marcie instantly colored, wishing she could take back the words.

He froze while hunched over to tuck the sheet under the mattress and then slowly turned his head toward her.

Marcie shuffled her feet. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business. I just ... you took me in; you don't know me-and you didn't turn your back on me. You were concerned for me. You turned her down flat without even considering it."

He flicked the top sheet over the mattress and folded stiff hospital corners. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply. "Only creeps do that, sugar. It's not even a consideration, in my mind, to act that way when I'm with another woman who's flat-out hurt." He arranged a blanket on the bed and plumped a pillow. "Bathroom's around the corner if you want to get cleaned up before Jesse's back with dinner." Sam directed her with a nod.

"Would you mind if I had a quick bath?"

"Not at all. I'll get you a towel."

Marcie followed Sam. He pulled a towel from the linen cupboard and placed it on the worn, chipped counter in the apartment-style bathroom. He paused for a moment. Sadness lurked in his eyes when he touched a hairbrush, lying neatly assembled with cream, lotion, shampoo, and assorted makeup. He closed his eyes tightly as if blocking out some painful emotion waging war inside of him. "Use whatever stuff you need here." He didn't tarry but crossed over the threshold and pulled the door closed.

Marcie didn't know what to make of this, but she remembered the comment Jesse had made before he left. Sam used to have a wife. If so, were these things hers, and what had happened to her?

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