Chapter Twenty Four
Missing Faces
With the dull light of pre-dawn caressing her room, Becca sat rigid in her bed, the covers clutched in her fists. She’d had another dream whisper. Someone had been calling her name in tortured, desperate tones. She couldn’t remember now if it had been a man or woman, only that the voice had jolted her awake and left her covered from head to toe with goose bumps.
Becca had never had this many dream whispers in a row before. Every night since the accident, she’d been awakened by strong dreams and overwhelming emotions. Toby’s strange behavior the day before had done little to help. He’d put her nerves on edge acting that way. Why was he so afraid of Terrance? The guy was annoying, but he had found Becca and saved her life, or so she’d been told. If Terrance hadn’t shown up when he had, who knows how long she would’ve lain there bleeding?
But Toby’s fear had seemed genuine, if not well founded. Maybe he’d been taking something from that book he carried everywhere a little too seriously. He’d done so in the past, when they were younger. Or, maybe he was as shaken up about her accident as he’d said, and his suspicions stemmed from the fear of losing her in his life. She wished he would’ve come back for supper and finished telling her whatever it was he’d been about to say. He could’ve at least called…
Becca shook her head. Her thoughts were getting her nowhere--they were a dog chasing its tail. She longed for her mother to be there so Becca could lay out her worries, have her mother brush her hair aside, smile, and tell her, “This, too, shall pass, Becca. Everything will work out for the best, you’ll see.” Her mother’s familiar words, though meant to bring hope, only caused Becca’s heart to ache more. Bitter anger tapped her emotions. How could her parents have just left her here alone? Didn’t they know she needed them? The more she thought of them, and the more she felt the empty pain from her loss, the more bitter Becca became. She allowed dark musings to simmer for a long while, thinking of all that she’d gone through over the past two years without the help of the two people that should’ve always been there.
Surprised by her emotions, Becca took a deep breath in attempt to calm down. She knew she’d been deeply saddened by her parent’s deaths, but the bitterness had been hiding under the surface, waiting to be ignited. She couldn’t think of them right now. She didn’t know how to handle these feelings.
Releasing the covers from her clenched fists, Becca sighed and slid back down into her bed. Her arm itched terribly, distracting her thoughts. Visions of using the gardening sheers to remove her cast raced wildly through her mind. She stuck her fingers as far as they would go under the plaster and wiggled them, attempting to soothe the maddening itch. She growled with frustration when the itching crawled beyond her reach. A tear escaped her left eye and made a trail down her cheek.
A song played softly in the back of her mind. It sounded familiar, but Becca couldn’t quite place it. As the music played, the itching under the cast seemed to lessen. It was almost as if someone were caressing her stressed skin, massaging until the itching calmed. The soothing music played on and Becca relaxed. It wasn’t long before her weary eyes closed in slumber.
Chris drove Becca to Mrs. Kline’s the next day. He’d insisted, saying she needed to get away from the house for awhile and get her mind off of, well, her mind. Becca had agreed. She was tired of trying so hard to remember what she’d lost. She’d be happy at this point just to remember graduation.
Betty Kline greeted them outside her garage. She was pushing a shop broom, sweeping away what little dirt had entered her immaculate garage. She put the broom aside a beamed at them both as they slid out of Chris’ truck. “Welcome! Welcome! Oh, Becca!” she said as she gave Becca a tender hug. “It’s so good to see you out and about. How is your arm, dear?”
“It’s okay,” Becca answered as Mrs. K gave Chris a quick hug.
Then, the elderly lady smiled up at the clear sky and breathed in the warm air. “What a wondrously beautiful day!” she exclaimed. She turned and gazed back into the garage, a nostalgic look crossing her features. “It’s the kind of day Henry loved to ride!”
Becca peered into the darker interior of the garage where a covered motorcycle rested. She stared at it for several minutes while Chris and Mrs. Kline conversed about motorcycles. Something stirred inside Becca’s gut as she looked at the bike. It almost seemed to whisper to her, beckoning her towards it. The hairs on her neck stood on end. Becca shook her head. Okay, I’m really losing it! How can a motorcycle make me feel this weird?
“C’mon, Becca,” Chris said, pulling her out of strange thoughts. Mrs. Kline led them to the porch where the sign for her Bed and Breakfast squeaked over the entrance as a breath of wind brushed against it.
“Sit, sit! I’ll be right back with some lemonade,” Mrs. Kline said, waving her hand at her guests.
Chris and Becca sat at the small table on the porch and watched the occasional car drive lazily past. Warm, sweet-scented air brushed against Becca’s face as bumblebees hummed and bobbed atop the array of flowers bordering Mrs. Kline’s porch and fence. Frogs sent out gravelly calls from the pond behind the house. The distant sound of a jet combined with calls of meadowlarks and various other birds. The early summer day was warm and comforting. For the first time since she’d woken in the hospital, Becca felt at ease and even allowed herself a contented smile.
“Wait a minute, was that actually a smile?” Chris laughed as he sighed and stretched his arms up before bending his elbows and resting his hands at the back of his head. “It’s good to see your smile, Becca. You’ve been scowling too much lately.” His deep blue eyes reflected the clear sky.
“Sorry for all the scowling. I just want so bad to remember things,” Becca answered.
“You know, maybe you shouldn’t try so hard. Most of the time, when I forget something, I’ll remember it after I stop trying; the thought just pops into my mind once I’m relaxed enough to let it in.”
Chris hopped up to open the screen door for Mrs. Kline before Becca could respond. She thought on his words as glasses of lemonade were set on the table, along with a round pitcher filled with the refreshing liquid. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe she was inadvertently blocking memories by tensing so much. She vowed to relax more.
“Well, isn’t this lovely? Just lovely,” Mrs. Kline beamed as brightly as the summer sun before taking a sip of lemonade.
Becca took a drink of her own lemonade, allowing a bit of ice to slip into her mouth. She chomped on it and swallowed before speaking. “Your yard looks beautiful, Mrs. Kline,” Becca said. “I see you finally got someone to fix the fence for you.”
Becca could’ve sworn she saw Chris and Mrs. Kline give each other a quick, sidelong glance, but the moment past in a blink.
“Oh, yes. One of my patrons was kind enough to help me with it. He was young and strong enough for the task. I gave him free room and board for the work.”
Mrs. Kline had spoken without her usual bubbly voice. Her face was sober, and she was looking at Becca with a serious gaze. Becca squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. What was wrong with Mrs. Kline? She’d never seen the kind woman with a serious expression.
Chris cleared his throat, ending the strained moment. “I was thinking, Mrs. Kline, that when I get my shop up and running, would you be interested in allowing me to display the Indian in the front window?” he asked, referring to Henry’s old motorcycle.
“You wouldn’t sell it!” Mrs. Kline put a hand over her heart, gasping as she spoke. Becca was completely confused. What shop?
“No! I wouldn’t dream of it! But a treasure like that shouldn’t be hidden under a tarp and stuck away in the corner of a garage. It would simply be a display. I’d keep it polished and clean and in good running condition.”
Becca looked back and forth between the two people at the table. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
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br /> Chris’ confusion lasted a moment before he blinked with understanding. “Oh! Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry, Becca. I told you before, but I guess you wouldn’t remember. We’re supposed to let you draw things out on your own, but I don’t think it would hurt to tell you…” Chris went on to explain how he’d decided to open a motorcycle shop instead of going into architecture. She was shocked but could tell that it was what Chris really wanted. She wondered if she was repeating herself again with her exclamations and congratulations, like she’d done with Toby and his book. If she was, Chris was good enough not to tell her.
After a long visit, Mrs. Kline gave Chris a hug and squeezed Becca tightly. As they parted, Mrs. Kline’s arm dropped and her wedding ring caught on the pocket of Becca’s jeans shorts. “Oh, so sorry dear! I hope I didn’t tear anything!”
“It wouldn’t matter if you did. These shorts are old anyway,” Becca reassured her. They said their final farewells, Mrs. Kline promising Chris she’d think on his offer over the motorcycle thing.
Chris sang along with the radio in his beautiful tenor on the way home. Becca couldn’t help giggling as he made goofy faces to go along with the words. She didn’t help him sing, however. She still had too much of a mental block from her parents’ death to sing.
Later that evening, Becca undressed to ready herself for bed. After donning a cool set of cotton P.J.’s, she sat at her small vanity and looked herself over in the mirror. The scabs on the left side of her face were beginning to come away at the edges, revealing new, pink skin underneath. She hoped desperately she wouldn’t have terrible scars there for the rest of her life. She touched them with her good fingers, resisting the urge to pick at them.
Sighing, she moved away from her marred reflection and picked up her dirty clothes. Her shorts tipped upside down and something white fell out of the pocket. Becca hadn’t remembered putting anything in her pocket that day, but maybe it was just a ball of lint. She tossed the clothes in the hamper and then bent to retrieve the lint, intending to throw it in the trash.
Her fingers wrapped around what looked instead like the squared edges of two pieces of paper. Curious, Becca sat at her vanity again, placing the pieces on the table. Two small, white papers, their centers cut out in the shapes of hearts, rested in contrast against the wood. Becca scowled down at them, wondering what in the world they were. Great! She thought. I’m losing memories like they’re going out of style now! She had to have put them in her shorts that day, as she’d worn and washed them once already since the accident.
Becca stuck her fingernails under the edge of one of the pieces and flipped it over. She gasped at what was on the other side--or, more at what wasn’t there. The heart shaped hole was cut into one of her senior pictures. The photo was of her full form, but at a bit of a distance, taken at Mrs. Kline’s near her flowers and fence the summer before. The only thing cut out of it was Becca’s face.
More confused than ever, Becca slowly turned the other picture over with shaking fingers. The face was missing from this photo as well. But this was definitely of a male figure; bits of dark brown hair shown around the edges of the heart-hole, and a black leather jacket covered the shoulders and torso. A black motorcycle shown behind the figure’s jean-clad legs.
The room and her vanity dissolved from Becca’s vision as she gazed, transfixed, at the piece of photograph. Conflicting emotions raged inside her. An entrancing song started playing in her mind, sending a slight bit of joy into her heart like the sun trying to shine through a thickly clouded sky; those clouds were fear. Becca’s pulse hammered against every artery in her body. Whoever this person was, something about him caused twisting fear and joy to rip through her like a tornado.
Becca grasped the two photos, opened the small drawer on her vanity, threw them in, and slammed the door shut. With shaking legs, she wobbled her way to her bed and flopped down on her pillow. Making sure her voice was muffled so Chris wouldn’t hear, she chanced a small scream to release her emotions before she sobbed uncontrollably for a long while.
Finally, when she was drained, Becca sat up, blew her nose, changed her pillow case, and laid back down, facing the ceiling. Her fatigued brain tried for a few short minutes to figure out what the photos meant and where they could’ve come from. But she was too tired now to think clearly. Before she allowed exhaustion to overwhelm her into sleep, she prayed. “Please, God, help me with this, whatever this is!”