His confession

*Calliope*
I wonder if it is possible to die from too much happiness and love. Watching Zac with Zane . . . my heart has swelled to such an extent that I fear it might burst through my chest. The resemblance is so strong. I know no one can doubt that the child is his. I don’t want life to pass swiftly, but I can hardly wait to see Zane as a man. With his father's influence, he will no doubt resemble him in manner.

He will gain his devilish smile. He will tilt his head just so when he studies something of importance. He will issue orders expecting to be obeyed. He will have a confidence to his stride that even a limp can not diminish. He will gain his dragon.

By the time the serving girl, Anna, finally brings in the tea, Zane has begun to fidget. It is long past his time to nurse. I ask Anna to take Zane to Jeanette for his feeding. When I turn from the doorway, Zac is standing at the window, gazing out. Twilight is descending, red and orange hues streaking across a darkening blue sky.

I watch him for a moment, just watch. All I have endured has been worth the decision I had made to claim Zane as my own. Observing as the bond developed between Zac and his son had been the most rewarding moments I have ever experienced. The seed of love for Zac that had been planted so long ago at the hospital blossomed into a full bloom. I have never known such contentment. Or such desire.

I want him to hold me and to kiss me. I want his embrace, the nearness of his body. I had come here, not for marriage, not expecting it in spite of my father's blustering, but suddenly I want it with a desperation that astounds me. I want more than Zane in my life forever. I want this man.

He has never given me cause to think that anything other than friendship would exist between us, yet still my heart had yearned. We had lived in a place where everything moved so quickly. Everything was more intense. Death was faced daily, life was celebrated with abandon. Emotions were always deeply felt whether it was fear, hatred, or love. We skirted the edge of danger, and it gave a deeper appreciation to each moment. It was as though we ran headlong toward every experience, never blanching, never stepping back, never taking a second to catch our breath.

It is difficult now to walk through this placid life where I have time to think, to ponder, to wonder. The doubts surface if I slow at all, and I do not want to experience the doubts. I had claimed Zane as my son, because I knew of no other way to keep him near me. I had wanted him because I had admired his father. I couldn't stand the thought of Zac's son being orphaned, of taking a chance that he might be taken in by a family who could not love him as I do.

I am barely aware of my footsteps clicking over the wood flooring as I go to stand beside Zac. Turn to me now, I think. Turn to me and look upon me with the love you bestowed on Zane. Take me in your arms. Take me in your heart.

“I don't remember you.” He says quietly.

I barely have time to brace myself for the devastation that slams into me with the confirmation of my earlier suspicions. What a fool I have been. Then and now, to think I could garner the attention of a man such as Major Zac Dragan. I am a little brown wren hopping along among graceful swans. I don’t know how to be flirtatious.

The smile he had bestowed on other nurses had been wider than those he gave me. He had spoken with others. He had made them giggle like silly ninnies.

They had all been infatuated with him. They had all garnered his attention. The quiet moments I had spent with him outside the hospital had not made me special.

But it doesn’t matter. Acknowledging all of that, it doesn’t matter. What matters is Zane. I love him so terribly much. I can’t bear the thought of losing him. I will go down on my knees; I will beg; I will plead. I will somehow make Zac understand why I had done what I had.

Four words. He had spoken but four words, you silly chit, and you had concocted an entire epistle. He doesn’t remember you. It doesn’t mean he’s questioning that you’re Zane’s mother. He no doubt took many women to his bed. He can’t possibly remember them all. That’s all he means. He simply doesn’t remember you. Play along. Be vague. Do not give him cause to doubt you.

The panic swirling through my heart subsides only slightly, but it doesn’t leak into my voice. The inner strength that had been forged during the war serves me well now. “I fear I suspected as much. I can hardly blame you for not remembering me. I'm hardly worth …."

“No. No. God, no." He plows his hand through his hair, his gaze hard and focused on something in the distance. I have seen enough vacant stares on the wounded to know that sometimes, when gazing out, a man is gazing in. “I don’t remember anything."

I study him. The sharp cut of his jaw. The quick tic of the scar that runs down his face as a muscle jumps in his cheek. I had almost forgotten it was there, because when I look at him, I do not see it. I see only the devilishly handsome features that had caused nurses to swoon, that had caused me to hold him near in my dreams.

Even when he was filthy and his uniform tattered, he had still managed to charm us all. A couple of the Catholic nurses had held prayer vigils for him. All the nurses had welcomed any excuse to work in the area of the hospital where he was recovering. It shames me now to know we had placed him above others. Not that we had neglected anyone in our duties, but he had been the one we cared about most.

“I fear I don't quite understand what you’re saying, " I say quietly.

He still isn’t looking at me. His warm hazel eyes are focused on something that I can’t see. “I have no memories of the time I was in the war. Not a single bloody one.” The last words are shoved out between clenched teeth.

Astounded, I fight to wrap my mind around the implications. “But you were there.”

“For a damned year and a half." He turns to face me then, pressing his back against one wall of windows. He gives me an ironic twist of his lips. “Yes, I know. I've been told.”

This is monstrous. I can hardly fathom it. Not to remember anything. “How could this have happened?”

“I don’t know.” He viciously rubs the scar that begins at his temple as though he wants to erase its existence. “I awoke in a regimental hospital in Blavaca. In immense pain that made no sense. I'd been having tea with my sister by marriage. I learned later that it had been two years prior. From the moment I set down my teacup until I awoke on an uncomfortable sack of rags, I remember not one incident I experienced, not one person I encountered. I don't recall the journey I took to get there. I don’t know what it feels like to rush headlong into battle. I don't remember the men who
fought beside me or the ones I killed. I don’t remember the women … I might have known.”