I let her hug me as long as she wants to. She obviously needs this. I can feel her tears on my neck. I think about hugging herback, but I can’t bring myself to do it when it would merely be obligatory.
She smells nice. Like flowers. I squeeze my eyelids together and focus, hoping her scent will evoke a memory.
When she finally releases me and pulls back, she studies my face then traces a finger under my still healing eye. “Does it hurt?”
“Not so much anymore.”
Her voice is soft and soothing, like that of a mother caring for a child, as she continues to ask questions about my injuries. I close my eyes a second time and let it permeate my ears, giving myself every chance to take in the cadence, the tone, the lilt in her words… waiting for a visceral reaction that just doesn’t seem to come.
“Open your eyes, Trev. Look at me. It’s me, Ava. Your wife. Iknowyou know me.”
The hopeful yet desperate tone of her voice has me empathizing. Hell, it has me feeling downright guilty that I have no recollection of her.
We lock eyes. Her light-brown irises are flooded with tears. I stare into her, feeling nothing, yet imploring myself to remember something. Anything. I swallow then sigh when, once again, all that exists in my head is a deep well of nothingness.
“I’m sorry. Maybe soon.”
A throat is cleared. Chuck and Dawn are in the doorway now. Dawn is crying as she strides across the room. “Oh, my boy.”
Just as I did with Ava, I look at her, then Chuck, waiting, anticipating…hoping.
My chest caves with a deep exhalation as I conclude that the doctors are wrong. That I’m not, in fact, Trevor Criss. That I’m someone else completely.
But that wouldn’t explain why they know me. Or how there are pictures of me standing next to them.
I’m Trevor. They know it. The doctors know. Even the news media knows it.
I’mthe only one who doesn’t.
“Trevor?” Dr. Wheeler says from the corner where he’s been silently observing. “Anything?”
I shake my head.
“That’s okay,” he says in a reassuring albeit clinical tone. “These things can take time. Maybe when you return home and get back to your normal routine.”
Ava stares at the floor. “We don’t have a normal routine. He’s been away for so long.”
“Well, then”—Dr. Wheeler comes to the side of the bed—“what would Trevor have done upon returning home?”
She shrugs. “He would have gone to work at the hospital. I mean, we would have had a month together before his fellowship started, but…”
“And what would have happened during that month?”
“I suppose he would have spent a lot of time catching up with friends. Maybe helping me in the coffee shop. And we’d have done all the things we said we were going to do as soon as he got home. Oh, and he liked to run the trails along the creek.”
The doctor nods and turns to me. “Good. You can still do all that. Well, with the exception of the running. I’d start off with casual strolls and work your way up.”
“I’m a runner?” I ask.
“You are,” Ava confirms.
“Areyoua runner?”
“Me? No. You’ve always liked to run alone. You say… er,said… that and working on your car were the best ways to clear your head.”
I wonder what kind of car I have and what work I do on it. The memory of an Instagram photo flashes through my mind, but before I can ask about it, Dawn sits on the end of the bed.
“I’ll make all your favorite foods. You can come to the house for dinner and visit your old bedroom. All your swimming trophies are still there. Maybe seeing the house you grew up in will conjure up your memories.”
