Her words are soft and encouraging, just like how I assume a mother’s would be.
“Your mom has about a dozen photo albums,” Chuck says. “She started one the day you were born and still adds to them to this day. Every birthday, holiday, and special occasion is there. You want memories, she’s got them all.” He grips my shoulder. “We’re here for you son, whatever you need.”
I’m a runner. A swimmer. A classic car enthusiast. A doctor. A husband. A son. Part owner of a coffee shop. All this shit is swirling around in my head, causing me mental chaos that’s bringing on a headache.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Are you okay?” Chuck asks.
“No. I’m not okay. And I’m not talking aboutthis.” I lift my uncasted arm and gesture to my body in general, my irritation—and maybe a bit of panic—growing. “You all know more about me than I know about myself.” I glance at Dr. Wheeler. “Evenheknows more about me, and we just met.”
“These things can take time,” Dr. Wheeler says.
“I know, but…” I ball my left hand into a fist, clench my teeth, and snarl in frustration.“Fuck!”
Dawn gasps, and it makes me wonder if I am…was… one to regularly curse.
I don’t miss how the four other people in the room share a look.
“What?” I snap.
Ava sits on the chair next to the bed, her eyes becoming distant. “The doctors warned us about how you might experience behavioral changes.”
“Changes?” I ask.
“Cursing. Snapping at people… That’s not you.”
I bark out an exasperated laugh and swirl my arm around. “Well, that’s just too bad. Because until I can remember who the hell I am, this is what you get.” Shaking my head, I huff out a defeated sigh. “Take it or leave it.”
Chuck puts a supportive hand on Ava’s shoulder as her chin starts quivering again. “We’ll take it, son. And we’ll do whatever we can to help you through this.”
“We thought you were dead, Trevor,” Dawn adds. “We’re overjoyed to have you back in whatever way we can have you.”
Ava wipes her eyes. “Dr. Wheeler, when will he be released?”
“Based on our initial evaluation, I’d say fairly soon. His physical injuries are healing well. I’ll make sure to send his records to your local hospital and get you the name of the neurologist he should follow up with there. Your family practitioner can remove the cast and deal with any questions you have concerning his superficial injuries. Assuming there are no surprises over the next twenty-four hours or so, he’ll be cleared to go home in a matter of days.”
Home. I have no goddamn home. I glance at the three people, all strangers, who will take me back to a town I don’t remember, a house I don’t know, and a job that doesn’t exist anymore.
“Maybe once you see Calloway Creek,” Ava says hopefully. “Our apartment. The coffee shop. Your friends. Being back home will help, I’m sure.”
But will it?
I’m still waiting for some semblance of a spark. Why the hell can’t I reach it? The woman I’m staring at is my wife, for Christ’s sake. The person I pledged my life to. And the other one gave birth to me. How can I not feel anything when I look at them?
And if seeing them doesn’t evoke memories, how will an apartment, a town, a trail, or a stupid coffee house?
“Yeah,” I say, glancing out the window into the ether. “Maybe it will.”
Chapter Twelve
Ava
His voice is the same. The way he walks and sips his coffee. His dark hair with that cowlick on the left. All of those things tell me he’s Trevor.
Except he’s not.
The man sitting on the plane next to me is not my husband. He’s distant. Peculiar. Argumentative at times. He’s wearing a T-shirt, something he would rarely be caught in outside of when he exercised. And he has facial hair—something he was vehemently opposed to before.
