Before.
For the past two days, everything has been classified asbeforeorafter.
Before his accident, he looked at me with love and adoration. After, he looks at me like I could be anyone on the street.
Before his accident, he was this confident, larger-than-life doctor who took the bull by the horns and commanded every room he walked into. After, he’s hesitant, unsure of himself.
Before, we were Trevor and Ava.
After, we might as well be two strangers, because I don’t even know how to talk to him.
I thought reminding him about our past would be something he wanted me to do, but every time I’d bring up what should be a good memory, he would just gaze out the hospital room window and my heart broke a little more.
I cried for hours in Dawn’s arms last night. Two torturous days in a room with a man who doesn’t even seem to be trying to remember brought most of my remaining hope crumbling down around me. I know it’s not his fault. That he has no control over the situation. But I thought he’d at least be interested in hearing about our past. His childhood. Our town. Me.
It’s strange sitting next to the man I’ve loved for over two decades and not being able to find anything to talk about.
“It must be kind of exciting in a way,” I say, trying to break the tension. “You’re doing everything for the first time. Like now, being on a plane.”
“I was on a plane three days ago.”
“Right. But there are other things.” I chuckle. “There are about a hundred books I wish I could go back and read for the first time. Maybe we should plan some things like that. You know, fun things you’ve done but don’t remember so they’ll be brand new experiences.”
He turns away from the window. “You think this is funny?”
“No. Of course not. I’m just saying if you wanted to experience something for the first time… I’m sorry.” I sigh, mentally smacking myself in the forehead. “It was a stupid idea.”
His eyes narrow. “For arguments sake, what exactly did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. You used to love roller coasters. We went snow skiing once, and you really took to it, although the doctors might take issue with either of those. Maybe riding in a hot air balloon. Oh, you really really like chocolate, especially Snickers bars. We should pick one up at the airport when we land. You have anunnatural appreciation of sushi, we should get some of that. For dinner maybe? I could take you for a walk on one of the trails.”
When I pause to think of more, he cocks his head and asks, “I rode in a hot air balloon?”
“We both did. On our honeymoon.”
I have the pictures to prove it, so I scroll through my phone and find them, hoping this will be the one thing that triggers everything.
“Hmm,” he mumbles when he sees one, then he immediately passes the phone back to me.
I might as well have shown him a billboard ad for a political campaign.
Tears prickle my eyes. How can he not remember our honeymoon?
Dawn’s hand touches my arm. She doesn’t seem nearly as broken up as I am about Trevor’s condition. Sometimes I want to yell at her and Chuck. Ask if they even care that the man who was their son might as well have died…
Becausethisman is not him.
I still haven’t told them about the baby. It almost slipped out during my breakdown at the hotel last night. I’m not even sure why I’m still keeping it a secret. But now that Trevor is back, he deserves to know before anyone else. I just have to pick the right time. Maybe after he’s settled in back at home.Hopefullyafter his memory returns.
In between their shifts at the hospital, his parents spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours making arrangements for his homecoming. Dawn is making last-minute calls and texts on the train from JFK to Calloway Creek, as Chuck discusses the coffee shop with Trevor, who barely pays attention to his dad as he gazes out the window. I watch them with a sense of dread, trying to keep upbeat, but scared of what comes next.
As we approach our stop, I find it hard not to feel angry. This is not at all the homecoming I’d been anticipating for years. It’s being tarnished by his injuries. Then the guilt creeps in. Because he’s alive. And he’s home. But this feeling of uncertainty over our future is overshadowing what should be such a joyful occasion.
“What happens now?” Trevor asks as we exit the train.
Dawn shrugs. “Now we do what the doctor said and try to get you back into a routine.” She cracks a smile at Chuck. “But before we drop you at your apartment, we have one stop to make. You’re not too tired are you? Does your head hurt?”
“I’ve been in bed for three weeks straight,” Trevor says. “I’m tired of resting. So go ahead and run your errand.”
