Ava
He walked out.
No explanation. No excuse. Not even anI’m sorry.
He just… left.
It’s been hours, and now I sit here under our tree wondering if this is going to be how it is—me trying to get him to remember, him running away when he doesn’t.
I was only doing what the doctors said to do. Show him familiar things. What could be more familiar than our wedding album and the house he grew up in?
I slump against the hard, unforgiving trunk and ponder what to try next. Maybe it’s time to tell him about the baby. If he knows I’m pregnant with his child, maybe he’ll feel like there’s a connection between us. Maybe then he won’t look at me through distant eyes. Because I can’t take the miles and miles of distance between us even when he’s right by my side.
The rumble of a truck’s engine in the distance breaks through my thoughts. My heart beats wildly. Carter texted that he’s bringing Trevor to me. This will be the first time Trevor and I are alone. In the hospital, someone else was always there. A doctor or a nurse. His parents.
Wait. Trevor was looking for me. Seeking me out. Does that mean his memory’s returned?
I know they were at the garage with his car. Should I be jealous that a stupid car could be what sparked his memory and not me? Bolts and gears over his sweetheart? His childhood love?
Hiswife?
The crunch of snow beneath shoes alerts me to his arrival. I set the box of letters aside and watch his approach, looking for any telltale signs of recognition. My stomach roils when I don’t see a single one.
My shoulders slump. “I was hoping maybe… because Carter said you wanted to see me…”
His head shakes. “Sorry. No. I just thought I should apologize. You and Dawn and Chuck must have worked very hard to set up the homecoming thing.”
“It was all your mom’s doing.”
I pat the heavy blanket that’s a barrier between me and the frozen ground. He sits, leaving only inches between us.
“I’m trying,” he says with a sigh. “I’m really trying. You just have to give me time. This isn’t easy for me either, you know.”
“What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Waking up with no memory of who you are?”
“It’s… really hard to explain.”
“Can you try?”
He looks off into the distance. “You know how when sometimes you wake up from a good nap, there’s that groggy feeling like you’re not sure where you are or what day it is, but it goes away quickly? Imagine that times a hundred. Every time I wake up, I look around the room for what seems like minutes, waiting to figure out where I am, who I am, and what’s going on. When I wake up, I’m a blank slate. Like I’m not even sure I exist.Sometimes it’s accompanied by panic, feeling lost, or intense confusion.
“When I first woke up in that German hospital, I didn’t even know I had amnesia. I knew things. Like I knew I was in a hospital room and that I must have been in an accident. I was familiar with all the medical equipment surrounding me. I knew the thing hanging on the wall was a TV—things like that. But I didn’t even know that I didn’t know who I was until the doctors started asking questions.” He sighs. “I’m probably not explaining it very well.”
“No.” I touch his knee. “That actually helps a lot.”
He stares at my hand, then his leg flinches and I draw it away.
“I got overwhelmed at the party. All the people, the names, everyone telling me a different story about who I was, or am supposed to be. And the pictures you showed me, it was all just too much.”
“The doctors said?—”
“Iknowwhat the doctors said.” Now on the defensive, he stands and begins to pace. “It’s just not that easy. When I was looking at those photo albums, I felt as detached from those images as if they were mass-produced photos used to fill frames at a drug store. I mean, logically I understand I was there. The photos prove it. But the memory is just… gone.”
Tears collect in my eyes as he sits back down, this time a bit farther away.
