“We need to make videos. You talking. The two of us talking. Film your apartment and what everything means. Pictures of people. Your history. Everything.”
I took his hand. “We’ll get it done. We’ll be sure to be ready.”
But I understood his fear. When I started over, I knew nothing. Not even him.
We prepared as best we could. Videos. Notes. We typed up our entire story, alternating points of view to make it like a real book of our lives. We created what we called “the sequence”—an organized set of videos, notes, and photographs that would tell me who I am and who mattered. And also, who to avoid.
I would never be more vulnerable than right after losing my memory.
Tucker didn’t officially move in with me, but we stayedtogether for all of our home hours. For the first few weeks of the transition, everything seemed all right. The new med caused some dry mouth. A few rounds of dizziness. All normal side effects that faded as I got used to the drug.
But then I noticed small things. Frequently, my head would go fuzzy for long seconds. I’d catch myself being asleep, but not asleep, like I’d zoned out.
Dr. Clark was concerned, but felt sure I would settle in. Once the old med was totally out of my system, he inched the dose of the new med higher and higher to stop the small breakthrough seizures.
On an evening a couple of months after the switch, I spread my newest class assignment across the dining room table to be packaged and turned in. The photos were of a baby with a toothless smile, gold bokeh behind her, bits of light I’d captured perfectly out of focus.
“Come look at these,” I said to Tucker, who was washing the dishes. “I really love doing this. I’m thinking about getting a bachelor’s degree instead of just an associate’s.”
He shut off the water. “That’s great! Still here in Austin?”
“Sure. UT has a great program. I could do any kind of work I wanted. Portrait. Editorial. Advertising. I could be on a billboard!”
“I love it. Dream big, Ava.” Tucker kissed my hair and turned back to the sink.
My head went fuzzy again, and I sighed in annoyance. Another partial seizure. I would sit for a few seconds and wait it out. We’d have to increase my dose yet again.
I was about to tell Tucker I would call Dr. Clark in the morning when I realized my mouth wasn’t working. I couldn’t get a word out at all.
My hand holding the portrait went slack, dropping to my side. That was bad. I hadn’t gotten this far before.
My body tilted, more muscles going. My head sizzled. The last thing I saw as I began to fall was the world turning sideways.
CHAPTER 36
Tucker
I didn’t know anything had happened until I heard a crash.
Ava had fallen over, her head bumping the table leg as she crumpled.
I dropped to the floor. Her eyes met mine, so she was still conscious.
“It’ll be quick,” I said. “It will be fine. Just like the carnival. And hopefully this will be the wake-up call to Dr. Clark to try a different drug.”
But she didn’t respond, her eyes clocking to the right, center, right, center.
Her entire body stiffened. The seizure had generalized.
I counted to sixty while her muscles pulsed. Her leg banged against a chair, and I pulled her body onto mine to cushion her. Ninety seconds was still normal. We had to wait it out. Gram had never had to call an ambulance on me, and the records told us Ava had never been to the hospital for a seizure other than the one she had when we met. This would end soon.
But it didn’t. Two minutes passed. Ava turned blue, like in the disco room. I called for an ambulance. They said they were on their way, but it felt like forever before they arrived.
I had to leave her on the floor to go open the door. The paramedics rushed into the kitchen. One of them asked why we didn’t have emergency seizure meds. No one had ever told us we should.
I thought for certain she would die.
Ava was out for six long minutes. Her face was ashen, her fingernails purple. She didn’t relax, rigid even when the pulsing seemed to stop.
