Mom searching the kitchen, asking where she left her keys.Twice.The pause and stutter before she said Emma’s name, as if reaching for somethingthat wasn’t there. Her shirt buttoned unevenly and her pants clashing, details she would normally fuss over.
That blank and distant look as Dad laughed about their trip to the post office just last week.
Little things. Ordinary things. Slipping away from her like dust in the wind, right there in front of us.
As if Emma’s thoughts have synced with mine, she lets out a quivering sob. It’s barely audible, but to me, it’s deafening. Thunder shattering all around me. I cradle her face in my hands and pull her closer. I see everything. The freckles dusting her nose. The lines forming near her eyes. The soft flutter of her lashes now heavy with tears. Every one a tiny story, a piece of time I’m desperate to hold on to.
“I hope we are always happy,” I whisper, the words catching on something in my chest.
She nods, her face moving gently against my palms. I kiss the tears now cascading down her cheeks. I kiss her lips. I kiss her nose. Again and again, memorizing the pattern, the warmth, the feel of her.
As if the right combination of kisses could unlock a vault, one where I could store this moment, all of our moments, forever. A place to keep them safe from time, from age, from harm.
“And I hope we never forget.”
Chapter eighteen
Steven
Sunlightslamsintomeas I’m wheeled through the hospital’s front doors. It spears straight through my skull, and I nearly beg them to roll me back inside. After nearly two days, the sun should feel like relief. Instead, it just makes the constant ache in my head throb harder.
I shade my eyes as the wheelchair clicks, locking me in place.
“What does your wife drive?”
“I, uh, don’t know.” I look up at the man who wheeled me out here. “I don’t remember?” I pose it as a question, as if this will jog his own memory and the reminder that he was told by the nurse about my situation.
“Right, right,” he says, tapping on his phone. “We’ll just wait, then.”
But before he can settle on the bench a few feet away, Emma pulls up in a white SUV.
She rolls the window down and asks me, “Do you need help?” But her eyes flick to my chauffeur, giving him an expectant look. He takes the hint and hauls me up, like he thinks I’ve never walked a day in my life and guides me toward the car.
“I got it, thanks.” I give him a thumbs up and climb in. He hands me a plastic bag. I don’t know what’s inside, but I cling to it anyway.
“Ready?” Emma’s eyes are patient as she waits for my answer. I nod, and she slowly pulls away from the hospital. My helper, back to tapping on hisphone, disappears in the side mirror, oblivious we’ve left.
“Are you hungry?” Emma asks once we’re on the highway.
It takes a second for me to answer, distracted by everything around me. The streets, the landmarks, thesky.I know exactly where we are, but it feels strange realizing this is where I live now.
We used to come to this part of the city when I was younger, and college was only a town over, so it’s not completely unfamiliar. Still, I always thought I’d end up closer to home, working in a small clinic or something.
“Food sounds great,” I finally mutter, my grip on the bag loosening with each mile.
“Do you want me to pick, or would you like to venture a guess on what you typically eat?” she muses, and something about the question makes my heart swell. It’s simple, but she’s giving me the space to figure things out. I might not remember Emma, but after the last two days, I can tell she is a leader. She takes control, especially if someone she cares about is sick. She’s rarely left my side. And when I needed something, she was on her feet, tending to me like it was as natural as breathing. It made me feel safe and cared for.
“Let’s see,” I ponder aloud. “I have to be a burger fan still.” I am so confident in this that I announce, “Burgers!” and point forward like we’re steering a ship.
Emma laughs, but I catch the grimace that tugs at her lips.
“No,” I gasp. “Don’t tell me…”
“You’ve been a health nut for about four years now.” She winces, knowing her words are gutting me to my core.
“Steven of today sucks.”
“He’s not that bad.” She smirks, taking an exit with a sign for Burger King.“You had some hypertension for a few months,” she adds, saying it like it physically pains her. I can hear the worrybeneath it. “Heart disease runs in my family, and your sister Jay had some issues, so I think you just wanted to be cautious. For us.”
