“I’ll stay too if you want me to,” Hendrix concedes.
I reach for each of their hands and close my eyes. Even though I know things will likely get worse before they get better, I’ll take comfort in having the two living people who care about me most in this world, besides my parents of course.
10
Hendrix took me back to the apartment while Dash went home to shower and change. He sits on the couch but seems a million miles away even as he sits right in front of me.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Are you?” he asks.
“I asked you first.”
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know what I am. I’ve been taught to compartmentalize my emotions as a doctor, but the longer we go without knowing who you are, the harder it gets.”
I sit beside him. “So, you think there’s a possibility I’m Lennon now?”
“I don’t know. I was so sure before. But after hearing Dash talk about that night, I’m not as certain as I was. Now I’m questioning everything. Is that why I worked so hard to save her? Because she was the woman I love, not you?” he asks aloud.
“We’re going to find out the truth, Hendrix.”
“Can I tell you something?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“The other night when I stayed here, and we made popcorn, and you drank root beer and hated it…” He stops speaking like I should know where he’s going with this.
“What about it?” I ask.
“London loves root beer.”
My mouth forms an O at what he’s insinuating.
“But you said my brain injury could change things about me. Couldn’t the same be true of my taste buds?”
“I suppose it could. While there’s so much we know about the brain, it’s only a fraction of fully understanding it. The brain is a mystery. Remarkable really,” he explains.
“Don’t let that one thing discourage you. Tastes can change for all sorts of reasons. And I’d bet it includes brain injuries,” I say trying to lighten the mood.
He huffs out a small laugh. “I’ll admit, what you just said sounds like something London would say.”
I smile. I don’t know what to hope to be true, for me to be Lennon or London. I’m holding on to pieces of both. Because once I know who I am, it means saying goodbye all over again to my sister. And it means one of the men who care about me so much will be broken in two.
“Is there anything in our medical records or dental records that would tell us apart from one another?” I ask. I’m not sure why I haven’t thought to ask about it before, even though I’ve wondered to myself.
“No, neither of you had anything on record. Your DNA is the same, and although you’d have different fingerprints, neither of your prints are in any database. Since you were identical and one of you died, they were very thorough in trying to get your identities correct. We didn’t know if you’d wake up, and if you did, we didn’t know the extent of your brain injury. Luckily, the swelling on your brain went down on its own and your intracranial pressure never reached the point of intervention.”
“What about scars or birthmarks?” I ask.
“None that I ever saw on London. None were noted in either of your charts,” he replies.
“I suppose I can ask Dash if he ever saw anything on Lennon.”
Hendrix’s gaze travels from my face to my lips and further south to my chest before coming back to my face.
“If we find out that you’re not London, I won’t stand in the way of you and Dash. I just want you to know that. When I told you I’d fight for you, I was certain I was fighting for London to come back to me, for you to regain your memory. But if she’s…gone…if she’s the one we buried…”
His shoulders start to shake with sobs, and it tears me apart to see his heart shattering this way.
