“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Wolfe?”
“Yeah?”
“Will I ever get my memory back?” I asked. “I keep seeing images of these two guys and there’s these two women—but focusing on any of it gives me a headache.”
“That’ll happen in cases like yours.” He took away the cold cloth from my feet, the ice bag from the back of my neck. My head sank into the borrowed pillow, and even though the pillowcase was slightly damp, it was like a blessing. “I read up on amnesia. Your memory can come back sudden like. It probably will. If it weren’t for this damn storm, I’d take you to the urgent care in Billings.”
“No.” The word shot out of me, a slice in the air in the semi-darkness of the living room. “I mean, please don’t. I don’t know why, but?—”
“I won’t,” he said, utterly calm, which was soothing in the face of my sudden panic. “Unless you take a turn for the worse. Then I will. Understand?”
“Yes,” I said, settling beneath the blanket. I closed my eyes and listened to him walking around, emptying the glass in the sink, turning off the light over the stove. Poking the fire before settling back in the easy chair, the footrest in place.
I wouldn’t get worse. I’d get better so I wouldn’t be a burden. But I’d have amnesia forever so I could stay like this forever, sharing fireplace warmth and nighttime depths with this man who’d been so good to me.
I feel asleep. Woke up. Fell asleep again. The next two days were a blur. I sensed a lighter sky outside the windows of the cabin, then a darker sky beyond the wall of moving snow.
Once, Wolfe opened the front door and showed me how high the snow was stacked. It went all the way to his waist, pressed in the same shape as the door, as though a giant hand had come by, leaving the imprint of the door in the white wall. He fed me and helped me to the bathroom. Made me take another bath.
“Why can’t I take a shower?” I asked, sitting there, shivering a little as the tub filled up, looking at the shower head.
“You want to try taking a shower while standing on one foot?” he asked, arching a dark brow at me.
“No,” I said. He had a point.
I slept and ate. Slept some more. My headache came and went, but with less ferocity each time. The nighttime brought a cozy stillness to the cabin.
Wolfe went back to sleeping in his own bed, but I was glad that the cabin was small because that meant he wasn’t too far away. I needed him near, though I could not explain why.
One morning, I woke up. Sat up and pushed the covers back, and knew that there was something I needed to do. Standing up in the low light of morning coming through the windows from beyond the driven snow, I wobbled my way to where the green duffel was, tucked on the far side of the easy chair.
My brain was ringing with a high-pitched howl. The duffel needed to get back to its owner. I grabbed it, went to the front door, opened it wide.
The drift by the front door was up to my chest. It swooped down on the far side to join a second drift. And then a third. And then others after that as far as I could see. Which, because of the sideways, snow-flocked wind, was not very far.
The snow sifting down to the wooden floor felt good to my feet.
The duffel was important. My friend—the unnamed one, the one full of joy—needed it back. He had green eyes. He wanted me to like him. I did, but never felt safe enough to let my guard down, which hurt him. It hurt him even more when I couldn’t give him his duffle, and he’d been left behind to fend on his own, for himself.
Where was he in this swirl of white? Where was the other one? Everything in front of me reflected the void in my head. Questions I couldn’t answer. Directions I couldn’t find.
Where was the sky? Beyond the white was a soft shimmer of light, fighting its way through the sideways wind, the ever-present swirl of cold and energy.
Barefoot, I stepped into the snow, breaking through the white barrier that had piled up to the doorway. And floundered, falling into a drift, snow melting on my skin like cold fire. Snow went down my neck and into my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swim my way through, didn’t want to let go of the duffle, and found myself sinking beneath the white. I was going to drown in the freezing, frozen water.
Behind me, I heard a shout, a low roar beneath the loud roar of the storm. A grip yanked me out of the drifts, the push of the wind, the sideways snow. Out of the drifts and into Wolf’s arms, banged against his strength as he pulled me from the doorway. He was warm all over, warm from sleep, barefoot, dressed only in briefs, his plaid robe swirling around him.
He pulled me inside. Kicked with his feet at the snow that clumped in small piles, quickly melting in the warmth of the cabin.
“What are you doing?” He was focused on me, circles under his eyes, face flushed as though I’d woken him from sleep. “Why were you out there in this? In your bare feet?”
“I needed to get this back to Nimble.” I lifted the duffel to show him what was so obvious to me. My teeth chattered. The high-pitched whine in my head rang on and on. “He needs his things. Especially in weather like this.”
