Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Wynter
S cott and I have a deep connection—I can feel it. We must be the best of friends, which only makes me sadder that I can’t remember him. There’s something so familiar about his hands on my neck. And as I watch him holding back tears, my gut twists as he seems upset. But when he laughed, it was like pop rocks going off inside me—pure happiness.
We don’t get to finish our conversation because my parents peek their heads around the corner. “Mom, Dad.”
They let out a sigh of relief. “You remember us,” my mom questions.
“Of course. I could never forget the most important people in my life.” My parents gently hug me, but as my chin rests on my dad’s shoulder, I see Scott pinching his nose, then rubbing his hand over his jaw.
“Pumpkin, we’ve been so worried. How are you feeling?”
“Confused. In pain. Worried. How am I going to take care of a baby when I can’t remember the events of my life? I don’t remember getting pregnant or going to the doct or and seeing the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. I don’t even know if I’m having a girl or boy.”
Scott chimes in, “Girl. You’re having a baby girl, and she’s already beautiful like her mama.” My head swivels back in his direction. “Drake couldn’t make your ultrasound appointment. Jessica was out of town, so I went with you.” He dips his head when I stare at him too long. “I’ll leave you with your parents. Anyone need anything?”
Dad says to Scott, “No, but why don’t you go home and get some sleep? You’ve been awake since yesterday morning.”
“Sleep is overrated. Wynter, do you want anything?”
“No… but Scott, thank you for rescuing me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
His jaw quivers slightly. “Getting your memories back is all I want. I … I’ll be back.”
As he leaves, my parents’ eyes follow him. “He’s a good man,” my dad states with a hint of concern, lacing his voice.
My parents sit beside me, waiting. “It’s cold. Do you want me to find more blankets?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t make a fuss over me.”
My mother squeezes my hand softly. "Wynter, my job is and will always be to keep you safe. I’m sorry I wasn’t home when you called." Her voice is weak and trembling, so I attempt a reassuring smile, feeling comforted by their presence.
“I’m okay, I think,” I manage to say, my voice strained and dry.
My father paces around the room, concern etched in every line of his face, and I realize that although the memories are just beyond my reach, the bond between us is evident.
I want to ease their worries, to promise them that I’ll remember everything eventually. "I'm sorry," I say, meeting their anxious gazes, "I remember you, but most of it is still... foggy." They exchange a glance, their silent communication both comforting and distant, and I hope they can feel how much I want to understand, to reconnect with the life I’ve lived and the people I’ve loved.
The nurse sneaks in like a thief in the night, changing my IV bag and cleaning my stitches. “Push the call button if you need me. You should rest,” she cautions.
“Rest, sweetheart,” Mom agrees as she runs her fingers lightly through my hair, over and over. It’s soothing, and a calm presence spreads through my body. Why do I remember my parents’ names and what they looked like and Drake but no one else?
“Mom, will you keep doing it until I go to sleep?”
She bends to kiss my forehead. “Of course. You always wanted me to rub your back or hair when you were upset, but don’t worry. It’s only a matter of time until you remember the wonderful love you have for… for all of us.”
A heavy sigh escapes through my dry, cracked lips, and my chest deflates. I close my eyes, and I have a memory of a man’s hands rubbing my feet. His face is just beyond my mind’s grasp, but I guess it’s Drake or maybe my dad. My brain tries to recapture the memory, but it slips away.
I struggle to stay awake, but exhaustion pulls me under. The last thing I remember is smiling as I hear Mom telling Dad, “She’s the strongest person I know.”
“Love? Who wants to be in love when I can play the field? We’re best friends. He has about as much interest in a relationship as I do, Vanessa.”
She looks at me like I’m plumb crazy.
“Are you kidding me? He’s had puppy dog eyes for you since we were teenagers. Give him a chance. We can all be together as a ‘couple’ group,” she says as she twirls her blond, curly tendrils. “Do you want him going home with another woman?”
“I don’t care. He can be with whomever he wants,” I protest, my voice salty with jealousy.
A guy comes up and circles Vanessa’s waist with his arms, kissing her cheek. “If Nessa and I can find our way back together, then you can explore a relationship with…”
Beep. Beep. The noise ramps up, getting faster, and I’m stuck between a state of consciousness.
Stay asleep. Who is Vanessa and this guy she’s talking about? Drake? Or someone else?
A large warm hand touches my arm, and it comforts me like a lullaby soothing a baby. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
I open my eyes to a dim room, the bathroom door slightly ajar. Light filters out, highlighting my friend Scott, who looks like an angel with golden light outlining his dark head of hair.
Am I dead? Is he an angel here to take me home?
“Hey. You okay? You were thrashing around, and you’re sweating.” He hands me a Styrofoam cup of ice. “I hope my touching you didn’t upset you. Or were you having a nightmare?”
“No, I was having a dream.” I chew on a few small pellets of ice. “Or maybe a memory. Do I have a friend named Vanessa?”
Scott’s nods before he says a word. “You do. We do. She’s been one of our best friends since we could ride bikes. She was here most of the last two nights in the waiting room.”
For a moment, I feel safe and unworried, but then reality crashes against my rib cage, and my heart rattles desperately, wanting to feel the love I have inside for these people. If they love me enough to stay here all night, I should be able to remember something about them.
“Can you tell me about her? In my dream, she had curly, blond hair. Is that correct?”
“It is. She always hated it, wanting straight hair like yours.” He drops his chin into his chest, but I can see him smiling.
“Can I see her?”
“The doctors only let family in while you’re in ICU.”
My brows furrow and I ask, “Then why are you allowed in the ICU?”
“I’m… I’m your…”
Nurse Nancy peeks in. “Your OB/GYN will be here tomorrow during her rounds.”
He asks, “Do you know what time that will be?”
She glances at him and then to me. “Most doctors do their rounds early in the morning. But you never know with obstetricians who have to deliver babies. Now, I must insist on you eating, then it’s lights out.”
On cue, a nursing assistant rolls in a cart of trays and lays it on my table.
“Thanks.”
They both leave, and I peer at Scott. “Do you know if I like meatloaf?” I ask, taking off the plastic dome.
“They really want you to remember stuff on your own. But I will tell you that you’re one of the most adventurous people I know, so I’m sure you’ll at least try the food. If you don’t like it, I’ll get whatever you’re craving.”
I love his smile.
“So… I hate meatloaf, and this is your way of getting me to taste it,” I joke.
“They say little things will jog your memory, so maybe you have a connection to ground-up meat with eggs, bell peppers, and onions formed into a loaf with ketchup on top.”
“When you put it like that, there’s no way in hell I’m eating it. That sounds disgusting.”
He puts a piece on a fork and says, “Where’s the free spirit we all know and love?” He pauses, straightens his back, and scans the room. “What if you don’t remember how fun you are and end up being boring?” The laugh catches in his throat.
“Me, boring? Not a chance in hell. I mean, obviously I like to be the center of attention. A pregnant, married woman at the gorge alone and now with a concussion, a broken leg, bruised ribs, and no memory. I’m the opposite of boring.”
Scott rubs his thumb over the back of my hand as we both chuckle. Beyond his shoulder, Drake stands at the door.
“Drake, I remembered a little something. It was a dream about Vanessa. I was talking with Vanessa,” I say excitedly, but Drake barely smiles.
What the hell? Doesn’t he want my memories to return?
“That’s good.” He shuffles to the other side of my bed, handing me a monkey stuffed animal. “I thought you could use someone to snuggle.”
His eyes don’t meet mine and out of my peripheral vision, Scott’s jaw tightens, and his strong arms cross over his torso. “Is that so?” Scott asks through gritted teeth, and I don’t understand the strain between these two supposed friends.
Drake’s eyes are pinned to my broken leg, refusing to make eye contact with either Scott or myself. It’s perplexing as to why my husband’s acting this way. I take the pink monkey with Get Well Soon written on his belly from his hand. “Thank you.”
“I know I’m not supposed to tell you what you like, but you’ve always loved monkeys,” Drake mutters.
“Drake. Don’t be scared. I’m going to remember, and we’re going to get our life back. I couldn’t ask for a better half. I mean who else comes home for lunch?” I tease, but it falls flat—you would need a samurai sword to cut the tension in this room. Not understanding the dynamics or if there is ill will between the two of them, I ask, “Scott, can you give me time alone with my husband?”