Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Wynter
“ I wish I wouldn’t have run off to the gorge. This is all my fault.”
“It was an accident. Should you have gone to the gorge alone? No.”
“But now, I can’t tell our baby about our wedding day or get lost in the memory of when we made her.”
A sense of peace blankets me as the sun dips below the hills, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. While lying on this swing with my husband, I don’t remember. My heart beats in a soothing rhythm in synchrony with the gentle sway of the swing. It’s the first time I’ve let him wrap his arms around me. They’re strong, and they feel like my safety net—that no matter what, these arms will save me from drowning in my frustration or save me from falling down a cliff. His embrace feels like it’s right where I belong, a homecoming, right here on the porch.
He strokes my arm, and I skate across his hands as he whispers, “Just concentrate on how you feel about me , now. There’s no mistaking that regardless of your memory… I love you.”
With one foot on the slatted wood floor, he moves us back and forth with the same gentle force of the tide ebbing and flowing over the beach.
A memory saturates my thoughts.
Beach.
I’m wearing a white dress, possibly linen or more likely cotton since it’s not wrinkled. I have one lavender hydrangea in my hand as I twirl, and my toes dig deep into the white sand. My parents sit in light-oak-colored chairs. I turn my head in the other direction, and all I see is the blue-green waters of the Caribbean. I’m happy.
Scott pulls up the hem of my shirt and grazes my belly. “Is that okay? I’ve missed connecting with our baby girl.”
I sink into his warm body. “Hmmm, it feels good.” His presence anchors me at a time when I don’t know who is who. Yes, I know my parents, and I remember bits and pieces of them as well as Jessica and Vanessa, but I don’t have many memories .
All my uncertainties fade away with the sunset. Neither of us speak; we just soak in the feeling, and I make a new memory with my husband until my parents return. My mom flashes a broad smile when she sees us cozied up on the swing together and asks, “Did you remember?”
“That Scott is my real husband? No. I put the pieces together when I saw him on television and that his last name is Wilson. I have amnesia—I’m not stupid.”
“Babe, it’s been a long day. Let’s get you some dinner, then we can watch a movie or something. Mrs. Miracle, can I help with dinner?”
“My name is Wynter Miracle?”
My dad wears an ear-splitting grin on his face. “Yes, your birthday is in January, and you were our winter miracle. So, we named you Wynter.”
“Scott, you take care of our girl, and her dad will help me with dinner. Wynter, would you like lasagna or grilled chicken with sweet potato fries?”
Since she’s my mom, I’m guessing I like both of those. “Chicken and sweet potato fries.”
My dad carries the groceries, and I look at Scott. “Hopefully, I like sweet potatoes.”
“Since you’ve been pregnant, you don’t like them baked. You said it was a texture thing. But you love them sliced into fries with salt.”
After dinner, I ask Scott to help me up the stairs, even though I can do it by myself, slowly. I would much rather have his big stone arms around me so I can bury my nose in his neck.
He grabs my pajamas from the dresser. “Need help?”
My body isn’t sexy, so I ask him to turn around as I take off my bra and put on my tank top and pajama shorts. “Scott, thank you for everything you’re doing for me.”
He pulls the covers over me, tucks me in, and kisses my forehead. “Wynter, it’s not only for you. It’s for me and the baby too. I’ll see you in the morning. If you need anything, holler.”
When the door creaks closed, and Scott releases the knob, I reach for my journal and jot down a few feelings and memories throughout the day.
Scott took me r iding on the farm on the Gator. We ate lunch by the creek from his cooler filled with sandwiches, cheese sticks, and flavored waters. He gave me my camera, and I snapped photos of everything remotely interesting. Photography is in my bones. I don’t have to wonder if I would love it… I do love it. But the best part of my afternoon with Scott was when we nearly kissed. My stomach ached as his lips caressed mine. I wanted him to kiss me so badly. At the time, I thought he hesitated because he would be cheating on his wife, but it turns out I am his wife! He prioritized my well-being, knowing I'd feel guilty kissing a man I couldn't remember was actually my husband.
Then I had a full memory from the day of the accident. Drake told me his parents were divorcing and then after trying to comfort him, he kissed me. He came over today, and I asked him why I would be so upset that he loved me? Since the time I woke up, I never felt connected to Drake, in a husband kind of way. Drake feels more like a brother to me.
Today, he admitted to being in love with me, but then Scott stomped in angry at Drake and not long after, I realized Scott admitted is actually my husband—what a freaking relief. I was constantly having to fight my body and my mind over this man.
The man who wa s:
Smart enough to find me.
Confident enough to pretend I wasn’t his.
Strong enough to carry me wherever I wanted and a man who loved me enough… no, he loves me more than I could ever ask for.
Each moment, I fall a little harder for this man seeping with sexy small-town charm. But why can’t I remember anything about the man who I exchanged vows and made a baby with? I want so badly to see his face in my sex dream-ories. Why would my mind block out the one man who has meant the most to me in this world?
It makes me wonder if we were we having problems.
Good night, journal. It’s been a day of revelations, and I’m exhausted. More than anything, I need to take care of the growing baby girl inside me. Hopefully, I’ll dream about Scott and wake up to a head full of memories.
But as I flutter through the pages, I notice a handwritten note in the middle.
Wynter,
I’ve been scared plenty of times in my life.
When Jess and Mav made us jump out of the plane before last year’s 5K run in honor of Mark.
When we camped at the gorge and the coyotes howled all night.
When you stole my paper in our high school creative writing class may have been the scariest. I sat at my desk, holding my breath, trying to act casual, but my heart raced with impending doom. It was just another paper to you, but to me, it held a secret—one I wasn’t ready to share. I didn’t mention you by name, hiding behind metaphors and speaking in generalities, but you and our friends would have untangled the truth.
If you would have read it, it might have been the end of our friends with benefits arrangement. You would have run as fast as you could in the other direction. We never talked about it but when you remember, I’d like to.
But you being in the hospital, unable to remember me, has been the most nerve-wracking experience of my life. Each section of my heart fighting for dominance.
Hope.
Fear.
Love.
Sadness.
Even if you never remember me, know that I will always love you.
Scott
I pull the open journa l to my heart and a tear trickles down my cheek. How did I get so lucky to have a man love me so much and for so long? Concentrating on his written words, I close my eyes and imagine each little story he outlined.