Chapter 19
Chapter Ninetee n
Scott
W ith the monkey finally off my back, I thought I would be able to sleep soundly for the first time since the accident—I don’t. Instead, I worry if I had ruined her recovery by telling her that she is indeed married to me. My heart tells me I did the right thing, that at least she has a framework, but my brain insists that I take this slow. I want her to remember our friends with benefits stage that lasted five years. I want her to remember the two years we barely saw each other, and I need her to remember the night we went out on our first real date.
So today, I’m putting a new plan into action. I’m going to date my wife. When I walk into her room, she’s not there. I knock on the bathroom door, but then I hear her laughter coming from downstairs. I gallop down the steps to find her sitting at the kitchen island with her pink cast laid out on the other barstool next to her.
“What’s so funny?”
Her ponytail swishes t hrough the air as she swivels around. Beaming, she says, “I had a dream… actually a memory.”
“You did? Of what?”
“Throwing up the casserole Mom made during my first trimester.”
I can’t help but smile thinking about that morning. Her parents brought us a breakfast casserole filled with veggies, sausage, and eggs. Wynter always liked cheese in casseroles but not on its own. Well, our baby girl had no use for it, and Wynter didn’t make it more than two steps from the table before she vomited all over her new, fancy workout clothes.
“That was an interesting day.” I wonder if she has any recollection of how I washed her in the shower and made love to her after. Kissing her on the cheek, I say, “We’re going on a date today. Are you up for it?”
She nods eagerly, biting the corner of her bottom lip.
“I’ll be back to pick you up around noon.” I give her a slow wink, and she blushes. This is exactly what I want.
When I go back to our house, I transfer her photos from the gorge to her phone. Then I mow the overgrown yard that I’ve neglected since the accident. It feels good to do something normal. As the blades whir through the grass, a thought hits me that I could bring Wynter home during the day. She could water her plants and tend to her flower garden. I’ll ease her back into our home.
After showering and splashing on some cologne that Wynter loves, I drive back to her parents’ house and rap at the front door.
Her dad comes to the door. “Why are you knocking? You always walk in.”
“Sir, I’m here to pick up Wynter for our date.”
His eyes brighten. “I’ll get her.”
“Thank you, Mr. Miracle.”
Her dad’s arm is wrapped around her waist as he bends down and kisses her on the cheek. “You kids have a good time.”
She’s the most strikingly beautiful woman in the world. Her dark hair hangs in bouncy waves over her shoulders, and she has a bit of mascara on her eyelashes. I hold out the flowers I picked from our backyard. “For you, my lady.”
“They’re gorgeous. We must have a nice floral shop… I love the organza bow. Thank you.”
I want to surprise her with a trip to our house this week, so I keep it a secret about where I got the flowers.
Wynter has on a navy knit dress that hugs her baby bump and a cream-colored jean jacket, showcasing her caramel-brown hair.
Her mom lays her head on her dad’s shoulder as they watch me help Wynter into the car. They look pleased, so maybe I’m on the right course. It’s hard to know what to do and how to act, but I’m going to meet in the middle where I would normally follow the rules, and Wynter would obliterate them—I’m going to provide gentle reminders.
“Where are we going?”
“Just wait and see. Here.” I pull her phone from the console. “I should have given you this yesterday, but everything happened so quickly with Drake and then… with us. Anyway, I loaded the photos from the gorge onto your phone if you want to look at them. Tell me which one you think is the money shot, and I’ll tell you mine.”
“Money shot?” she asks. “What’s my passcode?”
“Five-three-one-nine .”
She furls her lip, concentrating or possibly trying to remember why that date is significant. “Is that our wedding date?”
“Nope.”
She swipes through the photos. “These are…”
“Incredible? That’s because you have a gift.”
I continue to drive up Bluegrass Parkway as she studies each image. “Look at this one. It’s so unusual.” Her hand flies over her mouth. “This is right before I fell. I leaned back and tried to get my footing, but slipped on the mud, and I started tumbling. I didn’t want to break my camera, so I kept one hand on it while trying to stop my fall with the other. It didn’t work.”
Not that I want her to relive the trauma of the fall, but the photos are triggering some flashbacks, and it’s my opinion that each time will get us one step closer to a full recovery of her past.
"But you got the money shot," I remark, with a mix of pride and grief in my voice.
She lets down her guard, exposing the raw, tender emotions she has kept hidden beneath layers of bravado. Her eyes, usually filled with a determined spark, soften as she admits her fears. “But I lost so much more.”
I slide my hand over her leg into her hand. “You haven’t lost me. You’ll never lose me.”
She trails her fingers along my neck and plays with the ends of my hair that desperately needs a trim. Wynter goes into detail about each photo and what’s wrong with each of them, but we both agree on the money shot. Then when we pull into Bojangles, she shouts, “The coffee table b ook. I’m writing a coffee table book about Kissing Springs.”
“You are.” I pull into the parking lot and swipe to the photos of Kissing Springs. “We’re going to revisit all the spots over the next week or two. Ready for lunch?”
“Starving. I love Bojangles.”
“I know,” I boast, so happy she’s recalling bits of her life.
She sinks her teeth into the Bojangles biscuit and four chicken fingers. “Oh, baby girl likes this.”
I pull out my phone and show her the last text she sent me, and an automatic car wash couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.
As our first date is in the books, I walk her to the door, peck her sweet lips, and for the first night, I go home to an empty bed. It’ll be worth it in the end for her to feel wanted.
For today’s date, I tell her to wear something comfy that she can get dirty, but when I arrive with a caffeine-free caramel macchiato in hand, she steals every oxygen particle in the air. She has her hair in one braid with a tank top, running shorts, and one pink tennis shoe to go along with her bright pink cast.
“For you. How was your night? Dream about me?”
“It was more like a nightmare,” she chides with a sly smile. “Actually, I didn’t dream about you last night.”
I wink at my naturally beautiful wife. “But you are dreaming of me?”
“Your winks don’t work on me, Scotty.”
I press on the brake because she just called me Scotty. No one has called me Scotty in front of her since the accident. No one. My breath evens out, and she gives me a questioning glance. I decide not to address it; I just let her memories come, but I do respond, “Oh, they work, bab e. Believe me.”
She giggles as we come to our street and when I pull in the driveway, she asks, “Is this our house?”
“It is. If it’s too soon, we can have lunch, but there are some things that need taken care of, and you’re the plant whisperer.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she says, “I can do this.”
“Wynter, no pressure.” I’ve taken down all the photos of us but left images of her photography.
Nancy brought Wynter a pair of crutches yesterday so she could start getting around on her own, so when I open the door, she carefully navigates each step. The heels of the crutches click against the pavement in half notes. One and two. One and two. Wynter sets a quick pace and looks over her shoulder. “Do we have an extra pair?”
“Of crutches? No.” She twists her lips while concentrating. “Why?” I already know what she wants, but I need to hear her say it.
“I thought we could race. Get on your knees.”
My mouth drops open as I glance around the neighborhood. “Babe, I’ll get on my knees for you any day of the week and twice on Sunday but outside… in the daylight?”
“You’re such a flirt. Have you always been this way?”
Moving around her, I place my hands on her shoulders, pressing against the aluminum. “With you.” I sweep my thumb over her bottom lip. “Yes.”
With a look of determination and her eyes trained on mine, she says, “You can kiss me if you beat me to the porch. On your knees, Scotty.”
I drop, loving this aspect of her personality.
She giggles. “Ready? Set. Go.”
Damn, the asphalt hurts my knees, so I crawl to the grass. Her hair gets caught in the breeze as her strength propels her forward, and I can’t keep up. When she wins, she leans against the porch column and raises one hand in victory. I crawl the rest of the way, stopping at her feet, then snake up her body.
“I think I deserve that kiss even though I lost.”
“Nope. You have to take advantage of the opportunities I give you.”
I kiss her on the cheek and unlock the door. Wandering through the bottom floor, she touches lamps, trails her fingers over tables, and is immediately drawn to the sunporch—her office.
“I love this room. It’s so open and natural.” She looks at each plant. “These need some TLC. Can you fill up a pitcher of water for me?”
When I return with the water, she’s sitting at her desk, picking off the dead leaves and branches of the spider plant. She feeds it water, then hands it to me to set back on the table. Then she checks the aloe plant, adding only a little water to it. Then we go outside, and she recognizes the hydrangeas.
“The flower you gave me was from our garden?” she asks, rewarding me with a luscious smile.
“Yeah. I wanted you to see for yourself how good you are with your hands.”
“So, you like my hands, huh?”
“Let’s just say they’re good at pulling.”
“Okay, Casanova. Do you have anything to do? I would love some time with my flowers… by myself.”
“I ha ve calls to make to reschedule some appointments.”
“Scott, don’t reschedule stuff for me. You need to get back to your life.”
“You are my life.”
Hopefully, she figures that out soon.