Chapter Twenty-Eight
AJ
It takes me a second to place the soft, rhythmic sounds in the room. Belle snores at the foot of the bed. The heater kicks on with a low hum. But there’s something more.
Grace’s slow breathing only a few inches away.
Her fingers are still laced with mine. The pale, morning light peeks through the blinds, painting stripes on the wall above her head.
No nightmares. No midnight flinches or cries. She slept. Easily. Finally.
She might not be able to call up memories of home, but her subconscious believes she’s safe here.
Carefully, I ease my hand free and sit up. Every muscle aches like I’ve been carrying her weight in my sleep. In some ways, I probably have.
Belle lifts her head when I slide out from under the duvet, but she doesn’t give a lick about breakfast. Not when she has her best friend back. I scratch her behind the ears. “Good girl,” I whisper.
Out in the kitchen, I dump some coffee beans in the grinder, then cringe at the noise. It’s almost ten a.m., but Grace needs all the rest she can get.
Starting a fresh pot of coffee, I lean against the counter and stare out at the lake. It’s a lighter gray this morning, the thin clouds fighting a losing battle against the sun.
The scent of the dark brew wafts over me. I drink my coffee black—no sugar, no cream—strong and scalding. Grace, though…
I open the cabinet and withdraw the tin of Cafe Vienna.
Memories of before hit hard and fast. Grace handing me her cup with a smug smile. Me, taking a sip, pretending to gag on it, and teasing her about drinking hot, flavored water. Her smirk as I always took a second sip…because it tasted like her. Sweet and warm.
For months after she disappeared, I made myself a cup of the weak instant coffee every morning, carrying on a one-sided version of what I once considered a silly little ritual.
Some mornings, it was everything. Others, it was the only thing that kept me going.
As the months gave way to years, I couldn’t bring myself to keep up the tradition every day. But I always made a cup of her coffee on Saturdays. Every week. Without fail.
Now, I measure out the powder, add hot water, and give it a stir.
Grace always said it smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and everything good in this world. For almost three years, I thought it smelled like grief. Today…it calls up a new emotion. Hope.
When I slip back into the bedroom, Grace is still curled on her side. Her eyes are open, but unfocused. Like she’s searching for something far away. She blinks when she notices me, and releases her breath on a sigh.
“I made coffee,” I say softly, setting the mug on the nightstand, then taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to her.
She struggles to sit up, and I slide my arm around her shoulders to help.
The cup only wobbles a little as she lifts it to her lips. “You take yours black?”
“Yeah.” I hold my breath, hoping—praying—she’ll remember. But she takes a sip from her mug, smiles a little, and takes another. She doesn’t know the ritual. Doesn’t know it’s missing.
But I do.
I don’t understand why it hurts so much. She’s alive. Home. In our bed. That should be enough. It has to be enough. Yet…
My phone buzzes on the charger, and I glance at the screen. “It’s Jasper,” I manage over the lump in my throat. “I’ll be right back.”
I don’t answer until I’m halfway to the kitchen again. “Jas? Everything okay?”
“You make it through the night?” My brother’s voice is about as rough as I feel. Yet, there’s a gentleness to it I haven’t heard in years. Not since I stopped listening.
“She slept. We slept.”
“That’s somethin’,” he replies. “The doc Connor found has a break from noon to three. Go to the parking garage and find the service elevator marked E7. Parker and I will meet you there.”
“She’s workin’ today.”
“Didn’t you hear? She ate some bad sushi last night. Been puking her guts out in the bathroom at the station all mornin’.” Jasper chuckles. “The chief sent her home. She figures that’ll buy her forty-eight hours.”
“Good. Thanks, Jas. For everything. Thank Emi for watching Belle too.”
“You’re my brother, AJ. It don’t matter how much of an ass you were. Or how long we went without talkin’. There wasn’t a damn thing in this world that would’ve kept me from helping you and Grace. I’ll see you at noon.”
We hang up, and I stare at the wall for a full minute.
One of our “official” wedding photos hangs right in front of me.
Grace and I are hand in hand at the edge of the water on Galveston Island.
She laughs as I press a kiss to her neck.
Will she ever remember it like I do? Or will this forever be nothing more than a photograph to her?
As I trudge back into the bedroom, Grace sets the coffee mug on the nightstand and reaches for the walker.
I almost call out for her to wait—to let me help her—but then Belle whines.
“It’s okay, sweetie. I can do this,” she says, her voice stronger than it was yesterday. “But…stay close. Okay? Just in case.”
Backing away slowly, I head for the kitchen. Time to see what Grace wants for breakfast.
Grace
The closet smells like cedar and dust and something soft—AJ’s aftershave? It’s definitely his. I want to remember it so badly, it aches.
I lean on the walker, fingers curled around the grips, with Belle at my side. She steadies me when I sway, her big body so solid, she won’t let me fall.
The clothes are hung neatly, each shelf perfectly organized. The left side is clearly AJ’s. A dozen pairs of Wranglers, pressed dress shirts, jackets, Henleys. Even a black tux.
The other side is mine.
Apparently, I like color. Dresses, soft sweaters, a leather jacket with a rip in one of the cuffs. My hangers hold jeans, blouses, and skirts in deep jewel tones and soft pastels.
The shoes on the rack don’t feel like mine. But, I have no idea what my shoes should feel like any more than the clothes they sit under.
I lift my left hand to trail over the various fabrics and my fingers don’t feel like mine either. Then again, half the time they won’t do what I want, so I guess that’s…normal.
A green sundress is silky soft. A pair of well-worn jeans would be perfect for dinner and a movie. I recognize a red sweater from one of the photos AJ showed me.
There’s something… A flicker. A flash of purple. Laughter. Mine? I think so. AJ’s voice—deep, amused, almost…teasing.
“Grace, you can’t possibly wear that to the store—”
“I’m buying fifteen sets of watercolors. They’ll expect me to be covered in paint.”
I close my eyes, trying to chase down the memory. But it’s just out of reach. Like a phantom made of nothing but smoke.
“Grace?” AJ’s voice echoes through the hall. I’m about to answer, when I see it.
At the very back of the closet, hangs a plain, white dress. Long sleeves. A high neck. No adornments. Cotton. A little wrinkled. Almost…forgotten.
I try to tear my gaze away. For half a second, I do. On the shelf above it, there’s a toy light saber.
It’s only a Halloween costume.
But I can’t breathe.
The walls close in on me. My chest constricts, a single wheeze all I can manage before my throat locks up completely. I clutch the walker, but the room tilts, sliding sideways off a cliff where no one will ever find me again.
Belle starts to whine, but it’s far away now. Miles and miles and years from home.
A harsh, lemony scent punches through my memories. Plain wooden walls. White tile. A hand around my throat.
“Grace? Fuck. Grace!” Strong arms catch me as the gaping maw of all the things I can’t—or don’t want to—remember is about to swallow me whole. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s me. It’s AJ.”
I’m frozen, but his chest at my back is warm. My entire body shakes, yet his voice is calm.
Belle barks and presses against my legs, anchoring me to AJ like she knows I’m about to disappear again.
My breath saws roughly over my throat. “Th-the d-d-dress… The wh-white one…”
“The costume? We were Han and Leia years ago for Halloween.” He turns us just enough I can’t see it anymore, but I know it’s there. Waiting to take me again. “It can’t hurt you, darlin’. I promise.”
I twist around to bury my face in his chest. My right hand fists the front of his t-shirt. He smells like coffee and firewood and the outdoors and home, but bile still burns the back of my throat.
“I hate this,” I choke out. “I want to remember you. Not…whatever that is.”
He doesn’t try to stop my tears. Only tightens his embrace, one hand cupping my neck, the other at the small of my back, holding me here—with him and Belle.
“I’ve got you, Grace. Always.” The words—whispered against my hair—should be enough. They almost are.
Belle leans her entire body against the back of my legs, as if she’s trying to press me even closer to my husband. Her cold nose nudges my left hand. For once, my fingers do what I want and stroke the top of her head.
It takes minutes to be able to breathe again. Full, shuddering breaths that don’t scrape over my throat like sandpaper.
When I sag against AJ, my body no longer trapped in whatever fractured memory threatened to destroy me, he helps me out of the closet and over to the bed. I think he’s going to lie down with me, but instead, he snaps his fingers. “Belle, up.”
The dog hoists her big body onto the mattress and drapes herself across my lap.
“Stay,” he commands, and I almost laugh. It would take a forklift to move her.
He disappears into the closet for a brief moment, emerging with the dress balled up under his arm. Without a word, he leaves the room. A door in another part of the house opens and closes. Once. Twice.
I don’t need to know where he’s taking it. For now, it’s enough to know that it’s gone.