Chapter 6
Ava
The screen in front of me talked, and I was on it! When it ended, I wanted to hear it again, but the other person was still behind me. He’d said his name, but I couldn’t remember what it was.
I pushed on different parts of the camera, but I couldn’t figure out which one made the screen work.
“Do you need some help?” he asked, but I ignored him.
He was bigger than me, and so was the other man who said he was my father. I didn’t know either of them. They could be lying.
The only thing I knew was that Vinnie was good. And that I should trust only the handwriting on my arm. I needed the book to remember my life.
“Ava! My girl! How are you?”
I turned around. This was the voice from my video.
The man was dressed all in shiny black, but his face and hair were the same as the recording.
“Vinnie?”
“Yes, Mija, yes.” He approached the side of the bed. “Why is my Ava facing the wall? Come here.” He helped me turn around. “You always told me you might forget me, and here, I thought I was unforgettable.”
“What’s happening, Vinnie?”
“Did you watch the whole video?”
I shook my head, glancing over at the other man. “I tried.” I held the camera tightly against my chest. I wanted to wear something else. Everything about this dress itched. I yanked the lace across my neck again.
Vinnie noticed. “Girl, today is your wedding day. You’re marrying that one.” He pointed at the other man. “Everybody you know is sitting at the club waiting for you. Poor Mija.”
The word Mija settled into my bones. It was more familiar than anything else anyone had said.
“Am I Mija?” I asked.
He smiled. “You are to me. Did you understand that? Mi palabra favorita?”
“Si,” I said. “Mija. Not Ava.”
Vinnie glanced at the other man, the one I was supposed to marry today. “You are Mija to me. But your name is Ava.” He seemed less happy now, a frown making a line form between his eyebrows. “What do you remember?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I knew the word remember. And I knew what he meant. But I couldn’t find a way to answer the question. It was like I was trying to move a part of my body that wouldn’t work.
“Do you remember meeting me before today?” Vinnie asked.
“No,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut to focus on the images there. “I can see the limo. The itchy dress.” I tugged on it again. “The man who said he is my father.” I glanced at the other man. “This one.”
“Tucker,” that man said. “I’m Tucker.”
“Hold on,” Vinnie said. “I have pictures from earlier today. Let me switch out the cards.” He took the camera from me and opened a little compartment. A small black rectangle popped out.
He reached for the strap across his chest. He removed another rectangle from inside it and pushed it into the camera.
This was all so fascinating. “Can I do that?” I asked.
Vinnie hesitated, as if I had said something wrong. But then he said, “Sure.” He pointed to the tiniest button. “Push that.”
I pushed it, and the rectangle popped out. “I did it!” I felt like laughing. Then I pressed the rectangle back in. “What is that?”
Vinnie glanced over at Tucker, his frown back. “It’s the memory card. You don’t know what it is?”
“I’ve never seen one before. How does it help your memory?” I could use that, whatever it is.
Vinnie’s eyes looked into mine, and suddenly, I felt much less happy than I did when I pushed out the rectangle. I sat back, moving away from him.
Tucker leaned forward against the foot of the bed. “Hey. It’s okay. Vinnie has never seen you lose your memory. He’s adjusting.”
I looked at Tucker. He also seemed upset. He had the same crease between his eyebrows.
I pushed the camera away and scooted to the top of the bed, drawing up my knees. Nothing was working. My stomach felt hot and sick.
“Where is my book?” I asked them. “I need my book to remember my life.”
Vinnie looked to Tucker, his frown deeper. My belly quaked. They were unhappy. What would they do?
Tucker spoke up. “Ava, we have the book at home. I am happy to show it to you. And we have lots more videos for you to watch. They will help you feel better. Do you want to feel better?”
I did. But Ava on the screen told me to trust my feelings, and my feelings were scared again. I covered my eyes. It was too much. Too many voices. Too much information. I needed quiet. And calm.
Vinnie took a step back from the bed. “Should we get the doctor?”
“It’s a Saturday,” Tucker said. “We won’t get the one who understands her condition. As soon as they see she’s not in any danger, they will discharge us.”
Vinnie let out a long, slow breath. That had to be bad. It didn’t sound normal.
I moved my hands to my ears and shut my eyes. I didn’t want to hear anything else or see anything more. I wanted quiet. Blackness. That peace I’d felt before the bright light in the car, then people, the rolling chair.
I wanted out of this itchy dress.
I wanted…something. I didn’t know exactly what else. But not this. Not this. Not this.
Tears leaked out of my eyes. My nose started tingling. I bent over, my head in my lap, but the dress had sparkly parts that cut into my skin.
That was enough. I tore at the skirt, the sleeves. I wanted it off.
“We’d better find her something else to wear,” Vinnie said.
“Ava, let me help,” Tucker said. He approached the side of the bed and touched my back, but I twisted, elbows out, to keep him away.
“Go get her dad,” Tucker said. “He will talk to the nurses. Maybe we will need a sedative. It’s never been this bad.”
I didn’t like them talking about me this way, so I kept jerking side to side, elbows flying. Tucker’s hands were on my back, doing something.
I let out a low, angry roar at him, but then my back felt better.
I dropped my elbows. The dress was falling away, coming off at the front.
“Just one more button,” Tucker said.
Then it was free. I pulled it forward, off me.
Relief flooded my body. I pressed my hands to my neck. The terrible itch was gone.
“Here,” Tucker said. “Let me cover you.”
I looked down. I wasn’t wearing anything under the dress.
Tucker took off his jacket and wrapped it around me. It was rough, but so much softer than the dress. I held it tightly.
The father person returned with a woman in blue clothes. She came to my side. “Ava, are you feeling agitated?”
“It was the dress,” Tucker said. “I think she’ll be better with it off.”
“I’ll go find her something to wear,” Dad said. “Surely, there’s a shop close by.”
“You can get sweats in the gift shop. Longhorn stuff, Texas stuff, you know.” The woman tapped on a big screen in her hand. “I’ll see if we can get the doctor in here.”
The father person left, then the nurse.
Tucker stood by the bed. “You want me to help you get the dress the rest of the way off? There’s a paper sheet to cover yourself until your dad finds some pants.”
“Yes.”
He helped me off the bed, and the dress fell to the ground. I wore white panties.
But more words caught my eye.
On one of my hips was the name Ava Roberts and numbers. 7-7-00.
I rubbed at them. They were like my arm —a tattoo.
Tucker looked up from where he was unfolding a big blue paper sheet. “That’s your name and birthday. You wanted to be able to remember it.”
“Oh.”
Then I spotted the other side. “Mom is bad.” My head buzzed, and a ringing filled my ears. I covered them, but the noise was inside. “Tucker?”
He moved close and wrapped his arms around me. “We got you away from your mom. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
For a moment, his arms felt right, like I belonged there. Then he let go and wrapped the blue sheet around my waist, tucking it in so it would stay.
“Vinnie said there is a wedding?” I managed to say. “You and me? Married?”
“We were supposed to,” he said. “I understand you don’t know me anymore. I’ve been through this before.”
“With me?”
This smile matched his face. “Yes, only with you.” He pulled a screen of his own from his pocket. As he tapped on it, something connected about the device. It was a phone.
He clicked on one of several colorful squares. “This is our house.”
I peered at it. A blue building sat on a green lawn with yellow flowers leading up to the door.
“Right now, there are pink flowers instead.” He tapped the row of blooms.
“Did I plant them?”
“You did. You love tending flowers. And photographing them.”
This was interesting. I searched my thoughts for feelings about flowers but couldn’t find any. “Can I see other photos?”
“Of course.” He flipped through one after another. A street. Two kids walking a dog. A bunch of skies in different colors. Then, a woman.
“Is that me?” I took the phone.
“Yes. A couple of weeks ago.”
“Does your picture talk?”
He touched the screen, and it went away, replaced by lots of little squares. “Not that one. But this one does.”
The picture moved like the one in the camera. It was me in front of the blue house. I was holding a long green wire. A hose. A water hose. Water sprayed out of the end. “I’m going to get you, Tucker!” I said.
Water hit the screen, making me lean away. But of course, it couldn’t get to me. It was only a video.
Tucker’s voice said, “Not the phone!” There was a blur of sky, and then the video ended.
The colors and sounds made me smile. I touched my lips. Was that the instinct I talked about? “I live with you?”
Tucker nodded. “We live in the blue house together.” He frowned. “I don’t know if you were off schedule or if you forgot to take your pills, or maybe the excitement of the day got to you, but your seizure meds failed today.”
His face became so sad that I could feel it changing my own feelings. “I don’t think I can get married today.”
“I know.”
The curtains parted, and a new man in a white coat entered. “The bride and groom! I hear you got too excited today.” He stepped too close, too fast, and I scooted to the far end of the bed.
He came around the side. “Don’t be shy. I need to look at your pupils.”
I couldn’t remember pupils.
He leaned forward, and I leaned away.
“Look into the light.”
It was bright, and pain pierced my head. I closed my eyes tightly.
“Is this typical behavior for her?” he asked. “Is she cognitively impaired?”
I didn’t know what any of that meant.
Tucker said, “Her seizures hit the hippocampus. She’s lost her procedural memory. She’ll be pretty afraid. You’re scaring her.”
“Fascinating. You seem to know your stuff.”
“Of course I do. I’m her husband. Or would have been.”
I sensed the doctor leaning away and cautiously opened one eye. He had stepped back.
“I see she’s a patient of Dr. Simmons. I assume you want me to refer her to his care? It sounds like a complex case.”
“That’s fine. We may need a med adjustment since she’s had a breakthrough, but he will handle that.”
“Good. I’ll get the checkout papers initiated.” He clapped Tucker on the back. “Tough day for it.” Then, he was gone.
I held the jacket together tightly. “Can I go to the blue house now? I want the book.”
“Soon,” Tucker said. “Your dad will get you some new clothes to put on, and we will sign some papers. Then, we’ll get you home.”
“And get the book?”
“Yes, we’ll get the book.” His eyes turned to my arm, where the tattoo was. I was glad the jacket covered it. It felt like a secret between the Ava on the video and me. Even if Tucker was nice enough, I didn’t want him to see the handwriting that I had to trust.
I needed a break from the rush of noise and pain and sick feelings.
I wanted to get to that blue house with its flowers and its water hose. I needed the book. That was the only thing I knew to hope for in the little time I’d had so far.