Chapter 7
Tucker
When Ava was discharged, we led her out to the waiting room.
She wrapped her arms around her belly in the Longhorn sweats her father had brought. She didn’t let anyone help her change.
She was barefoot, and I carried her wedding gown and shoes.
The family stood from their row of chairs when we passed through the sliding doors.
Marcus explained the situation. “Ava would like to go to her house. Tucker is going to orient her. I’ll go with them. We can take Gram’s car.”
“What should we do?” Tina asked.
Jennifer and Amanda were hugging each other, distress on their faces. Vinnie stood near the back, not catching anyone’s eye.
I got it. This was a lot. They’d seen too much, and it was hard to wrap your head around the idea that someone you knew so well and loved so hard didn’t want to be near you.
“We could use some family at the country club to explain things,” Marcus said. “Gram, are you up for that?”
“Of course,” Gram said.
“How can we go without Ava?” Amanda cried. “What do we do without her?” Tears rolled down her face.
Ava turned away. I had to get her out of here. It was too much emotion. Ava hated that in the early days after a memory loss.
“We’ll figure it out,” Marcus said. “This is what we have to deal with. Tina, take them in the limo with Gram. Vinnie, is your car at Ava’s?”
“Yeah, but I can go to the country club and get a ride back to my car. I should take a few pictures, you know, to document the day.”
He wouldn’t meet my gaze. I hoped Ava wasn’t too hung up on him being her only friend. He clearly needed a minute to process all this.
She didn’t seem to be. She had her back turned to all of us.
Gram drew me in for a hug, curving over the bulk of the wedding dress. “Hang in there, love. I’ll update you from the club. Let me know if you need Maya or Harry.”
“I will.” I almost wished I could keep her with us. I needed an ally. But there was a lot to handle at the wedding site. Over an hour had passed. Heck, maybe everyone had left.
But there were people to pay, gratuities to hand out. Soon, a small band would arrive to play the song for our first dance.
I glanced at Ava. We had practiced that song a time or two, not that we were doing anything fancy.
Now, we wouldn’t get to dance.
I fought against the tide of despair that threatened to drag me under. I couldn’t afford it. Not now.
We filed out. At first, Ava didn’t move, but Marcus touched her shoulder. “Let’s get you where you want to go.”
That got her. She followed us.
“I’ll get the car. She doesn’t have shoes.” I didn’t want to leave her, not even for a minute, but she couldn’t walk through the parking garage with bare feet.
I hurried up the stairs, the miles of fabric slipping in my arms. I tossed the gown and shoes in the back seat before pulling off my tux jacket. It was hot and stiff. I didn’t want these clothes anymore, either. I yanked the tie loose and piled it with everything else in the back.
When I sat behind the wheel, I intended to start the car and hurry to the entrance.
But emotion crashed over me in a wave of nausea. I’d lost her again. And this time, we lived together. Our paths were intertwined. I didn’t have the luxury of waiting her out, approaching her slowly.
It had to go better this time. It had to.
I swiped at my eyes. No crying, Tucker. Not one minute.
For a terrifying moment, my own head sizzled. Shit. No. Not happening.
I didn’t have the magnet on me that activated the VNS device implanted in my chest. But every sixty seconds, it would do its thing without it.
My hands gripped the steering wheel as I breathed slowly and evenly, willing myself calm. I counted to sixty once, then again.
I couldn’t feel the gentle pulse of electricity that was generated by the device in my chest and went up a wire that wrapped around my vagus nerve in my neck.
But it happened, nonetheless. This zap prevented a seizure from getting anywhere.
Meds hadn’t worked for me, but this device had given me my life back.
When I felt reasonably sure I was fine, I started the engine. Sweat poured from my hair and down my neck before trickling over my forehead from the stuffy interior. I should have cranked the AC first thing.
I tried to breathe evenly as I drove to the exit. I had to be chill for Ava. No emotions. Nothing for her to interpret negatively.
I had forgotten that leaving required a payment. I reached behind me for the jacket and dug for my wallet. By the time I got around to the exit, Ava was pacing back and forth in small, angry steps.
Marcus opened the passenger door. “Front or back?” he asked her.
She assessed the seats. “Back.”
He opened the rear door and pushed the dress to one side.
Ava slid onto the seat, immediately pulling her knees to her chest.
Marcus closed the door and sat next to me. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I said, aiming a stream of cooled air to the back of the car.
I glanced at Ava in the rearview mirror from time to time as I drove us home. She stared out the window, sometimes sitting up to peer at something more intently.
I had no idea what it was like for her at these times, waking up in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers. She had no memories to comfort her, no experiences to guide her to what was safe or dangerous.
The doctors had explained over the years how hard this was on her system.
To have a full vocabulary, to understand speech and language, but not to know what things truly meant.
You could say, “Let’s go to the park,” and maybe she could conceptualize that you were suggesting going to a place, but she couldn’t picture swings or grass.
She had no idea what to expect when she got there.
Her singular focus at the moment was the book, thanks to the tattoo she got when she was eighteen. This worried me. In the string of resets she’d had after being forced to change meds a few years ago, we’d tried to refine the book.
The first one she’d assembled when she was eighteen was too frightening, full of warnings about her mother, men in general, and to trust no one. She’d prepared it after living at a women’s shelter.
The next one had mainly photos to avoid the scary parts, but at her next reset, she hadn’t had the patience to stare at the images and figure out who people were.
We determined that she needed something to grab her attention like her tattoo did, and we created a mixed scrapbook of warnings about her mother, plus images from her current life to prove to her who her allies were.
Except it wasn’t current. We hadn’t updated it in years.
Maybe she would watch the videos this time since she’d already seen one. They helped the most if we could get her to sit down with them. Ava always listened to herself intently once she realized who was talking to her.
Marcus turned to me. “We’re almost there. Do you have a plan?”
I knew what he meant. “We’ll try videos.”
“I can hear you,” Ava said. “I want the book.”
We both frowned. Ava was smart. She wanted the handwriting that her tattoo talked about.
My phone buzzed. When we got to a light, I pulled it out.
It was Marcus.
Marcus: Did you fix that scrapbook? She ran from us over it before. We almost lost her.
He’s right.
I glanced over at him. “It needs updating,” I said.
He typed rapidly.
Marcus: Maybe I can distract her while you go through the book and fix it.
I nod. “Okay.”
He could make her some food. I would say I’m going to go fetch it. And I’d make sure the book was in good shape before I gave it to her.
“I’ll get the book,” I told Marcus. “I’ll bring it to the kitchen. Maybe you can get her something to eat.”
The light turned green, so I set the phone down and focused on getting us home.
This had to work.
I needed this time to be easier.