Chapter 9
Tucker
When Ava emerged from the bathroom, she’d taken her hair down.
Marcus and I stood from the kitchen chairs.
She didn’t seem angry or frightened, just tired. I had no idea what she’d read.
When she didn’t speak, Marcus said, “We made a plate of food for you. You’re probably hungry.”
She frowned, clutching the book in front of her. “How do I know if I’m hungry?”
Marcus glanced at me. He had never seen Ava in the first hours after a memory reset. You could take nothing for granted. Even though she might understand a word like hungry and that it meant you should eat, the experience of feeling hungry wouldn’t connect until she was taught it.
I needed to take the lead on this. “Your stomach might make noises. You might get a headache. But mainly, when you see food”—I held up a plate with a croissant and some cheese, leftovers from the brunch—“you want it. Bad.”
Her eyes focused on the plate. Yeah, she was hungry. I set the plate on a space I’d cleared and pulled out a chair. “Sit here. Eat.”
She did, keeping the book in her lap, her back tall and rigid, like she might bolt at any moment. She picked up a cube of cheddar and popped it into her mouth.
As soon as she chewed, she sank down in the chair, setting the book on the table. “That’s so good.” She ate several more cubes as fast as she could, then took a bite of the croissant. “So good.”
“Does anything hurt?” Marcus asked. “You didn’t fall or anything, but do you have any pain?”
She shook her head. “My back hurt when I was under the table, but it doesn’t anymore.” Crumbs fell out of her mouth as she spoke. Yeah, manners didn’t come naturally either. I couldn’t help but bite back a smile.
“I’ll get you some water,” Marcus said.
“Did you get to read some pages?” I asked her.
She swallowed her bite. “A few. I understand why I have the tattoo that mom is bad.”
Marcus set the glass in front of Ava. “I still don’t think she can be trusted. You stopped going to visit her a couple of years ago when she tried to convince you to stop taking your meds.”
Ava’s eyes went wide over the rim of the glass as she guzzled water. She started speaking before she’d completely swallowed. “But I only missed one day of meds, and I had a seizure. Why would she say that?”
Marcus rocked on his heels, hands linked behind his back. “She was frustrated with your medicines. She had you on medical marijuana.”
Ava’s face screwed up in confusion. “I don’t understand that.”
“It’s another type of drug,” Marcus said. “It goes in and out of being illegal depending on where you live. But it’s not reliable. There’s no quality control. No dosing. It did work, but it’s a very risky way to go. The med you’re on now worked beautifully until…” he trails off.
“Until I forgot it.” Ava stared at her plate. “I understand that I brought this on myself.”
“No,” I said. “You and I always look out for each other. I should have checked. You had a busy day.” And I should have. I should have verified she’d taken them before I left.
Except they were doing makeup in the kitchen. And Ava didn’t want me to see her until the ceremony. So, I didn’t go in there.
“Your condition isn’t your fault,” Marcus said. “Sometimes we have to work with the hand we’re dealt.”
Ava’s face screwed up at that.
“It’s a reference to a card game,” I said. “You can’t control the cards that come up in the deck.”
“Oh,” Ava said. “I get it.”
“Expressions like that will come back quickly,” I told her. “If you talk to people and watch some television, you start to get the references.”
She pushed the plate away. “I’m so tired. Can I lie down for a while before I do anything else?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll give you a tour of the house. I think you should probably take your missed dose, though.”
I opened the purple box and set a pill in front of her. “Do you know how to swallow it?”
“Of course.” She took the pill easily, unlike one of the times she’d lost her memory when I’d had to teach her.
“Ready?” I glanced at Marcus meaningfully, but he didn’t take the hint. And I supposed I understood. One of the times Ava had lost her memory, she’d bolted from me and run to her mother, not knowing that it was a terrible choice.
At least she wouldn’t do that this time.
I pointed to the hall. “You already saw the entryway with your photos. And the living room.”
She nodded.
“The kitchen is pretty straightforward. You found the bathroom.” I left the kitchen.
She got up, leaving the book behind. Marcus looked like he was going to nab it. I’d talk to him about it later.
Ava followed me into the side hall.
I pointed to the front of the house. “Up there is the spare bedroom. You use it as your office for your photography.”
“Really?” She walked that way and peered in.
I stood behind her. Huge, mounted portraits were stacked against one wall. A bookcase was filled with flashes, camera mounts, lenses, and photo albums. Her primary workstation computer sat on a desk, silent and dark. Two cameras were tucked under the trio of monitors.
“That’s a lot of screens,” she said.
“For editing your photos.”
She flipped through the images in the stack. Scenes from Austin. Some weddings. Florals. Closeups of turtles and kayaks on the lake.
“It feels good in here,” she said.
“It’s your favorite space.”
She lifted one of the cameras and peered at it. “I don’t know how to use this anymore.”
“You’ll pick it back up. Vinnie can help.”
She frowned. “Okay.” She set the camera down again.
I caught the change in emotion. “Do you not want Vinnie?”
“I don’t know. Do you know who Big Harry is?”
So, she’d read about him. That was good. Harry was someone who always made her feel safe.
“Of course. He was at the wedding.”
“Can I see him?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call him over.”
She took in the rest of the room, turning in a circle. “Can I sleep first? I’m really tired.”
“Yes, let me show you the bedroom.”
I led her down the hall. Entering our space was way harder than I expected. Only hours before, we had been lying in this bed together, excited about our wedding day.
Now, she didn’t know me.
“A bed,” she said, falling on top of the blanket. “It smells so good.”
“Your favorite fabric softener.”
She snuggled in. She had automatically chosen her side. “Is everyone going to leave?”
“We want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I need some time to myself.”
My throat tightened. “Of course. I’ll close the door. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
Her eyes were drifting closed before I could even make it to the hall. Post-ictal. It was a tough state, right after a seizure. I’d been through it plenty.
Marcus waited by the kitchen door, the scrapbook in his hand. “Is she resting?”
“Yeah. She’s going to need to sleep this off.”
“Can she get out through the bedroom window?”
I understood his concern. Ava ran before. “I don’t think that will happen.”
“I think we should edit the book,” he said. “And see about removing that tattoo. It’s doing more harm than good.”
“One thing at a time,” I told him. Standing up to Marcus was difficult. He had money, age, and a powerful position.
And I still wasn’t Ava’s husband.
“I won’t have a repeat of 2018,” he said.
“Then do a stakeout,” I told him. “I’m going to let her sleep.” I held out my hand for the book.
He stared at it for a moment, then reluctantly passed it to me.
“While she’s sleeping, I’ll put sticky notes throughout it. I’ll explain things. Mitigate any damage. She’s already asked for Harry, though.”
Marcus sat on one of the kitchen chairs again, seeming defeated. “She always chooses him.”
“He’s good for her.”
Marcus fiddled with the corner of one of the boxes piled on the table. “He is. I guess I just wish she preferred me.”
I knew exactly how he felt, but I wouldn’t say it.
I tucked the book under my arm. “I’m going to get on this so it’s ready when she wakes.”
Then I left him behind in the kitchen, the scene of the crime where the meds had been missed, the schedule had changed, and my life—all our lives—had been completely upended.