Chapter 18 #3
He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve collected some research articles, personal accounts from others who’ve gone through what you’re experiencing.
Nothing’s exactly the same as your situation, of course, but reading them might offer some perspective.
Maybe even a bit of peace. I’m glad I saved them.
I shared them with my students last year. ”
My heart skips a beat. “That would be wonderful,” I say, leaning forward. “I’d give anything to hear how someone else found their way back.” And how they balanced life.
He clasps his hands and grins. A small dimple appears on his cheek. “How does Italian sound?”
“I love Italian.”
“Great. Here, take my phone. Order whatever you want, and I’ll get those articles.” Professor Mills stands from his seat and shuffles through a large filing cabinet.
My back is starting to ache, so I take a seat on the sofa, tucking my legs under my butt, scrolling through his phone. “Any suggestions?”
“Gypsy pasta is to die for. Add that for me.”
“Then I’ll have the same.”
He carries two large folders filled with all kinds of material.
He sets them between us and sits on the opposite side of the sofa.
I open it to find copies of newspaper articles dated back to the late 80s.
One story is about a man in his late forties whose memory snapped back after years of amnesia.
He spent years away from his family, without recognition of them, and he lived a separate life.
“This man right here”—Mills points to the article I’m holding—“was in a boating accident. Vanished after his boat capsized. The family put up missing posters, held vigils, and eventually had a funeral. Then, twenty years later, he walks into a neurologist’s office complaining about strangers’ faces haunting his dreams. Who were they?
His wife. His children. His parents. The doctors ran every test imaginable—like MRI, CT, and PET scans to try and figure it out.
They learned he had a severe case of amnesia from that boating accident, in which he hit his head.
They ran fingerprints and a DNA test to see if he matched as a missing person, and sure enough, he was living across the world.
Under a different name. He had a whole different life. He was even married with children.
My hand flies to my chest. This is insane. I feel for both wives, but especially his first wife. “Then what happened?” I’m so enthralled.
“They notified his first wife and children. She never remarried.”
I gasp again, and he chuckles. “Oh wow. I’m flabbergasted.”
“Yes, it’s a crazy story.”
A rap at the door has Professor Mills stand to answer it. A woman from the front office stands with bags of food. “Thank you, Emily.”
The smell of the food has my stomach growling. I open the Styrofoam container, and he’s right. It looks and smells amazing.
We eat comfortably while he delves into the neuroscience behind amnesia, discussing how different types of memory are stored in the brain. He goes over different causes of amnesia. It can be traumatic, psychological, or neurological.
My fork stabs at the pasta, and I want to groan at how creamy it is. I dip my breadstick into the sauce. “Amazing,” I interrupt, but it needed to be said. “Like, seriously. How did I not know about this place?”
He chuckles. “It’s my favorite restaurant.”
“Don’t mind me. Keep talking.” I lick the sauce off my lips, and the professor’s gaze is pinned on my mouth.
We get into the processes of neuroplasticity and the brain’s ability to rebuild connections.
Two hours later, I wrap it up after receiving a text from Lana not to forget the dinner today.
Of course, I forgot. I’ve been forgetting everything lately.
Last night, I stayed at Lana’s house. Bethany showed up after she spotted Max knocking on my door.
“Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me. It’s giving me a different perspective on it.” I help clean up the bags and now-empty containers. “And thank you for dinner.”
“Anytime. If you’d like, we can go over the other articles, and I also have a documentary and a podcast of a woman who regained her memory; she talks about the progress she made and what helped her.”
There’s a part of me that wants to say no, mainly because I’m not doing right by Max, but this is for school, and we are not together. And I need to learn about others who have experienced what I’m going through. It’s not a date, I’m not into him, and well, I’m very pregnant. “Sure, what time?”
“How about four?”
“That works for me. I close the café at three.”
“Great. I hope this has helped some.”
“It has and again thank you, Professor—”
“Call me Alex. We are past professionalism. I consider you a friend. We’ve known each other for much too long.”
I raise a brow. “Okay. How about I call you Professor in class and outside of class, Alex?” He is right, I have known him for a long time. I did call him Alex for a short period years ago.
“Works for me.” He places the folders on his desk, then opens the door for me. “So should I call you Rainey or Sol or either?”
Thinking. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter.” I’m still searching to find out who Sol is. It’s time I find out who she is. “Well, I’d better go. I’m sure you have a significant other waiting for you at home.”
Alex moistens his lips. “I don’t, but damn, I wish I did.”