Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Alex
Six weeks in the hospital. I’d cost her six weeks of her life already.
Blanks brings a wheelchair into her room, and a smile spreads across her face. She stares at him, and he stares at her, and suddenly I feel like a third wheel, an odd burn hitting my chest.
“Mr. Palomino, I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Becks, our night nurse, pleads with me. But it doesn’t matter what she thinks.
Emma is floundering here. Or maybe I don’t want to admit what’s actually happening, that she’s fading, not healing. She should be home, in a comfortable environment where she might actually get rest. I should have taken her home a week ago.
The guilt that weighs me down intensifies. I would work on finding a nurse to live in, get extra help around the house. It’s not as if I can’t afford to do this for her.
“I-I don’t have any shoes, do I?” she asks, looking at me then Blanks, who lifts her frail frame out of the bed, setting her in the wheelchair.
There’s probably a bag of clothes from the accident somewhere, but I would make sure it got thrown away before anything that touched her body that day would touch her again. In a lot of ways, I’m jealous of her. I would do anything to forget that day. To forget the last six weeks.
“No, sweetheart,” I say. If I’d known we were leaving, I would have prepared or at least had Brit bring something. Aside from a few stale floral arrangements, the room lacks anything that actually belongs to Emma. Per the doctor’s orders, I hadn’t even brought her phone here.
“Is it cold out?” she asks, and Blanks nods, removing his own jacket and placing it over her shoulders.
“Yeah, Angel, it is. I’m gonna go warm the car for you,” he says. Then, turning to me with an open palm held up, he asks, “Keys?”
I toss them into his waiting hand, not missing the hard line of his jaw or the way his knuckles turn white as they tighten into a fist. I almost ask what his fucking problem is, but he shoulder-checks me on his way out, and it doesn’t take an emotionally inept asshole like me to realize he’s pissed. Still.
You just couldn’t leave her the fuck alone, could you? His words from earlier in the hallway come back to haunt me.
I should have, I know.
“I need you to sign paperwork before you go,” Becks says as she helps put a pair of socks onto Emma’s feet. “And you should know, she needs care, maybe even round the clock. She’ll need help showering, and going to the bathroom, and eating. Do you understand?”
“You do realize I’m right here? Right? I haven’t kicked the bucket yet.” Emma looks between the nurse and me.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Becks grabs her hand. “I just want you to be taken care of, okay?” Fuck. The words are like a knife to the back. I hadn’t taken care, but I would. As long as she needs or as long as she wants. Whichever comes first.
I know that if her memory does return, she’ll be gone without a second thought, especially after all this.
“I know, thank you. I-I keep trying to remember your name, but I’m so sorry,” Emma’s tears start to return as she fumbles, trying to recall.
“That’s okay. It’s Becks. It’s a funny little name to remember.”
“Becks,” Emma repeats. Then she repeats it again, “Becks.” “Becks, Becks, Becks.”
She’s trying to commit it to memory, and my fucking heart shatters.
I turn away to hide the tears, pretending to shuffle through paperwork that doesn’t really exist. It’s just pamphlets they brought me on cognitive and occupational therapy.
I slip them into my back pocket like this is all on purpose.
But on second thought, I pull out a card.
“If you’re interested, I’ll double your salary.” I hold the card out for Becks. “Think about it.”
She stands from where she was crouched down and takes the card. “I will.”
“Okay,” I say, moving closer to Emma to wheel her out.
As soon as Becks vacates the room, Emma turns to me.
“Thank you, Alex.” She places a hand over mine that’s wrapped around the chair’s handle. Fucking hate the feeling that engulfs me. It’s guilt and shame, regret and self-loathing all rolled into one.
Kicking away the parking brake, I finally say, “Let’s go home, Em.”
In the rearview, I watch her sleep. Her head is in Blanks’s lap, his hand stroking idly through her hair, and the uncomfortable feeling returns. My mouth feels hot, and there’s this tingling skirting up my spine.
My fingers wrap tighter around the steering wheel as I try to pinpoint what I don’t like. The way he calls her Angel? Was it that he seemed to know within fifteen seconds what Em needed when I’d been there for six weeks? Is it paranoia? Jealousy over their familiarity?
Jealous about what specifically, though?
I should’ve been the one to pick her up off the hospital floor. I should have been with her in the backseat. There are all these should-haves, but I can’t wrap my mind around the why-nots.
Jess.
The text messages she sent sat unanswered. I left her on read for six weeks, too. She finally gave up and was moving on for good now.
While Emma was lying in the hospital bed, I grappled. I debated. And in the end, I made the choice to let Jess go. It isn’t a mountain easily moved, but I need to do it.
“I’d appreciate if you were slightly less hands-on with my wife.” My wife. I feel like a fucking fraud saying it after everything I’ve done.
Blanks’s hand stills in her hair, then he looks at my reflection.
“Just making sure she’s comfortable. I didn’t see you exactly jumping into action to do the same.” It’s accusatory. That I hurt her. Like he has a sixth-fucking-sense about it.
“Say what you’re actually trying to say?” My eyes narrow at him through the mirror, and my jaw tenses.
“You should let her go,” he says back firmly. “She shouldn’t have almost died in your car. She shouldn’t be here right now. She-” He stops to scoff, “She deserves a hell of a lot better than an existence with you.”
A fucking dagger to the heart.
All Emma ever did was bring me light, joy, and a reason to keep living. And all I’ve given her is pain, a near-death experience, and a broken heart, regardless of whether she can remember it or not. She sacrificed her life for mine, it seemed.
And Blanks is right. My throat turns viciously tight. My body tenses with knowing.
I don’t want to abandon her, and I won’t, but she deserves a lot more than a life beside me.
I look back at where Emma’s fragile body is laid out in the backseat.
Any trace of a smile is vacant from her face as she sleeps.
Her skin has leached all its color and turned alabaster.
With her hair just as light, she looks like an actual angel.
Perfect. And pure. And it hurts seeing her.
It hurts knowing I did this. Knowing we would have to relive it all someday. That I would have to tell her.
I don’t want to stop being with Emma or give her up. I meant what I said in the truck that day. And every day since, I’ve thought it to some degree, but all the signs point to me needing to step away.
Well, being away is something I do best.
I push the instinct to care for her down. I try to disregard the happy memories, the places that mean something to us, the moments that changed me, all the times she held me. And I mentally prepare that from this moment on, Emma is no longer mine. She deserved more.
Opening the door for Blanks, who carries Emma, I direct him to the first-floor suite. Emma’s old room.
I help move the covers, pushing the extra pillows away, and Blanks deposits her.
I step back and watch as he covers her, adding an extra blanket.
And I keep taking steps back, silently, knowing I’m already closing the door.
I step out into the hall and pace while I wait.
Once Blanks is there, I give him a quick head nod.
“Can you sleep on the couch? Or nearby?” It pains me to ask. “In case she needs anything or wakes up in the middle of the night?”
“You’re not sleeping in there with her?” he asks, surprised.
I swallow the bad feelings and shake my head.
“If she remembered, I doubt she would want me there.”
Blanks’s expression falls. With a lowered voice, he asks, “What did you do?”
“It doesn’t matter what. All that matters is you’re right. And I’ll let her go. I’ll, uh,” I nearly fucking choke on the words, “try to do it slow and easy, and I’ll keep making sure she’s taken care of, but…I’m done.”
I don’t — might be that I can’t — wait for his reaction.
I just head straight for the stairs and up to our room.
I shut the door, then turn and slide to the floor.
I fist my trembling hands into my hair and try to fight the urge to throw something.
To yell or fight. I fight against the desire to run back downstairs and hold her one last time as she sleeps.
Rocking on the floor, back and forth, I fight for breath. My fingers twist inside my palms, hot and damp. Extending my left hand, I slide the gold band off for the first time in over a year.
I’m sorry, Em.
february
Emma
“Good morning,” her voice is soothing, “let’s try and get going, yeah?” She’s always gentle with me. I can feel the bed dip as she sits on the mattress beside me.
“Go away, Becks,” I groan, turning my head into the pillow to block her and the light out.
“Nope. We are not starting today like this. Try again, Em.” She’s always gentle but firm. I flop back against the bed, still shielding my eyes from the sun, and I cave in.
“Good morning, Becks. Today is Friday, January 31st. My name is Emmaline Palomino, formerly Strait, and I’m 27 years old. I currently live in Spearhead Lake, California, with my husband.” That’s a lie and a joke. “And we have a dog named Delta, and a rescue named Blanks.”
“She seems fine to me,” Blanks snorts from the doorway.
I ignore him. “And my goal today is to make myself breakfast. Alone. ALL Alone.” I drop my hands from my face and catch Caleb giving me a smirk from the corner of my eye.