Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Alex
I stand outside her bedroom door, waiting for him to exit.
“Is she okay?” I ask once he’s shut the door behind him.
“No,” Blanks says curtly, walking past me towards the kitchen. I slide my hand through my still-wet hair and follow behind.
“When did it happen?” I ask, bracing my hands against the kitchen counter while he pretends to make coffee. He doesn’t answer.
“Does she love you back?” He stops, standing still.
“No,” he nearly chokes on his own word and I sigh out in relief.
Like I have a leg to stand on. Fuck, it was only a few months ago I slept with Jess.
I was still in love with her. At least partially.
Well, I guess I didn’t know what it was anymore.
I’d sat with it for a month. I’d wrestled with the what if, and every time I came to the other side of it all.
..I didn’t know that Jess was the one I wanted standing beside me in the end.
“I would prefer if we didn’t talk about this. She asked me to stay, and I will. Otherwise, I would’ve left. That’s the end of it, okay?” He starts the coffee pot and finally turns around, his face hard and the message clear. That’s the end of it.
I put the same hard face back on. “Understood.” This isn’t the first time we’ve both been into the same chick. Maybe it was the first time we were both in love with the same woman, but I knew Blanks would take a back seat. At least he had once before.
“Let’s chat,” Becks says. “She’ll be in the bath awhile.” I don’t know what that means, but I agree, and Becks sets a folder in front of me.
“Honestly, I think this place is only moderately better for her than a hospital or rehabilitation facility.” I know. She’s told me every day since we brought her home.
“She’s responded well to the small amounts of physical therapy I’ve done with her, but again, that’s not really my area of expertise.” Again, she’s told me this every day.
“She’s ready for real cognitive therapy, which I know for certain I am not trained to administer.”
“What would that entail?” Blanks asks.
“Well, it would focus mostly on her memory loss. So, working on what happened before the memory loss, what happened during the loss. Recalling events to try and get her to remember. It’s a lot of talk therapy as well.” Blanks and I both shift uncomfortably.
“Pick the therapist, and let’s get it scheduled.” It’s like signing my own death sentence.
“Okay, then.” Becks pushes away from the table. “I’m gonna go check on her.” I just nod.
“Bet you’re remembering why you ran away in the first place?” Blanks stares at me over the rim of his coffee cup.
Yup.
Blanks passes me a mug, and we sit at the kitchen table together. Somberly. I love Emma, but do I love her more than he does? Would she be happier with him?
The sound of the bedroom door opening pulls my attention, and I watch her walk slowly toward the kitchen. God, it’s fucking painful. It’s painful to remember this is the same girl who could have lapped me up to the ridge. And now, she’s only managing a hobble.
Would she ever make it to her little Airstream again?
Blanks is already standing, giving her his seat.
“Coffee?” he asks her, and she nods.
We sit beside each other like strangers. Instinct says to reach out for her, but she seems feeble. Like I might break her. I want to say something, but it feels like if I open my mouth, my voice will only manifest as a slight croak.
“How—” “I—” We both start at the same time, interrupting the other. I can feel Blanks watching. Judging.
I give a tightlipped smile with a hand up for her to proceed.
“I was going to say that I just want things to go back to normal, okay?” she asks quietly, almost sheepish. God, this guilt would kill me. Could we ever go back to normal?
“Sure,” is all I manage to get out.
“So you’re walking outside today, huh?” Blanks asks, setting a coffee mug in front of her.
“Yeah,” she replies, smiling back at him. How the fuck is she supposed to go for a walk outside? She can barely walk inside.
“That sounds nice,” I add. “Want some company?” But she shakes her head.
“No, actually.” She watches my face fall.
“Maybe another time in the future, though. You know, once I get my land legs back to full working order.” She looks down, pink staining the apples of her cheeks.
She’s embarrassed. My heart sinks. Mentally, I’m already carving my fucking headstone.
Here lies Alexander Palomino, who died of guilt.
“Well, the second you do, I’ll be there.” I lean forward, putting a light kiss on her forehead.
Normal. She wants normal. Give her normal.
march
Things couldn’t be further from fucking normal. I hate it here because I know she hates it here.
I thought she loved it here. And maybe she did, but I don’t think she does anymore.
I thought she loved me. And maybe she did, but again, doesn’t feel like it anymore.
She’s almost nothing like the Emma from before. She’s angry and bitter and quick to temper. She cries over small things and big things, too. She sleeps a lot during the day but tosses and turns all night. It’s killing me watching her like this.
But that’s my penance to pay, isn’t it?
“Ow,” she says, staring at me.
“Sorry.” I release the hold on her leg, releasing the tension of the stretch I’d been helping her with.
“This is pointless,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. The daily routines are rote and monotonous. Every day looks a lot like the last, with little forward progress.
“Do you want me to get Blanks?” That’s her M.O. lately. When she gets tired of me, she’ll ask for him instead. Each time she does, it guts me. She’s become incapable of hiding her annoyance with me. Even if she can’t remember, it’s like her body still does.
She doesn’t spare me the same sympathy as before, and I feel each day like a pull on our bond. I don’t know what that said about us if we didn’t work when she couldn’t be the one picking up my pieces. I think it says I’m a piece of shit.
“I don’t know, Alex. I’m just…” She puts her hands over her eyes, either fighting back tears or exhaustion. “I feel dead. Inside.” When she drops her hands, I see it. The lack of life reflects back at me. Been there, felt that.
“What can I do?” I don’t have the same innate ability as her, or as Blanks, who knows what to do without being told. I’m exhausted, too, from always seeming to do the wrong thing. I need her to tell me the right thing.
She closes her eyes and sighs, fighting off a tremble. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m going outside for a bit, okay?”
I’m about to ask if she wants company when she stops me. “Alone, I’m going alone.” I nod, then take her hand and pull her up. She glances at both our hands.
“Why did you stop wearing your ring?” she asks. When I stopped feeling worthy of wearing it.
Instead, I tell a white lie. “Our rings are together, at the jewelers, being repaired.” She swallows, gives me a vacant look, and walks to the mudroom to get bundled up for outside.
Her rings are at the jeweler’s. They’ve also been ready for pickup for two months now.
Her walk is less hobbly these days, but she wouldn’t be running anytime soon. It hurts somewhere between getting a fingernail removed and a root canal to watch her, only slightly less painful than the full-blown cardiac arrest I suffered the first time I watched her move post-accident.
I can’t help but keep watching her as she gets ready. Maybe it’s because she’s still a fall risk. Maybe it’s because I broke her. But as I watch, all I can think is: I don’t know how to make her better.
I don’t know how to make anything better. That’s sort of my whole life in a nutshell. I’ve never met a deed, good or bad, that went unpunished.
I only know how to be with her in the before. Before I ruined it.
Grabbing my coat off the hook beside hers, she stares at me.
“I’m going alone, Alex,” she says defiantly.
“No, you’re not,” I give it right back, not meeting her eyes. When she sits down to put on her sneakers, I pull them out of her hands and kneel to help her put on her hiking boots instead.
“I can’t wear those. They’re too heavy.” Another annoyed protest.
“Then I’ll carry you,” literally or figuratively. “When’s the last time you went down to the cove?”
“I-I can’t remember.” Her memory loss mostly centers around the time she was in the accident, but sometimes, other bits are fuzzy for her. The ability to concentrate fully was still lacking, and her ability to recall with it.
Unfortunately, I can still remember vividly the last time I was there.
It’s time to replace the old with the new, though. Forward movement, right?
Emma
He’s out of his goddamn mind. A walk down to the cove would likely kill me.
But I follow him because I’m out of my goddamn mind, too. I miss the cove. Or perhaps I miss who I was when I was there last, but either way, I feel excited. For the first time in two months, it seems like I have something to look forward to.
The cool March wind whips around us as we walk.
Though, my walk feels more like a crawl.
It’s just a constant battle for balance, and I fight hard to hide it from him, insisting he goes ahead of me.
The struggle steals my attention from the scenery, but I’m hopeful that a long rest at the boulder will make up for it.
Still, the trees and damp earthy smell envelops me, sweeping me off my feet and away into a world where things are different. Things are better. My mind turns to a blissful zen-like state between the focus on where to step and the sanctuary-like nature surrounding me.
There’s a stirring in my chest. A memory that feels warm, and my speed increases the closer we get. I need to get there. Desperately. Like there will fix me.
I remember to squint as I come around the final bend, shielding my eyes from the sun that’s sitting in the mid-morning sky. And I want to cry happy tears for the first time in a long time.
I stand, heaving for breath but grateful for each cold inhale and exhale.
I made it.