Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Steven
It’s strange, how something so ordinary can feel like a punch to the chest.
The last few days of helping Cindy with Josie have been wonderful. Watching this baby, my baby, do simple things like rolling over or holding her own bottle have left me feeling lightheaded. Like there’s too much joy passing between the synapses of my brain or something.
But with it I’ve still felt blank. No sign of any lost memories coming back.
Until this afternoon.
When an armless Spider-Man figurine was abandoned outside, it surface damp from the afternoon drizzle.
The moment I spotted it, something flushed over me—awareness maybe?
An instinct I was unaware of until I was moving across the yard to grab it, scooping it up and wiping the dirt off.
Then suddenly I saw a little hand gripping it.
A familiar hand. And a high-pitched laugh echoing through the air. Sawyer’s laugh.
It was a memory. In and out like a flickering neon sign.
Until finally it stayed on, replaying in my head again and again.
Sawyer jumping and laughing the moment we gave it to him on his fourth birthday.
It hit me so hard my chest ached, and the lightness I had been feeling settled. I wasn’t overjoyed anymore.
I was focused.
Now I’m hovering over photo albums scattered across the kitchen bar, convinced this will unlock more.
“Maybe you should take it easy?” Emma murmurs as she stirs the pot of spaghetti.
A dull throb pulses through the center of my head, settling in the spot where I more than likely have a bruise from the accident. I shut the albums, reluctantly, but knowing if no other memories have come from the two hours I’ve scoured over them, they won’t come. Not yet at least.
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
I shove the albums to the side and take her in.
Her brown hair is twisted up as high as the length will allow, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
She looks tired today, more than usual, but still radiant in a way I can’t compare to anything tangible.
If I did, I’d feel ridiculous. But she’s radiant, and the sight of her is comforting.
I wish I could remember everything about her. God, let me remember.
The boys’ laughter floats in from the living room, the sounds mingling with the baby noises Josie makes from her mat on the floor. Emma’s eyes dart in their direction as she chews on her lip before turning back to the pasta.
“Let me do it,” I say, sidling up next to her. She hesitates in handing over the spoon. “It’s just pasta, I think I can handle it.”
“It’s not that,” she laughs. “I just…do you think it’s safe?” Her eyes drift to the pot of boiling water then back to me.
“I don’t have the mind of a child, Em. I’m still a whole adult in here.”
She laughs again, louder this time. Pink fills her cheeks, and she bites her lip as she finally relinquishes the spoon.
“Go have fun with your kids.”
Her gaze snags on mine as her mouth drops open, and I realize I may have said something wrong.
There’s something heavy there, maybe another thought she’s not ready to share with me.
Curiosity slowly tugs at my chest, like the tightening of a knot.
I want to ask her about everything. About us.
I want to beg her to tell me everything about who we were.
The feeling hovers between us for a moment before she turns to go.
Not before she stops in the doorway and whispers, “They’re our kids.”
The grin that spreads across my face is pathetic, and I don’t even care. My heart is too big for my chest. Our kids. I grip the edge of the counter as if I might float away.
As I stir the pasta, my phone dings with an email.
Approval of Medical Leave flashes across my phone. I scan the message, and although I’m unfamiliar with the sender or information provided, it’s clearly an official letter. I guess it makes sense to not let a man be a doctor when he doesn’t remember actually being one.
Attached with the letter is a photo, a group of doctors and nurses holding up a sign that says Remember us, Dr. Jones. I snort and pocket my phone. It’s not in there long when it buzzes with a phone call.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, boy.” His low, country timbre is like a sudden balm to my soul. With all the good moments with Emma and the kids, I didn’t realize talking to someone I remember is also something I need right now.
“Just checking in. How’s the head?”
“Still attached.”
He chuckles, and the sound relaxes me. I click the stove off and lean against the counter, pasta steam simmering around me. “Thank God for that. You sound good.”
“Thanks. I’m feeling good.”
“Have the…has anything…” He can’t bring himself to ask the question. Probably because he knows the answer. If the memories had come back, we would’ve called him already.
“Nothing concrete yet. Well, actually…” I catch myself, remembering Spider-Man. “I found Sawyer’s toy today.”
“Spider-Man?”
“The one and only.” I smile, feeling a pang of gratitude for my dad. “I think I remembered getting it for him, but I definitely remembered his laugh. It’s the first chunk of memory I’ve had so far.”
“That’s great, son.” His voice is tender and cracking around the edges.
“That’s wonderful.” I can hear the anguish in his voice, the pain he must feel for his child losing half his memory.
My mind travels to Easton and Sawyer and the ache that comes with the thought of anything bad ever happening to them.
And I’ve only really known them for a week.
“I’m feeling hopeful, though. How’s Mom?” I ask with the sudden urge to hear her voice and realizing that she, herself, hasn’t called to check in. “Can I talk to her?”
There’s a pause.
“Dad, you there?”
He stutters on the other line at the same moment Emma walks back into the kitchen. She smiles softly then studies me when I check my screen.
“Dad?” I say again. “Is Mom there?”
Emma freezes at my words, her face draining of all color. I look at her, confused, mouthing, What’s wrong? Her eyes are wide and pitiful as tears spring forward and spill onto her cheeks so fast I don’t know what to do. Panic threads through my veins as she slowly lowers herself onto the bar stool.
“Son…” Dad finally speaks. “Has Emma told you?”
I put the phone on speaker and ask, “Has Emma told me what? Where is Mom?” Surely my mother hasn’t died and Emma just forgot to mention this.
“Tom…” Emma answers him, her voice cracking. “I haven’t told him. I’m so sorry.”
The panic has now migrated to my chest, sharp and sudden. I feel out of breath as I say, “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
A flash of regret moves over Emma before her eyes drop to the floor. Tears continue to fall, and her breath hitches. She shakes out her hands, muttering under her breath.
Dad sighs heavily. “Don’t be mad at her.” He says it as if this is something I do, get mad at my wife. “She was probably worried it would affect your recovery.”
“Worried about what, though?”
“Steven…” Dad says calmly, “your mother has Alzheimer’s.”
****
“I’m so sorry,” Emma whimpers. It’s her fifth apology in five minutes. She sits at the head of the table across from me, shaking in her seat.
“Em, it’s fine,” I tell her for the fifth time.
After thirty minutes of my dad telling me about Mom’s diagnosis, her recent decline, and the fact that almost two weeks ago I knew all of this, we finally sat down with the boys for dinner. Josie is curled in my arms as I push the pasta back and forth on my plate. Appetite gone.
“Do you want something else?” Emma asks quietly. Her eyes won’t meet mine as she also pokes at her food.
“Easton, sit on your bottom,” I snip as Easton leans across the table for more bread. His bottom lip juts out at my tone as he slowly descends back to the chair.
“I’m sorry.” I wince. “I’m sorry.” My eyes plead with him, but he refuses to look at me.
“May I be excused?” he asks.
“Easton…”
He ignores me and turns his entire body toward Emma.
Her eyes, bloodshot and filled with so much regret it makes mine sting, flick to mine.
She nods at Easton, who pushes his chair out and darts for the stairs.
Sawyer watches him then eyes us. He must feel a sense of solidarity, because instead of finishing his plate, which I know in my gut he always does, he looks to Emma. She waves him off to the stairs.
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s fine. He just has big emotions.” She gives me a coy smile as she stands. “Like his mother.”
I let out a singular, self-deprecating laugh at that. Big emotions. For the past hour, all I’ve wanted to do is flip this table and scream and cry for my mommy. It’s starting to feel like Easton and I are more alike than I realize.
“I really am sorry, Steven,” she whispers again, but her tone is different this time. She’s not scared now; she’s remorseful.
“Thank you,” I whisper, adjusting Josie in my arms.
We migrate upstairs, where Easton and Sawyer have already gotten themselves ready for bed. Easton refuses to face me as I tell them goodnight. Sawyer hugs my neck with one arm, clutching Spider-Man in the other.
“I hope you’ll forgive me,” I whisper to Easton. His eyelashes flutter as he forces his eyes to stay shut. I kiss the top of his head, and the corner of his lip tugs into a lopsided grin. “I love you, son.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it to him. Not because I haven’t felt it—I’ve felt it since the moment I saw him—but because I want him to believe it. And I hope he does.
I click off their light and slowly close the door behind me but not before I hear a muffled, “I love you too.”