4. Mason
Christian picks me up the next afternoon as my anxiety mounts. I don’t even have my cell phone, which was apparently left in the car, and I have no idea where my Mercedes is, for that matter. With no phone numbers memorized, I have no choice but to wait for someone to come and get me from the hospital room.
I’m half-tempted to call a cab to take me directly to the airport to return home to Spokane, but Christian’s words echoed through my head all night.
Apparently, I’m not a lawyer anymore. I live in Spruce Crossing now, and I’m opening a restaurant. None of this makes sense.
The doctor spoke with me twice, both times explaining that the concussion and the trauma of the accident are responsible for my memory loss. But he could not give me a timeline or guarantee that the lost portion would ever be recovered.
“Your brain is like a computer, Mr. Adler,” the doctor offered philosophically. “Sometimes, there’s a backup file somewhere that needs to be found. Sometimes, those files are lost for good.”
How reassuring.
In the meantime, he advised me to go about my life. But which life? What am I doing? How could I have forgotten such a drastic life change?
Christian isn’t the only image that floated through my head all night. Every time I tried to get some sleep, Mia Reyes’ horrified green irises shot through my mind, the disappointment etched on her face palpable.
The more I try to piece together what happened, the more confused and conflicted I become. Shame eats at me as I pace around the private room, stopping to look out the window at the distant mountain range. The snow from last night stopped, but the white powder covers the landscape outside the windowpane. This place is beautiful, I must admit.
One thing I do remember is discussing Spruce Crossing with Christian, seeing pictures of my college roommate’s hometown. I can imagine why I would think it was a good place to start over. But to actually do it?
“Oh, good. You didn’t drop dead overnight,” comes my best friend’s taunt from behind me.
I whip around, relief flooding me to see him. “No such luck, buddy,” I retort. “Where have you been?” I ask, walking toward him. “I’ve been totally cut off from the world here.”
Christian quirks a grin at me and produces a Ziplock bag. I exhale so hard, I’m surprised I don’t knock him over with my breath. “You have my phone! You have my car, too?”
“Nah. You’ll have to work that out with the body shop,” he replies. “But I got what I could out of the front.”
Gratefully, I grab the bag from him and sit on the end of the bed, shifting uncomfortably in my hospital gown. My gaze falls toward my clothes folded neatly on a chair in a corner, but I turn on my cell first to look for missed calls from my law firm. There’s nothing. My confused look catches my best friend’s eye again.
“What, Mase?” he asks, sounding exasperated. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Did I really move here?” I blurt out disbelievingly. “I quit my job?”
A flicker of compassion lights Christian’s eyes, and he folds his arms over his chest. “Is it that hard to believe? You hated being a lawyer.”
I weigh his words. He’s not wrong. “Soul sucking” was a term I often used to describe my occupation. But to pick up and move to Montana?
“Get dressed,” he orders me. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He retreats from the room to allow me to change, and I hastily do so with my eyes on the Ziplock bag. Inside, there’s a red folder, along with my phone, which I grab as I stuff my feet into my boots.
Meeting my friend in the hall by the nurse’s station to sign out, I ask about Mia. “Was she really unhurt?”
Christian blinks in surprise. “Mia? She’s fine. She is more worried about you than anything else.”
Unexpectedly, the confession warms my chest.
“How do you know her?” I ask.
Christian casts me a sidelong look when I scrawl my signature on the paperwork, and we head down the hallway.
“My mom and her mom have been friends forever… but this is Spruce Crossing,” he replies with a dry chuckle. “Inevitably, everyone meets everyone… although, usually in a much less dramatic fashion than you managed last night.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I throw on my coat, buttoning up as we make our way toward Christian’s waiting vehicle.
“I have to pick up my car,” I mumble, more to myself than him.
“You can’t drive today,” he tells me. “Doctor’s orders.”
I roll my eyes. “I feel fine.”
“You have amnesia,” he reminds me curtly. “You’re not fine.”
My teeth grind together, but I swallow my arguments. Instead, I accept my fate, climbing into the passenger side and securing myself as Christian takes the wheel.
As he drives away from the hospital, my hand reaches up to touch the sore spot on my head, and I question how long it will take to regain the memories I’ve lost, assuming they’ll ever return at all.
I pull out the folder from inside the plastic bag Christian collected from my car, and a dozen loose papers spill onto my lap. Blankly, I stare at them, none of them the least bit familiar. Christian catches my dumbfounded expression.
“Those are plans for your restaurant,” he reminds me slowly, concern coloring his eyes.
Without looking up, I flip through them, gnawing on the insides of my cheeks. None of it triggers a single memory, despite the fact that they’re all in my handwriting. Upset tightens my chest, and I stuff them back in the plastic bag, turning my gaze outside.
We drive the ten miles back to Spruce Crossing and pass the storefronts on Main Street, my subconscious catching some of their names without really registering them. All of the buildings are decorated for the upcoming season in greens, reds, and whites, boughs of holly and spray characters adorning the front windows.
What had I been thinking coming here? When did I make this decision?
I want to ask Christian, but I’m too embarrassed. I’m thirty-one years old, and I have the cognitive function of an old man.
“Oh… wow.”
My friend’s voice brings me back to the present, and I turn my head as he pulls into a long driveway, a half-smile on his face.
“What?” I demand, unsmiling myself.
“Look!” He points, but I have no idea what he’s showing me or where we are exactly. I assume this is his mother’s house, the charming farmhouse out front boasting a giant H for Hargrove in horseshoes. But there’s a smaller house toward which Christian drives, and a red minivan is parked in front of it.
The carriage house.
I remember talk of that. This is where I’m staying, apparently.
But Christian isn’t pointing at the car or the house. He’s pointing at the bundled-up redhead sitting on the shoveled front step, her breaths escaping in plumes of white. Her tiny frame jumps up to see Christian’s car approaching, and I immediately recognize Mia. She’s surrounded by canvas bags like she’s just been out shopping.
“Did you call her here?” I growl at my friend.
“Nope,” Christian replies. “My mom must have told her you were coming home today.” He strains forward as his car slows. “I wonder whose car she’s driving.”
Another stab of guilt pierces through me. “Her car was totaled, too?”
“Maybe you can both talk to the body shop tomorrow,” Christian suggests, putting his vehicle in park as Mia approaches tentatively, the uncertainty on her face tangible.
Christian hops out first. “Hey,” he calls to her, waving me out of the car.
Slowly, I open the door, unsure why she’s there. Her vivid green eyes fix on me, and I can’t help but relax under her gaze.
“I’m so glad you’re out of the hospital, Mason,” she breathes as soon as I open the door. “How are you feeling?”
I force a smile I don’t feel. “Better than the alternative, I guess.”
The cold air hits my lungs, and Christian ushers us toward the carriage house. “I’ll let you in,” he proposes, nodding at the packages in Mia’s hands. “So you can put those down.”
Blushing, Mia holds up the bags. “I brought some stuff for Mason to pass the time. I wasn’t sure how much recovery he had ahead of him, but I remember after I had my appendix removed, I was stuck in bed for a bit, and it was boring.”
A spark of appreciation for this virtual stranger overtakes me. “Thanks,” I murmur, accepting the offerings. To my surprise, the bags are heavy. “Did you put bricks in here?”
“Maybe I went a little overboard,” she replies sheepishly. “Be careful. There’s soup.”
Christian lets us in but doesn’t cross the threshold, a knowing grin on his face. “I’m going to say hi to my mom,” he informs us, but I barely hear him as he backs away. “Good to see you, Mia.”
He’s gone before either of us responds.
Mia hangs out awkwardly in the entranceway as I slowly remove my boots and coat, my eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings. It’s a sweet, one-roomed cottage with all the amenities, including a full bed and a real fireplace. I don’t recognize the house, although I see some of my belongings. I really have been staying here!
Understanding funnels through her face. “You don’t remember this place at all, do you?”
Frustration washes over me, and I shake my head. “I don’t understand this,” I growl. “I don’t remember coming here.”
Mia takes a small step closer, but not too far in, so as not to track snow beyond the mat.
“I can tell you what I know if you want,” she offers tentatively. “But I don’t want to overwhelm you if you’re not ready.”
“Please! Tell me something!” I implore her. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”
She nods slowly. “You’ve been in Spruce Crossing for a few weeks now, Mason. You bought a great building for a restaurant, right on Main Street. All the locals are really excited about it.” There’s enthusiasm in her voice, but I feel nothing at all.
“It’s called Wild Sage,” she adds. “Does that mean anything to you?”
I meet her eyes and shake my head. “No.”
Disappointment floods her attractive face, but she maintains her smile. “You’ve been through a lot,” she tells me kindly. “I’m sure after some rest—and soup—it will all come back to you. I won’t keep you.” She turns to leave, and I stop her.
“Mia…”
She glances at me over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Will you go to the body shop with me tomorrow to find out what to do with my car?”
Her eyes widen, and this time her smile is genuine. “Sure! I have to figure out what’s going on with my car, too,” she agrees. “Why don’t I leave you my number, and we can work it out? Maybe I can take you around town, too? Something might jog your memory.”
I don’t want to tell her not to get her hopes up, so I nod instead as she takes my phone and adds her number.
“And Mia…”
“Hm?”
“I’m really sorry about the accident.”
Her expression is filled with compassion. “Oh, Mason. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry you were injured.”
I study her guileless face, and something sparks inside me, but it has nothing to do with a memory. She’s absolutely beautiful, embodying a rare kindness. Would a city girl ever behave this way if I’d hit her car?
“I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?” I tell her, and then thank her again for the care package.
“Just text me when you’re ready to go. I have my sister’s van at my disposal,” she reassures me.
Closing the door as she leaves, I look around the tiny carriage house and wonder again why I gave up my life in the city for this. But it’s not too late to go back if I’ve only been here for a few weeks.