Chapter 6
Chapter six
Paisley
If the chalk painting didn’t take me out, I was pretty sure trying to fit my arm through the armhole of Greyson’s shirt would finish the job.
It took all the finagling for me and Juliet to finally get it on.
Like a game of Twister with clothing. Sure, it was plenty big, but maneuvering a newly relocated shoulder and bulky bandages weren’t for the faint of heart.
“You okay?” Juliet asked once I was out of that horribly scratchy gown, and I knew she wasn’t referring to the shirt. Which was perfectly soft and smelled delicious. The perfect blend of musk and sandalwood. But I wasn’t admitting that.
I perched on the edge of the hospital bed and took inventory of my body.
The throbbing in my head had lessened into a wicked headache, and my shoulder burned from the T-shirt fiasco.
Slings and bandages were cumbersome inventions.
But I was whole and in one piece. A miracle, I was told, considering the fall I’d taken into a flower box, which cushioned my fall enough to keep me from breaking any bones, but not enough to miss the metal pipe my head had hit on the way down.
“Physically, sure,” I said at last. “Mentally, emotionally? I don’t know.
They said I’ll remember. Remember what? There’s a gaping black hole of information in my mind.
As far as I know, we’re graduating college, and I’m going back for my master’s.
” I held up my ring finger, admiring the filigree vines making up the band and holding a beautiful oval diamond.
It was a dream ring. “I married Jared in January, but this isn’t his ring.
” Even if this beautiful ring reflected my personality more than his ever did.
I fisted the thin, itchy blankets. “That’s what I know, but Greyson keeps saying . . .” I shot a glance at the door. “All I remember about him is that you said he’s never home because he’s off saving the world.”
Juliet crouched in front of me, her hands squeezing my knees. She still wore black nail polish. At least that hadn’t changed. “Pais, your brain is injured, and it’s trying to protect you. That fall . . . It could have been so much worse.” Her blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Had I ever seen Juliet cry? She wasn’t the emotional type and never gave into histrionics. More the I-wonder-if-she-has-a-heart-sometimes type. If there was surgery for tear duct removal, I was certain she’d had it.
“Like the doctor said. Don’t force anything. Breathe. It’ll come.”
“But what if it doesn’t? Because he said it might not.” He’d dropped that information with all the delicate handling of a nuclear bomb. “If I married Jared, why did I marry him?” I couldn’t even say Greyson’s name. “I love Jared.”
Juliet’s face darkened into a thundercloud. “You’re better off without him. I know you can’t remember, but you know me. Will you trust me?”
I stared at the put-together blonde-haired woman, looking a little rumpled and holding my hands—and my sanity—together. She was my best friend, a bright star in the bleak canvas of my mind. “Yeah”—I exhaled—“I trust you.”
“Then please believe me when I say we’ll tell you all about Jared later if it doesn’t come back to you soon.
But right now, I don’t think you’re in the right spot to hear it.
You’re healing. Your mind is spinning. But Greyson loves you.
So much. You two made me believe in love again.
” Juliet scrunched her nose. “Even if it was a bit nauseating to watch my bestie and my brother get mushy.”
“Do I really love him?” I asked. “We aren’t a marriage of convenience or a fake relationship?”
Shock mixed with—was that sheepishness?—danced across Juliet’s face before she laughed.
Like the question amused her. “There’s the bookish librarian I know and love.
Yeah, I’m sure you love him. Like I said, it was pretty sickening to watch at the beginning.
” She cocked her head. “Honestly, it still is. But for now, let’s go home.
Steph and Liz are bursting at the seams to see you. ”
Her words stopped me in my oxford-heeled steps. “They’re here?”
“Yeah. We had plans for the weekend. A girls’ trip to the hot springs. But . . .” Juliet’s bravado fractured. “Then we thought we might be saying goodbye.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” I instinctively reached for her, pulling her into an awkward, one-armed hug. “Are you okay? I’ve never seen you cry.”
Juliet’s laugh was watery. “Um . . . it’s not important right now. Let’s go see that psychologist before we get you home.”
“Where is home exactly? You’re not going to leave me with a strange man, right?” Panic cloaked my words, coating my throat. Why was I afraid? Greyson was her brother and my husband. I wouldn’t have married him if he was bad. Right? So why was my body freaking out?
“Pais?”
I blinked, and the panicking haze melted into Juliet’s concerned frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I croaked. “Just don’t want to be alone. Gotta warm back up to him, right?” I tried to joke, but the wrinkle in her forehead didn’t fade.
“Let’s go talk to Grey about the arrangements,” she said gently, shouldering her tote bag and following me out the door.
Greyson sprang to his feet as we exited and took Juliet’s bag.
He was a thoughtful gentleman at least. His soft gaze trailed over me, assessing.
Probing. Like he wanted to hold me, like he was afraid I would float away.
“Shall we?” He motioned down the busy hallway, then his hand brushed the small of my back. “The psychologist is down a floor.”
The touch was soft, but my skin crawled and I flinched.
His hand instantly dropped. His face was expressionless when I stole a glance at him, but there was a subtle tick in his jaw.
Great, I’d upset him. At least, I think that was anger.
For some reason, not knowing how to read him had me scooting closer to Juliet.
I crossed my arms and offered my best glare at the woman opposite me. At least I could see better now since Juliet had brought my spare pair of glasses.
Dr. Reba’s expression was kind and placid, her dark hair in loose curls, and she was every inch the professional with her billowy floral blouse tucked into high-waisted black slacks.
But with her vibrant tan and colouring, she looked like she’d be more at home on the beach than in a stuffy, sterile hospital.
“I’m not crazy,” I huffed at last, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Pretty sure all therapists took a vow to never be the first one to speak during a session because the one I’d seen as a teen—at the demand of my social worker, Mr. V—was the same way.
Understanding rimmed her dark eyes. “No one thinks you are.”
“But they don’t believe me about Jared. I know who I married. So why isn’t he here?”
She paused thoughtfully, fingers lightly drumming the edge of her desk. “I don’t know you or Jared. But I do know with brain injuries like this, often there’s a component of our body trying to protect us. From trauma in our pasts—”
I snorted. “If my body wanted to protect me, it should have picked my childhood.” I’d come a long way since my early years in a dingy trailer park and popping in and out of foster care.
Even if I was forgetting my present, I had no trouble recalling in vivid detail my earlier life.
That was the part I really wanted to forget.
Dr. Reba smiled kindly. “Maybe. But if you don’t remember the last seven years, you don’t remember the trauma of them either. But your body does and it’s holding onto that to keep you safe. What I do know is that you have a host of loving people rallying around you to support you.”
“And if I don’t ever remember?”
“Don’t force it. Memories come back best organically, if they return at all.”
Easier said than done. “So what am I supposed to do, eat grapes and bonbons while sitting on a chaise lounge all summer?”
My sarcasm didn’t faze her. “What did you do before the accident?”
The topic change rattled me. “Uh . . . they said I’m a librarian. That’s what I’m in school for. Or was.”
Dr. Reba handed me a book from the shelf behind her. “Can you catalog this in the library?”
I scanned the cover. “Psychology. Which would be 107 in the Dewey System. Back corner.” Whoa.
A knowing smile touched her lips. “Give your head a week to heal and then go back to the library. The skills-and-performance part of your brain is likely in fine working form. It’s a different region than what stores your memories.”
“Oh joy,” I muttered. “Who needs memories when you can just recite the Dewey Decimal System?”
I could have sworn Dr. Reba chuckled, but there was no sign of it when I glanced at her again.
We made our polite goodbyes, and before I dashed for freedom through the door, she handed me her card.
“If you need anything, I’m here to help. Or I can recommend someone closer to you in Serenity Springs.”
I crammed the business card into my sweatpants pocket and, after thanking her, slipped out to meet Greyson and Juliet. Yeah, no. There were no therapists in that small town . . . At least none that I remembered. If there were, your business had the potential to become everyone’s.
Five minutes later, the hospital doors whooshed open, and the hot afternoon air slapped my face.
Sweat instantly beaded my body after the air-conditioned splendor.
If I needed any further proof that I wasn’t in Seattle anymore, this was it.
The dry ninety-five degrees seared me like an overdone baked potato, and I coughed as a wave of dust wafted through the parking lot.
At least, there was no cloying cloud of humidity trying to smother you the minute you stepped outside.
Still, what I wouldn’t give for Oregon’s ocean breezes to dispel the dirt now coating my nose and throat.
“Wait here,” Greyson said. “I’ll pull the truck around.” And he jogged away without another word.