Kate
Before stepping into Jackson’s room this morning, I detoured through the walk-in clinic on the lower level of the hospital and all but confirmed what I’d known to be true since I woke up with blood pooled between my legs.
Another round of bloodwork in two days will undoubtedly show that there’s no pregnancy hormones left.
The work my body did for seven weeks is gone, and the heartache is here to stay for the rest of my life.
The physical pain of miscarrying—the cramps that sent fire coursing down my legs and elicited a dull pain in my lower back that was eerily similar to the back labor I endured with both Odessa and Rhett—or even the emotional pain of losing what could’ve been was nothing compared to the pain of slipping a calm mask over my face and telling Jackson I’m not pregnant.
There wasn’t a single blip of recognition in his eyes.
Nothing to indicate that merely a week prior he was pressing soft kisses to my stomach and talking about how excited he was for another baby.
That man would have a dozen kids if it were up to him.
And while I didn’t lie to him today, it felt like I did.
For the very first time, I sat across from my husband and I didn’t tell him the entire truth.
That I was pregnant mere hours before. That I was trying my best to keep my composure while actively bleeding.
That I fear it’s my own doing—the lack of sleep or proper nutrition or the shameful thoughts I sometimes had about things being easier if…
Stepping out of his room, I walked in time with my short, shallow breaths to the elevator bank. My eyes shut until I heard the clamorous sound of the elevator stopping. And thank God that tiny space was empty, because I fell apart on the slow descent to the parking lot.
—
My car door slams shut and I fill my lungs with the aroma of damp earth.
The air’s cold, but not quite cold enough to turn the drizzle to ice.
For a minute, I look out across the ranch I’ve called home since I was twenty years old.
The massive white barn and the staggered cabins and bunkhouses carrying on into the dark.
Soft glow filtered through windows painted on the rain-soaked grass.
Beyond that, hayfields and mountains and herds of cattle carry on, and though I can’t see them right now, I’ve looked out over this view enough times I can picture it vividly.
When Jackson thinks about the ranch he grew up on, is it a hazy recollection of a ranch that feels fictional, like something he’s read in a book, or is it in full Technicolor?
The big house where we live is a gathering place, of sorts.
Before I came around, when the boys’ grandfather and mother were alive, it was apparently much the same.
The ranch was teeming with life—ranch hands, their wives and children, old family friends relaxing on the porch, sipping coffee around the kitchen table, or drinking beer on the riverbank.
Then Lucy fell ill, and the entire ranch became crestfallen.
Jackson and I worked hard to revive the energy, and tonight I can hear laughter and the faint echo of music reverberating off the walls.
It’s warm and cozy and smells like freshly baked brownies.
I find Odessa curled up on the couch watching some kids’ cartoon with talking dogs.
Red and Cassidy’s toddler, Hazel, is fast asleep with her head on Odessa’s lap, and Rhett’s taking up more than his fair share of the couch, sleeping with his mouth hanging wide open.
I creep in, careful not to wake the sleeping littles, and crouch next to Odessa.
She looks at me, wide-eyed, and asks in a hushed voice, “Did you give Daddy my card?”
My whisper matches hers. “He loved it.”
“Is he coming home soon?”
“I hope so, Dess. I hope so.” I kneel on the antique rug in the middle of the floor and reach for the remote to pause her show. “I need to have a big-girl talk with you, okay?”
Her nose scrunches, collecting the small smattering of brown dots on her skin. During the summer, she’ll have more freckles than the sky has stars.
“First of all, I want to make it clear that Dad is healthy, okay? The doctors are amazed by how quickly he’s recovering…but…” A boulder-sized knot wedges low in my throat. “But…he doesn’t remember anything from before the accident.”
“Like that he was gonna buy me a horse?”
“Well, yeah…that and more. I’m telling you this because I know you listen to the adults when they’re in the kitchen, or the guys are talking about stuff down in the barn. I don’t want you to hear something and feel confused or scared.”
“Does he remember when Santa tracked soot across the floor on his boots last year?”
“No, Dess.”
“Does he remember when we hid those barn kittens in my closet?”
I raise an eyebrow. “When you what?”
“Oh, I forgot you didn’t know about that.” She presses her lips tight together, but a menacing grin plays at the corners of her eyes.
“He doesn’t remember….” I mull over my words, trying to choose them carefully.
I sat down with her prepared to spill the truth of the situation because I’d rather her hear it directly from me instead of catching part of an adult conversation elsewhere.
But now that I’m here, it’s dawning on me that I have to tell her Jackson doesn’t remember her.
It’s not only that he doesn’t remember the shenanigans they got up to.
He had to be told about her very existence, and he only knows her from the pictures I showed him today.
“Odessa, Daddy’s brain was injured, right?” I squeeze her knee. “And the brain has a lot of extremely important jobs. One of those jobs is holding on to your memories…and his brain’s having a hard time doing that right now.”
“So he doesn’t remember anything at all?”
“Very little.”
Her eyes cut to the floor, and the small twitch of her lips tells me she’s thinking hard. Making sense of something that doesn’t make sense at all.
“Does he remember me being born?”
I exhale heavily through my nose. “No…No, Odessa. He doesn’t. Not yet. We’re hoping he just needs time to heal, and he’ll remember everything again.”
“Oh.” Tears brim her eyes and when I lean in to comfort her, she leans away. For a moment she stares at the paused television, silently processing. “S-so am I like…am I a stranger?”
“No,” I clip. “No, baby. He knows who you are, and he loves you. He just doesn’t have all his memories right now.”
She mulls that over for a second, then, with a quivering lip, asks, “Does he remember you?”
“Not yet.”
Not yet. Two tiny words containing immeasurable hope.
“But…” She drags the back of her hand across her wet eyes. “Does his brain need to be all better before he comes home?”
“Nope. He should be allowed to come home soon, and we’ll take care of him here.
” I hold her small hand in mine, running my thumb along the length of each finger.
“I showed him pictures and videos, and told him all kinds of stories today. Talked his ear off. Even if he doesn’t remember us yet, he’ll feel like he does. ”
“Good. I want him to be back, even if his brain is still hurt.”
I sniff against the sting in my nostrils. “Me too. It’s weird not having him here, isn’t it?”
She nods. “I miss his bedtime stories. Don’t tell her, but Gran doesn’t do as good of a job as Dad does.”
I chuckle softly. Jackson’s imagination runs wild at bedtime, coming up with stories on the spot that tend to incite a lot of laughter, squeals, and even the occasional bed-jumping.
And though I roll my eyes and poke my head into the room to remind them all that story time is meant to be quiet time, I love the love they have for each other too much to be mad.
“He is really good at bedtime stories…. Finish your show, then I’ll make an attempt at doing story time justice.”
“Is Daddy going to be able to tell us stories when he comes back home?”
The wistful shimmer in her eyes cinches something around my heart.
“He might be a bit rusty the first couple times, but I’m sure he’s still got some good stories in there.” My index finger taps the side of my head, and I wink at Odessa.
After giving Rhett a quick kiss, I slip out into the hallway and head toward the busy kitchen. Everyone’s gathered around the table, drinking and snacking and yapping, and when I walk into the room, Denny’s wife, Blair, pulls out an empty chair for me.
The ice-cold beer in the fridge is awfully tempting, but somehow a tiny part of me is holding on to hope that the heavy bleeding, excruciating cramps, and empty feeling in my heart are false alarms, so I opt for iced tea.
The first sip hits my lips at the same moment I plunk into the empty chair, and Blair lovingly pats the top of my thigh.
“How was it?” she asks.
All the chatter ends immediately, and attention redirects to me. To that question. I’m sure they’re all dying to know whether Jackson’s memory is back.
“Intense.” I settle into the well-worn wooden seat, looking at the worried faces staring back at me.
They might not all be related to Jackson by blood, but he’s a brother to each and every one of them.
“He…he still doesn’t remember much, and maybe it’ll come back or maybe it won’t.
The doctors keep saying his brain needs more time to heal, so… ”
I glance over at Denny, who’s cradling his sleeping daughter in his arms, and my heart pinches.
“But he’s doing okay, otherwise. He’s being stubborn about taking anything for pain…but I’m even more stubborn, so he’s following doctor’s orders now. I wish he was in the Sheridan hospital, so I could go every day, but with the kids…”
Denny’s beer bottle clunks against the wooden tabletop. “We’re gonna go see him tomorrow. I’ll bully him for ya, Kate.”
“Oh, please. You just want an opportunity to win a fight against your brother.”
Denny shoots a finger gun in my direction. “Payback for years of him picking on me as kids.”
“Any word on when he’ll come home?” Red asks from the far end of the table.
I shrug. I tried to coerce somebody at the hospital into giving me a definite date this morning but was met with a lot of the usual we’ll see bullshit.
One person said it could be as early as next week, and that’s what I’m choosing to cling to.
“They removed the drain, and everything’s stable, so the plan is to move him to a regular room as soon as there’s an available bed. Hopefully home within the next week.”
“Good.” Blair smiles at that, and her hand squeezes my leg. “That’s an amazing recovery.”
“Yeah…” I nod, hesitating before adding, “Now we just need him to remember his family.”
Everyone retreats behind their drinks like they’ve rehearsed it, all of us collectively avoiding eye contact with the rawest part of the truth.
Nobody wants the responsibility of formulating a response.
Being the person who has to keep my expectations in check while simultaneously filling me with hope—fucking hope.
That’s all we have, and sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.
So I push past the knot in my throat and clear my voice. “It’s fine. If he doesn’t remember falling in love with me, I’ll start over. Show up at the hospital in tight jeans and a push-up bra. Ask him where a girl can find a hot cowboy around there.”
Austin chokes on his drink.
Denny grins, not missing a beat. “Look out, everyone. Kate’s entering her buckle bunny era.”
I point a finger at him. “You know…I think there are bedazzled jeans somewhere at the back of my closet.”
Red’s wife, Cassidy, drums her fingers against her chin thoughtfully. “You should cut them into short-shorts and show some leg. If you cut ’em right, you’ll get the perfect sliver of exposed butt cheek, too. He’ll love that.”
“Cass, if you own shorts like this, you’re putting them on as soon as we get home.” Red bumps his shoulder into hers.
“Booty shorts are a great call,” I agree. “Bet he falls in love twice as fast if I show up looking like I just got off a shift at Coyote Ugly.”
Cecily’s hand slaps down on the table, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “I just remembered I have a pair of sparkly cowboy boots. No chance they’re fitting on my swollen feet, so you can borrow them. You need a little sparkle when you’re spiraling in front of your amnesiac husband.”
“Oh, I definitely want to look hot while I spiral.” I laugh, letting it stretch enough to carry me through the underlying sadness of this conversation.
Austin finally recovers from choking and mutters, “You’re all insane.”
Denny raises his cup in mock salute. “To Kate’s buckle bunny era. May it be short-lived and wildly effective.”