Letter Twenty-Six #3
I asked him why I couldn’t remember anything since the accident—or the accident itself—and he said the doctor had called it retrograde amnesia, which sometimes happens with head injuries.
It felt strange to know I’d lost hours of my life and might never get them back, even stranger to know I’d temporarily lost a huge chunk of our history together.
What if I’d lost all that time with you permanently?
A short while later, the doctor came in with good news.
My MRI looked great, he said. My concussion appeared to be mild.
After a series of questions—What year is it?
What month? Who’s the president?—the doctor listed some unpleasant symptoms I might experience over the next couple of weeks, including dizzy spells and fatigue.
He told me to temporarily limit screen time, to avoid activities that might put extra stress on my brain, like schoolwork or heavy reading, then cleared us to leave.
You and Nic stepped out of the room while I removed the gown and put on my clothes.
Later, after we’d climbed into the back of the car with Hal, Nic pulled me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said, pushing me back to take my face in his hands. “If I’d—” He stopped, cleared his throat, his eyes full of tears. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Dad,” I said, wondering why the hell he was getting so emotional over an accident in our basement.
When he finally released me, I noticed you gazing out the window, pinching your lips like you sometimes do when you’re worried. You’d been extra quiet at the hospital, and that concerned me, too, so I rested my achy head on your shoulder. A moment later, you rested your head on top of mine.
At home, Nic stopped me from mounting the stairs.
“I’m tired,” I whined. “I want my bed.”
“Absolutely not,” Nic said, steering me in the direction of the Garland Room.
“You heard the doctor. You might experience dizziness for the next week or so, which makes you a fall risk. Stairs are out of the question. Also, I’d feel more comfortable if you stayed down here, where we can keep a close eye on you for a few days. ”
Too tired to argue, I removed my coat and went straight to the sofa, where I curled into a ball and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Sometime later, I awoke to a fingertip sweeping tenderly across my cheek, tucking strands of hair behind my ear.
It was you, of course, perched on the edge of the coffee table, gazing down at me in a gentle, serious way that made my stomach flutter. I blinked up at you. “What time is it?”
“Just past six,” you said, voice low and velvety soft. “Michael dropped by to check on you, watched you sleep for a little while, left.”
“Where’s my dad?”
“At the Harrises’ for a bit.”
“They’re talking again?”
“Apparently so.”
“What are you doing?”
“Just taking a moment,” you said. “Just thinking how grateful I am that you’re okay—and that you got your memory back.”
I lifted up on my elbow but your hand remained, never leaving my face. As you stroked my cheekbone with your thumb, I said, “Tell me what happened when you found me.”
“Well, the man wouldn’t stop talking, so I had to cut him off—”
“What man?”
“The one who stopped us for directions.”
“Oh, right.”
“Anyway, I walked in, saw the coffee on the floor, and immediately panicked—I’m not sure why, I just had this strange feeling something wasn’t quite right—so I started calling your name.
I noticed the basement door ajar, so I peered down there and saw you kneeling at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the back of your head.
I rushed down and helped you up, closed the door down there—”
“I don’t remember that door being open.”
You pulled your hand from my face. “Well, it was. You must’ve opened it for some reason.”
I didn’t think I had. I’d never opened the exterior basement door in my life. But my memories of that whole day were fuzzy and indistinct, like they were covered in gauze, so I decided to drop it. “What else happened?”
“You asked me what I was still doing here. You said I should be in England already, meeting my new baby nephew—which is when I first realized your injury was far more serious than it appeared to be.”
“What else did I say?”
“You kept saying you had a headache, kept asking for your dad, kept telling me I needed to go now or I’d miss my flight.
You were stuck on this endless loop, repeating the same things over and over.
I grabbed my phone, ready to ring your dad, but then he walked through the door, all agitated, like he already knew something bad had happened. ”
My first thought was: How did he know?
“Hal took us to hospital,” you went on, “and you started on a new loop of questions once we got there. Every few minutes, you panicked about being in hospital and asked to go home. When the doctor asked how old you were, you told him you were seventeen. I walked away for a few minutes to take a call from Michael, and you asked me again: ‘What are you doing here, Casey? Shouldn’t you be in England meeting your new baby nephew?’” You stopped and sighed.
“It was incredibly frustrating. And it scared the hell out of me.”
I pushed myself up—and the room began to spin, pinpricks of light bursting before my eyes. Bracing my hand against the back of the sofa, I waited for the dizzy spell to pass. You quickly moved to my side, asking if I was okay.
“I’m fine,” I said, opening my eyes. “Sorry I scared you.”
You lifted my hand to your mouth, then pressed your lips to the base of my thumb.
“I’ve never been more terrified in my life.
” More kisses, sprinkled across my palm.
Your other hand, pushing up the sleeve of my sweater, softly stroking my arm.
You sprinkled kisses there, too, returning again and again to the inside of my wrist. Each one sent chills racing through my body.
“I thought you’d lost it all. Two whole years.
Practically our entire history together.
” A muscle in your jaw twitched. Something like determination flickered across your face.
“I’m sleeping on the other sofa tonight. I’m not leaving your side.”
“Until Wednesday, you mean.”
“Not then, either. I’m staying right here. I’ve already texted Claire to let her know I’m not coming.”
“Casey,” I said, trying to pull my arm back, but your grip tightened. “You need to go home and see your family. It’s Christmas.”
“This is my home now, and I’m not leaving you.”
“But my dad’ll be here. I’ll be fine.”
You shook your head, still cradling my hand to your chest. “No.”
“Casey, you already made plans.”
“I’m staying,” you said, eyes especially blue as they clung to mine. “You don’t get to tell me where I belong at Christmas, Elliot.”
“Okay,” I said, but you continued.
“I’ve already made up my mind,” you said, your tone accusatory. “This is what I want, and nothing you say will change that.”
“Okay,” I repeated softly. “It’s not that I don’t want you here. I just don’t want you missing Christmas with Claire because you feel obligated to stay with me.”
“I don’t feel obligated, alright? You know that chilling thing you said?
Right before the accident? About seeing Christmas for the last time?
It’s got me all paranoid—because you also said you missed my first Christmas here, and then you bloody went there today.
You traveled back in time, for Christ’s sake.
You scared me half to death, Elliot, so I’m not leaving you.
” Your expression softened, then you lowered your voice.
“The only way I can be sure you’re okay is to stay here, right by your side, all cozy by the fire and that”—you cocked your head in Garland’s direction—“creepy Garland guy.”
“But Casey…”
“But what?” you asked, ducking to meet my gaze.
“But nothing. I’m glad we get to spend Christmas together—as long as you’re not bugging me the whole time by trying to take care of me.”
“Of course I’ll be taking care of you. You’ve just had a head injury.”
“Yes, but I’m fine.”
“Head injuries are quite serious, Elliot.”
“I’m fine.”
“No. Once you’ve given your brain a proper rest, like the doctor said you should, then you’ll be fine.
But I know how stubborn you are, so I’ll need to make sure you aren’t doing anything you shouldn’t.
And since we’ll have to severely limit your screen time, you’ll select a book for me to read to you—which you’ll quite enjoy, I think, because I’ve been told I have a rather nice reading voice.
And when you complain of being bored—because you absolutely will, probably nonstop, I’m afraid—I’ll need to find ways of keeping you entertained. ”
“Okay, you’re already annoying me, and it’s only been a few minutes.”
“Elliot, stop fighting this and just give in to it, alright? You’ll find that we’re both much happier this way.”
Something about the way you said that made my stomach flip again.
That’s when my dad and the Harrises walked in. All the Harrises, including Michael and Bree. You finally released my hand from your chest, but not before I caught the flash of anger on Michael’s face. He jammed both hands into his pockets, looking away.
You rose from the sofa to make space for John and Libby, who rushed to my side. With tears flowing down her face, Libby pulled me into a hug first, followed by John. He cradled my head to his chest for so long I wondered if he’d ever let me go.
Nic was there, too, sitting across from us on the coffee table.
They formed a triangle—with me at the center—all three of them petting me and cry-laughing and clutching at each other, all three sagging with relief.
Their behavior seemed pretty damn dramatic for a minor head injury, and it creeped me the hell out.
Had this been one of those crazy situations where, if the injury had occurred one-eighth of an inch to the left, I would’ve died? And no one told me?