Chapter 19
“You’re sure you feel up to this?” Simeon parked the vehicle in Dad’s driveway but turned to Abigail. He’d asked five times already, but he wasn’t sure she understood how much spending the entire day with his family could be. They’d come to see her in ones and twos all week, but she hadn’t been with all of them at once since the hospital. And they’d been pretty subdued there. Of course, they’d likely be fairly subdued today as well, even if they were celebrating Benjamin’s graduation from culinary school. It had only been a week since they’d gathered to bury Carly.
“Simeon, I’m fine. I only feel bad that we didn’t go to the ceremony yesterday.”
“Benjamin understands.” Simeon had wanted to go, but the school was six hours away, and there was no way Abigail could have sat in the vehicle that long with her broken ribs. And he hadn’t been willing to leave her for a full day. “He’ll be glad to see you. Everyone will.”
Benjamin hadn’t even wanted to have a party at all, but the rest of them had insisted, and Simeon was glad. They needed to be there for each other now more than ever.
He got out of the vehicle and went to open Abigail’s door, holding out a hand to help her down. She didn’t hesitate anymore to take his hand for things like this, and he cherished the warmth of her fingers in his, even if it only lasted a few moments. She pulled her hand back as they started toward the house, and he contented himself with breathing in the floral scent of her hair that drifted to him on the light breeze.
“This is a beautiful place.” Abigail’s gaze traveled from the ranch-style house to the yard that sloped behind it, all the way down to the meandering Serenity River. He had to remind himself that it was like she was seeing it for the first time.
He chuckled, and she gave him a quizzical look. “That’s funny?”
“No. I was just remembering the first time I brought you here. I asked if you liked the view, and you hadn’t even noticed it because you were so scared of meeting my mama. You were convinced she was going to hate you.”
Abigail frowned. “Did she?”
“Of course not.” Simeon laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. She definitely had her . . . opinions about things. And people. But after she met you, she pulled me aside and said, ‘I can’t find anything to not like about her.’”
Abigail’s laugh was loud and surprising—and it made Simeon rejoice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a genuine laugh like that from her. Long before the accident, that much he was sure of.
“That sounds like high praise.” Abigail was still laughing.
“Trust me. From Mama, it was. Just ask Grace. She had a time of it convincing Mama that Levi was a good guy.”
Abigail’s forehead wrinkled. “Levi’s the football player, right?”
Simeon nodded. He appreciated the way Abigail was working so hard to relearn who was who in his family.
They reached the front door, and he paused. “Just to warn you—there will probably be a lot of hugs. I mean, I can try to stop them, but . . .”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. As long as they don’t squeeze too hard.”
“I’ll warn them.” Simeon opened the door, expecting the usual wall of sound. Instead, only a low murmur of voices reached them. Simeon grimaced at the reminder of how much things had changed.
“Are you okay?” Abigail touched a hand to his forearm. It was enough to catapult Simeon’s heart right up to his throat. It was the first time she’d touched him since they’d gotten home from the hospital, aside from letting him help her in and out of vehicles or chairs.
“I’m okay,” he managed around a quick breath.
She watched him for another moment, then let her hand fall from his arm and passed in front of him to enter the house. She paused at the wall of pictures on the living room wall.
“We took this one a couple years ago,” Simeon murmured, pointing to what looked like the newest family picture. “It was the first one we took without Mama.” He wondered how long it would be before they’d be able to bear taking one without Carly.
“Everyone looks so happy.” Abigail reached toward her own image in the photo, and Simeon nodded. That had been right before their first pregnancy.
“Come on.” He dared to take her elbow and steer her through the living room toward the low voices coming from the kitchen. She glanced at him but didn’t pull away, and Simeon gave thanks for the small sign of progress.
The moment they reached the kitchen, the talking stopped and a swarm of people descended on Abigail, just as Simeon had known they would.
“Don’t hug her too tight,” he called loudly enough for people in the next county to hear. “She still has broken ribs.”
Abigail shot him a grateful—and amused—look, and he couldn’t help but smile to see that she at least tried to return his family’s hugs.
Simeon scanned the gathered group. “Where’s Zeb?” he asked Joseph in a low voice.
Joseph frowned. “Working, I think. He went to the graduation ceremony yesterday. But he didn’t think he’d make it today.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how he keeps going like this. If it were me . . .”
Simeon nodded. He knew exactly how his brother’s sentence was going to end. Because even though he counseled other people through their grief all the time, if it were him, he’d be falling apart.
“How’s Abigail?” Joseph asked.
“She’s . . . healing.” Simeon’s eyes followed his wife, whom Grace was shepherding toward the other side of the room. “Her ribs are still pretty sore, but . . .”
“What about her memories? Anything yet?”
Simeon sighed. “Not really. She remembers how to knit, but skills like that use a different kind of memory, so . . .”
“Well, if anyone can help her, I’m sure you can, right?”
Simeon swallowed. He’d thought that more than once too. But so far, nothing he’d tried had worked. Photos. Food. Family. He’d surrounded her with memories, but she looked at every one of them as if it belonged to someone else—not to her.
Simeon went to congratulate Benjamin, then moved toward his wife, now seated at the dining room table with Grace. He pulled out a chair next to her. “Doing okay?”
Abigail smiled, seeming completely relaxed despite the large group. “I’m good.”
Simeon’s heart lightened, and instinctively, he reached for her hand on the table between them, though he stopped himself at the last second.
Lydia pulled out the chair next to Grace. “Did y’all decide how long you’re staying?”
“Probably until Thursday or Friday.” Grace sighed. “I hate to leave, but our friends have already been taking care of things at the B and B for us for two weeks.”
“I was wondering.” Lydia bit her lip. “Do you want to go dress shopping before you leave?”
“Y’all decided not to postpone the wedding then?” Grace threw her arms around Lydia.
“Postpone the wedding?” This was the first Simeon had heard mention of that.
Lydia extracted herself from Grace’s arms. “We considered it. But Dad convinced us that postponing joy wasn’t the best way to deal with grief. And Zeb said Carly would have wanted us to go forward with it. You know her favorite verse.”
“Let us rejoice today and be glad,” Simeon recited with his sisters.
“Yeah, so—” Lydia let out a breath. “We really have to get going on the dresses. But if you don’t have time . . .”
Grace shoved Lydia’s arm. “Of course I have time. Wednesday?”
“Great.” Lydia turned to Abigail. “Does that work for you?”
“For me?” Abigail looked startled.
“Unless you’re not feeling up to it,” Lydia rushed to add.
“I’m in the wedding?” Abigail spoke slowly, as if trying to wrap her head around the words.
“Oh my goodness.” Lydia slapped her forehead. “I forgot that you forgot. Yes, you’re in the wedding. Unless you don’t want to be.” Lydia broke off, shooting Simeon a helpless look.
“I— Um—” Abigail looked to Simeon too, her expression uncertain.
He pictured walking down the aisle with her in the same church where they’d been married. “I think you should do it.”
Hopefully she would have her memories back by then. But if not, it might be just the sort of powerful trigger her mind needed.
Abigail still looked uncertain, but she nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Great.” Lydia reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock.”
A wolf whistle pierced the room, and Grace laughed. “That’s my husband.”
Although the whistle probably hadn’t been necessary, given that it wasn’t as loud in here as usual, the touch of normalcy eased Simeon’s heart a little.
“Food’s ready,” Levi announced with a sheepish grin.
They all folded their hands, and Dad led them in prayer. Then Simeon helped Abigail up, and they filled their plates, then returned to the table. Grace and Levi and Asher and Ireland joined them.
“You don’t have any food.” Levi pointed at the empty spot in front of Ireland. She looked at his heaping plate and grimaced, her face taking on a pasty tinge.
“She gets her morning sickness at lunchtime,” Asher answered for his wife.
Simeon stiffened, his fingers tightening on his fork.
“You’re expecting?” Unlike the last time she’d found out, Abigail seemed delighted. “I bet you’re the one I was knitting the blanket for. When are you due? I’ll make sure to have it done in time.”
“That’s sweet.” Ireland smiled at Abigail. “I’m due at the end of November. But it could have been for Ava. She’s due in January. Or Car—” She broke off. Asher wrapped an arm around her.
Simeon’s stomach rolled over on itself, and he set his fork down. The blanket hadn’t been for any of them. Abigail had started it when she’d learned she was pregnant the first time.
He could still remember the day she’d come home with the yarn, telling him buoyantly that she was going to learn to knit. He’d been doubtful at first; knitting had seemed so staid and still—so un-Abigail-like. But she’d spent hours watching videos, until she’d mastered the craft. She’d only gotten a few rows of the blanket done before the miscarriage. She’d started on it again with the second pregnancy. The third time, she’d said she wasn’t going to work on it until after the first trimester. But the baby hadn’t made it that long.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Abigail nodded to his nearly full plate.
“Oh. Yeah.” He picked up his fork and stuffed a bite of cheesy potatoes into his mouth, ignoring the roll of nausea.
When he’d come home from Carly’s funeral the other day to find Abigail working on the blanket, it had slammed into him like a fist to the stomach—she didn’t remember their babies.
He’d considered telling her. But he couldn’t bear to do that. The one blessing of all of this was that all the pain she’d been in—the depression that had clung to her for so long—had finally lifted. His own heart still ached to think of what they’d lost, but at least she didn’t feel that pain anymore.
He knew that if—when—she got her memories back, she’d have to deal with it all over again. But he’d be there for her through all of it.
In the meantime, it was his job to make sure she was safe and protected. To shield her from pain so her brain felt safe enough to remember.