Chapter 21
There. Everything was just right. Simeon swept the box he’d wrapped earlier off the table and placed it on the tray with the waffles, fruit, and orange juice. He had the perfect birthday planned for Abigail. Beginning with breakfast in bed. He picked up the tray and carried it carefully up the stairs, ignoring the ache in his lower back from two weeks of sleeping in his recliner. If things remained like this much longer, he might have to invest in a second mattress.
He banished the thought.
Being pessimistic wouldn’t help anything. God could restore Abigail’s memories. Simeon fully believed that.
Besides, Abigail seemed to be trying hard to remember. Finding her watching their wedding video the other day had reassured him of that. They’d watched it three more times since then, and though Abigail still hadn’t recalled anything, it didn’t mean she never would. And the activities he had planned for today might help too.
He eased the bedroom door open.
Abigail was sleeping diagonally across the bed, her head on her side, her feet on his. A slight smile played with her lips, and Simeon longed to know what she was dreaming about. Could it be him?
He crossed the room and set the tray on the nightstand, then sat carefully on his side of the bed. Abigail stirred but didn’t open her eyes. The sweet tang of her fruity shampoo reached him, and it was all he could do not to lie down next to her and bury his face in her hair. He contented himself with brushing a strand off her cheek.
“Abigail,” he whispered. “Happy birthday.”
She opened her eyes and blinked a couple of times, as if trying to figure out what she was seeing, but her smile didn’t falter. “I smell something.”
Simeon laughed. “Well, I showered, so I’ll assume it’s not me. Could be the waffles though. Or the strawberries.”
Her eyes widened as he reached for the tray and set it carefully between them.
“You did this for me?”
“I do it every year.”
“Oh.” Her eyes dropped, and her smile flagged for a second, but then she leaned forward and took a big breath right over the top of the food. “Yep. This is what I smelled.” Her smile returned. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Simeon pointed to the gift. “You can open that before or after you eat. It’s up to you.”
He was about to say that she usually chose presents first, when she said, “I think I’ll eat first. Otherwise the food will be taunting me.”
Simeon nodded and forced himself to hold his smile in place. She used to say it was the present that would taunt her. But that didn’t matter.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Abigail glanced at him with a dot of whipped cream on her lip. Simeon stared at it. He used to kiss those lips.
“What? Do I have something . . .” She picked up the napkin Simeon had folded into an origami heart and swiped at her lips. “Did I get it?”
“Yeah.” Simeon swallowed. “I left my plate downstairs. I’ll be right back.”
He hurried down the steps and made himself a plate, still fighting the desire to kiss the whipped cream off her lips. Maybe later today, if all went well . . .
He jogged back up the stairs, and Abigail slid the tray over to give him more room in the bed.
“Just to double-check, I’m thirty-three now, right?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“And you’re . . .”
“Thirty-eight.”
She raised an eyebrow, sliding a bite of waffle into her mouth, her tongue darting out to lick off the extra whipped cream.
“It’s okay if you tease me about being older.” Simeon cut off a piece of his own waffle. “The worst was when we first met because you were still in your twenties, and you loved to make fun of me for being in my thirties.”
“Sorry about that,” Abigail murmured.
“Nothing to be sorry about. Your playfulness is one of the things I love about you.” He let himself meet her eyes, but she looked away.
“So, um—” She cleared her throat. “When’s your birthday?”
“January 10.”
She nodded, and they finished their breakfast silently.
The moment she was done, Simeon pointed at the present. “Okay, open it now.” He rubbed his hands together. He’d picked it out months ago, and he’d been eagerly waiting to give it to her ever since.
She pulled the paper off slowly, as if afraid of what she might find inside.
“Oh.” She blinked at it. “Is it a jewelry box?”
“Yes. Open it.” Simeon tried not to let his disappointment that she’d barely noticed the hand-painted pink river dolphins on the cover seep into his words. Why would she remember that dolphins were her favorite animal?
She lifted the lid, and it started to play “Spring” from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, which had been their wedding processional song. Abigail had claimed to never have heard it before they went through the playlist of potential wedding songs, but the moment it came on, she’d said, “That’s the one. That’s how being with you makes me feel.”
“It’s pretty,” Abigail said now. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Simeon ignored the fact that she hadn’t actually said she liked it. “That song played for our wedding, and you’ve loved dolphins ever since we saw river dolphins in Ecuador.”
Abigail nodded, but her smile looked forced and far away.
“I’ll let you get dressed.” Simeon stood and gathered the tray. “Wear something you can shop in, walk in, and eat in.”
“Why?” Abigail’s brow lowered.
“You’ll see.” Simeon headed for the door.
He was pulling it closed behind him when she called, “Hey, Simeon.”
He turned. “What’s up?”
“Thank you for breakfast. And for the gift. I really do love it.”
Simeon smiled. He wasn’t so sure about that. But he loved her for saying it anyway. “You’re welcome.”
Abigail was going to topple over pretty soon. They’d already taken a long hike, had a picnic, and gone shopping downtown—which had included a stop at the Book Den, where a spunky but sweet older woman named Ruth, who was apparently her boss, had asked when she was coming back to work. Simeon had jumped in to answer that it would be a while yet, but Abigail planned to have a conversation with him about that later. The idea of having something to do besides trying to remember all day every day was more than appealing.
“It’s not too far to walk.” Simeon smiled at her as he pulled into a parking spot at Founder’s Park. “You look tired.”
Abigail nodded but pushed her lips into a smile.
It had been a nice day, but she was exhausted, not only from all the activity but from the feeling that this was all one long test.
Every time they got to a new location, Simeon would ask what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go, what she liked. She could tell when her answers differed from what the woman she’d started to think of as “Past Abigail” would say by the way his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, even as his smile remained fixed. But the way his eyes widened in delight when she got an answer “right” almost made the headache that had started at the back of her skull worth it.
Simeon turned off the vehicle and came around to open her door. She had discovered that he always did that. He held out a hand, and she took it even though the pain in her ribs had faded to a dull ache over the past few days.
“This way.” Simeon tugged her down a walking path that led toward bright patches of flowers. A couple pushing a stroller approached from the other direction, and Abigail slipped her hand out of Simeon’s so they could walk single file to let the family pass.
She tucked her hands into her pockets before she fell back into step with him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the feel of his hand around hers—it was actually quite nice—but it still felt odd, holding hands with a man she’d just met.
You didn’t just meet him,she reminded herself. You only feel like you did.
Still, she didn’t take her hands out of her pockets.
“Let’s start over there.” Simeon pointed to a trellis covered in climbing roses.
They walked under the trellis into a fragrant garden. Roses of every hue lined winding cobblestone paths.
“What do you think?” Simeon asked.
Abigail glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to decide how to answer. Did Past Abigail like roses or not?
Simeon’s hopeful expression did nothing but make her stomach flip. She wanted to get this one right.
“They’re nice,” she said slowly, still watching his expression. It didn’t change, and she wondered if that was a skill he’d learned as a counselor.
“Nice?” Simeon asked, his tone neutral.
“Maybe a little too . . . perfect for me.”
Simeon’s mouth opened and closed, and he shook his head.
Abigail’s heart snagged. It had been the wrong answer. Again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
Simeon grabbed her hand. “Don’t be sorry. It’s just, that’s exactly what you said the first time I bought you roses.” He still looked stunned, and Abigail could tell he thought this was a sign that she remembered. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall the first time he’d bought her flowers. It was only a lucky coincidence that she’d said the same thing twice.
“Come on, let’s go to the butterfly garden. Your favorite flower is in there.” Simeon led her out of the rose garden and into one that looked wild and carefree. Abigail could tell immediately why she’d liked it better.
“Did I really complain about you buying me roses?” she asked as they strolled the crushed gravel paths.
Simeon chuckled. “I wouldn’t say complained. More like your enthusiasm was a little too over the top. Eventually, you admitted that you found them a little too perfect.” Simeon stopped walking and gestured to the pinks and blues and oranges and yellows all around them. “What do you think about the flowers in this garden? Are there any you like?”
The way he was looking at her, Abigail could hear what he hadn’t spoken. He wanted her to identify the right flower as her favorite.
Another test.
She chewed her lip, turning in a slow circle to take in all the blooms, waiting for some sort of sign—a flash of recognition or a jump of her stomach or a quickening of her pulse—to tell her which it was.
But there was nothing.
“These are nice,” she said as they reached a patch of tall flowers with bright purple petals and a brown center.
“They are.” Simeon’s voice was steady and neutral, not stunned the way it had been when she’d made that comment about the roses.
“But I like these too.” She pointed to a section of bright yellow flowers with a ring of red in the middle.
Simeon nodded, and Abigail searched desperately for another variety that might be her favorite. “Or those.” She waved a hand at a patch of blue, bell-shaped flowers. “Or maybe—” She spun again.
“Abigail. Hey.” Simeon reached for her, but she took a step backwards.
“What? Did I still not get the right ones? How about these?” She reached for one of the huge, creamy peach blooms next to her, plucking it straight off the plant. She held it up and stared at it a moment. The flower was bigger than her hand, with veins of deep red running along the center of the petals.
“Excuse me.” An older lady bustled toward them from behind Simeon. “You can’t pick the flowers. They’re not—”
“Ugh.” Abigail chucked the flower at the ground and turned to flee.
“Abigail.” Simeon’s voice lifted above the older woman’s, who was calling, “Miss. Come back here, please.”
Abigail didn’t look over her shoulder. Ignoring the growing ache in her ribs as her breath came in gasps, she kept running.
She came to a large gazebo. The people relaxing inside it were all staring at her, and she veered down a side path, though she didn’t know where it led. Not that it really mattered.
Because wherever she went, she would still end up here: in a life she didn’t remember.
“Abigail, stop.” Simeon’s voice was right behind her, and she wondered if he’d been right there the whole time she was running.
She stopped, grasping her ribs as she struggled to catch her breath. “I’m sorry,” she managed to wheeze.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Simeon looked like he was going to reach for her hand but rubbed the back of his neck instead. “Come on. Let’s go home.” He touched a hand to her back just long enough to steer her toward the path that led to the parking lot.
“Which one was it?” Abigail asked quietly.
“Which what?” Simeon didn’t sound angry or hurt or upset that she’d ruined the birthday he’d taken so much care to plan.
“Which flower was my favorite?”
“Oh.” Simeon hesitated. “The last one. The one you picked. Hibiscus.”
Abigail nodded, wishing she hadn’t tossed it to the ground.