Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Trevor
Agratuitous knock on the door just before it opens has my pulse racing. Is this the moment I get to finally figure out who the hell I am?
I recognize Ava immediately. Not from memories of my childhood, our courtship, or the decade we’ve been married, but from the photos I saw yesterday.
I stare at my… wife. My eyes rake over every curve of her face as I wait for the awareness to come.
My stomach dissolves into an empty pit of despair when nothing happens.
No hint of a spark. No twinge of a feeling.
Not even an instinct. Nothing. She might as well be another nurse coming to check on me.
“Trevor?” she says, her chin quivering as tears cascade down her cheeks.
I shake my head. “I…”
She races across the room, leans over my bed, and pulls me into a crushing hug. It tugs on my healing side wounds, but I don’t pull away because I’m still trying to put myself in her shoes.
I let her hug me as long as she wants to. She obviously needs this. I can feel her tears on my neck. I think about hugging her back, but I can’t bring myself to do it when it would merely be obligatory.
She smells nice. Like flowers. I squeeze my eyelids together and focus, hoping her scent will evoke a memory.
When she finally releases me and pulls back, she studies my face then traces a finger under my still healing eye. “Does it hurt?”
“Not so much anymore.”
Her voice is soft and soothing, like that of a mother caring for a child, as she continues to ask questions about my injuries.
I close my eyes a second time and let it permeate my ears, giving myself every chance to take in the cadence, the tone, the lilt in her words…
waiting for a visceral reaction that just doesn’t seem to come.
“Open your eyes, Trev. Look at me. It’s me, Ava. Your wife. I know you know me.”
The hopeful yet desperate tone of her voice has me empathizing. Hell, it has me feeling downright guilty that I have no recollection of her.
We lock eyes. Her light-brown irises are flooded with tears. I stare into her, feeling nothing, yet imploring myself to remember something. Anything. I swallow then sigh when, once again, all that exists in my head is a deep well of nothingness.
“I’m sorry. Maybe soon.”
A throat is cleared. Chuck and Dawn are in the doorway now. Dawn is crying as she strides across the room. “Oh, my boy.”
Just as I did with Ava, I look at her, then Chuck, waiting, anticipating…hoping.
My chest caves with a deep exhalation as I conclude that the doctors are wrong. That I’m not, in fact, Trevor Criss. That I’m someone else completely.
But that wouldn’t explain why they know me. Or how there are pictures of me standing next to them.
I’m Trevor. They know it. The doctors know. Even the news media knows it.
I’m the only one who doesn’t.
“Trevor?” Dr. Wheeler says from the corner where he’s been silently observing. “Anything?”
I shake my head.
“That’s okay,” he says in a reassuring albeit clinical tone. “These things can take time. Maybe when you return home and get back to your normal routine.”
Ava stares at the floor. “We don’t have a normal routine. He’s been away for so long.”
“Well, then”—Dr. Wheeler comes to the side of the bed—“what would Trevor have done upon returning home?”
She shrugs. “He would have gone to work at the hospital. I mean, we would have had a month together before his fellowship started, but…”
“And what would have happened during that month?”
“I suppose he would have spent a lot of time catching up with friends. Maybe helping me in the coffee shop. And we’d have done all the things we said we were going to do as soon as he got home. Oh, and he liked to run the trails along the creek.”
The doctor nods and turns to me. “Good. You can still do all that. Well, with the exception of the running. I’d start off with casual strolls and work your way up.”
“I’m a runner?” I ask.
“You are,” Ava confirms.
“Are you a runner?”
“Me? No. You’ve always liked to run alone. You say… er, said… that and working on your car were the best ways to clear your head.”
I wonder what kind of car I have and what work I do on it. The memory of an Instagram photo flashes through my mind, but before I can ask about it, Dawn sits on the end of the bed.
“I’ll make all your favorite foods. You can come to the house for dinner and visit your old bedroom. All your swimming trophies are still there. Maybe seeing the house you grew up in will conjure up your memories.”
Her words are soft and encouraging, just like how I assume a mother’s would be.
“Your mom has about a dozen photo albums,” Chuck says. “She started one the day you were born and still adds to them to this day. Every birthday, holiday, and special occasion is there. You want memories, she’s got them all.” He grips my shoulder. “We’re here for you son, whatever you need.”
I’m a runner. A swimmer. A classic car enthusiast. A doctor. A husband. A son. Part owner of a coffee shop. All this shit is swirling around in my head, causing me mental chaos that’s bringing on a headache.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Are you okay?” Chuck asks.
“No. I’m not okay. And I’m not talking about this.” I lift my uncasted arm and gesture to my body in general, my irritation—and maybe a bit of panic—growing. “You all know more about me than I know about myself.” I glance at Dr. Wheeler. “Even he knows more about me, and we just met.”
“These things can take time,” Dr. Wheeler says.
“I know, but…” I ball my left hand into a fist, clench my teeth, and snarl in frustration. “Fuck!”
Dawn gasps, and it makes me wonder if I am… was… one to regularly curse.
I don’t miss how the four other people in the room share a look.
“What?” I snap.
Ava sits on the chair next to the bed, her eyes becoming distant. “The doctors warned us about how you might experience behavioral changes.”
“Changes?” I ask.
“Cursing. Snapping at people… That’s not you.”
I bark out an exasperated laugh and swirl my arm around. “Well, that’s just too bad. Because until I can remember who the hell I am, this is what you get.” Shaking my head, I huff out a defeated sigh. “Take it or leave it.”
Chuck puts a supportive hand on Ava’s shoulder as her chin starts quivering again. “We’ll take it, son. And we’ll do whatever we can to help you through this.”
“We thought you were dead, Trevor,” Dawn adds. “We’re overjoyed to have you back in whatever way we can have you.”
Ava wipes her eyes. “Dr. Wheeler, when will he be released?”
“Based on our initial evaluation, I’d say fairly soon.
His physical injuries are healing well. I’ll make sure to send his records to your local hospital and get you the name of the neurologist he should follow up with there.
Your family practitioner can remove the cast and deal with any questions you have concerning his superficial injuries.
Assuming there are no surprises over the next twenty-four hours or so, he’ll be cleared to go home in a matter of days. ”
Home. I have no goddamn home. I glance at the three people, all strangers, who will take me back to a town I don’t remember, a house I don’t know, and a job that doesn’t exist anymore.
“Maybe once you see Calloway Creek,” Ava says hopefully. “Our apartment. The coffee shop. Your friends. Being back home will help, I’m sure.”
But will it?
I’m still waiting for some semblance of a spark. Why the hell can’t I reach it? The woman I’m staring at is my wife, for Christ’s sake. The person I pledged my life to. And the other one gave birth to me. How can I not feel anything when I look at them?
And if seeing them doesn’t evoke memories, how will an apartment, a town, a trail, or a stupid coffee house?
“Yeah,” I say, glancing out the window into the ether. “Maybe it will.”