Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Ava
He walked out.
No explanation. No excuse. Not even an I’m sorry.
He just… left.
It’s been hours, and now I sit here under our tree wondering if this is going to be how it is—me trying to get him to remember, him running away when he doesn’t.
I was only doing what the doctors said to do. Show him familiar things. What could be more familiar than our wedding album and the house he grew up in?
I slump against the hard, unforgiving trunk and ponder what to try next.
Maybe it’s time to tell him about the baby.
If he knows I’m pregnant with his child, maybe he’ll feel like there’s a connection between us.
Maybe then he won’t look at me through distant eyes.
Because I can’t take the miles and miles of distance between us even when he’s right by my side.
The rumble of a truck’s engine in the distance breaks through my thoughts. My heart beats wildly. Carter texted that he’s bringing Trevor to me. This will be the first time Trevor and I are alone. In the hospital, someone else was always there. A doctor or a nurse. His parents.
Wait. Trevor was looking for me. Seeking me out. Does that mean his memory’s returned?
I know they were at the garage with his car. Should I be jealous that a stupid car could be what sparked his memory and not me? Bolts and gears over his sweetheart? His childhood love?
His wife?
The crunch of snow beneath shoes alerts me to his arrival. I set the box of letters aside and watch his approach, looking for any telltale signs of recognition. My stomach roils when I don’t see a single one.
My shoulders slump. “I was hoping maybe… because Carter said you wanted to see me…”
His head shakes. “Sorry. No. I just thought I should apologize. You and Dawn and Chuck must have worked very hard to set up the homecoming thing.”
“It was all your mom’s doing.”
I pat the heavy blanket that’s a barrier between me and the frozen ground. He sits, leaving only inches between us.
“I’m trying,” he says with a sigh. “I’m really trying. You just have to give me time. This isn’t easy for me either, you know.”
“What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Waking up with no memory of who you are?”
“It’s… really hard to explain.”
“Can you try?”
He looks off into the distance. “You know how when sometimes you wake up from a good nap, there’s that groggy feeling like you’re not sure where you are or what day it is, but it goes away quickly?
Imagine that times a hundred. Every time I wake up, I look around the room for what seems like minutes, waiting to figure out where I am, who I am, and what’s going on.
When I wake up, I’m a blank slate. Like I’m not even sure I exist. Sometimes it’s accompanied by panic, feeling lost, or intense confusion.
“When I first woke up in that German hospital, I didn’t even know I had amnesia.
I knew things. Like I knew I was in a hospital room and that I must have been in an accident.
I was familiar with all the medical equipment surrounding me.
I knew the thing hanging on the wall was a TV—things like that.
But I didn’t even know that I didn’t know who I was until the doctors started asking questions.
” He sighs. “I’m probably not explaining it very well. ”
“No.” I touch his knee. “That actually helps a lot.”
He stares at my hand, then his leg flinches and I draw it away.
“I got overwhelmed at the party. All the people, the names, everyone telling me a different story about who I was, or am supposed to be. And the pictures you showed me, it was all just too much.”
“The doctors said—”
“I know what the doctors said.” Now on the defensive, he stands and begins to pace.
“It’s just not that easy. When I was looking at those photo albums, I felt as detached from those images as if they were mass-produced photos used to fill frames at a drug store.
I mean, logically I understand I was there.
The photos prove it. But the memory is just… gone.”
Tears collect in my eyes as he sits back down, this time a bit farther away.
“I’m sorry if that hurts you.”
“It does hurt,” I say as I wipe my face and look into his eyes. “Bad. Do you have any idea how it feels to look into the eyes of the man you love and not even see him in there? It’s you, but it’s not. You may be the one with amnesia, but you’re definitely not the only one who has lost something.”
I wave a hand around. “You have no idea what this place is, and it kills me. I watched you as you walked up the path, hoping that when you saw the tree there would be some glimmer of a memory. That coming here, bringing you here, would be what caused you to remember. Because…” I swallow back more tears.
“B-because this is our tree, Trevor. We started meeting here when I was thirteen and my mom didn’t want me dating.
We had our first kiss under this tree. It was a Saturday afternoon in October, and it had just rained.
” I point. “There was a rainbow right over there.
“And when we were sixteen”—I close my eyes, reliving the memory as I say the words—“we made love for the first time right here, losing our virginity together. It was September twenty-first. A Thursday. The sun was setting and there was a chill in the air. You wrapped us in a blanket.” Tears roll in a steady stream down my face, and I don’t bother wiping them.
“How can you not know all this?” My head slumps into my hands and I sob.
He gives me a minute to compose myself. But he just sits there quietly. No hand on my back. No soothing words. He doesn’t even attempt to help calm me down like he used to.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I wish I could remember you. Feel what you’re feeling. My body and head don’t know what to feel. For all it knows, you could be my sister.”
My heart loses all rhythm as I feel completely deflated. His sister? What do I say to that? What is there to say to that? Maybe there is nothing I can say. But there sure as hell is something I can do.
Rising on my knees, straddling him before he can protest, I say, “Would a sister do this?”
Then I kiss him.
His lips are soft and warm and familiar, and I’m sure this is what needed to be done all along. The one thing necessary to bring him back to me.
But when he doesn’t kiss me back and his lips remain closed, a barrier against mine, my belly becomes a sinking stone.
Just as I’m about to give up, pull away and lick my deep wounds, he starts kissing me back.
And, oh, god, all those familiar twinges and tingles rush throughout my body.
One of his hands reaches behind my neck and holds me to him.
The other presses against my lower back beneath my thick winter coat, the cast a barrier and reminder of things I’m eager to ignore. To put behind us.
I want to shriek in triumph as our tongues intermingle. He knows this. He knows me. He’s coming back to me. My Trevor. My love.
We make out like we did when we were teenagers under this very tree.
Only this kiss is different. More demanding.
Harsher in a way, like it’s something he needs as much as wants.
We kiss until we’re breathless, but even then, we don’t stop.
He breathes into me. I breathe into him.
We’re one again, and it’s the best feeling in the world.
Our lips part and our foreheads touch. “Trev, baby. Thank God.”
He straightens, inching himself back. “Ava.”
I can see it in his eyes before the words come out.
He shrinks away from my gaze, ridges etching his brow. “That was nice, and you’re very beautiful, but…”
I slide off his lap and drop down next to him, tears blinding me as I angle away from him.
“Listen.” He belts out a frustrated sigh. “This doesn’t mean I won’t get my memory back.”
Distraught, I whisper, “It’s been three weeks, Trevor.”
“And it could take three more. Or even months. There are no concrete guidelines for healing from TBIs.”
“What if it never returns? What then? Will you even try?”
I know he knows what I’m asking. Will he try to live his life with me. Here in this town. Under this tree. Or will he decide that’s not the life he wants. That I’m not who he wants.
Tell him!
“Trevor.” My lungs swell with a deep inhale of crisp air. “I have to tell you something.”
His frustrated sigh is explosive. “I think I’ve learned enough for one day. Please understand how overwhelming this is. I know what the doctors said, but can we just take baby steps here? One day at a time. One moment at a time.”
Well, shit. I can’t tell him now. Telling him he’s going to be a dad is definitely not a baby step. It’s a monumentally huge leap that I now fear might send him running for the hills of The Adirondacks.
“If I can’t tell you something, can I at least ask you something?”
He looks hesitant, then nods.
“Did you enjoy the kiss?”
He snorts laughter. “I’m a guy. You’re an attractive woman. Of course I did.”
“You remember how to kiss.” I leave out the part about the kiss being different than before. I thought it was because everything was coming back to him. Now I know it’s because he has no idea how we used to kiss. I cock my head. “Oh my god, did it feel like your first kiss?”
His brows bunch together. “No, not really. I know how to kiss just like I know how to drive, even though I can’t remember the first time I did either.”
“Hmm.” I crack a smile. “Do you think you’d like to enjoy it again, you know, in the future?”
“One day at a time, Ava.” He shrugs. “But, yeah, maybe.” He leans against the tree. “My turn for a question. Was it the same as before?”
I shrug, not wanting to make him feel bad with more details he probably doesn’t want to hear. I raise a hand and run a finger across his jaw. “This is different. Your beard tickled me. You never had one before. But I think I could get used to it.”
He looks beyond me to the box near the trunk of the tree. “What’s that?”
“It’s my memory box full of your letters and an old diary of mine.
You started writing letters to me when we were dating.
It was so romantic. You kept it up through college and med school and when you were overseas.
” Suddenly, I get a brilliant idea. I pick it up and hold it out to him.
“You should take it. It’s basically a memoir of our lives together. ”
His head shakes vehemently and he looks at the box like it’s on fire. “Ava, I’m already on information overload. Baby steps, remember?”
I put the box down, feeling like he’s rejecting me right along with the letters.
“Okay.” He sighs, looking like he feels guilty about my reaction. “One. One letter. You pick.”
It’s not exactly what I’d hoped, but it’s a start. I take the lid off the box and sift through them, looking for the perfect one.
What am I thinking? There is only one choice. I pick up the first letter he ever wrote to me. The one that started my collection. The one I’ve read so many times it’s practically disintegrating.
Hopefully… the one that shows him why he chose me. And why he should choose me again.