Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Trevor
Icarefully fold the letter and put it back in the envelope. It’s evident she’s read it a lot. Based on the creases in the tattered pages, probably hundreds of times.
I hand it back to her. “Did I give this to you, or did you find it in my sock drawer?”
“You gave it to me the very next day.”
“How old did you say we were?”
“Sixteen.”
“Pretty bold words for a sixteen-year-old kid.”
She holds the letter to her chest. “You’ve always spoken your heart. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
I cock my head. “What else?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “What else do I love about you? I thought you didn’t want to do this. Baby steps and all.”
“One thing.” I hold up a finger, now curious after reading the letter and having that proof of my feelings.
“Okay.” She works her bottom lip with her teeth. “I love the way you’ve always taken care of me. Especially right after my mom died.”
“Your mom died?”
She nods. “She died when I was twenty-two. She raised me by herself. I never knew my father and didn’t have any other close family. You made me feel like I’d never be alone. Your parents became my parents. You were my family, even before we married.”
“How did she die?”
“Cardiomyopathy. It’s the reason you wanted to become a cardiothoracic surgeon.”
“Dang, really?”
“You’d graduated college and were working as a paramedic to save up money to get your masters degree in business when it happened.
It’s when you decided you wanted to go to med school instead.
” She pulls her coat tightly around her, as if adding a layer of protection between us.
“Trevor, if you never get your memory back, do you think you’ll still want to be a doctor? ”
I snort out an incredulous laugh. “One thing at a time. I’m still counting on this only being a temporary condition, Ava.”
She looks relieved. “I hope so. Because I’m not sure I could take it if… if…”
Her words trail off, and I can only imagine what she wanted to say. If I can’t remember us? If I can’t remember her? If I can’t love her anymore?
The sheer pressure I’m feeling when I’m around her has me standing. Even though we’re outside, I feel like I need air. “It’s getting colder,” I say as an excuse.
She stands and grips the box of letters. “I guess we should go. Do you want to see our apartment and the coffee house?”
Honestly, I don’t know what I want to do. None of that feels like baby steps to me, just more information that might cause my head to implode. But it’s what I’m expected to do. What the doctors said I should do. So I suck it up, nod vacantly, pick up the blanket, then follow her.
It doesn’t take long to reach civilization. The tree was in a clearing probably a quarter mile from the park where Carter dropped me off. As we walk through the park, she asks, “Um, do you want me to tell you stuff about Calloway Creek as we’re walking, or would that be too much?”
Contemplating which is worse—hearing about the town or walking in complete silence—I choose the town. Besides, I’m starting to really like the warm, soothing tone of her voice.
“No, it’s fine.”
“This is Calloway Creek Park.” She points.
“Over there is a trailhead to the creek and the miles of walking trails. You like… liked… to run those trails. Up ahead is McQuaid Circle. That’s the heart of the town.
Or the old part of town, anyway. There’s been a lot of development to the west over the years.
That’s where you’ll find Target and Home Depot and other big stores.
” She waves a hand around. “Here is where the small businesses are.” She stops walking. “There it is.”
I look across the street and stare at the sign: The Criss Coffee Corner
“So you run the coffee house for Dawn and Chuck?”
“I own the coffee house. Well… we own it. Your parents gave it to us after we got married.”
“Right. I think someone told me that. It’s all still kind of fuzzy.”
“Your parents still like to come in and help out from time to time when they’re in town, but they retired right after we said ‘I do’.
” She points to the windows over the shop.
“That’s where we live. Your folks used to rent it out, but after my mom died, they let me move in.
It’s where I’ve been ever since. You moved in with me right after college. ”
“Where did we go to college?”
“We didn’t. You did. I started working full-time at the coffee house right after high school graduation.
You went to NYU on a scholarship. The scholarship paid room and board, so you lived on campus even though you could have commuted.
” She chuckles. “I can’t tell you how many times you snuck me into the dorms. And you came home every weekend.
We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. ”
She reaches for my hand as if it’s a habit. Instinctively, I pull away. And feel like an absolute dirtbag for doing it.
“Sorry. I just have to get used to this.”
She nods sadly, then tries to put on a brave face. I feel for her. I’ve tried to put myself in her position. But I can’t just force myself to be that guy—the one who wrote the letter. I don’t even feel comfortable in my own skin, so how can I be comfortable with her?
“Do you want to go into the shop?”
It’s dark inside, and the closed sign is on the door, so there’s no chance of running into other people. But still, I fear if we go inside, she’ll bombard me with more stories I’m supposed to know but don’t.
“Maybe another time. It’s been a lot.”
She motions to the side of the building. “There’s an outside entrance to our apartment and another from the back room.”
As we walk around the building and then through the heavy steel door and up the stairs, a huge feeling of unease comes over me. I don’t want to be here.
Ava opens the door at the top of the stairs and lets me take it all in.
She’s quiet as I drape the blanket over the back of a kitchen chair then walk through the apartment.
I’ve never felt so out of place. Part of me knows I need to be here.
To at least try. Because it seems we had a good life, and if I could only remember, maybe we still could.
In the bedroom, there’s a queen-size bed.
Am I supposed to sleep in it? With her? The second bedroom is set up as an office.
A desk. A comfortable-looking chair in the corner.
Some bookshelves. There’s no computer here, which makes me think she does all her work downstairs in the shop.
So what does she do in here? Or maybe it was mine.
Confirmation comes when I see medical journals, textbooks, and the most definitive and comprehensive medical reference book on the planet: Gray’s Anatomy.
How in the fuck do I even know that?
There are pictures of us everywhere. All over the apartment. Hanging on the walls, sitting atop shelves. My face is all over this place, yet nothing here is mine. This doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to someone I’m not. And I feel as though I’m suffocating.
The photo albums. The tree. The letter. The kiss. The pressure to be the man I’m not sure I can be. It’s all too much.
I shake my head. “I can’t do this right now.”
“W-what do you mean?”
“I can’t be here. I need time to process everything. Today has been… well, it’s been a day.”
“Where will you go?”
Where will I go? I don’t know anyone. I suppose I know Carter. But he has a kid. Dawn and Chuck have been very kind, and not bad to be around. They felt safe, as if they had no expectations. They weren’t cramming my past down my throat and pressuring me to remember.
I don’t want to make Ava feel bad, but I just can’t stay here. It doesn’t feel right.
“Can you call Dawn? I think I’ll stay in my old room tonight.”
I visibly see her swallow tears as she pulls out her phone. She taps Dawn’s name and hands it to me, then she excuses herself to the bathroom, where I hear her cry.