0986388661 (R) (34 page)

Sinking into her body is incomparable to any memory I thought I’d ever recover. The soundless vacuum in which dreams exists pops to life.
“Gracie, baby,”
I groan into her ear.

Clawing at my back, she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me impossibly close to her body.
“Oh, God
. . .
oh, God
. . .
oh, God
. . .”

The height of our joint pleasure opens my eyes. Catching a glimpse of something, I’m not sure if it’s part of the dream or of reality.

“Grace,” I call out. Fumbling wildly, I try to maneuver my crutches. My arms, heavy with the sleep I so desperately needed, aren’t working fast enough. The tray at my side table crashes to the floor. The glass of water crashes to the floor, splintering into a thousand pieces. “Shit.”

Busting through the door, Grace is a disheveled mess. A beautiful, unruly mess of perfection. Her hair is knotted in a messy pile on top of her head. The T-shirt she’s wearing must be two sizes too big. And either she’s not wearing shorts or I can’t see them because the shirt comes down to the middle of her thighs. “What happened? What’s the matter? Are you hurt?” The words fly out of her mouth, not allowing me any time to warn her about the broken glass on the floor.

“Ouch,” she screams out. Hobbling the two more steps over to my bed, she falls to the bed, cupping her bloody foot in one hand. “Are you okay?” she asks, concerned only about me and not at all about the gash on her foot.

“Let me look at that.” Sliding next to her, I pull her foot into my hands. “It’s not too deep. Shouldn’t need to go to the hospital.” Reaching behind me, I lift my shirt over my head. Twisting it around her foot, I tie it into a makeshift bandage. “Sit here.” Moving to protest, I drop a hand to her shoulder, keeping her on the bed. “I’m fine. Trust me. Let me get some things from the bathroom and take care of this for you.” She nods, silently allowing me to take care of her.

It takes a little effort and coordination to carry the supplies back into my room while using the crutches, but I manage just fine. Without saying anything, I take care of her foot as best as I can. The shirt seems to have stopped the bleeding enough to allow me to bandage it up without too much fuss. Reaching behind me, I grab a pillow and prop her foot up on it. With her leg stretched out across the bed and mine casted up to right below my knee, I can’t help but laugh.

“We’re quite the pair, huh?” Tipping my chin back and forth between our injuries, a bubble of laughter falls from my lips.

Her laughter sounds like her song. It makes me laugh and smile—things that have been so foreign to my new existence I was beginning to think they’d be gone forever.

When the laughter subsides, the lightness shifts away, carving a path for her concern. “What happened?”

“I had a dream about the beach.” Raking a hand through my hair, I let out a sigh. “I remembered the things you told me. The S’mores, the tent, the sunrise.” Pausing, I add, “Making love.”

“That’s good,” she says shyly. “If you’re starting to piece together what people are telling you, that has to be good. Right?”

“And I remember the older couple. The ones who walked along the beach that morning. The ones who saw us . . .”

Her face falls in shock. Covering her open mouth with her hand, she gasps. A single tear leaks from the corner of her eye, telling me that part of my dream was more than a vision. At some point in our life, it was a reality.

“Ben and Carla,” she supplies their names for me.

“We were done, and they walked toward us. Somehow, we managed to cover up and be decent enough to carry on a conversation with them. We laughed for a solid ten minutes after they walked away.” Closing my eyes, I pull up the rest of that morning. “They invited us for breakfast in their camper and we were shocked to see that it was nicer than a house.”

“You remember all of that?” she says through her growing tears.

“I know it’s not much, but–”

“It’s something. And that’s all we need right now.” Her soft smile lights up her face and she swipes away her tears. “And I’m suddenly in the mood for French toast. Can I make you some breakfast?” Attempting to stand from the bed, she falls back down when she realizes she can’t put much weight on her foot.

Handing her one of my crutches, I say, “Here. You take one and I’ll take one. It’ll probably take us forever, but we can make breakfast together.”

“Deal,” she agrees, lifting herself from the bed.

And like a pair of fools, we make French toast and talk about all the things I can’t remember yet, in the hopes that someday I will.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know.” I’ve given him the opportunity to back out at least five times since the plans came up. Each and every time he’s simply shrugged and said he was fine. Just like now.

Letting out a deep breath, I try my best to let go of my own nerves over today.

If he’s fine with it, then I’m fine with it.

Tapping away at the steering wheel, it’s clear that I’m anything but fine with . . . well, with everything. It’s been about a week since David moved in with me. His memories are still lost somewhere in that vast abyss of nowhere. All he’s been able to grab ahold of is that one memory of us camping out at the beach.

Grasping to the idea that he remembered something when he was given a reminder of the event, he wanted to get our families and friends together with the hope that the rest of his memories would come flooding back.

Driving from my place to his parents’ house, I can honestly say, I haven’t paid attention to the road one bit. My mind is focused solely on the notion that this is a horrible idea. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but something about this day doesn’t sit well with me.

The only thing pushing me forward is David’s insistence on it.

As we pull up to his parent’s house, I wonder if anything looks familiar to him. If he remembers climbing the tree in the front yard with me all those years ago. When I ease the car into the empty spot in the driveway, I notice him scanning the property and I can tell he doesn’t remember anything.

My heart aches for him. He’s so strong and determined, but so broken and alone at the same time.

Covering his hand with mine, I lace our fingers together. He startles at the contact. He usually does—add that to the list of reasons my heart hurts.

“You okay?” I ask, trying my best to keep the pity I feel out of my voice.

“I don’t remember anything. Nothing looks familiar.” Looking past his house, his eyes land on the house that used to be mine. Hope rises in my chest, but it’s gone the moment he turns to me with sadness in his eyes. “Tell me something, please.”

It’s not his reliance on me to spark his memories that makes me smile. The softness in his voice, the calm strength he possesses as he tries to heal—those are the qualities that are making me fall in love with him all over again.

Pointing to the tree in the center of his front lawn, I smile, recalling an early childhood memory. “That tree out there. You bet me that I couldn’t climb to the top. I was only six at the time and we’d only just met.”

“Wait,” he gasps, twisting in his seat. “We knew each other as kids?”

The deafening sound of my heart breaking in half is one that only I can hear. Nodding, I keep my voice low, afraid if I say more than a quick, “Yes,” the emotion clogging my throat will give way to a river of tears. I don’t have it in my heart to tell him more at this point. Maybe another time.

“Did you do it?” His question cuts through my sadness.

“Of course,” I dismiss. “Are you kidding? The cute, older boy next door challenged me to a tree climbing contest. I
had
to say yes.”

His smile, so big and bright, is like a Band Aid across my heart. “I feel like there’s going to be a big but in there somewhere.”

“No childhood story is complete without one.” Twisting in my seat, I angle my head so I can almost see the top branch. “I made it to the top in no time, but once I got there. Well, let’s just say getting back down was a little bit of a problem.”

“Afraid of heights, huh?” he jokes, squeezing my hand in his.

“No way,” I defend adamantly. “I’m fine with heights, but falling—yeah, that’s high on my list of fears.”

“So what happened?” he asks. His genuine interest in the story is both endearing and difficult to bear. On the one hand, he’s still very much the same David—kind, loving, caring, compassionate. But on the other, he doesn’t remember something that’s imprinted in my mind so vividly.

That was the day I knew David Andrews would always be there to keep me safe. Long before he rescued me from the wreckage of my destroyed home, he plucked me from the top of a tree and soothed away my tears.

And now, he remembers none of it.

Charged with the task of helping him remember who he is and what he means to me is something I’m determined not to mess up. “Well, I was stuck. And it didn’t take long for panic to set in. You said you were going to go get my dad, but I wouldn’t let you leave. When I told you my legs were starting to shake, you climbed up and helped me get down safely.”

“But.” He drags out the word, knowing that there’s more to the story.

Pulling my hand from his, I trace the thin white line on the side of his knee. The contact startles him again, but much less than when I held his hand minutes ago. His skin, warm under my fingers, reminds me of when they touched more than just a scar on his leg. “You cut your leg on a branch. Brushed it off as nothing big, but you needed five stitches. Your parents were pretty angry at you, too. Thought you put me in danger so they grounded you for a week.”

“I’m sure you were pretty angry at me, too.” Looking out the window, I can tell he’s trying his best to recreate the memory in his head, to find a piece of it that’s his own and not from my words. But the tone of his voice suggests that’s not happening.

“I was in awe. I still am.”

And before I can say anything else, his mom steps out onto the porch, waving us to come around back. “Ready?” I ask as I turn off the car. The final words of Keane’s “Somewhere Only We Know” fade away as the engine silences itself.

“As I’ll ever be.”

After unloading his crutches from the back seat, I help him out of the car. I’m far too short to unlatch the gate at the side of his house, but luckily, his father is there waiting for us. “Hey, you two,” he greets us happily, a beer in his hand.

David takes a deep breath as he hobbles into the backyard. John pulls me into a warm hug. Keeping his voice low, he tells me, “Thank you again for helping us take care of him.”

Nodding, I kiss him on the cheek and let out a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

David scans the yard, surely trying to pair up the location with what should be in his brain. His shoulders sag, and I know he’s struggling. Thankfully, his mom cuts in, wrapping her arms around him as if she hasn’t seen him in years. She escorts us over to a table which is already set up with some bottles of water and chips.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, a hopeful lilt in her question.

“Fine,” he deflects. When he sees that he’s going to need to give his mother more than a one word answer, he explains, “I have another therapy session on Tuesday. It went well last week so hopefully this week will go better.” Penny eats up the little tidbits he’s offering her as if it’s her last meal.

“That’s fantastic. You’ll be out of that cast before you know it.” She smiles, and for the first time since his attack, her smile is lighter, less forced. “I’ll let you two get settled.”

“Can I help you with anything in the kitchen?” I ask, moving to stand from my seat. Penny simply drops a hand to my shoulder, gently pushing me back into my chair.

“No, dear. I’m just fine.”

“Okay,” David huffs. “Let’s get the awkward part over with.” Eyeing him carefully, I’m not exactly sure what he’s getting at. “What do I need to know about everyone coming today?”

There’s no sadness or pity in his voice, only the sheer determination to be a part of the life he used to live. Before I have to start the uneasy process of telling him about my own family members, we’re interrupted.

“What, you don’t remember me?” Ian chimes in. Jade pushes him up to us through the freshly cut grass.

“Hey, man,” David greets him, twisting in his chair. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Wheeling himself right next to David, Ian situates himself at the table. “We weren’t sure we’d be able to get the van from the rehab facility. And I sure as hell couldn’t drive myself. You kinda need feet for that,” he jokes. “Didn’t want to let you down if I couldn’t make it, so I didn’t say anything in the first place.”

“Luckily for him, I was free to drive that Scooby-Doo van.” Jade pulls a chair up next to Ian and he smiles at her, proud and warm. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek. David’s eyes fall to their joined together hands on the table and I would pay money to know what’s going through his head.

As David and Ian get lost talking about rehab and what will come after that, Jade and I excuse ourselves to get a drink. “How’s he holding up?” Jade asks with caution in her voice.