Still With Me (6 page)

“And why did you want to see us today?”

“I have no idea. I just suddenly felt like I became myself again.” Jeremy realized his explanation must have sounded strange.

“I was so happy when Victoria called me,” she confided with a smile, eyes bathed in tears.

“And I was so happy you agreed to come. And Dad…”

She interrupted gently. “It’ll take some time. A mother forgives more quickly.”

Jeremy put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Thomas started to fall asleep.

“I think I’m going to be crazy about him,” she said, watching him doze off.

Victoria appeared in the doorway. Seeing them side by side, she decided to enter.

“I’m so happy to see you two like this.” She winked at Jeremy. “Come on, get up. We’re going to eat lunch,” she sang joyfully.

Jeremy stood up, taking his mother’s hand to help her to her feet. He pulled her close and gave her a big hug. He put his face in her hair and inhaled her perfume. Honesty. Virtue.

During lunch, the atmosphere was deceptively calm. Clotilde still seemed upset. Jeremy and his mother couldn’t
stop exchanging quick glances to show how happy they were to be together. Jeremy had a hard time getting interested in his wife and friends’ conversations. Their frequent references to experiences they had shared kept Jeremy at a loss.

After the meal, they sat in the living room. Thomas was the main topic of conversation. By midafternoon, Clotilde complained of a headache and decided to go home. Pierre offered to go with her, but she told him to stay.

“Don’t leave,” she simpered. “It’s your best friend’s birthday, after all.” Then she bid adieu to Victoria and Mrs. Delègue, kissed Jeremy dryly on the cheek, and left.

Mrs. Delègue announced it was time for her to go too. “Your father must be getting impatient…to know…but I’ll come again. Now that I have my son back. And my grandson.”

“You’ll always be welcome, Dad and you.” Jeremy gave her a hug. She drew back to get a better look at his face, patted his cheek, and kissed him in the same spot. Then she turned to Victoria. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” They embraced warmly.

“May I have a photo of the baby?” Mrs. Delègue asked shyly. “It’ll make my husband happy. I’ll put it on the
credenza in the family room. That’s what all grandmothers do, don’t they?”

When she was gone, Victoria approached Jeremy. “Are you happy?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him.

“Yes,” he answered, smiling at Victoria tenderly. “I wanted to see her so much.”

“Can you believe it?” she asked in Pierre’s direction.

From the couch, Pierre scowled. “You’ve been acting weird all morning. First you ask about your parents, and you’re surprised they’re not invited. Then you go after Clotilde in a mean, stupid way. Then you sit in silence the whole meal.”

Jeremy collapsed into the armchair and put his head in his hands. “I lost my memory again.”

Pierre and Victoria looked at him, speechless.

“Are you joking?” Victoria exclaimed.

“No, I don’t remember anything.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember anything?” Pierre asked.

“It’s like last time.” He lifted his head and saw their stony faces.

“When was the last time for you?” Pierre asked.

“If I understand correctly, it was two years ago today.”

“What do you remember since then?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“And before that?”

“I remember everything leading up to my suicide, then the day I had my first…crisis. Nothing between the two. Nothing since then.”

Victoria sank onto the sofa next to Pierre. “Are you serious? You’re not just spouting nonsense to justify your behavior?”

“No. I’m completely lost. I have no idea why things are the way they are with my parents. I don’t know anything about Clotilde and Pierre’s situation. I can’t follow any of your conversations. This morning when I woke up, I didn’t even know who the baby was. My own son. And I don’t remember our wedding, Victoria. I feel so empty, completely empty.” Jeremy slumped against the back of the chair.

“Shit.” Pierre leapt to his feet. “That’s not possible. This can’t happen all over again. The doctors said—”

Victoria interrupted. “They didn’t say anything. They didn’t understand. An emotional shock. They all said the same thing.”

“What happened the day after I went to the hospital?” Jeremy asked. “I remember going to sleep in my room. I felt sick. I hallucinated.”

“The next day, everything came back to you,” Pierre said. “Except the events of the day before. A form of selective amnesia, in reverse. The doctors wanted to hold you for observation, but you refused. You went back to work, and you didn’t say another word about it.”

“They wanted you to come back,” Victoria interjected. “But you never went to the appointments I made with a specialist. And because nothing else bad happened, I didn’t insist.”

“And on my birthday last year?”

Victoria shrugged her shoulders. “You were normal. We worried about a relapse. The doctors told us to keep you home the night before, not to leave your side, and not to let you drink alcohol. And everything went fine.”

A tense, anxiety-ridden silence filled the room.

“We have to go back to the hospital,” Victoria announced. “It’s the only solution.”

“No, I don’t want to go. If they didn’t understand my problem then, why would it be any different now?”

“He’s right,” Pierre agreed. “They’re idiots. They’re going to treat him like a guinea pig. Nothing more.”

“You two have a better solution maybe?” Victoria seemed frustrated.

“Maybe we could talk to you about things that matter to you,” Pierre offered. “Show you places you go?”

“I doubt that’ll work. If seeing my mother didn’t bring anything back…”

“You have a point,” Pierre agreed. “But there are no rules for this kind of thing. One ordinary detail might have unexpected results.”

“Let’s cancel whatever we had planned for the afternoon at least,” Jeremy suggested. “I don’t feel up to the performance.”

“Good idea,” Pierre said. “Imagine what would happen if your boss saw you with a case of…wandering amnesia. It could damage your credibility. Just when you’re expecting a promotion.”

“What should I tell him?” Victoria asked.

“Tell him Jeremy’s having stomach problems. Serious stomach problems. They don’t require any explanation, and they keep people away.”

Victoria went to make the call.

Pierre sat down next to Jeremy and patted him on the thigh. “Listen, it’s no big deal. If it’s like last time, tomorrow you’ll get your memory back and…all will be forgotten.”

“Very funny.”

“Worth saying, though, that it’s a question of time. Right now you’re having a bad dream. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and it’ll all be over. Everything will be fine.”

“Except I won’t remember this conversation, and my symptoms could come back at any moment.”

“Eventually we’ll figure out what…what’s wrong.”

“It’s hard waking up like this. I’ve lost all sense of who I am. It’s like someone cut me up into little pieces and scattered them all over the place. I can find some of the pieces, but they don’t fit the puzzle like they should.”

“You lost me,” Pierre said.

“I don’t recognize myself in the man you describe, the one who’s with you most days. I love my parents. I’m not mean-spirited. At most I’m a little lost. And I don’t have the temperament for sales. I’m more of an artist. I don’t even like alcohol. So how can I rebuild my life when the pieces
don’t look anything like me? I mean, tell me, Pierre, how do you see me?”

Pierre laughed a little, embarrassed. “You’re a first-class bastard. Worse: a drunk, a shithead, a whiner, and I could go on…” He put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “But you’re a good person. You’re my friend.”

“That’s not saying much,” Jeremy joked. “Tell me honestly how you see me every other day of the year.”

“Are you being serious?” Pierre asked incredulously. “You’re determined, strong-willed. A sensualist. You love life, and you know how to enjoy it like no one else I know. You like nice restaurants, fancy wine, aged whiskey, lively conversations, politics, your job, soccer, parties with friends, vacations, nice cars. You don’t like assholes, braggarts, your colleagues at work, board games, vegetarian food, religion, religious people, or anything that makes you feel like you’re wasting your time or that gets in the way of enjoying life.”

“What you’re saying…I don’t recognize myself at all,” Jeremy confided, more than a little stunned. “And Victoria?”

“Victoria? She’s the one who saves you every day. She’s your guardian angel, your guiding light.”

“But…How do I behave toward her? Do I love her?”

The question took Pierre by surprise. He scratched his head and furrowed his brow. “You’re asking me? Hard to say. She’s one of your only solid foundations. You know it, and you’re grateful to her.”

“That’s not the answer I expected.”

At that moment, Victoria entered the room. “It’s done. I got the impression he didn’t mind. He was in the middle of a round of golf. He suggested you take time to get well. What are you two talking about?”

“Jeremy. His personality. And you. His way of loving you,” Pierre answered, laughing. “I’m talking to a crazy person.”

“Oh yeah? So how do you love me?” Victoria asked, sitting on Jeremy’s knees.

“Like a crazy person. Pierre’s exactly right.” Jeremy let his gaze wander over Victoria’s face, so near, and he was suddenly aware of his luck.

She squeezed his hand. “Jeremy, I’m worried about you. I think we should see a specialist.”

“Don’t worry. Pierre’s right. Tomorrow, I’ll get my memory back. And if not, I promise I’ll go to the hospital.”

“Unless you forget your promise from the day before,” Pierre quipped.

“You’ll be there to remind me,” said Jeremy.

“What if you go take a nap?” Pierre suggested. “It’ll be good for you.”

At the thought of going to bed, Jeremy felt a ball of anxiety form in his stomach. He used humor to block the images taking shape in his mind. “I want to lie down and relax but not to sleep. What if I make another jump into the future? Five years, ten years, fifty years. I open my eyes and there, horror of horrors, I see a pair of dentures in a cup, and Victoria’s there drooling beside me.”

“Charming.” She laughed.

“And with that, I’ll be on my way,” Pierre interjected, getting to his feet. “I’m going to check up on Clotilde.”

“Would you apologize to her for me?” Jeremy asked remorsefully.

“No problem. I’ll explain everything and she’ll understand.”

When Pierre was gone, Jeremy stretched out on the couch. Victoria disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses.

“We can still celebrate your birthday together.” She handed him a glass. “Are you thinking about your amnesia right now?”

“I can’t think about anything else,” Jeremy said, and then corrected himself when he realized his mistake. “Even if I feel good right now with you.”

Victoria smiled. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I’m asking myself what will happen to our marriage if I don’t get my memory back tomorrow. In the end, our theory about an overnight recovery isn’t guaranteed.”

“But the last time…”

“Was the last time. You can’t make rules based on one time.”

“Don’t worry. If it doesn’t happen, we’ll consult the leading experts. Nothing will spoil our happiness.”

“Yes, we’re well on our way to an exceptional life,” Jeremy exclaimed ironically. “Isn’t it great to know that every year on my birthday I’ll wake up to new surprises? I’ll feel just like a kid on Christmas, running through every room in the house to count our children. And think how great it will be to discover new friends, perfect strangers, sprawling on my couch.”

“Stop saying things like that. I mean, really, I’d rather take you that way.”

“What does illness matter if I’m happy with you?” Jeremy whispered.

Victoria stroked his face.

“Let’s stay positive,” he continued. “The amnesia lets us take a step back from our lives so we can appreciate its worth.”

Victoria smiled mischievously. “It’s true. And besides, I’d like us to seriously consider making another baby.”

Jeremy gave her a puzzled look. “Oh really? But I just met the first one.”

She pretended not to hear. “I think there shouldn’t be more than a two-year age difference between children, so they can form a real bond. And then, of course, we already have the bottles…”

She lay against Jeremy. He felt intimidated by the situation and surprised by the intimacy, but happy.

“Let’s make a baby brother for Thomas…right now,” she whispered.

Jeremy couldn’t entirely abandon himself to the pleasure, observing the scene rather than living it.

They’d finished the bottle of champagne, and Jeremy felt dizzy. He was having trouble gathering his thoughts. When Victoria handed him a small gift box, he tried to smile. A meaningless grin appeared on his numb face.

“Ha,” Victoria burst out laughing. “You look like you’ve had enough. I’ve never seen you this tipsy after just a few glasses.”

“I think I’m a little drunk,” said Jeremy. “And tired.”

He opened the box and found a finely engraved, solid silver antique. Not sure what it was exactly, Jeremy turned it over a few times in his hand.

“It’s a trinket that caught your attention in the window of a shop on Rosiers Street. A book of psalms in a silver box. When I saw your reaction to it, I was surprised. You looked…hypnotized. You, the one who never thinks about religion. And then I thought it must mean something to you.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy managed to reply, surprised by the peculiar gift.

He opened the box and took out the little book printed on parchment paper. He had to make an effort to read the words on the cover:
Book of Psalms. Hebrew/French
.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s really nice…I’m…Well, the drinks. I’m going to go lie down for a minute.”