The Life Lucy Knew

by Karma Brown

  “Don’t get too excited,” Matt said, nudging my shoulder. “We didn’t make it to Bymark because of my ankle, so that’s not next on our agenda.”

  “Bummer. I’d like to know what a thirty-dollar hamburger tastes like.”

  “It’s even more now, close to forty, I think. We’ll put it on the to-do list, okay?”

  “Okay. So, what happened next?” I asked, the hot chocolate warming both my belly and my hands.

  “I’d been presumptuous and booked us a hotel so we didn’t have to deal with our roommates.” He paused, waiting to see my reaction to this as by now I’d figured out what those overnight bags meant—he was taking me back to the same place where we’d spent our first date night. “Because we’d missed our reservation but were starving, after you practically carried me off the ice, we grabbed a taxi to the hotel and ordered room service instead.”

  “Are you that bad of a skater?” I asked, still imagining us on the crowded skating rink, me trying not to laugh as Matt stumbled but tried to appear like he knew what he was doing.

  “Terrible. Horribly unskilled. I’m pretty grateful the ice has melted so we don’t have to re-create that particular part of the night.”

  I leaned over and quickly kissed him on the lips, then smiled as I pulled back. We were apart for only a moment before he put his cup down on the bench and placed his hands on either side of my face—his palms warm against the coolness of my cheeks—and kissed me deeply. Closing my eyes, I gave myself over to him and to this night, to the memory of us. When we finally broke apart, both of us a little breathless, Matt asked if I was ready for part two. I nodded and let him pull me up from the bench. He tossed our half-full cups of hot chocolate in the nearby trash can, then pretended to skate across the concrete, dancing me around in a spin. I threw my head back and laughed, the stars above twirling in a dizzying pattern as I did.

  * * *

  The room was beautiful, luxurious, and probably cost per night about the same as our monthly rent. “The Four Seasons?” I’d whispered as we walked through the sliding glass doors—holding tightly to each other’s hands—into the opulent lobby. “You were trying to make an impression.”

  “I had to go all out,” Matt said with a grin. “I knew the skating could go either way—though I didn’t plan on an embarrassing ankle injury that would land me on crutches for a week.” I cringed at this, and Matt leaned over to kiss the frown off my lips. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the sweetness of how much effort he had put into re-creating this night, but I wanted to do nothing but kiss him. And then some, which I took as a good sign for the rest of the evening. Maybe I will remember something. Maybe I can put Daniel back in the past where he belongs.

  At the thought of Daniel my good mood faltered slightly, but Matt didn’t seem to notice—he, too, was enamored with how our evening was going so far. I forced Daniel from my mind. Tonight is about Matt. Tonight is about us. “I figured a good meal and a nice hotel room would make up for my lame rink skills.”

  After we ordered room service, Matt pulled out a bottle of wine and two tumblers from his overnight bag, and something in a brown paper sack. Opening the wine, Matt gave me a wink and said, “I hope you took my ‘drink lots of water’ seriously, because this is only the beginning.” I was grateful for the wine—for the idea of getting right drunk tonight—because I had discovered how nicely alcohol softened the rough edges of my current situation.

  We clinked glasses and I took a long, slow sip. It was delicious—smooth and oaky, a hint of vanilla—and with a jolt I realized I recognized the flavor. “I think I know this wine,” I said with surprise, and Matt beamed. It didn’t matter whether I remembered it because of this night (which I could tell was what Matt decided to believe) or because it had been a regular go-to for years; it mattered I’d remembered it at all. “I think I love this wine.”

  “You do,” Matt said. Then he seemed to make a decision, putting down his glass and grabbing the paper bag. “I’ll be right back. Sit tight, okay?”

  I poured myself another glass while Matt was in the washroom. I could hear water running and wondered what he was doing—taking a shower? Waiting, I took my glass over to the large floor-to-ceiling glass window and drank it down as I gazed upon the lights of the city in front of me. A moment later the water stopped and Matt came out of the washroom. He seemed eager, but also nervous—he shifted from one foot to the other, his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows.

  “Will you come in here with me?” Matt asked, his voice gentle—almost pleading. He held out one hand, and I took it, following him. The air was warm and humid, and it smelled gorgeous. Like walking into a blooming flower shop. The bathtub was three-quarters full of water, and there were dozens of pink rose petals floating on its surface. I froze at the sight of the petals.

  “Lucy?”

  I couldn’t stop staring at the tub. At the floating rose petals. At the faucet, which was positioned in the middle of the far side of the bathtub, and would have left a perfect circle of a bruise if you happened to bend your knee up hard against it. “Hey, you okay?” Matt gently put a finger on my chin and turned my face toward him. His forehead was creased with worry, and I could also see regret there. “I thought...what if we could go back to the beginning, you know? Start over.” He took in a long breath, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. Let’s go back out and drink that wine you love, okay?”

  I started crying, which made him look even more desperate to cut this part of the evening short. “Please, Luce. Let’s go. Do you want to leave? The hotel, I mean.”

  Shaking my head, I tried to explain. Tried to talk through my tears, which had now turned to gulping sobs. I sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and tried to pull myself together. Matt crouched in front of me, his hands on my thighs, every now and then reaching up to wipe a tear off my cheek. One stray rose petal was stuck to his forearm, and I gently peeled it off, holding it carefully between my fingers. Finally I managed to say, “I remember.”

  He looked at me, not understanding exactly what I meant. “You remember...what?”

  I gestured to the bathtub. “I remember this bath. The rose petals.” I didn’t tell him that when I had previously remembered this moment it had been Daniel in the bath with me and not Matt, because that detail was only important for me to know. What mattered now was I was finally remembering this moment as I should have from the beginning—as it really was—a memory of an intimate and romantic experience shared with Matt. I had not taken a bath full of rose petals with Daniel, and definitely not the night I originally believed—before our engagement party—because as Daniel had confirmed, my arm had been in a cast. Also—and I couldn’t believe I was only now realizing this—the faucet on the bathtub at Daniel’s place had been at the end of the tub, not in the middle like this one.

  So, it had been Matt I rested back against in the bathtub, the warm, rose-scented water lapping at our skin as he kissed my neck and then some. My memory had righted itself—it had always been Matt. He had booked a hotel room at the Four Seasons, asking them to fill a tub with rose petals one day after Valentine’s Day, which was both a little cheesy and a lot romantic. Matt had done that for me, not Daniel. “I ended up with a bruised knee, right? From the faucet?” Now I remembered Matt gently running an ice cube over my knee and the blossoming purple mark, later, as we lay naked in bed.

  “That’s right. You did.” He sounded breathless, understanding creeping into his expression. Then he buried his face in the tops of my thighs, where his hands still rested, and I wrapped my arms around him. I remembered.

  We stayed like that for a moment before I wordlessly moved his arms, stood and pulled him up with me, undressing and keeping my eyes on his as I did. He followed suit and then we slipped into the warm water, the petals clinging to our naked skin, the water cresting over the side with our slow and purposeful movements.

 
24

  “Have you seen your mother today?” Dad asked. It was shortly after noon on Friday, and I was getting ready to see Dr. Kay. We were down to once-a-week appointments—to better accommodate my upcoming back-to-work schedule. I was still floating high after my date night with Matt and I couldn’t wait to tell her about my memory breakthrough.

  I threw my notebook and a pen into my purse, tucking my phone between my shoulder and cheek to not drop it. “I haven’t,” I replied, and Dad sighed. I stood up straight, held the phone tighter to my ear. “Why? Was I supposed to?” For a brief moment I wondered if I’d forgotten I had plans with my mom.

  “No. I don’t think so,” Dad said. “I’m sure she’s out with a friend or at the market. I only got home an hour ago myself.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “So why do you sound worried about where she is, then?”

  “Oh, do I? Well, sorry about that, pumpkin. It’s fine. We have an appointment with the Realtor in five minutes and she’s not here and you know your mom. She’s never late for anything.”

  That was true. And five minutes early was actually late to my mom—in fact, anything less than fifteen minutes early meant you were already behind schedule. It was one of my mother’s idiosyncrasies I’d long ago given up trying to understand or rationalize.

  “Did you try her cell?” I asked, glancing at the time. I had to be out the door in two minutes.

  “Yes...yes. It went to voice mail.” He sounded distracted, and I could hear him unloading the dishwasher.

  I continued walking through the apartment and tossing things into my purse—a granola bar and bottle of water, a small pack of tissues in preparation for the inevitable tears that came with a Dr. Kay appointment, despite my best intentions to hold it together. “Speaking of the Realtor, where are things at with that?” I hoped they wouldn’t sell the house. I had a lot of memories there—great ones—and for whatever reason it felt like if they sold our house they were selling those, too, right out from under me.

  “Just a meeting. Oh, there’s the doorbell. I’d better go. Let me know if you hear from your mom, okay? Though I’m sure she’ll be home any minute. Any minute. Maybe that’s her now.”

  “I will,” I said, and was about to comment Mom probably wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell to her own house when I realized Dad had already hung up. Staring at my phone for a moment, I wondered if he was okay. He sounded so scattered, which was unlike him. My dad was the most even-keeled of all of us. But I knew they’d had a lot on their plates since my accident—because of my accident. And with my mom pushing for a possible move to her dream town house with the “gorgeous north-facing morning sun, perfect for painting,” he was likely feeling pressure to make that happen, too.

  I slung my now-heavy purse over my shoulder and headed out the door, my conversation with my dad already pushed out of my mind as I focused on whether I still had time to take the streetcar to Dr. Kay’s office or needed to grab a cab.

  * * *

  As soon as I got out of my appointment with Dr. Kay there were three messages on my phone. One from Dad, saying he found Mom and everything was fine, though his voice was strained and I wondered again what was going on. Maybe they had decided to sell the house, after all, and were worried about telling me. There was another message from Matt, asking if I’d talked with my dad and did I want to go out for dinner tonight, and one from Alex asking me to call her immediately.

  “What’s up?” I asked when Alex answered, fumbling to hold my phone and get a token for the streetcar out of my wallet without dropping everything.

  “Move the ladder,” Alex said.

  “What? Are you talking to me?”

  “No, sorry. Hang on a second,” she said.

  “Are you talking to me now?” I asked.

  “Yes. But ignore me for a moment while I try to get these clueless people into their places.” Her voice was low so only I could hear. But then I had to move the phone away from my ear as she yelled at someone again about the ladder.

  “Okay, sorry about that,” she said to me. “I’m doing a tableau on climbing the corporate ladder and they’re insisting on using an actual wooden ladder in the shoot. Uninspired but well-paying assholes.” She raised her voice back up above normal levels. “Fantastic. That’s the right spot. Yes. Leave it. Right there. Okay, I’ll be with you in a minute.

  “Amateurs,” she mumbled, and I laughed. “Okay, I’m back. What’s up?”

  “Alex, you called me and told me to call you. Immediately. Remember?”

  “Right! You’d think I was the one with the fucked-up memory, huh?” She chuckled and I rolled my eyes. Alex wasn’t known for her tact. “Mom was in the hospital.”

  I stopped walking, right in the middle of the sidewalk. “Watch out!” someone said from behind me, and my purse dropped from my shoulder when the fast-moving pedestrian collided with me. I mumbled an apology and stepped to the side, out of the flow of foot traffic, my purse dangling from my fingertips.

  “What do you mean Mom’s in the hospital?” My breath caught in my throat, my fingers felt tingly and I thought I should find a place to sit down before I fell down. “What happened? Is she okay?”

  “Relax, Lucy. She’s fine. Her blood sugar was out of whack. She got dizzy at the market or wherever she was. You know, I assumed it was the market because she goes there so flipping much, but—”

  “Alex!” I shouted. After some forty years Mom had her condition under such good control it was easy to forget she was diabetic, except for the insulin pump monitor she always had clipped to her pants. I couldn’t remember her ever having to go to the hospital because of it. “Did something go wrong with her pump? What happened?”

  “I don’t know exactly because I could only chat quickly with Dad. They took her to emerg as a precaution. Whoever she was with apparently panicked and called 911 when she got light-headed.”

  “Who was she with?” I was trembling, caught up in one of those emotional tidal waves where my reactions were excessive for the situation. Mom is fine. Alex would never lie about that, so why did my body feel like it was going into shock? “Everyone knows she’s diabetic. She wears a bracelet. She has a monitor clipped to her at all times.”

  Alex shouted something else about the ladder. “Listen, I’ve got to run before these yahoos screw up the entire shoot. Call Dad, he’ll fill you in. Love you.” And then I heard a few choice words she mumbled under her breath about the goddamn ladder before she disconnected the call.

  I tried Dad, but he didn’t pick up. I was struggling to figure out what to do next, as it seemed my brain had stalled during Alex’s call and wouldn’t reboot. I considered going back to Dr. Kay’s office, slightly worried something more serious than a panic attack might be going on with me. With the splitting headache that had settled behind my eyeballs during the call and the strange tingling I had through my limbs, I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t having a stroke.

  Call Daniel. He popped into my head, and it felt so obvious. He’s your husband, call him. But just as quickly came this: Daniel is not your husband, Lucy.

  He never was your husband. He’s married to Margot.

  Matt is your boyfriend. You should call Matt.

  I sat heavily on the stone steps of the closest building and called Matt. Unable to stop it from happening, I started crying the second he picked up.

  “I need you to come get me,” I said as best I could.

  “Lucy? Are you okay? What’s the matter?” So many questions, so much worry in his voice. Then, more firmly, “Tell me where you are.”

  25

  Matt was there within minutes, flying out of the taxi so fast he left the door open. I had calmed down somewhat, though my parents were still not picking up their phones, and was able to tell him what happened. He wanted to take me home to rest, but I insisted we go straight to my parents’ place. I apologize
d multiple times on the way there, worried about dragging him away from work, but he held my hand tighter each time, saying, “That’s not important right now.”

  Our taxi finally pulled up to my parents’ house and I jumped out, practically running to the front door. I let myself in with my key and left the door open for Matt, who was a few steps behind me.

  “Dad? Mom?” I called out, sliding my boots off on the sisal mat by the front door. It was quiet inside, and the sound of Matt shutting the door behind him echoed down the hallway of the foyer.

  “Are you sure they’re here?” Matt asked, slipping out of his shoes and unbuttoning his jacket. He put his hands on my shoulders from behind and rubbed gently, and we walked that way into the kitchen.

  I saw both their cell phones sitting in the wicker basket on the counter and groaned with frustration—no wonder they hadn’t picked up. The clock over the fridge ticked loudly, but there were no other sounds in the house. I called out again, then heard, “Down here!”

  We headed downstairs to the basement rec room, found my parents sitting on the sectional. My dad was marking student essays; my mom had a sketchbook on her lap and colored pencils splayed out on the coffee table. She pushed her glasses on top of her head, nestling them into her silver hair. “Lucy, Matt, hello!” Mom said, smiling as though it was perfectly normal for us to visit in the middle of a workday. “What are you two doing here?” Then her expression darkened and she shifted to the edge of the couch. “Are you okay, honey? Did something happen?”

  I stared at her. My concern turned to confusion. “Did something happen?” I asked. I felt Matt rest a hand on my lower back, and I looked between my parents. They both wore a neutral expression, though I could see something lingering behind Dad’s gaze...a little worry he was still harboring. “Mom, I talked with Alex.”

  Mom gave a dismissive wave, leaned back into the cushions. “Your sister is always embellishing for dramatic effect. It’s the artist in her.” She said that last part with pride. Mom had always wanted to be a recognized artist, and it brought her great joy to see Alex making her way in the world, one photography award at a time.