Forgetting the Past

by Brenda Kennedy

  Chapter One: Two Years Later

  Claire Richards (Ava’s mother)

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Richards, but there was a horrible accident. Your son-in-law, Connor, is dead, and your daughter, Ava, is currently in a coma.” 

  I hold onto my husband’s arm for support. This can’t be happening. Slowly, I sit in a chair in the hospital emergency room. I just spoke to my daughter earlier today. It was her and Connor’s second wedding anniversary, and she was shopping for a dress to wear to dinner. How can this be? Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision. I can’t lose Ava. She is my only daughter, my only child. “Is she going to die?”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s too early to tell. We’re doing everything we can for her.” 

  “What kind of accident was it?” my husband, Marshall, asks. I assumed it was a car accident. I never would have asked.

  “The report we got when the call came in said it was a one-car accident over on Oak Marsh Road just before eight p.m. A passerby spotted the overturned vehicle and called 911.”

  The doctor speaks clearly and calmly, but his eyes reveal that he is tired and weary.

  Marshall remains standing and says, “That’s a straightaway. I don’t recall any sharp turns or dangerous intersections on that road.” 

  “That’s right. I believe the officers are still out there investigating the cause of the accident.”

  “When can we see our daughter? I need to be with her,” I say.

  “You can see her now. She’s in I.C.U. in a coma.” The doctor stops talking before he adds, “You’ll need to be prepared for her injuries. She has a broken left wrist, some brain and facial swelling, and some lacerations to her face, and to her body. You may not recognize her. She’s in pretty bad shape.” He looks from Marshall and then back to me. We won’t know how bad it is for a few days. The swelling needs to come down and she still needs to wake from her coma. The next few days will be critical. She’s also on a ventilator to help her body rest.”

  I can’t speak and I can’t see through the tears. I stand on shaky legs holding onto Marshall for support. “I need to see her.” 

  “Of course, follow me.”

  Marshall holds onto me and guides me down the cold sterile halls of the I.C.U. The walls are white, uninviting, and unwelcoming. The smell of antiseptic fills the air and the constant beeping from life-saving medical machines frightens me. As I walk with the support of Marshall, I know I’m supposed to hope for the best but expect the worst, but I can’t live by that rule. I can’t expect anything but the best for my daughter. I can’t give up hope, although if I did, I may be better prepared for her death. What kind of mother would I be if I gave up hope? Marshall says nothing as we follow the doctor in the blue hospital scrubs and a white lab coat down the long cold sterile hallway. Connor is gone. I can’t do anything about that, but there’s still hope for my daughter, and I will never let go of that hope, no matter how small it is. I didn’t see Connor’s parents. Is Connor here? Is he in the morgue? Are his parents at the morgue identifying his body? God, I feel sick.

  The doctor stops outside of the last room on the right. He doesn’t say anything. I know he’s giving us time to collect our thoughts before we go in, to better prepare ourselves for the condition Ava is in. I don’t want to go in there. I want this all to be a dream. If I see Ava in this condition, it’ll make it all real. There’ll be no turning back, no going back to before this dreadful night.

  “Claire, you go on in. I want to speak to the doctor alone.” 

  I look at Marshall and then the doctor. I don’t want to go in there by myself. I don’t want to see Ava for the first time alone. This is the way Marshall is. It’s his way and there’s no other way. I look at the doctor with pleading eyes. Maybe he’ll say something for me. Maybe he’ll see the fear in my eyes. “We can talk later…,” the doctor begins to say. Thank you. 

  “No, we need to talk now,” Marshall interrupts. “Claire, you can wait for me here, or I’ll meet you inside. I need to speak with Doctor Adams in private.”

  “I’ll meet you inside.” I turn and walk into the cold, sterile I.C.U. room that houses my sweet daughter. Staring at the floor, I walk in the direction of the pulsating sound. Slowly, I raise my eyes. The metal bed has wheels and the side bed rails are up. I don’t want to look any further. Closing my eyes, I take the last steps I need to be by my daughter’s side. When I bump slightly into the bed, I force my eyes open. I don’t look to the head of the bed, my eyes are focused on the foot of the bed. White sheets and a white blanket cover Ava. Moving my eyes slowly upward, I see Ava’s hand. Her wedding ring is in place and there is an I.V. in her right hand and a temporary cast on her left arm. Dried blood is embedded under her manicured fingernails and around her cuticles. Her hand is lifeless and pale. I force my eyes to move upward and take a deep breath. There’s no preparing myself for what I see next. Ava’s face is black and blue with bruises. Her face is swollen beyond recognition. She has lacerations and scrapes on her face, neck, and arms. I sit on the green cloth-covered chair beside the bed. This is my daughter. She’s alive, but she doesn’t show any signs of life. Will she die like Connor? Will this be her last day to live? If she lives, will she be brain dead and in a coma, or will she come out of it? I can’t lose my daughter. I can’t say goodbye to her. I know it’s selfish, but I want her anyway I can have her. She’s my reason for living. She’s my reason for getting out of bed everyday. I love her. I love her more than life.

  Over the next week, Marshall and I attend Connor’s funeral while Ava’s best friend, Skylar, stays at the hospital with Ava. I want to stay at the hospital with our daughter, but Marshall insists we attend the funeral. Maybe he’s right. Connor was our son-in-law.

  I don’t remember the funeral and I don’t remember the past week, either. I do remember the horrifying cries coming from Connor’s mother and his closest friends and family. They resembled my own silent agonizing cries. If my fears and pain had a sound, I’m sure they would sound like that. I wait impatiently for Marshall to say his goodbyes. I want to get back to the hospital with Ava and Skylar. I know there’s no change in Ava’s medical condition, or Skylar would have called me. I’m as polite as it is possible for me to be as I wait for Marshall.

  “How is Ava?” Brett asks. 

  Brett is Connor’s dad. He hasn’t been to the hospital yet to see Ava. He and his wife, Nichole, have been dealing with their own problems.

  Marshall lowers his voice to a near whisper, “There’s no change in her condition.” 

  “Please, let us know if there’s anything we can do. We plan to visit soon.” 

  I give a sad smile as I stand beside my husband. He’s dressed in a black suit, black tie, and crisp white shirt. I’m wearing a black dress, black stockings, with black heels. No other color seemed to be appropriate for today. Connor’s dead and Ava is still in a coma. I may wear black every day for the rest of my life if she doesn’t come out of it.

  “Thank you, but there isn’t anything anyone can do.”

  My husband looks down at me and asks, “Are you ready, Claire?” 

  Yes, I’m ready. I’ve been ready. “I’m ready whenever you are,” I say instead.

  Skylar Sperry

  “Ava, please wake up. We have so much we haven’t done, there’s still so much for us to do together.” I sit beside her lifeless body. The machine breathes for her and the I.V. pumps some much-needed fluids into her body. “Talk to her, we believe she can hear you,” the nurse said. She isn’t brain dead, so maybe she can hear me. If she could hear me, wouldn’t she move or talk back to me? Wouldn’t she give me some sign that she’s still here with me? “Please, Ava, you gotta wake up,” I plead. “I need you.”

  When I hear tapping sounds coming from the hallway, I sit quietly. If it’s Claire, I don’t want to give her false hope that Ava and I are actually having a conversation together. Leaning up, I take Ava’s cold hand into mine. “I miss you,” I
whisper.

  “How is she?” Claire asks at the doorway before she even makes her way into the room. 

  “There’s no change.” That could be a good thing, but I know Claire was asking did she respond to my voice. I wish. I want her to wake up. Just a twitch of a finger would be something.

  “Well, she’ll wake up when she’s ready. Ava always did things on her own time.”

  She’s right about that. Ava, at one time, did things only when Ava was ready and not a minute sooner. But since Ava’s been married to Connor, she has done things on Connor’s time.

  I stand from the chair and watch as Claire removes her coat and carefully folds it over the metal chair nearest the door.

  “Marshall’s not with you?” 

  She looks up with a sad smile. “No, he went to the office. He’ll be back in time for dinner.” Claire is a petite woman with dark hair like Ava’s. It’s pulled up into a tight bun. She’s the epitome of a mother in mourning, even if the funeral she attended wasn’t for her daughter. Her eyes are red and swollen, and she is thinner than she usually is. Her appearance mirrors my own. I was planning on leaving as soon as they returned from the funeral, but since Marshall isn’t here with her, I’d like to stay. I love Ava’s mother.

  “Would you mind if I stayed here with you until he returns?” 

  We make eye contact and she says, “Of course I don’t mind. You’re Ava’s best friend. She would want you to be here with her.” 

  I smile. Ava would expect me to be here with her, even if it was an inconvenience for me. She hates hospitals and she wouldn’t want to be here alone, even for one night. “Thank you.” I watch as she applies Chapstick to Ava’s lips and she wipes Ava’s face and hands off with a warm cloth. I did the exact same thing just an hour ago. I have no idea if Ava can feel it or tell a difference, but I would like to think that she can. Ava would expect and want to be comfortable and clean, even if she is in a coma.

  While I sit quietly, Claire reads to Ava. It’s not your typical romance book, but a book about how to open and operate a bed and breakfast: Running a Bed and Breakfast for Dummies by Mary White. I listen as she reads the instructions and the directions of things you need to do. I don’t question her taste in books. I know this has been a dream of Ava’s for years. 

  I think back to when I was in high school with Ava, when we were in nursing school together, and then her wedding to Connor. Things changed between us after she got married. Not just between us, but she changed. She was no longer available to do things with me, and Chase said he very seldom saw her. Whenever I did see her, she was in good spirits. I always suspected Connor was the reason why we never hung out, but she always said her schedule was full or she was just too busy. Because he was this high-profile attorney, she didn’t need to work outside of the home, so she quit her nursing job. I no longer got to see her at work. I’ve missed her over the last two years since her wedding.

  “Do you have plans for when Ava wakes up?” Claire asks.

  I hope Ava wakes up. I think for a minute and realize she’ll be in mourning when she learns of Connor’s death. She’s young and beautiful, and now she’s a widow. That won’t be easy for her to digest. I choose my words carefully before speaking. “As soon as she’s up to it, we should all get a mani and pedi, then we should go out and have lunch at the cute little French bistro she likes over on Palms Way.” It’s a nice thought and I smile a genuine smile. Ava would like that. She loves to get her nails done. “What about you? You must have a long list of things you’ll want to do with her,” I say. 

  Claire also smiles. “I do. She’ll need to get her hair done.” Her smile fades. “She’ll also need to pick out a tombstone for Connor.” I watch as her lip begins to quiver. She looks broken. I’ve never seen Claire when she wasn’t put together. “She’s so young and beautiful. I wonder how she’ll deal with this. Connor was her everything.”

  I’ve also wondered this. My main thought is whether Ava will wake up from her coma, and if she does, will she have brain damage? How much will she remember? Will she be the same person after losing her husband? The Internet is wonderful to have, but I believe it’s possible to know too much and still not have all of the details. I once Googled symptoms I was having on Ask Web M.D. According to the website, it said that lung cancer is a possibility and to consult a doctor Thankfully, it was only bronchitis. I try to stay away from searching anything to do with medical diagnosis, symptoms, procedures, and prognoses; however, I did Google comas and I wish I hadn’t. I look at Claire as she sits and holds Ava’s hand. “Luckily, she has you to help her get her through this.” 

  She looks up at me with tears streaming down her flawless face. My heart grieves for her. She’s lost a son-in-law, and her only child is in a coma. What will happen to her if Ava doesn’t pull through, or if Ava remains in a coma? How long can a person live in a coma? I wish I knew.

  “Thank you. Ava will need all of us to help her get through this.”

  I sit with Ava and talk quietly to her while Claire leaves to get some water from the cafeteria. I pray, and watch, and wait for movement. A blink, a twitch of a finger, any form of movement. Some sign that life exists within Ava’s seemingly lifeless body. I pray that once her body heals, her soul will return intact. Maybe this is God’s way of giving her body and mind a rest. Maybe she’ll wake up and be completely healed from all of this.

  I leave before Ava’s dad, Marshall, gets here. I pretend I have someplace to be, but in fact, I don’t want to be here when he comes. He and Claire will need time alone. I kiss Ava and kiss and hug Claire before leaving. “Please call me if there’s a change.” 

  “I will. Maybe it’ll happen this evening.” 

  Once I’m in the car, I call Chase. Chase, Ava, and I have been friends for years. He was Connor’s colleague at the law firm, and he was also Ava and Connor’s best man at their wedding.

  “Hey, Skylar.” 

  “Hey, just leaving the hospital. Do you want to meet me for dinner?” 

  “How’s Ava?” he asks. 

  “I wish I had something to report. There’s still no change.” 

  “That’s too bad, maybe tomorrow.” I hear the beeping sound of his key remote to his car. “Where do you want to have dinner?” 

  “Italian or Greek?” I ask.

  “Oh, tough choice.” I hear his car door close. “Italian.” 

  “Great. Shall I meet you at Guiseppe’s in half an hour?” 

  “I’m on the other side of town. I should be there then.” 

  I arrive at the restaurant before Chase and walk into the Italian restaurant where empty Italian wine bottles are used as candle holders. The white tapered candles are burning in the center of the red and white checkered linen-covered round table. I get seated and order a bottle of Chianti as I wait for Chase. Watching the wax melt and drip onto the empty wine bottle candleholder, I think back to Ava and my visit with her. My heart hurts at the unknown. Not knowing what will become of her. Not knowing how this will end for her, for all of us. I’m sad that Connor is dead, but Ava is my very best friend. I’ll be lost without her.

  “Been waiting long?” I look up at Chase as he is loosening his black and white tie before sitting down.

  “No, I just got here myself. Still nursing my first glass.” I hold up the half-filled wine glass. 

  He unbuttons his black suit jacket. “I was hoping to get here sooner, but traffic was backed up today.” 

  I watch as he leans up and pours himself a glass of the red wine. His dark hair is longer than it usually is and his five o’clock shadow is thicker than normal. I don’t ask about or mention it. I know he’s also having a hard time with Connor’s death and Ava’s condition. 

  He leans up further and refills my wine glass. His dark eyes are sad. He looks exhausted. “So, our girl is still resting, is she?” 

  I smile whenever he refers to Ava as “our girl.” I also like when he refers to her as res
ting. It sounds so much better than anything else I’ve heard people say. “She is. Her mom was reading to her today.” 

  He takes a drink of his red wine before picking up the menu. “Oh, let me guess. Romance?” 

  He smiles and it makes me smile, too. “No. It was actually a book about owning and operating a bed and breakfast.” 

  “Really? Connor never said anything about Ava having a passion for that.” He pauses and thinks. “Come to think of it, he never mentioned her having a passion about anything.” 

  We order garlic knots and chicken parmigiana for dinner, and a side salad with house dressing. I used to find it odd that we would always order the same foods while out, but not anymore. I consider Chase to have great taste in food, since we like the same things.

  “She used to talk about opening a bed and breakfast before she got married.” I think for a minute, and say, “I didn’t know if those dreams still existed. I haven’t seen much of her in the last two years.”

  “Since their marriage, she did keep more to herself.” 

  I knew her like we were sisters before her wedding. “Do you think it was her choice that she was so reserved after her marriage?” 

  He looks up over his wine glass. “I don’t know. I would like to hope that it was her choice.” He takes a sip of his wine and sets his glass on the checkered tablecloth. “Connor was my friend and colleague, but I didn’t see either of them much after their wedding. I was closer to you and Ava. I worked with Connor but saw him only in passing.” Connor didn’t have many close friends, and I often wondered if Chase wasn’t his best man at his wedding because he and Ava were such good friends.

  During dinner he asks, “So, are you still dating… Tom? Jim? Tim? What was his name again?” 

  I laugh, “Bob, and the answer’s no. It’s been over with for a few weeks now.” 

  “Bob, that’s it. I knew it was a three-letter name. So, what happened with you and Bob?” 

  “Bob turned out to be a jerk.” 

  “How so?” 

  “I think it was the fourth time of us eating Dutch that actually got to me.” 

  “What’s wrong with that?” 

  “Nothing. It was actually kind of nice for a change.” 

  He looks confused. “So, what’s the problem?” 

  “Bob always had the correct change.” 

  “Skylar, you’re losing me.” 

  “Chase, he only had the correct amount of change. I estimated that he owed me about $65.00 in gratuity in those four dates alone.” 

  “Ouch.” 

  “Yeah, he’s a jerk and he’s a tight ass.” 

  He laughs. “I have to ask. How did you break up with this one?”

  I laugh, too. This breakup will go down in history. Ava and I always took pride in how we broke up with jerks in high school and in college. Once in college, she dated a guy that wouldn’t take no for an answer. She tried to break up with him and he kept coming back for more. So she took a new pregnancy test from the box and drew two red lines on it with a red Sharpie to show a positive pregnancy reading and threw it away in his dorm room. He never called her or talked to her again. The kicker is, she never had sex with him. He thought she was pregnant with another guy’s baby.

  “So, are you going to tell me?” 

  “Sure, I’ll tell you. I bought a book at the local bookstore titled How to be a Good Wife: What Every Bride Must Know to be a Good Wife and Have a Great Marriage by John McQuilkin.” I laugh before I continue. “I left it on his coffee table on a night he was having friends over to watch the Ohio State/ Michigan game.” 

  “No you didn’t.” I nod my head and I know Ava would be proud of me. We used to thrive on who came up with the best way to break-up with a loser. “It’s a wonder you still get dates in this city.”

  “I know, right. Eventually, I’ll need to move to a bigger city where no one knows me.” 

  “That might need to be sooner rather than later.” 

  “Honestly, dating is the last thing on my mind. Yesterday, a 300-pound man tried to pick me up at a coffee shop. I bought him a couple of foot-long hot dogs, and then I left. The 300-pound man had to decide whether to stay and eat or leave and follow me. He stayed and ate.”

  We finish dinner and talk about his job, my job, and Ava. He tells me about Connor’s funeral. He tells me that his workload has increased now that Connor’s clients are being distributed among the other attorneys. He also tells me that if he never attends the funeral of another friend, it’ll be too soon. Due to Connor’s injuries, he had a closed casket. Chase thought it would be easier to deal with, but he was wrong. “Just because you can’t see the person doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, or any less real. A death is a death, and a death is permanent; it is forever.” 

  “Ava has to wake up. I don’t want to….” I can’t say it. I can’t finish my sentence.

  Chase scoots his chair over and holds my hand. “Don’t think like that. As long as there is a breath in her, she still has a fighting chance. We have to hold on to hope, no matter how small.”

  Chase Murphy

  I pay the bill and wait with Skylar at the valet stand. “I’ll call you in a day or two, and you call me if there’s a change in Ava.” 

  “Okay, sounds good. I work tomorrow, but I’ll be up to see her afterward.” 

  “I’ll be there tomorrow, as well. Be careful driving home.” She leans in and hugs me. I know it’s just a comforting hug. “It’ll be all right, and call me if you need me.” 

  “I will, and thanks for dinner.” 

  I watch as she pulls off onto the main road. I don’t drive home; I drive to Shands Lake Shore Hospital instead. Ava is my friend and I want to see her. It’s not easy to watch her while she lies unresponsive in a coma. I tell Skylar to think positively, but it’s easier to tell someone to do that than to do it yourself. I’d rather have a root canal without anesthesia than sit in the I.C.U. room and watch Ava. I wonder whether she can really hear us. The nurses and doctors claim she can, maybe they’re right. “The hearing is the last thing to go,” they say. How can they know that for certain? Maybe it’s just to give the living some hope.

  I walk into Ava’s room and I’m surprised to find no visitors in the room with her. It’s late on a Thursday night, but I thought someone should be here. I bend over and kiss Ava’s cold cheek. The bruising and swelling is subsiding and she’s looking more like herself. I readjust the covers and sit in the chair beside the bed.

  A nurse walks in a few minutes after me. “Hi, I didn’t see you come in.” 

  Standing from the chair, I say, “I just got here.” 

  “Did you sign in?” 

  “Sign in?” 

  “Mr. Richards is requesting that all visitors sign in.” She nods to the clipboard by the door. 

  “No, I’ll do that now.” When I turn to sign in, she attends to Ava. I notice I’m the first name on the sheet. “Any change in Ava today?” 

  “She blinked a few times when her father was here.” 

  “Oh.” I begin to feel hopeful. “Does that mean she’s waking up?” I scribble my name on the clipboard and walk back over to the bed. 

  “It could just be reflexes.” She feeds Ava through her feeding tube. “The doctor’s going to remove the ventilator tomorrow. Since the swelling’s down, she’ll be able to breathe on her own.” 

  I hold onto the bed rail. “This is great news.” Why didn’t someone call Skylar and me and tell us? 

  “It’s still too early to tell if she’s waking up from this.” She looks at me with sympathetic eyes. Maybe that’s why no one called us. They didn’t want us to get our hopes up. “We’ve had patients wake up from a seven-year coma, and then we’ve had patients open their eyes, look around, and still be in a comatose state.” I nod in understanding and take a seat in the chair. “It’s nice to be hopeful, but you have to be realistic, too.”

  I watch the nurse as
she applies Vaseline to Ava’s lips and washes her hands and face with a warm washcloth. She tries to smooth Ava’s long matted hair and tucks it behind her ear.

  “She has beautiful hair,” I say, sadly. The nurse turns to leave and I reluctantly ask, “Did she have visitors this evening?” 

  “She did. Her parents just recently left. They’ll be back in the morning.” 

  “Thank you.” I hold Ava’s hand and pray for her to wake up. Then I open a book that’s on the metal hospital bedside table and read from the last bookmarked page. It lists great locations for a bed and breakfast and also suggests great menu choices and recipes to offer your guests. Sadly, we’re not in one of the areas listed to have a successful bed and breakfast. When no one comes to stay the night with Ava, I dim the lights, pull the chair as close as I can to her hospital bed, and rest my head against her torso. While holding her hand, I try to sleep. What if she wakes up? I don’t want to leave her here alone. I want someone to be here with her. 

  In the morning I kiss Ava and leave just before 6:00; I need to be in court at 9:00. 

  Ava

  I stare into the bright light. The doctor says, “Don’t blink,” I don’t. “Look up.” I do. “Look down.” I do that, too. “How do you feel?” 

  My head hurts. My hand hurts. My mouth’s dry. I lick my lips and they taste of Vaseline. I wipe my mouth off with the white hospital blanket. I move slowly because I hurt. “I hurt,” I croak. I try to swallow, but there’s nothing in my mouth to swallow. “Ava, do you know where you are?” 

  Ava? Who’s Ava? I repeat the name over in my head, and it doesn’t sound familiar. I turn my head slightly, but I don’t recognize anyone in the room. A woman looks scared. She tries to smile, but it doesn’t fool me. She’s scared to death. The man with her looks stern. He doesn’t try to smile. He watches me with something in his eyes. I don’t know what. Turning my head, I want to say something, but I’m tired, oh so tired. Soon, my eyes close and sleep claims me. I hear muffled sounds, maybe someone talking, I can’t be sure. I drift off to a heavier sleep than the one I was in before.

  I’m exhausted. I don’t dream or think. I don’t wake up or move. The room is silent. Is this death? Is this what death is like? Am I dead?

  When I do wake up, it’s to bright lights, and people talking. I also wake to total darkness. Even when my eyes are open, I’m still in a darkness — a fog. I know no one, and I’m unable to speak or carry on a conversation. I can’t answer simple questions because I have no answers. I drift back into my fog. A deep and heavy sleep where it’s only darkness and me. 

  When I’m awake, I pray for sleep. I want to be in the deep unconscious state, where no one sees me or talks to me. Where no one asks me questions that I can’t answer. When I’m awake, they want me to talk. I want something to drink, but I don’t get it. I see pictures around me of people; I have no idea who they are except I recognize a man and a woman in some of the pictures because they are sometimes in the hospital room with me. She always looks frightened and he never says anything. I’m staying awake more and more as the days go on. No one speaks to me about anything important. The weather, what I had to eat today, whether or not I exercised or walked. Soon I learn the man and woman are Claire and Marshall, so when I talk to them, I call them that. I speak to the doctor, who seems to be my only friend. He just tells me I was in an accident and my memory may come back slowly or it may come back all at once. I can’t recall anything. I try to scan my brain for something, some kind of memory to spark, but nothing. Where are my friends? Shouldn’t my friends be here with me? Surely, I have someone else out there who cares for me.

  It’s been weeks, maybe months, since I’ve drifted off into a deep sleep that I long for. The sleep where it’s just the blankness and me. Since I’ve woken up to this new reality, I’ve been moved from the hospital to a rehabilitation center. I cried when I thought I was never going to see my doctor again. I like him and trust him. I was happy, thrilled even to learn he’ll continue to see me. “You can’t get rid of me that quick,” he said. Claire and Marshall are strangers to me. They don’t tell me anything. Whenever I ask a question, they tell me to ask my doctor. When I ask my doctor, he tells me my memory will return in its own time. I want to know things now. I want answers now. Why won’t they tell me anything? 

  Skylar Sperry

  “Have you seen or heard anything from Ava?” 

  Chase rubs his bloodshot eyes. “No, but I drove by her house and there were lights on.” 

  “She’s home?” 

  “I didn’t say that.” He looks outside at the rain and says, “Maybe her mom or dad was there. Maybe the housekeeper was there.” 

  “Maybe she was there.” When I went to see Ava, there was a sign-in sheet posted at the doorway to her room. I thought it was so they could keep track of who was coming and going. About a week later, I was on the forbidden-to-enter-Ava’s-room list. Only two names were on the list: Chase’s and mine. I tried to call Claire, but her number had been changed. “We have to go there and see if Ava’s home,” I demand.

  “And what makes you think they’ll let you in to see her? It’s been six months since her accident and almost five months since her father banned us from seeing her at the hospital.” 

  “I know, I don’t need to be reminded. But if she’s home, I want to see her.” I walk into the bedroom and remove the shoebox from the top shelf. Walking to the door I say, “You coming with me?” 

  “Do I have a choice? When they arrest you, you’ll need an attorney.” 

  We pull up at the McMansion and wait and watch. I have no idea what we’re waiting on. I’m afraid to go up to the door and knock. I want to call Ava, but certainly she would have called me when she woke up from her coma. She didn’t call me or Chase. Maybe she doesn’t want to see us. 

  “Well, now what?” 

  “Go knock.” 

  He looks at the large house with only a few lights on downstairs. “Come on, we’ll both go.” I grab the shoebox and we walk slowly to the front door.

  “What’s in the shoebox?” he asks.

  “Some mementos. I thought we could reminisce about happier times.” 

  “Good idea. She’ll like that.”

  “I hope so. I don’t have a good feeling about this.” 

  He rings the doorbell and says, “It’ll be fine.” When no one answers, he rings the doorbell again. 

  I knock on the door and call, “Ava?” 

  Finally, someone comes to the door. I’m excited and happy when I see Ava standing there. The door is only partly open. She’s standing behind it in a way to shield her.

  “Oh, my God, I’ve missed you.” She looks confused. “How are you?” I ask. 

  “I think you may have the wrong house.” She begins to close the door.

  “Ava? It’s us. Chase and Skylar.” Chase speaks slowly and calmly. “We just came by to see how you are.” 

  We both watch as she peeks from around the door. “Do I know you?” 

  Amnesia? Oh, shit. I’ve read about this. It can be common in coma patients. You have to take things slowly with them. “We went to high school and college together. My name’s Skylar, and I was your maid of honor at your wedding, and Chase was Connor’s best man.” 

  She thinks for a moment. “Then you know that my husband passed away six months ago.” 

  “We do and we’re very sorry. We visited you in the hospital while you were in a coma.” I speak softly and calmly. What is too much information? What should I say and what shouldn’t I say?

  “If we were such good friends, I can’t help but wonder why you didn’t visit me in the hospital or in the rehabilitation center? I mean, if we’re as good as friends as you say, wouldn’t you have been there for me?” 

  She doesn’t believe me. “Someone put us on the forbidden-to-visit-you list. We thought it was your dad. Maybe it was his way of trying to protect you.” I watch her and she still doesn’t bel
ieve me. I need to say something she remembers. “I was at the hospital when your mom would read to you from a book about opening a bed and breakfast.” 

  She smiles slightly. “That book was in my hospital room.” She looks from Chase to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember either of you.” 

  She backs away and begins to close the door.

  “Ava?” 

  The door stops and she peeks around it. “Yes?” 

  “Here.” I hand her the shoebox of every fun thing we ever did together. Well, not every fun thing we ever did, but some of the fun things we did. “Look through this; maybe something in here will jog your memory.” She reluctantly takes it. “Do you still have your cell phone?”

  “Yes, I still have it.” 

  “Call me when you want to talk. You have me listed as Sky.” 

  “Thank you, have a good night.” 

  I cry all the way home. Ava has no recollection of who we are. Nothing. She looked like Ava, but she didn’t act like Ava. She was more formal, more refined. She was more like her husband than herself and her mother. I never liked him. There was just something about him. Chase comes in and stays with me. We binge eat on pizza, popcorn, and ice cream. Chase tries to comfort me as he tries to comfort himself. He lost Connor, and it looks like we lost Ava, too. Although she didn’t die in the accident, a part of her died with her memory. We watch movies until we pass out in front of the television together.

  Over the next few days, I keep my phone charged and near me at all times. I want to answer it when Ava calls me. Every day that passes, I lose hope. On day five, I give up on ever hearing from her again.

  Ava

  I close the door and lock both locks before setting the shoebox on the dining room table. Chase and Skylar? Skylar and Chase? I repeat the names over and over in my head and out loud to no one but myself, hoping, praying it’ll stir a memory. Nothing. I walk around the too-large house and I feel out of place. I don’t belong here. This can’t be my home. If it were my house, wouldn’t I feel a connection to it? Wouldn’t I feel like I belong here? I call Claire before 9:00 p.m. like she asked me to. She wants me to call her Mom, and I do in front of her, but when I refer to the strange woman in my mind or when she isn’t present, I call her Claire. She may be my mother, but she is a complete stranger to me, at least for now. I can’t remember my previous life prior to the accident. I’ve been out of the rehabilitation facility for six weeks, and the first few weeks I stayed with her and Marshall. Neither of them would allow me to stay at the home I shared with my husband, Connor, who is also a complete stranger. After two weeks, I insisted I was well enough to stay in my own home, even if I was alone. I told them it may jog my memory being surrounded by familiar items. It wasn’t a lie; I am hoping my memory comes back.

  I call Claire and she tells me about the neighbors who asked about me like I’m supposed to remember who they are. I don’t. She also tells me about the ladies in her book club, and I just smile into the phone. Nothing she mentions stirs a memory. As hard as I try, nothing comes to the forefront of my head to trigger any kind of a memory.

  “How was your day?” she finally asks.

  “Fine. I did laundry.” I don’t tell her about Chase or Skylar coming over earlier this week. I’m not sure why. If Marshall did put them on the forbidden-to-visit list, it means he doesn’t want them around me. They seem nice enough. Maybe he knows something I don’t know. Well, take that back, he knows everything that I don’t, since I can’t remember anything. Claire and Marshall wouldn’t be happy with me answering the door to complete strangers. I wasn’t going to answer it, until I heard someone call out my name. It’s awkward talking to Claire on the phone. I know she wants me to remember her, and I wish I could. But I don’t.

  “Your father and I will be over tomorrow. He wants to take his daughter out to lunch.” I wish she wouldn’t refer to him as my father. 

  “That sounds nice.” And it does. I hate to cook. “I need to go to the grocery store and get a few groceries.” 

  “Okay, make out a list and we’ll see you tomorrow about noonish.” 

  Noonish? Make a list? Did the old me need a list? Am I a list person? “Okay, I’ll be ready. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I quickly hang up before she tells me she loves me. I don’t know her and I don’t feel love for her. Whenever she tells me she loves me, which is every time I see her, I feel obligated to say it back. Those words are sacred and shouldn’t be said unless you mean them.

  I walk around the house and the shoebox that’s still on the dining room table seems out of place. I’m not ready to go through it. If my home that I shared with my husband doesn’t stir any memories, I’m sure a shoebox full of trinkets won’t do anything. This house feels more like a museum than a home someone lives in. It doesn’t feel homey at all. I place the shoebox in the hall closet and walk around the house hoping for something to come to me, anything. A few pictures are on the wall, the desk, and the entryway table; all of them are of Connor and me. We look happy. He’s always dressed in a suit, and I wonder if he ever wore anything else. 

  I force myself to go upstairs and into the master bedroom. Since my return home, I’ve been sleeping downstairs in the guestroom. Well, this house has many bedrooms, so I’ve been sleeping in one of the many guestrooms. Odd, though, they don’t seem to be used for guests, but for other purposes. For example, one room seems to be used mostly for wrapping presents. Another seems to be used only for exercise, and another is used for storage.

  The laundry room looks like a closet, so I’ve been wearing clothes that I get from there. Connor’s closet is immaculate, and it’s full of suits, dress pants, khakis, and dress shirts. Everything is color coordinated and categorized by color and short or long sleeves. Did I arrange this closet? Am I meticulous? I look inside the shoeboxes in his closet and find dress shoes and more dress shoes. How many pairs of dress shoes can one man have? Pulling out the drawers of the built-ins, I find fifty or more ties, and lots of T-shirts, gym shorts, and sweatpants. In another drawer, I find black dress socks and white boxer-briefs. No other color, just white. I don’t remember anything, but I decide Connor worked a lot and worked out in his spare time. I don’t find any blue jeans in his closet at all. Did he never just wear a pair of jeans on the weekends?

  My closet is also immaculate. I have dresses, skirts, blouses, and sweaters. In the built-ins, I find lacy bras and panties in every color. Thongs, boy-cut shorts, bikinis, every style you can think of. In the shoeboxes are also dress shoes of every color and style. Do I wear these? They don’t seem like my style. I search for jeans, shorts, and T-shirts, but there aren’t any. I search for loungewear, yoga pants, and gym shorts, but there aren’t any. No tennis shoes, nothing. 

  After I make sure the lids are back on the shoeboxes, I close the closet doors. It feels like the right thing to do. To have something out of place in this house feels wrong. Was I a Stepford wife? Was I always like this? Do I always put things away when I’m done with them? I guess so, because there isn’t one thing out of place in the whole house. Did I ever wear jeans or anything comfortable? Do I like wearing dresses everyday? Chase and Skylar had on jeans. If I was friends with them, wouldn’t I also wear jeans, at least sometimes?

  I walk through all of the rooms in the upstairs of the house. We never had children and this house has five bedrooms. It makes me think that we planned on having a big family, but the rooms are all furnished with queen or king beds. This house also doesn’t seem like a kid-friendly home. Metal and glass tables, sharp edges, glass tabletops. I’ve looked at the few photo albums we have, and the pictures are mostly of Connor and me. No children are in any of the pictures, and only a few pictures are with my parents or his parents. Even in our wedding photos, there are only a few pictures with our guests. Did we not have any friends? Chase and Skylar said they were in our wedding. Did I overlook them in the pictures? I don’t recall seeing a wedding party photo.

  Over the next few days, I
buy groceries and stock up on the things I like. I shop for clothes with Claire and buy all of the things I want to wear. She doesn’t say anything about my choices, and she helps me to shop. I also call my doctor, the only friend I have in this world. He was there when I woke up, and I feel like he’s the only person I can turn to. When I was released from the rehabilitation facility, he gave me his personal cell number in case I needed anything. Well, now I feel like I need something.

  “Dr. Adams speaking.” 

  “Hi, Dr. Adams. It’s Ava Emerson.” 

  “Ava, is everything all right?” 

   “I have a problem.” 

  “Are you remembering something?” 

  “No, that’s my problem. I don’t remember anything. I don’t fit in here and I don’t feel comfortable.” I think about what I want to say so it doesn’t sound like I’m rambling. “I feel like I’m living in someone else’s home. I can’t go outside because people stop me. They call me by name and ask how I am. I have no idea who these people are.” 

  “Do you just smile politely, say you are fine, and walk away?” 

  “Yes, exactly.” 

  “Ava, has your mother told you about a lifelong friend, or a childhood friend who might be able to help you remember anything?” 

  I think about Chase and Skylar and the shoebox of “fun things,” as she called it. “No, Claire hasn’t said anything. I haven’t asked her.”

  “I would consider talking to her. She knows you the best and remember what I said….” 

  “Yeah, I know. ‘Don’t rush it.’” We both laugh.

  “That’s right. Your memory will return when you’re ready, and not when you think you’re ready.” 

  He’s no help. “Okay, thank you.” For nothing.

  “I’ll call in a few days to see how you’re doing, and you call me if something changes.” 

  “Okay, but I’ll see you next week for an appointment. Thanks again.” 

  “Anytime.” 

  When hours turn into days, I decide to go through the shoebox of “fun things” that Skylar brought over. I have nothing to lose by looking through it. I didn’t go through it earlier because I feared what I would find or see. I didn’t want to see pictures of me happy and in love if I couldn’t remember any of it. My memories are only what people tell me they are. I can’t recall anything.

  First I search the house again for clues of the person I once was — my likes and dislikes, friends, favorite foods — but nothing in this house tells me anything about myself. Nothing rings a bell or triggers an alarm. I slip into a newly bought “Pink” brand sweatshirt and leggings I got from Victoria’s Secret before opening the shoebox. This might be a long night. Inside the box is a romance book with a cowboy on it. The pages are worn and yellowing. I smell the pages; I’m not sure why I do that, but I do and fan them across my face. The title doesn’t trigger a memory. Just Shoot Me by Becky McGraw. Next, I remove two movie ticket stubs from the movie Titanic and two from the movie How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. There’s also a candy wrapper from a Snickers candy bar, a champagne cork, several photo shots of us taken in a photo booth from the fair or at the mall, and a notebook. I open up the black notebook and begin searching through it. On the inside of the notebook is written “101 ways to break-up with a guy.” It’s not a book title but written in a girl’s handwriting. Not my own, maybe Skylar’s. I search the pages and start to read what’s written in the notebook. It lists funny ways to break up with a guy. These are non-traditional and far-from-ethical ways to dump a man. As I read them, I have to wipe the tears from my eyes because it’s just that funny. One thing listed, was to take his phone when he was out of the room and start listing your family’s numbers into his contacts under in-laws. Another breakup was to call his parents “Mom” and “Dad” the first time you meet them. Who came up with this stuff? I decide that Skylar is someone I want to talk to. She may hold the answers to who I am or who I was. At least, she’ll be entertaining to talk to.

  Searching my phone I remember she said she’s listed under Sky, and there she is. She answers on the first ring.

  “Ava, did you remember?”

  Hi, and no. “Um, sorry, no, I don’t remember anything.” 

  There’s a pause. “Oh, I was hoping… is everything all right?” 

  I clear my throat. “I was going through the shoebox you left last week. Do you want to come over?” 

  “Yes, of course I do. Tonight?” 

  I look at the clock and it’s after 9:00. “It’s too late, I’m….” 

  “No, no, it’s not too late at all. I’ll grab a pizza and be right over.” 

  “Oh, okay. Good. I’ll see you soon. I like cheese and….” 

  “Pepperoni on your pizza. Yea, I know. I’ll be over in a bit.” 

  In a bit? That seems like something I would say. “Okay, be careful.”

  Skylar is here before I know it. She comes in with a large pizza and a bottle of Moscato wine. She’s wearing a pair of black leggings and a hot pink hoodie. Her dark hair is pulled into a high curly ponytail. She smiles and looks happy to be here. I smile in return and wish I were as excited about seeing her. If I had any memory, I’m sure I would be just as delighted.

  “Please come in.” 

  She removes her shoes and follows me into the dimly lit house. It’s a big house, and I use only a few lamps that are in the large family room for lighting. I already have plates, cups, and napkins on the coffee table when she gets here.

  Once we pour the wine and open the pizza box, she says, “I was so excited you called. I was hoping you got your memory back.” 

  “I wish I had.” 

  “Nothing?” 

  I shake my head. “Nada.” I take a bite of the pizza and close my eyes to savor the taste. “Oh. My. God.” 

  “It’s good, right?” she says as she takes a bite. 

  “Oh, yeah. This is heavenly.” 

  “Pizza Boy always was your favorite.” 

  When the wine is gone and the pizza is almost gone, she says, “So you went through the shoebox?”

  “I did.” I smile and it’s a genuine smile. 

  “You read the notebook?” 

  I giggle. “Who came up with that stuff?” 

  “Let’s put this stuff away and I’ll tell you.”