by Jodi Perry
‘Jem, baby. Can you hear me?’ Leaning forward, I run my fingers down the side of her face. ‘I need you to wake up.’ There’s desperation in my voice as I speak. ‘Please.’
My gaze is fixed on her as I stand to full height. This waiting game is really messing with my head. Then I see movement. Well, I think I do; maybe I’m just imagining it like I did with the hand squeeze. I rub my eyes before focusing on her again. This time I know I’m not seeing things. Her eyelids flutter slightly, before a soft groan falls from her lips. My heart rate picks up as I lean over her again. ‘Open your eyes, Jem,’ I beg as I reach for her hand under the blanket, folding it in mine.
I can’t explain how joyous I feel when she does as I ask. She looks me straight in the eye with a vacant stare. Considering everything she’s been through, that doesn’t surprise me.
A huge smile forms on my face.
‘Welcome back,’ I whisper as my eyes cloud with tears.
Her gaze moves from me to her surroundings. I can only imagine how confused she must be feeling. I’m trying hard to hold it together, but I’m so overcome with emotion my resolve is slipping with each passing second.
I gently run my hand down the left side of her face when her gaze moves back to me. I hate that the familiar sparkle is gone, but I know it will come back. Leaning forward, I rest my forehead against hers as tears stream from my eyes.
I haven’t cried like this since my mum died. But these tears are different. They’re tears of joy, not heartache. Tears of gratitude and relief, not guilt. All the uncertainty I’ve been feeling the past few days vanishes in an instant. She’s back. She’s alive. I can finally breathe again.
‘I’ve missed you so much, Jem.’
‘Stop.’ Her speech is raspy, and sounds nothing like my Jemma. ‘Get off me,’ she pleads, weakly pushing against my chest.
She’s never spoken so harshly to me before, and my first instinct is that I’ve hurt her somehow. ‘Jem.’ I pull back in confusion.
‘Who are you?’ she asks in a frightened voice.
My heart drops. ‘It’s me, Braxton … your husband.’
She doesn’t say another word, and she doesn’t need to. The fear I see in her eyes says it all. The relief I felt moments ago is quickly replaced by panic.
She doesn’t remember me.
She doesn’t know who I am.
SIX
Braxton
ONE WEEK LATER …
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel after turning off the ignition, saying a silent prayer that today is the day my wife’s memory returns. After the horrors of her waking up and not remembering me—or anybody, for that matter, not even her parents—things have been on a downward spiral.
I’ve been forced to return home each night without her. I swore I wouldn’t go back to the house unless she was with me, but that’s the thing—she doesn’t want me around. For the interim, anyway.
She practically had me forcefully removed from her room the first night. To her I’m now a stranger, and that’s exactly how she’s been treating me. I’m pretty sure if Jemma had her way she’d even stop me from coming here during the day. I alternate between utter bleakness and determination; it hurts like hell, but I refuse to accept that this is the end for us.
She may no longer remember the love we share, or everything we’ve been through together, but I do. Every moment … every second. I carry enough love for both of us.
Christine and Stephen are completely devastated by Jemma’s memory loss and, like me, are struggling to adjust. It’s a huge blow for them, in their already fractured lives. You can’t help but feel for them.
Jemma’s doctor spoke with me at length last night, before I left the hospital. He referred to Jemma’s condition as retrograde amnesia. He said it’s not uncommon for a patient to suffer some form of memory loss after sustaining a head injury. But unfortunately, there’s no magic cure. For now, it’s yet another waiting game. Her memory loss may be temporary, but there’s a chance—and this is my greatest fear—that her memory will never return.
Either way, I’m not giving up on us. Never. Optimism is all I have right now. We belong together, and in time I’m sure she’ll come to realise that as well. My heart belongs to her, like hers belongs to me.
When the accident happened, I worried she would never wake up, and I would lose her. Not once did I contemplate the possibility that she would wake up and I would lose her anyway.
It’s only 7am as I walk the long, familiar corridor of the hospital towards her room, so there’s not much activity. I make sure I’m here every morning when her breakfast arrives so I can cut up her food. She’s incapable of doing it herself, with only one functioning arm. She hates it, I can tell, but she needs to eat. The old Jemma was always strong-willed and independent. It’s something I love and admire about her, so I’m glad that’s a trait she hasn’t lost. She’s still in there somewhere, I just need to find a way to bring her back out.
‘Morning, Mr Spencer,’ one of the nurses says as I pass.
‘Morning.’ I’ve become a regular fixture around here. Jemma was moved out of the ICU four days ago, and into a normal ward. They kept her in intensive care long enough for her to have the hip replacement, and the pins inserted into her broken bones. The operation was successful, and they had her up and walking—albeit slowly and with help—within twenty-four hours.
My stomach tightens the closer I get. The love I used to see in her eyes when she looked at me has been replaced by a blank stare; that’s if I can get her to look in my direction. She spends most of her time pretending to be asleep so she doesn’t have to talk to us. She’s giving everyone the cold shoulder, including her parents. It breaks my heart, and not just for Christine and Stephen and me; I can only imagine how scared, confused and alone Jemma must be feeling.
‘Morning,’ I say, when I enter her room. She’s awake and staring at the ceiling. I hate that her face no longer lights up when she sees me. I hate that she no longer smiles that beautiful smile.
Her eyes dart to me briefly before fixing back on the ceiling. ‘Hi,’ she replies in a voice so soft it’s barely audible. Nevertheless, I force out a smile. I can’t let her see how much this is affecting me—I need to be her strength. I want to pull her into my arms and tell her to hang in there, and that everything is going to work out, but I know better than to do that. My hopes may be dwindling, but I refuse to believe that this is what our future holds.
‘Breakfast is late this morning,’ I say, taking a seat near her bed, trying not to let this new awkwardness overwhelm me.
‘I told them I didn’t want any.’ She’s still refusing to look at me.
Sliding my chair forward I reach for her hand, but I’m not surprised when she jerks her arm away. ‘You’ve got to eat. You need it to help regain your strength. I’m sure you don’t want to stay in this place forever.’ Her gaze moves to me, but she doesn’t speak. ‘Aren’t you itching to get home?’ Because I know I’m itching to have her back there.
‘Home? What home? I don’t have a home. How could I possibly be itching to go to a place I don’t even remember?’
I’m stung by the bitterness in her voice and I go to reach for her hand again, but think better of it. ‘Your home is with me, Jem.’ The blank stare she gives me has me diverting my gaze to the floor as silence falls over us. The air is so thick in this room you could cut it with a knife.
‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be, like a job or something?’ she eventually says. She doesn’t even wait for my reply before rolling onto her side, facing her back to me.
‘Let me help you,’ I offer as she moves to rise from the bed. Today she’s leaving the hospital ward and checking into the rehabilitation centre. She has some intensive therapy ahead of her, but it means she’s one step closer to coming home. I’m still holding onto hope that this whole ordeal will soon be behind us, and we can move towards getting back to what we had before the accident. Without hope, a man has nothin
g. I’d even settle for something remotely close to that.
‘I’m not an invalid!’ she snaps, snatching her arm out of my grasp.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, stepping back. I shove my hands into the pockets of my trousers so I’m not tempted to reach out for her again.
Once she finally manages to stand, she turns to face me. I hear her sigh before she speaks. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she says, bowing her head. ‘You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you, it’s uncalled for.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, taking a step forward. I’m hurting for her. This is hell for me, so I can’t even imagine what she is going through.
‘I just feel so …’ Her focus is still planted on the floor, but I don’t miss the crack in her voice as she speaks. I place my finger under her chin, to gently bring her gaze up to meet mine. A lump rises to my throat when I see tears pooling in her beautiful eyes. ‘I feel so lost.’
‘Oh Jem.’ Instinctively I pull her into my arms. This is the first time she has allowed me to hold her since the accident, and I’m so grateful she doesn’t pull away. I need this just as much as she does. I feel like we’re both drowning and neither of us knows how to come up for air.
‘What time does your flight leave tomorrow?’ I ask Rachel as we take a seat in the hospital cafeteria. I’m thankful to have her and Jemma’s parents here to lean on. They’ve been a godsend. This is where we usually hang out while Jemma undergoes physiotherapy. The food isn’t great and the coffee is mediocre at best, but that’s all they have on offer. I’m not leaving the hospital just to find something better. Being near Jemma is far more important, so for the interim this home away from home is our reality.
I spend my entire day here, from sun up to sun down. I’d be here twenty-four-seven if Jemma would allow it. I promised to love her during sickness and health, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
‘The flight leaves at three,’ Rachel replies as her gaze moves down to the table. She falls silent and I watch as she nervously picks at the napkin in front of her. I know that leaving isn’t easy for her, she’s also hurting that Jemma doesn’t remember their friendship. Reaching across the table, I place my hand on hers.
‘Don’t feel guilty for leaving, Rach. You know I’ll take care of her. You have a life in New York; Jemma knows how much your career means to you.’ I pause briefly. Well, Jemma used to know. ‘She wouldn’t want you to stay and risk everything you’ve worked so hard for.’
‘She needs me, she needs you, she needs all of us,’ Rachel says as she covers her face and starts to cry. ‘She may not know it, but she needs us.’ I stand quickly and move around to her side of the table, pulling her into my arms. ‘If it was me lying in that hospital bed, she’d be right by my side.’
‘Go,’ I say firmly. ‘Everything will work itself out in the end.’
It has to. I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more. Rachel wraps her arms tightly around my waist, but doesn’t reply.
We are jolted apart when we hear a loud cough from beside us. The angry glare I see in Lucas’s eyes as they move between me and Rachel shocks me.
‘Am I interrupting something?’ His eyes lock on Rachel as he speaks. Her hands drop by her sides, and she looks at the floor. I don’t know what is going on with these two, but something has happened. They used to be close, to the point that Jemma and I hoped one day they’d get together. They’re our best friends, and the four of us have done so much together over the years, including trips away, both here and abroad. The animosity that has become ever present when these two are in the same room doesn’t make sense.
Rachel doesn’t make eye contact with either of us as she reaches for her handbag. ‘I’m going to go and see if Jemma is back in the room.’
‘Don’t leave on my account,’ Lucas snaps as she walks around us, heading for the exit.
‘What in the hell was that all about?’ I ask Lucas when Rachel is out of hearing range.
‘You need to watch her,’ he says, flicking his head in her direction. The hate, or maybe just the anger he’s feeling towards her, is rolling off him. These two were tight, right up until our wedding. They seemed fine on the day; they even danced together.
‘Watch Rachel? Why?’
‘Just be careful,’ he replies, undoing the buttons on his suit jacket and taking a seat at the table.
‘What happened with you two? Seriously, man, talk to me.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he says, brushing me off and signalling the waitress over to the table.
There’s a lot more to this than either of them is letting on, but I give him the reprieve he so clearly needs. ‘How’s business?’ I ask. ‘I feel bad I’ve lumped you with all of it.’
‘Don’t even think about it. The contracts are being drawn up as we speak.’
‘Great,’ I say, smiling. Even if my heart’s not completely in it, I’m truly happy for us; we’ve worked hard to get to where we are, to signing this big deal. If things were different we’d be out celebrating—the three of us: me, Jem and Lucas. ‘I’m sorry you’re left to deal with it all on your own.’
‘Stop saying that. You’re where you need to be. I’m pretty much the brains of our company anyway.’ He says it with a straight face, but I know he’s just trying to rile me up like he always does.
‘Whatever, arsehole,’ I snap.
He throws back his head and laughs, because I always bite. Always.
SEVEN
Braxton
ONE MONTH LATER …
There’s definitely a spring in my step as I carry the last of the groceries into the house. I was up early this morning and heading to the shops to stock up on all of Jem’s favourite foods. Well, she used to love them. Her memory still hasn’t shown any sign of returning, so nothing has changed between us; our relationship is still strained, to say the least. I’m not even sure she would class me as a friend, but I refuse to let my mind go there. It hurts too much.
Today marks Jemma’s last day of full-time live-in rehab. She’s finally coming home. This is her dream house, the one I built for her. She loves it here. I desperately hope being home will be just what she needs to spark her memory.
Rachel came over yesterday to help me get the house in order. To my surprise, she returned from New York last week. Apparently her company has granted her special leave. I suspect there’s more to it, but I’m so grateful to have her here. She has really helped me keep my head above water.
I want everything to be perfect for Jem’s return. The house is exactly the way it was the last time she left, though I have made up the spare room for her. She belongs in our bed, next to me, but I know that’s not going to happen right away. I miss her … no, I crave her, but if she needs time, that’s what I’ll give her. I’m just over the moon to have her home again.
Once the groceries are packed away, I search in the cupboard under the sink for vases. I went to three different florists on the way home to buy Jemma’s favourite flowers, every stem I could find. They’re the same flowers I gave her on our first date, and every date since—and they’re what she chose for her wedding bouquet. She has always loved the vivid contrast in colours between the rich yellow roses and the bright purple irises.
As desperate as I am for her to remember those times, that’s not why I’m doing this. I’m doing it because I want to see her reaction, for her face to light up just like it used to. That look; Christ. I miss that look. It’s exquisite, one of pure beauty. The happiness I see on her face is infectious.
I close my eyes and remember. I need to cling to these memories to help get me through. One day she will love me again, I truly believe that. The alternative is unimaginable.
As I walk through the automatic doors of the rehabilitation centre I’m as nervous as hell—but I’m still smiling. ‘Good morning,’ I say to Olivia, the young receptionist behind the front desk.
‘Good morning, Mr Spencer.’
The staf
f, just like those at the hospital, have been wonderful with Jemma. I couldn’t have asked for better people to care for my wife.
I’m still getting used to the feelings that run through me every time I see her now: a mixture of love, elation and gripping fear. After the accident I told myself I would be grateful to have her back in any condition, and I am, but I wasn’t prepared for this. How can she so easily forget the bond we shared? How can she not feel it, when I still do? For me, it’s stronger than ever. How could she forget how much she loves me? Because I know she loved me just as much as I love her. I felt her love every day of my life. How can that just vanish overnight?
‘Good morning, ladies,’ I say as I enter Jemma’s room. My eyes briefly skim past Christine and Rachel, before landing on Jem, and the smile I’m wearing immediately drops from my face when my eyes take in her expression. Turning my head slightly, my gaze moves back to Christine, then Rachel. They’re each wearing the exact same sombre face. My heart sinks. Something’s going on. Are they not letting Jemma come home?
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask Jemma as I step towards the bed. ‘Has something happened?’
She bows her head, and I hate that she can’t look at me. ‘We need to talk.’ She says it in a voice so soft I barely hear her.
‘Sure,’ I reply, even though my gut tells me I’m not going to like what she has to say. Talking was something we were always good at. We rarely fought. In nineteen years, I can probably count on one hand the number of arguments we’ve had.
‘We’ll give you two a few minutes,’ Rachel says, ushering Christine towards the door I just entered through. The sympathetic look Rachel gives me as she leaves only heightens my concern.
I watch as Jemma slowly manoeuvres her legs over the side of the bed and sits. The plaster cast has been removed and replaced with a plastic splint. She’s still limping when she walks, but the doctors say it will improve in time as her leg strengthens. She will come here five mornings a week as an outpatient. I hope to return to work next week, but I have agreed with Lucas that I’ll just work in the afternoons so I can bring her to her appointments.