I let her words sink in as she goes back to drying my hair. Her description of me seems so foreign. I’ve always buckled like a belt under pressure and criticism from my parents to my co-workers to Landon.
“Jess, what about my parents? Are they—living?”
“Yeah, they’re still around. You’ve distanced yourself from them more these last few months though.”
What? I love my parents, even if they are super critical of everything I do. “Why?”
“Hmm… that’s really the only area of your life that you seem afraid to rock the boat. There were definitely times where they crossed the line and you kept quiet, but you are an only child and afraid of losing them—so I get it. David confronted them though, and you seemed to be doing better with some space.”
I look up at her as she switches the hair dryer off and reaches for her straightening iron. ‘Wait, David confronted them?—about what?”
“Well, you’ve had some trouble with anxiety recently,” I love how she’s sugarcoating it and I stop her to let her know that this isn’t news to me before she continues, “Well, your parents were not really supportive about the way you were trying to work through it and they were on your case about it. David, knowing you wouldn’t say anything to upset them, laid down some ground rules. They actually respected him and have stayed out of your business. And they know that if you want any of their opinions on your mental health, you’ll come to them—not vice versa.”
I’m positively beaming, “He sounds almost too perfect. Please tell me he has some flaw!”
Jess chuckles at this and sprays my hair into place before picking up the tube of concealer and going to work on my face. She’s gently dabbing the make-up around my bruises and stitches when she answers.
“You fight—just like any married couple. You argue about money from time to time. Nobody’s perfect. Now close your eyes and let me do your eye shadow.” It seems she considers that the final answer on the matter.
When she finishes my make-up, she helps me up to change into the pajamas before getting me settled back into bed. She finds a pocket mirror in her purse and shows me her handiwork. She’s done an amazing job of masking my bruises and cuts—they seem a lot less noticeable now. I still have this nagging feeling that things aren’t quite as they seem. “I have to be honest, Jess. This doesn’t feel real. It’s like some alternate universe where I get my happily ever after. That doesn’t happen in real life.”
“I know this has got to be so strange for you, Lizzie. I can’t imagine waking up and everything being different. Just know that you’re surrounded by people who love you and I’m always here if you need to talk.”
“Jess, I love you. Thank you so much for doing this.” She leans her forehead lightly against mine, “What kind of friend would I be if I left this task up to your ‘new’ husband?” We both laugh at the thought of David wielding a mascara wand.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
David comes in a little while later to find us both sitting in bed, laughing together. “Beth, you seem to be doing well,” He stops suddenly as he takes me in, “My God, you look—just amazing. I’m speechless.”
I feel like I’m having a hot flash. Jess’s mouth drops open, “David, I’ll take that as a nod to my skills. You’re welcome.” Her words are dripping with sarcasm and David appears to tense up.
He glances over at her, “No, my wife looks good even without all the makeup,” before coming over to me. “You know that, right? Are you sure you’re not faking this whole head injury thing?” I scrunch my nose as he places a kiss on it and then settles into the chair. Jess leaves soon after, promising to stop by the next day, just as Dr. Briggs comes into the room.
“I’ve got some good news, Elizabeth. I’ve got the results from the tests we ran earlier and they show normal brain function. Now, that’s not to say you don’t have a brain injury—it just means that there is no visible damage or swelling of the brain. This confirms our earlier tests as well. With the exception of remembering your husband, you are aware of surroundings. I would feel confident in releasing you tomorrow morning if you continue to show improvement. However, I do recommend getting you in with a rehab facility to see if we can regain the part of your memory lost to you.”
David interjects, “Dr. Briggs, Beth has been seeing a therapist as well. Do you think it might help for her to make an appointment there?”
“In addition to seeing a neuropsychologist—it certainly wouldn’t hurt. I’ll make my rounds around seven tomorrow morning and if things remain the same, we’ll get you discharged and make a follow up appointment for therapy.”
This is good news right? I get to go home and live my life with David—just the two of us—all alone. What happens if I can’t remember anything though? I cannot go there right now. I’ve already had one panic attack today—deep breaths, in and out. I look over at David, “—So, I’m still seeing Dr. White once a month? Is my anxiety well-managed normally?”
He exhales slowly, “Well, you haven’t been seeing her that long and if you asked me a while back, I’d say you were the last person to need therapy. In the last year though, you’ve had an attack three to four times a month. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve been trying to get pregnant and it hasn’t happened yet, but you’ve been on edge. You’ve just been under tremendous amounts of stress with that, your job, and me traveling for work.”
“Wait—you travel for work? Aren’t you a construction worker?” I’m puzzled and I realize belatedly that I have no idea if construction workers travel outside of the city they live in. In fact, I know next to nothing about construction.
He looks bemused, “Well, technically I own the company, but I’ve been running almost all aspects of the business trying to get us off the ground so I guess you could call me a ‘construction worker’ and as for the travel—I try to stay in town. The past year has brought a lot of out-of-town work though. I want to be close to you, but we were offered a pretty big job up north that would not only bring a lot of money, but recognition for the company as well. It’s a three to four month job and I planned on turning it down until you went and changed my mind.” He squeezes in next to me in the bed.
“So, you’re out of town how often?” I can feel my heart rate picking up in my chest. I had no idea what Landon, the man I saw every day was up to, how am I supposed to keep tabs on a husband who spends the majority of his time in a different city?
“I usually leave Sunday nights and come home early Friday evenings. Obviously, I’m going to stay with you until you’re back to feeling like yourself again—Hey, don’t cry. C’mere.” He pulls me to his chest and strokes his hand up and down my back, “I promise I’m staying until you’re ready for me to get out of your hair.”
I press myself into him, breathing him in. He smells of leather and soap. He loves me. He loves me and he would never do anything to hurt me. He is a good man. I repeat the mantra in my head over and over again until I feel myself relaxing and sleep beckoning once again.
There’s country music blasting through my SUV’s speakers. It sounds like George, or Kenny, or who am I kidding? I prefer Broadway to Nashville so I have no idea. I roll my eyes at David as he turns it up louder. “Really? Is this necessary right now?” I have to raise my voice to be heard. I hear the horns and glance to my right. Someone’s run the light. Was it us? I can hear the brakes from other cars squeal as they lock down, the acrid smell of burning rubber from the tires hangs heavy in the air. The smell turns my stomach. I cannot understand why the other drivers are braking and then everything goes dark.
I jolt awake, my heart pounding in my chest, “David!” He comes out of the bathroom and is by my side in seconds.
‘What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”
“I-I-I dreamed about the wreck. I’m sorry; I’m just so shaken up right now. It’s like it just happened.” Even my voice is unsteady.
He strokes the hair back off of my forehead, “Shhh, you’re safe here. Do you remember any sp
ecifics?”
“Yeah, we were listening to country music and you turned it up even louder because I rolled my eyes. And then there were horns honking because someone ran the light. Is any of that even remotely accurate?”
David is nodding, “You’re remembering. That’s my girl. Although I’m still holding out hope that country music will grow on you,” seeing my incredulous look he laughs, “Hey, miracles can happen!”
I smile at him, but I’m still struggling to make sense of my dream. The song I heard in the accident was the same one playing in the bar the night I went out with Jess and I thought the exact same thing both times.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“David, how did we meet?” He’s gone and smuggled in real food for dinner—hamburgers—and we’re just about to dig in when the question finds its way out of my mouth.
“We met at a bar one night. You dumped your drink all over me after getting your heel caught in the deck on the patio.”
“Malibu and pineapple, right?” Thank God, I actually remember the details as they happened, granted they occurred last night for me and not four years ago.
“Yes ma’am, you kept saying I smelled delicious—like candy,” He grins at me. “I got your number at the end of the night and I couldn’t even wait a full day before I called you. We’ve talked every day since.”
“So, I didn’t mix anxiety medication and alcohol and then fall and hit my head?”
David’s smile fades and he looks perplexed, “No, you had two drinks—three if I count the one you dumped on me. I mean, it’s been awhile, but as I remember it—you seemed fine that night.”
We eat in silence, both of us trying to understand where the other is coming from. I’m baffled—I can remember the majority of the details of our first meeting, but I cannot even begin to fathom how my mind created an alternate ending. Wait a minute—“David, was Jess with me that night? Her and oh, what was his name—tattoo boy?”
He has just taken a sip of his drink and chokes with laughter at my question. “Tattoo boy? You mean Nate? Yeah, they were both there. I seem to recall you feeling like a third wheel that night.”
Whoa. Tattoo boy has a name?
“Did they get married?”
“Yeah, they got married.” He is obviously not going to elaborate.
This is nothing like I remember. Jess has always been the crazy, irresponsible one. And, why wouldn’t she have mentioned her family when she was here earlier? I even teased her about leaving me to go out on a hot date when she left earlier—oh no. I am the worst friend. I’m sure she thought I was mental, but thankfully she kept it to herself. “I never saw Jess as monogamous. That means she’s probably not taking a different guy home every night either then.” I clap my hand over my mouth. That was my outside voice! What is it about being in front of David that makes every stray thought come flying out of my mouth?
He’s definitely taken aback and what? Disappointed? His voice is eerily calm though, “I can’t say how Jess used to be—I know you’ve said she could get pretty wild back in the day. I—”
I interrupt him, “I’m sorry. That was an incredibly rude thing to say. I just have so many jumbled images in my head of how people are and I can’t make heads or tails from it yet. It’s like a puzzle I’m trying to piece back together in my mind.”
He cups my cheek with his hand, “I know. It’s going to be rough for awhile. Your memory will come back though; I just can’t allow myself to think anything else.”
I agree before blurting out, “You’re the reason my parents haven’t come by yet, aren’t you?”
David stands up abruptly and begins gathering up the trash from our meal before throwing it away (with a bit more force than was required). “Yeah, I guess I’m the bad guy now. I just wanted you to be as relaxed as possible and you can’t get that when your mom’s here. She’s so negative about everything you do.”
“Thank you. Really, I mean it. She’s hard to deal with under normal circumstances—at least the way I remember it. You did the right thing.”
He visibly relaxes and comes back over to me. “I’m sorry, Beth. This whole thing has me on edge. I alternate between being so thankful that you’re alive to feeling completely frustrated that you can’t remember our life together. I need to remember that I promised you ‘for better or for worse’ and maybe down a couple of beers in the meantime.”
I reach over and stroke his hand, “I can think of something we could do to relax you,” seeing him cock an eyebrow and glance over at the hospital room door I hastily amend my statement. “I mean we could kiss—you know, keep it rated PG in case a nurse walks in.” Keep it rated PG? Oh, if I could bury my face under the covers in shame. My inner romantic is wincing at my failed attempt at seduction, and picks up her copy of Fifty Shades of Grey instead. Ouch!
David just grins at me, clearly entertained by my ineptitude, “It’s good to see that you’ve retained your awkwardness when it comes to all things intimate.”
Before I can voice a rebuttal, he leans in, placing his mouth over mine and any argument I had is quickly forgotten. He kisses me like he’s never going to get another chance to, there’s just so much passion there. And even though we’re sitting in a hospital room, this feels like home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dr. Briggs discharges me exactly as promised the next morning. David gathers up the various flower arrangements and plants from around the room along with the duffel bag Jess brought before heading down to get his truck. Even Kassie drops in to see me off, “I hope you just continue to improve every day.” I hug her and promise that I will before two male volunteers come in with a wheelchair to take me downstairs.
Thank goodness David grabbed me some spare clothes when he ran home or I’d be parading around in the pajamas Jess brought. The anxious feelings thrust their way into my consciousness and I have to talk myself down. I’m going home. I don’t know where home is, but I’m going there. Everything is good. Just breathe—in and out. It doesn’t seem to be working as well as I’d hoped when I look up and see David pull under the blue awning of the pick-up zone in a dark gray Ford F-250 Crew Cab. That’s got to be a fifty thousand dollar vehicle—at least! He jumps down from the driver side and comes over to me and my mouth goes dry. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the cure for anxiety.
“You ready to go home, Beth?”
I nod, still speechless from the image of him in that truck. I never thought of myself as a truck person before the accident, but lord help me—he just became even sexier. He helps me out of the wheelchair and then picks me up and puts me in the truck. He does it like a man carries his new bride over the threshold and the symbolism is not lost on me.
We drive home in relative silence, my hand in his. When we pull up to our garage I’m taken aback. It’s the same house as before—the very same house that Landon and I lived in. David looks over at me to see if there’s any spark of recognition and breaks into a big grin when he sees the look on my face. “I remember this place,” I note the empty garage, “but where’s my car?”
“Your car is totaled, remember? I haven’t had time to deal with any of that stuff yet. First thing tomorrow though, we’ll call the insurance company and find out what’s being done—see if we can’t get you something else to drive before I go back to work.” I think to myself that he’d make a great parent. He’s already so patient with a wife who has the memory of a goldfish.
I expect to walk into the house and find it exactly like I remembered it from before. While the layout is the same, the décor’s completely inconsistent with my memories. Before, everything was pristine with neutral colors. It looked like a home you’d see in a design magazine.
Where it seemed a bit cold before, lacking in personal touches; my fingerprints are now all over the place. Gone is the leather furniture in the living room—the walls are a light shade of blue that reminds me of the beach, the side furniture is hand painted, and there are canvases with bold pops of color on them. It’s as
if I hit up the flea market every weekend to design this room—I love it.
“How did I find all of this stuff?”
David yawns and stretches his arms over his head (the hospital cot was obviously not good to him) before sinking down onto the couch, “Well, you refinished all the furniture yourself. We went to garage and estate sales to find the materials. The canvases are yours too.”
I’m shocked. I can paint? “I did this? I didn’t even know I was capable of anything like that. It’s fantastic.” I’m running my hands along the side tables, trying to take it all in. There are pictures of us all along the mantle and adjoining bookshelves. How could I forget this?
He’s resting his head against the back of the couch and his eyes are closed, “Yeah, we have a deal. You have free reign on anything to do with the inside of this house, but I hold the rights to all decisions pertaining to the front and back yard.”
I chuckle and toss a pillow at his head and he opens one eye to glare at me, “Really, Beth? Can’t a guy get some rest?”
Like a dog being thrown a stick, I move towards the bedroom, “Yes, great idea. I can’t wait to see what our bedroom looks like!” He groans as he gets up to follow me. Our bedroom is done in a vintage Hollywood style with light stone-colored walls, dark hardwood flooring, a thick white rug you could get lost in, mirrored dressers, a dark gray upholstered headboard on a King-sized bed—there’s even an old-fashioned vanity complete with a mirror and cushioned stool. It’s perfect. Well, almost— “If only we had an antique chandelier we could hang.”
David is sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his shoes. “Beth, we live in Texas. There is no way we’re getting rid of a ceiling fan that we use nine months out of the year so that you have something sparkly to look at. Why don’t you check out the bathroom though—you might be pleased with the compromise.”
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