Nadine huffed a laugh, even as she was on the verge of tears. “That’s not fair to you, Brody. You need to take care of yourself, too. There are going to be days when I’m tough to be around Why are you smiling?”
I couldn’t coax the stupid grin off my face. “Because you said ‘there are going to be days.’ Like you’ve already decided our relationship is worth the work.”
“Of course it’s worth it,” she said. “I want this so badly probably worse than you do.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You’re the first person to ever feel like home to me, and I want it to be because it really does feel like home. Not that you remind me of my father.”
“I hope I don’t remind you of your father,” I said, with a wince. “That’s just a little too…Freudian.”
“It’s probably just the Marines connection.”
“Beyond that, then, have I done anything to you or behaved in any way that made you think of your father?”
“Just the fact that you’re proud of your time in the Marines.”
“That’s something I can’t not be proud of, Nadine. I did good work for the Marines, and serving helped me become the man I am today.”
“I’m not asking you not to be proud of it, or to forget it.” She looked down, and I realized we were still holding hands. “I’m just telling you that it’s going to remind me of my father. At least at this point.”
“And that’s a start, too.”
“It is a start, isn’t it?”
She smiled at me, slow and small, but growing bigger, and something inside me thought of deserts and the wind in my hair and laughter, the love notes of those photos, and my heart lifted.
Epilogue
I watched Nadine and Brody kiss from across the bar, in a nook in the hallway where they thought they were safe from prying eyes, and couldn’t help the grin on my face.
They were good kids. They deserved that, and each other.
“So, Jack, this went well.” I looked up as Ace slid into the booth, bearing a mug full of beer.
“It did go well,” I said, looking away from Nadine and Brody resolving their issues in the hallway. There were times to use your words, and there were those other times, where you had to let your actions do the talking. At least, I thought that’s what they were trying to hash out back there, making out like teenagers. “Is that Brody’s brew?”
“Uh-huh.” Ace took a small sip. “Delicious.”
I laughed at him. “I can see right through you.”
“But Brody can’t, so that’s the key.” He clinked his glass against mine and grinned. “But everyone came out for him. It’s nice.”
“The brew really isn’t bad,” I said, tilting my almost empty glass meaningfully. “Be nice to Brody.”
“It’s not that bad,” Ace agreed. “But it’s not my cup of tea, so to speak.”
“Remember that this will get you drunk faster than the regular stuff.”
“That’s what I keep reminding myself.” He took a gulp and barely suppressed a small shudder. “I just…the flavor is what gets me.”
“Beer isn’t supposed to have flavor?”
“No I mean, I don’t know. A little. There’s just so much flavor in this one that it’s hard to remember it’s beer.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
Ace looked at me for a moment before smirking. “You really like the brew, don’t you?”
“I think it’s pretty good.”
“No, no, no. You really, really like it.”
“It’s a good beer, Ace. I don’t know what you’re trying to get at.”
“You’re becoming a craft beer aficionado,” he crowed, then chortled as he narrowly dodged a cuff I aimed at his ear. “Next thing we know, you’ll be growing a man bun and dubious facial hair and hanging out with Brody all the time, talking about yeast and mouth feel and brewing.”
“What, a man bun like your man bun?” I tried to reach it to give it a tug, but Ace pulled away again just in time.
“This is not a man bun,” he said, tossing his hair majestically, like some kind of a pony. “It’s just my style.”
“That style is called a man bun. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“And you’re becoming a fan of craft beer. Sorry to burst your cheap-beer bubble.” Ace doodled in the condensation on the side of his mug. “Though, you know, just to be fair, maybe you are a craft beer fan, bud.”
“I like getting drunk. If craft beer gets me there quicker, then I guess you can call me a fan.”
“I mean, if you like the taste…”
“The taste isn’t bad.”
“All I’m saying is that maybe you really were a craft beer fan. Before, um, everything.”
And there it was. Interesting. I cocked my head at Ace, watching him try to look at anything other than me. That was the first time any of the rest of the guys had specificallywell, pretty close to specifically addressed my amnesia. It was a topic that got danced around a lot. I think it made them pretty uncomfortable to think about the fact that I couldn’t remember who I was, or who I had been before the explosion that had concussed me so thoroughly that I couldn’t even remember my own name until someone told me what it was.
That was funny, though. If it made them uncomfortable, I wonder if they ever stopped and thought about just how uncomfortable it actually was to live in my reality.
I knew the real reason why Ace felt confident enoughalbeit temporarily to bring it up. I’d been getting legitimate flashbacks to something that clearly resided in the realm of “before.” Before was a puzzle I couldn’t crack. I devoted probably a little too much time to trying to figure that one out; much more time than anyone knew about. But something was happening to me. Memories were returning. At least, I suspected they were memories. It was sometimes hard to tell. I didn’t have much context for them. After I’d woken up in that hospital, I’d heard the expressions “blank canvas” and “clean slate” thrown around like they were something positive. They didn’t feel positive to me, though. I wasn’t convinced I was a work of art waiting to happen, or a new lease on life. The more I understood about my condition, the deeper I felt the loss of a sense of self. I had…I had been somebody. Maybe. At some point. I was supposed to be Jack Ryder. I was an Army Ranger. I wouldn’t be anymore, though, and I couldn’t find out about anything I’d done with them because everything was so classified. All I got was information that my parents were dead and an address and key to a storage unit that had all my personal effects in it.
I didn’t even have a home to go back to after I was finally released from the hospital.
But the blank canvas everyone had been really talking about was my personality. I was supposed to just forge my way forward, figuring out what I liked and disliked. There was no one there to tell me if I was getting it right or wrong, according to the person I used to be, and perhaps there was some freedom in that. I could decide what foods I liked, what hobbies to enjoy, what my temperament was going to be.
And if it wasn’t for a pervasive feeling of something being off, maybe I would’ve been okay with all of it. I supposed I was just always waiting for the moment when someone would call me Jack and I would really feel like I was that person. Instead, I felt like a family pet who had just learned to perk up when a semi-familiar set of sounds came out of its owners’ mouths.
“Hey, sorry, Jack,” Ace said, gripping his mug hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “I didn’t mean to be flippant about it.”
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Just thinking. I mean, maybe I did like craft beer. Maybe I had a man bun before the Army Rangers. Honestly, it’s the possibility of the man bun that has me more shaken up. I hope I had better sense and taste than that, but there’s really no way of knowing.”
I’d gotten Ace laughing again and the awkward moment passed. There hadn’t been any other memory blips recently to share with the guys, though not for lack of trying. Besides the re
cent revelation that I hated fireworksand I hadn’t minded them for years after losing my memory and the idea that I’d seen myself being honored for some accomplishment I couldn’t remember, there hadn’t been any other breakthroughs.
God, I wanted some breakthroughs. I didn’t know what caused them. If I did, I’d be doing nothing but that no drinking, no socializing, no riding, no hanging out at the bar. If there was some secret formula or process to unveil those memories, I would’ve done it years ago. For better or worse, I craved to understand what had happened, to meet the person I had been.
It was goddamn lonely recreating myself, even if I had picked up some good friends along the way.
“So you think Brody and Nadine are a thing now?” Ace asked, his tone conversational again.
“I think that would be a pretty safe bet.”
“You putting money on it?”
“Don’t need to,” I said, jerking my chin down the hallway, where the pair was still connected by the lips and various hands-to-body points. “Whatever they needed to get straightened out, I think they’re working on it.”
Ace turned around. “I think you’re right.”
“Are we old men already?”
“What do you mean, bud?”
I shrugged. “Looks like we’re all settling down. Getting comfortable. Getting old.”
Ace raised his eyebrows at me and jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward Brody and Nadine. “Does it look like those two are settling down?”
“Well no, but you know what I mean.”
“You mean that we’re leaving our hard bachelor days behind?” He grinned, a little indulgent. “I don’t know about you, but having a sure thing has made me a lot happier than only relying on chance to get a warm body in my bed.”
“You mean that you sometimes had cold bodies in your bed?” Katie snorted at Ace as she plopped down in the booth. “Let’s file this under ‘things I never want to hear again.’”
“Club only,” I said automatically my automaticresponse whenever she tried to get a rise out of me by sitting in the booth. She ignored me her response to everything I said.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Ace all but stammered, his face coloring.
“Isn’t he cute when he blushes?” Katie leered at Ace even if her question was directed at me.
“Cute all the time,” I said. “Obviously.”
“Ah, something we agree on finally,” she said, pinching Ace’s cheek. “So. Let’s discuss all these warm bodies you used to have in your bed, and how comfortably the couch sleeps.”
“I think I’m needed at the bar,” he said hurriedly. “If Brody ever emerges from his make-out session, tell him great brew for me, would you, Jack?”
“Will do,” I said, smiling as Ace’s hustling pushed Katie from the booth and nearly dumped her on the floor. “Though I don’t think they’re ever coming out.”
They did, though, eventually. It was so crowded in the bar for the event that Haley eventually went and broke themup, enlisting Nadine to help clear some tables. And since Brody was the man of the hour, everyone was asking for him. When he did reemerge into the bar area, he walked around surrounded by at least three people at all times, quizzing him about his brewing process, asking about future craft brew nights, and generally just singing his praises. Brody really did deserve it happiness and success with both his passion for beer and his passion for Nadine. It was good to see the rest of my friends finding themselves in their partners, even if I wasn’t there yet.
The bar gradually cleared out, most of the regulars leaving first, then the rest of the guys gradually pairing off and heading out Brody sending Ace on home with Katie, who would probably never let the poor guy hear the end of the “warm bodies” comment she’d overheard, then Haley being released to go home with Chuck as soon as there were so few people that Nadine barely had to circulate. She caught a ride out with Sloan and Amy, pecking Brody on the lips as he wiped down tables and finished up washing the glasses.
What would it be like to go home to someone like that? Was it an experience I was already familiar with and had just forgotten? I hated doing that to myself, wondering what I had missed out on from before my amnesia. Would I wake up one day and remember someone I was supposed to go back to after I was done with my tour?
Try as I might, I could never find anything on anyone I might’ve been connected with. There weren’t any social media sites set up for me, so that must have been something I wasn’t very interested in. And in the storage unit containing all my possessions, there weren’t any journals or bundles of love letters tied together to give me any indication.
So I had either been a serial bachelor or someone who just wasn’t very sentimental.
Or a virgin.
I’d had trysts here and there since I’d gotten back to the states, but most women found it too disconcerting to want to have anything with me for very long. If I couldn’t remember anything from my past, how could they be expected to make any kind of lasting impact on me? I couldn’t reciprocate when they were telling me about their families or childhood memories, and they couldn’t really understand my passions about the present and future. The past simply wasn’t a place I occupied anymore.
I still couldn’t help but suspect there was someone I was missing from before my injury. It was probably wishful thinking, though, not any real hint of a memory or intuition.
“What in the hell are you still doing here?”
Brody jolted me out of my ruminating as he slapped the table in front of me.
“What was that for?” I asked. “You could’ve given me a heart attack.”
“You have a history of heart disease?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You’re reasonably young and healthy. I think you’ll be okay.”
“What time is it?” I checked my phone, answered my own question with a tired sigh. “Jesus. What are you still doing here, is the real question.”
“I’m closing up,” he said. “Or I was, until I realized you were still here.”
“You can leave me. I’ll finish up here. Don’t you have better places to be?”
“Better than this bar, on my triumphant brew night?” He paused to consider this. “Actually, yes. I could be at home, celebrating my success.”
“So you and Nadine?”
“Me and Nadine.” Brody grinned, and it was a lot better than the look of morose confusion and acceptance he’d been wearing around lately.
“I’m glad to hear it. I think the two of you are good for each other.”
“Once we finally started talking about it, I agree.” He drummed his fingers over the spot he’d slapped on the table. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“No. Why? Do I look like I have something on my mind?”
“You were just sitting here.”
“Sitting here drinking.” I lifted my mug meaningfully to my mouth and emptied the last dregs of the beer which had long since gone warm.
“That hurt me to see,” Brody said, wincing. “That was literally backwash. Disgusting.”
“It was pretty bad,” I confirmed as soon as I choked the completely flat mouthful down. “Probably need another beer to rid me of that taste.”
“Oh, I know you do, but not here.” Brody took my mug from me before I could protest. “It would be a hell of a thing if we got caught serving alcohol after hours. Go home, Jack. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re not serving me. I’m serving myself,” I grumbled, but stood up from the booth and stretched all the same.
“I know for a fact you have beer at home. Go. You’ll be fine.”
“My bar,” I reminded him, but left all the same. I was getting tired, anyway.
Home was a short ride away, and exhaustion enveloped me like a warm blanket once I reclined on my bed. I hadn’t been sleeping well, plagued with dreams that swiftly transformed into nightmares. I was so tired tonight, though, that I was pretty sure
I’d be able to make it through a few hours without any visions whatsoever.
It was the far-off explosion that caught my attention first.
People are supposed to run from explosions, but not me. Not my kind of people. We ran to them, tried to ascertain their sources, their reasons. Dealt with the people who caused them. Kept the peace, or made war until there was peace.
Outsiders didn’t understand us, and until I was in it, smelling the gunpowder in the air, smoke washing over and mingling with dust, I didn’t understand the tendency to run toward danger, either. It was a primal drive, something you learned, the drive to do good, to help, to solve. I didn’t remember learning it anymore. I knew it was something I’d been taught, because no one in their right mind would run toward something on fire and smoking.
When I got there, there was the overwhelming sense of wrongness. Of course things had gone wrong. Explosives going off were never natural, even if you were a demolition expert. There was always the sick tilt of your stomach during the countdown, and then everything inside of you leapt at the detonation. It wasn’t something that a person could ever really get used to, but that didn’t make me feel any better, examining the scene, the scorched ground, the burning of my lungs exacerbated by the rolling smoke. Men wearing the same uniform I had on milled around with the casual air of people in deep shock, and others sprawled out on the ground.
I shouted something that didn’t make sense to my own ears. Maybe I couldn’t hear myself because of the ringing. Something was ringing. Maybe my brain had been jostled by the shockwave. No one was helping the men on the ground, and if they couldn’t get up, they needed help.
Reaching down, I rolled one of the men over, trying to ignore the fact that his uniform was singed and smoking. I bent to feel his pulse,and everythingthe other guys staggering around, the smoke and dust, the ringing in my ears, the lurching in my stomach, the sense of wrongness, everything absolutely stopped.
He had my face.
I recoiled from the body and was transported elsewhere. That was good. I didn’t like seeing my own face in this place. It was confusing. Watching events unfold like a movie and seeing myself act them out was disturbing, to say the least. I was that out of touch, that far away from my own memories that they seemed like someone else’s stories.
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