by Monica James
Opening up the door, I shake my head. “No, you do.”
His mouth pops open.
“Welcome home, honey,” I quip, unable to help myself as I get into the car.
I know I shouldn’t be making jokes, but it’s something I would usually say. And Sophia did say I wasn’t to walk on eggshells around him. I was to act normal, as that normalcy was going to help Sam settle in. But I don’t want him thinking I’m not taking this seriously.
But when Sam gets in a second later, a small smile touching his cheeks, I’m so glad I went with my gut. It’s the best sight I’ve seen since the night he kissed me on the forehead, said, “Tomorrow you’ll officially be mine,” and beamed like he was the luckiest man alive.
He buckles up, the smile still present as he runs his fingers over the leather interior.
I don’t make a fuss and start the car, feeling a little more optimistic than a minute ago. We drive in silence, the soft humming of the talk radio filling the air. The silence isn’t uncomfortable however, as from the corner of my eye, I see Sam taking in the sights and sounds around him. This is no doubt all so much for him, as I don’t know what he remembers, and what is all new to him.
“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing over briefly before focusing back on the road.
“I think so,” he replies a moment later. “I just…I think I remember where we are?”
I almost sideswipe an oncoming car.
Quickly correcting, I swallow down my hysteria and ask, “You do? What do you remember?”
“I…” he pauses. “Up ahead is Paulo’s, right?”
“Yes!” I reply, unable to contain my excitement.
“Their pizza is the bomb,” we both say at the same time.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, my hands shaking as I grip the steering wheel. That is their infamous catchphrase.
“Holy shit,” Sam says, not masking his surprise. “That was so weird.”
“What was? What happened?” I want him to keep talking in hopes it’ll spark new memories floating to the surface.
“I could smell the richness of the freshly cooked pizza, and I could taste the herbs, the cheese. I could hear the snap of the crust as I bit into it. It was like I was there,” he explains, baffled.
When he stops talking, I peer over at him to see him leaning with his head back against the rest, his eyes squeezed shut. His lips are pulled into a thin line as he places a hand over his eyes, blindfolding himself. I know he needs complete darkness, to shut him off from the real world and get lost in the past.
“I ate there after my basketball finals. Holy shit. I was fourteen.” His hand drops into his lap as he slowly opens his eyes. “I remember.”
I’m seconds from exploding in my seat, but concentrate on the road. “You remember what?”
“I remember we beat The Scorpions. Ninety-three to seventy-five. I was captain.”
“That’s right, Sam,” I say, encouraging him. “You were. You were captain all through high school. You never left home without your ball. What else do you remember?” Fleetingly looking over at him, I hope it’ll be me.
He stares out the windshield, his eyes never blinking. “A horse. Three horses.”
A strangled wheeze gets trapped in my throat.
“Why do I remember horses? I never owned any,” he asks, his tone littered with uncertainty.
Cleaning my throat, I reveal. “Yes, Sam, you do. We have three horses at home.”
He spins to face me, not hiding his surprise. “We do?”
I nod. This is too much.
“Am I rich?” He sounds genuinely curious. “I know my parents are well-off, but am I? Are…we?”
The fact he just referred to us as we has me glowing from head to toe. “We do okay for ourselves. You work with your dad on the farm. It’s been a good harvest this year.”
“It’s so surreal,” he confesses, slouching low and shaking his head. “Why can’t I remember any of this?”
I raise my shoulders in defeat. “I don’t know, but you will.” I tug at the necklace around my neck, hoping my good luck charm will work for me. Trigger some kind of memory. It doesn’t.
“You think?”
“Yes, I do,” I reply with poise. “And if any place can bring those memories back, it’ll be your home.”
As if on cue, I turn down a one way, graveled road, the tires crunching loudly over the loose stones. The sound instantly bathes me with a wave of nostalgia. I can only hope it’ll do the same for Sam.
“Whispering Willows,” he says, reading the wooden name plaque attached to the swinging steel gates.
“This is our home,” I reveal, disheartened that he doesn’t remember.
I ascend the pebbled driveway, our beautiful ranch in Big Sky County surrounded by nothing but lush greenery, vast countryside, and rolling hills. The dark wood exterior complements the large bay windows, framed by white panels, which allow the sunlight to stream in at every angle. Off to the right sits our big red barn and adjacent are the stables, housing our three beloved spirited Arabian horses.
The moment I saw this property, it was love at first sight, akin to how it was with Sam. Our neighbors are two miles down the road, much to the delight of both Sam and I. It was one of the reasons we bought this property. Sam and I loved our privacy and Whispering Willows was our own secluded oasis where no one existed but us. Now I’m afraid that seclusion will lead to nothing but uncomfortable silences and complete loneliness.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I switch off the car and gather my wits. I pull up my big girl panties because I’m determined to have my life back. Not wanting to smother Sam, I grab my handbag and exit the car, giving him time to process everything at his own pace. The car door closes as I climb the porch stairs.
My fingers shake as I unlock the door, which is ridiculous, as I have no reason to be nervous. I have to pull it together. Slipping off my shoes, I toss my bag and keys onto the hallway table and make my way into the kitchen for a much needed drink.
Although it’s twelve in the afternoon, I open the wine fridge and hunt for a bottle of Riesling. I’m not usually a big drinker, but lately I have been. Desperate times call for desperate measures and I can’t remember a more desperate time than this.
Hunting through the drawers for a bottle opener, I pause when Sam strolls in, eyes wide and mouth agape. By his surprise, I know he doesn’t remember where he is. “Would you like some wine?” I ask, the need for alcohol even more imperative now.
He scrunches up his face, my offer not interesting him in the slightest. “Do you have any beer?”
I point to the silver refrigerator. “I’m not too sure. You can check, though.” I hate that I’m giving him permission to look inside his own refrigerator.
He nods and walks over to the fridge while I continue my search for the bottle opener. When I find it, I practically saw off the cork, desperate to drown my woes. I pour myself a decent splash of the sweetness and take a desperate sip.
Thunder comes tearing into the room, jumping up on Sam, ecstatic to see him. Sadly, the same can’t be said about Sam. “Get down,” he snaps, pushing Thunder away and wiping down his clothes. Looks like Thunder fell through one of Sam’s memory mines.
“That’s our dog, Thunder,” I explain, as Thunder sits at his feet, his tail swishing along the tiles.
“What happened to King?” he asks, referring to his childhood pet. He looks down at Thunder, uninterested.
Sighing, I take an even bigger sip of wine. “King passed away, just before we got Thunder.”
“Oh.” His face falls and my heart goes out to him. His sadness turns to query. “So, where’s my room?”
This time, I toss back the contents of the glass in one long gulp. His room is my room, but looks like he has no interest in knowing where my room is.
When I think I can speak without crying, I place the glass onto the marbled counter and try my best to smile. “Saxon’s taken the guest bedroom, but there are another three
rooms for you to choose from.” Feeling brass, I add, “But you’re most welcome to stay in my room—well, our room,” I amend.
Sam raises the Budweiser to his lips and takes a sip. The action reveals he’s thinking before he answers.
“But if you feel uncomfortable, then I totally understand. I understand how hard this—”
“I’m happy to stay with you,” he says, interrupting my nervous babble. “I just didn’t want to presume, that’s all. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m not!” I answer a little too eagerly. Oh god, this is so awkward. Why the sudden change of heart? I feel like I’m sixteen again as I say, “I meant, I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable at all. It’s your bed as much as it is mine. I think it would be good to try to do things that we normally would do.”
“Do what things?” he asks, his tone turning husky.
My cheeks begin to blister when he makes no secret that he’s checking me out. Is he still attracted to me in that way? The thought hasn’t crossed my mind as I’ve been too preoccupied wondering if he hates me or not. The way his gaze is lingering on my chest, I dare say today he doesn’t hate me as much as I believed he did.
Now I really feel like I’m sixteen.
Sam and I have never been overly adventurous in the bedroom. We both liked sex, but it never stemmed into the kinky stuff. By all accounts, it was relatively tame. But after being with the one person your entire life, the sex part, it fades, and you’re content with companionship because at the end of the day, sex isn’t everything. That emotional connection to another being is far more important and meaningful than having wild, sweaty monkey sex daily.
Well, that’s what I thought until five seconds ago. I suddenly feel hot and bothered and incredibly…turned on. But I quickly quash down those thoughts as I don’t want Sam thinking I’m an inappropriate pervert.
“Do you want to see the bedroom?” Sam cocks an eyebrow, while I almost die of embarrassment. “I mean, do you want me to show you to the b-bedroom so you can put away your things?” I quickly amend, tripping over my words.
My mind and the gutter are apparently best friends today.
Sam appears to like my trash talking however because he smirks. “Sure.” He takes a long sip of beer, licking his lips once he’s done.
Smothering the urge to take the bottle of wine with me, I turn on my heel and scurry out the door. Sam’s heavy footsteps reveal he’s following, and following close behind. The entire walk down the hallway all I can think is, are we going to have sex? Do I want to have sex? I’m not sure. I definitely have missed having Sam in my bed, but having sex now would feel like having sex with a stranger. Sam doesn’t know me, and I certainly don’t know Sam. On the flipside, maybe we need to have sex to reconnect on that personal level? Maybe it’ll help Sam remember? Scoffing, I doubt my genitals hold that kind of power.
Stopping at our door, I step to the side, deciding not to enter, as I don’t want to give Sam the wrong idea. “So, this is our bedroom.” I sweep my hand out, while Sam pulls in his lips, confused. He understands a moment later.
Peering inside, I observe him taking in the views of our large bedroom. Our king size bed is draped with a black duvet, which accents the dark gray throw cushions and the polished timber floors. Bedside tables sit on either side of the bed, and the huge stack of journals resting on the left side reveals which side I sleep on.
“I might take a shower and have a lie down.” Sam’s statement lingers in the air, a trail of innuendo following. Does he want me to shower with him? I’ve never been good with this sort of stuff. I’m completely oblivious when it comes to flirting. Not that I’ve had to worry, seeing as Sam and I got together when I was relatively young. But he was always the one who made the first moves, and I was more than happy to comply.
But right now, I want to run in the opposite direction as this feels forced and…wrong. “Okay, I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” I don’t give him time to respond as I dash down the corridor, hoping to leave my gutlessness behind.
I detour and run into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. This is ridiculous. Having sex with my fiancé is absolutely normal. So why does the thought leave me an uneasy mess? I know the answer. It’s because Samuel is as much of a stranger to me as I am to him. Sex is about celebrating your love, your reckless bond to be crazily in love forever. And at the moment, I don’t feel that. Of course I love Sam, but the feelings, the butterflies, they’ve gone into hibernation. When he looks at me, there is no love behind his eyes, only confusion. And that confusion has tainted our innocent love.
It appears I too need to remember what the old Sam was like because this new Sam is nothing like the man I fell in love with. Sam may be in a good mood now, but I don’t know when he’ll change back into the cranky, impatient Sam—the Sam I’ve been dealing with since he woke up.
Needing to get that Sam back, I push off the door and splash some cold water onto my cheeks. Peering at my crazed reflection in the mirror above the basin, I tell myself I wasn’t raised a quitter and I’ve lived through experiences far worse than this. Maybe rekindling our physical connection will help with the emotional blockage? It’s worth a shot.
The mini pep talk is exactly what I needed. I apply a coat of lip gloss before opening up the door and charging down the hall. I’m going to show my fiancé that I fight for what I want, and I want him. Regardless of the fact that he doesn’t remember me or us, I’ll love him no matter what.
With that resolve in mind, I unfasten the elastic from my hair, freeing my long hair from the high ponytail. It tumbles around my shoulders. Just as I’m about to slip off my t-shirt, I stop dead in my tracks, muting my nervous, ragged breathing.
I’m frozen in the doorway of my bedroom as I watch Sam sleeping peacefully on our bed. It appears he only got as far as slipping off his shoes, as he lays fully clothed, sprawled out on top of the duvet. He looks peaceful, his features soft and restful. Looks like I’ll have to prove my point another time.
Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly close the door and tiptoe down the passageway. Once I enter the living room, I take a seat on the sofa and let out the breath I was holding. I tie back my hair into a messy bun, seeing as my plan to seduce my fiancé just got shot to hell. But there’s plenty of time for that.
My cell chimes, thankfully interrupting my pity party for one. Leaping up, I hunt through my bag and answer it quickly, as I don’t want to wake Sam.
“Hello?”
“Why are you whispering?” Piper whispers.
I chuckle, needing her humor more than ever. “Sam just fell asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”
“Oh. How’s he doing?” My silence answers for me. “That good, huh?” she says.
Slumping into the recliner, I lounge back and sigh. “On the way home, he remembered Paulo’s, but that’s all he remembered. He doesn’t remember our home, or me.”
“He will, Luce,” Piper says encouragingly. But she doesn’t know that. No one does. No one knows how long he’ll be a stranger within his body. “Let’s throw a party,” she suggests when I remain pensive.
Her suggestion has me sitting upright, and shaking my head. “No way. What are we celebrating? My fiancé not knowing who he is?”
“No, we’re celebrating life. What happened to Sam is awful, but it could have been so much worse.” I know by worse she means Sam could be dead. She’s right, but I’ve never been one for parties, especially now.
“I’m really in no mood for celebrating, Piper. I just got shot down,” I share, needing her opinion on my insanity.
“What do you mean?”
Twirling my engagement ring, I explain. “Well, you know I suck at this flirting, girly stuff, but I think Sam wanted sex. So, I was going to initiate it.”
Silence.
“Hello? Piper?” I ask, pulling the phone away from my ear to ensure she’s still on the line.
“I’m here, sorry. My brain was just trying to proces
s that last sentence. You were going to initiate sex? Wow, are you sure you’re not the one with amnesia?”
I burst into laughter, but mute my outburst behind my hand. “I’ve got to try something.”
“An even better reason to throw a party. What better way to seduce your man than by dressing up and shaking your tail feather.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I chuckle, shaking my head. But she might be onto something. Maybe inviting Sam’s friends will jog some memories, especially the friends he’s had for years.
“You know I’m right, and besides, stop being selfish. I need Saxon to see me in my Sunday bests.”
The mention of him has me smiling. “I knew there was an ulterior motive.”
“Hey, two birds, one stone,” she replies, her tone light. “Is he back?”
“No, not yet. Who knows if he’ll come back? I texted to let him know Sam is home, so he might stay in Oregon.”
“No, he can’t! What about my diabolical plan for us to be married by fall? If he stays in Oregon, how’s that supposed to happen? I’m his soul mate; he just doesn’t know it yet.”
By this stage, I’m cackling loudly, I’m certain I’ll wake Samuel with my laughter. It feels nice to laugh. “I’ll let you know the moment he returns.”
“You better. I need to know if he feels as good as he looks.”
“He does,” I tease, quickly zipping my lips as I just fell into a really big hole.
“And how would you know?” Piper asks, not masking her interest.
“Because I cried in his arms more times than I care to admit,” I confess. “And they felt nice.”
“Nice? I think the word you’re searching for here is un-fucking-believable.”
They did feel unbelievable, but not in the way Piper thinks. Saxon provided me light when I was shrouded in darkness. Even when I yelled at him constantly and acted like a complete basket case, he stood by me, allowing me to grieve in my own way. I’ll never forget that. I’ll also never forget that he stayed, just like I asked him to.
“Okay, fine, you can have your party,” I say, surrendering. “It might be good for Sam to see his old friends.”