About an hour later, a man wearing blue scrubs came in with a wheelchair.
He helped me into the wheelchair and propped my leg up on a metal flap that folded out near my calf. As we approached the elevator, Sam stepped out with a woman garbed in a dressy, knee-length skirt and a long, white lab coat.
The awkwardness of the moment gave me time to read her nametag. Melody Kisner, Grief Counselor. What was Sam doing with this woman? Was it just coincidence they were on the elevator together? I breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed Sam’s hand when she reached out for me.
“I’ll see you when you’re done downstairs,” she said.
The physical contact felt odd, like we knew each other intimately. If only I could remember. I roughed my hands through my hair, getting more and more frustrated by the minute. The nurse’s aide left me in a room with the technician who’d be running my MRI. It was cold in there, even more so than my room.
I laid down in the machine for the test while the technician wrapped me in another thin blanket, more like a heavy cotton sheet for all the warmth it provided. Even with three, I still felt a slight chill.
When the test finished, I went back up to my room, only to find Sam sitting by my bedside with the woman from the elevator. She stood up and wiped the tears from her face, as she cleared space for the nurse’s aid to help me back into bed.
“Emmett, this is Ms. Kisner. She’s the hospital’s grief counselor. I . . . I umm, asked her to speak with you.”
“What the hell? Why do I need a grief counselor? I just lost my memory. Where’s my brother? I don’t understand what the fuck is going on here!” I flinched from the pain in my splinted finger, when I reflexively tried to run my hand through my hair.
“Mr. Morris, please try to calm down. Ms. Lang and I need to talk to you. With your memory loss, you’re forgetting some very important events. I’d like to discuss these with you,” Ms. Kisner stated.
“Yes, I know I don’t remember Sam, but that doesn’t explain why I’d need to speak with a grief counselor.” I regretted throwing my head back against the bed when instant pain shot through my skull.
“Emmett, please just let Ms. Kisner continue. This is hard enough as it is,” Sam pleaded.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Look, I’m just so frustrated that I can’t remember you. I feel a connection, but I just can’t place it.”
Sam squeezed her eyes shut.
Ms. Kisner cleared her throat and continued as if I hadn’t interrupted her at all. “Mr. Walker, we need to talk about your brother, Alec.” She paused . . . and let that information sink in.
“What about him? I’ve been trying to call him, but it goes directly to a message that says his number is no longer in service.”
The tears were filling Sam’s eyes again, and a dark foreboding set in.
“Mr. Walker, Alec was in an accident about a year ago. He had an epileptic event as a result, and died here, in the hospital later that night,” Ms. Kisner explained.
“Bull shit! You’re lying. Get the hell out of my room!” I screamed at the lady, but my eyes were locked onto Sam, and I saw the cold, painful truth of it, in her bloodshot eyes.
A boulder settled heavily into the pit of my stomach. The nausea I’d felt earlier crawled up my throat. I snatched the bowl off the table and threw up. My entire body convulsed painfully, my leg twitching and head pounding as I retched.
Sam cried freely then, and I could feel the tears running down my face, as well. This couldn’t be true. They were wrong. There was abso-fucking-lutely no way my little brother was dead. No fucking way!
Sam jumped to my side and slipped her small, soft hand into mine, while I reached up with the other and bit my knuckles. I couldn’t breathe. I wretched again, but only green bile came up.
The next thing I knew, a nurse was running into my room.
“Get the fuck away from me!” I tried to lean away from the nurse as she pulled a syringe from her pocket, and inserted the needle into my IV line. After a moment, my body felt weirdly over-relaxed. My eyelids grew heavy, and everything turned black.
Bringing Emmett home was hard. It was devastating that he still couldn’t remember me. As expected, he wasn’t handling Alec’s death well either. Seeing the pain he went through as he tried to accept the reality, shredded my soul. I don’t know what I would have done without Ms. Kisner. It was both surreal and unnerving, having Dr. Shaw as Emmett’s neurologist, hitting a little too close to home since he was the same doctor who’d been there when Alec died.
Thankfully, Emmett’s injuries weren’t life threatening, and the only major thing we had to contend with was his memory loss. With his Aunt Robin still in Europe, he had little choice but to come home with me. He said he wanted to go back to his normal life and routine. The doctors said it should help bring his memory back. I hoped so.
However irrational, there was a small part of me that was hurt that Emmett couldn’t remember me, almost as if his mind was trying to protect him from more pain and heartache considering he didn’t remember Alec’s death either, yet remembered other random things.
I worried he subconsciously wanted to forget me, and the pain I’d brought into his life. The girls said that was crazy, and I was just stressed out, that Emmett loved me, and had fought for our relationship after all that had happened. I knew it all already, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. I was overwhelmed with heartache. I tried to keep everyday things as normal as possible for Emmett, hoping something would spark his memory.
The first week, he slept on the couch every night, and it was near impossible to fall asleep with him so close, but so far away. Then one morning, I woke up wrapped in his arms, and he was awake, just watching me sleep. It was such a welcomed feeling, I began to cry silent tears.
“Good morning,” I said as I stretched out on the bed and snuggled back into his chest. I relished in the familiar feel of his arms around me. The faint smell of his cologne that lingered on his skin.
“Good morning Peach,” he whispered.
My heart leapt with joy when he called me Peach. “Oh my God, Emmett . . . you remembered?”
He looked sheepish and shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I was just trying it out to see if it would spark a memory, but it didn’t.” As he saw my sad expression, he followed up saying, “But it feels right. Every morning, when I wake up on the couch without you, it feels wrong, so I crawled into bed with you. I promise I didn’t do anything. I just held you and watched you sleep for a while. I like the normal feeling it gives me.”
“That’s because you used to do this every morning. It was kind of our routine, since you always woke up before me.”
His eyes softened, as his brow relaxed, and he ran his fingers through my hair. “This feels familiar, too. Did I play with your hair like this?”
“Mmm hmm, you did. It’s how you’d wake me up most mornings. That . . . and a kiss.” I blushed.
“Hmm, maybe I should try that out, too. If you don’t mind of course—it could spark a memory—you know,” he said with his sexy smirk.
I slowly nodded my head, his gaze locked on my eyes, then down to my mouth, as I bit at my bottom lip.
He leaned his head down and gently pressed his lips to mine. He was tentative at first, and it took every ounce of my strength to not kiss him back with the heated passion I felt for him. But I knew we had to go slow. I couldn’t rush this. It was when he opened his mouth to mine, that I lost my resolve and rolled over, straddling his waist. I ran my fingers down his strong arms and brought my hands to rest in the center of his abs, stopping just beneath the waistband of his shorts. His breath hitched, as I glided my fingers along his skin around to his sides. When he looked up at me, I saw he was as lost as I was in our passion.
He slid the strap of my nightshirt off my shoulder, and pulled me down to him, so I was lying on his chest. He followed the touch of his fingers on my shoulder and neck, with kisses leaving tingles behind.
He rolled us ove
r, so I lay on my back beneath his strong body. I sighed as his lips made their way up my neck. “Now this . . .” he kissed just underneath my ear, “feels familiar.” He turned my face to the side, and captured my mouth with his, leaving coolness on my lips, as his minty breath mixed with mine.
His mind might not have remembered me, but his body did, and at that moment, it was all we needed.
Sam decided we should go to over to Riley and Quinn’s to see all of our friends, so we took off in her little car. Mine was totaled, and I can’t even begin to say how pissed off I was when I saw it. I mean, damn, it was a red 1969 Chevy Camaro in mint condition.
Sometimes I was angrier about my car than I was about my memory loss, at least until Sam walked into the room, and I was reminded of this beautiful, young woman I clearly had an intimate relationship with, but couldn’t remember. I felt all kinds of familiarities, which made me comfortable being there in her—our apartment. But I constantly felt like a complete and utter dick for not remembering her. Her pain and sadness was a daily reminder. I dreamed of Alec every night, plagued by memories I wished I could forget, and those I couldn’t hold on to.
Her dog, Gage, was awesome. Everywhere I went, he lay at my feet or tried to body block me from leaving the apartment. The only time he was happy about me walking toward the door was when I had his leash in my hand. Guess he was more perceptive than I realized.
We arrived at Riley and Quinn’s house that afternoon, and there was a rental car in the driveway. I don’t know how I was able to remember some things, but not Sam or that Alec had died.
Motherfucker. I just couldn’t believe my little brother was dead.
Every morning, I woke up unsure how I would make it through another day without falling apart. I was off the pain meds, healing at a good rate, and only occasionally needed ibuprofen—so I began drinking more. But instead of a beer at the end of the day, I’d have whiskey. I wasn’t drinking a lot, but it was becoming a regular enough of a habit. I started to regret it, before tossing it back, leaving an empty glass behind. I wasn’t proud of it, but hitting the hard stuff helped calm my mind, and face the terrors of my dreams at night, where Alec was alive, but always just out of my reach.
It was a cruel thing what my memory was doing. Sometimes I wished I could forget Alec and remember Sam. It would have been easier than dealing with the pain of losing my little brother all over again each morning.
Sam reached over and grabbed my hand. “Are you okay, babe? Ready to go inside and see everyone?”
“Yeah, I was just thinking about Alec.”
Her breath hitched and she squeezed my hand.
“I’ll be okay. Let’s go inside and say hi to everyone,” I said as I kissed the top of her hand.
“Okay.”
We rang the doorbell, and John answered with a smile. “Hey Emmett, Peachy.”
It grated on me that he called her Peachy. I wasn’t sure why. He was my best friend after all.
“I’m surprised you’re here, John, you’re down earlier than usual.”
“Actually, I never left after our last barbeque. I was supposed to fly back the day after your accident. But, I wanted to be sure you were going to be okay. Then Sam called and said you’d lost some of your memory, and I just wanted to be here for you, man.”
God, I was a dick. I’m sure it was something we probably joked about, him calling Sam Peachy, especially with the smartass expression he sent my way as he said it. He looked like he genuinely cared for her, but in a friend way, I was sure.
“Well thanks, man. It’s been a hard few weeks,” I said with a nod.
“Yeah, let’s save the heavy talk for after a few beers.”
“Sounds good. Got any of the hard stuff? I’ve been more of a whiskey kind of guy lately.”
I didn’t miss the stiffness that crept into Sam’s shoulders. I guessed she noticed more than I realized.
John gave me a sideways glance and nodded.
“You know Riley and Quinn, always have stock of everything. Or maybe you don’t remember. I’m sorry man,” he quickly finished.
“Nah, it’s okay. I remember that,” I murmured, looking over at where Sam was talking with Tamron and Alison.
It was well after lunch, but I decided it would be better to start off with a beer rather than going straight for the whiskey, even though it was calling my name. I had a moment of pause, when I realized I was craving its sweet oblivion. But I shook it off, and tried to listen to the conversation around me.
John walked outside with two beers and hopped up on the top of the brick wall that surrounded the back yard. I followed his lead.
He cleared his throat as he handed me my beer. “So, uh, you remember everything except Sam?” he asked.
I couldn’t look at him, just kept kicking the brick wall with my heels. “Yeah, that about sums it up,” I murmured. “The doctors call it selective amnesia. Sometimes I act like I don’t remember things so Sam won’t think it’s only her I’ve forgotten, but I’m pretty sure she’s figured it out. It must show on my face. She hasn’t questioned me about it, but I can tell she knows. It sucks to see the pain in her eyes.”
“Damn, man, that’s harsh,” John said.
“Yeah, tell me about it. The only other thing I forgot, was that Alec died.” My throat hurt, and was so dry I took a long swig of my beer, nearly drinking the whole thing.
“Wow, dude, you gonna suck that shit down in one gulp, or enjoy the hops?” he asked with a shocked look on his face.
“Sorry, man, I just . . . I can’t get over that Alec is gone. Fuck. He was my little brother! How the ever loving fuck can he be dead?”
John looked down at his feet. “I know, Emmett. I know. I remember, and it’s still hard to accept.”
“You know, at first, I didn’t even remember my name. Once I’d heard it a few times, it felt normal. It feels natural for me to be with Sam, too, but I still don’t remember her. I mean, my body clearly remembers hers, and that has been nothing short of amazing.”
“Well see then, at least y’all have that,” John replied. “I don’t know what I would do if I forgot the love of my life, and before you say anything, let me tell you that is exactly what she is to you. She. Is. The. Love. Of. Your. Life. You guys were made for each other. Soul mates. I hope to find that kind of love someday.”
“Let me ask you something,” I said. “I know I call her Peach. But why do you call her Peachy, and why did I wanna knock your lights out when you said it after you answered the door?”
John laughed. “Because I do it to mess with you, but mostly because I adore that little girl like a sister,” he added quickly. “You’re just greedy about it, but it fits her perfectly, and I can’t help it, because when I say it, she gets this lit up, happy expression on her face and giggles every time you start shit with me about it. It’s worth a punch or two in the arm,” he said and we both laughed.
Sam walked through the French doors carrying a tray of sandwiches and iced tea. She set it down on the picnic table and walked over to John and me.
“Hey, guys, can I get you anything?” she asked with an adorable smile.
“I’m good,” I replied “John, do you want anything?”
“Nah, Peachy, I’m okay. Thanks anyway,” he replied.
“Okay. We’ll be eating soon, but I brought out a couple mini sandwiches in case you guys were hungry,” she said as she pecked me on the cheek with a chaste kiss and walked back into the house.
“Damn it, man, I need a whiskey,” I said.
“Sure, but . . . why don’t we save the hard stuff for after dinner, okay?” John asked.
“Sure, good idea,” I answered.
As I watched Sam and the girls bringing everything outside it became clearer what I had to do. I wasn’t remembering, and I felt I needed an extreme change to figure it all out. We ate dinner, and as I sat across from Sam, I caught her looking at me with a subtle attempt at a smile. Her eyes were mostly down cast while she moved her
food around her plate, only taking an occasional bite of her meal. I knew each day that I didn’t remember her, only caused her more pain. It was killing a piece of my soul each time I witnessed it.
We were sitting around the fire pit when Sam walked outside with a glass of whiskey and handed it to me. There was a slight tremble to her fingers as I took the glass from her hand. It wasn’t cold outside, so I knew it was me, and it made my stomach feel like there was a concrete block in it. I was losing my mind with all these emotions and trying to remember, yet not being able to. I tossed the whiskey back and stood up to get more. When I got inside the house, Tamron was waiting for me.
“Emmett, what the hell are you doing?” she seethed.
“Getting a drink,” I replied.
She smacked me on the shoulder. “I know what you’re doing. What I want to know is why. We always saved that shit for when we ran out of beer and were too blitzed to care. So why’re you drinking it like it’s going out of style?”
“Uh, I’m not. This was my first glass,” I retorted.
“That’s not what I am talking about. Sam said you’ve been drinking whiskey every night at home. That’s not like you. I don’t think you should keep doing that, Emmett. It’s not going to help you remember her,” she said.
“I know it won’t, Tamron! But it helps me fucking forget that I can’t remember her, or that my brother died! I can’t fucking sleep at night without dreaming of Alec. It’s tearing me apart. And I can’t stand the constant look of disappointment on Sam’s face! I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t.” My hands dropped to my sides, and I hung my head down in shame. I could no pretend that Sam hadn’t noticed.
“What do you mean, you can’t keep doing this?” she asked in a hushed but strained voice.
“I mean . . . damn it, I can’t keep living with Sam. I need my own place away from her and the constant turmoil. It’s killing both of us. I need to deal with Alec’s death before I can face not remembering the woman I’m supposed to be madly in love with.” I reached down and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “I’m so confused, because it feels right to be with her, physically, yet my mind is blank. It’s just too much. I drink to chase away dreams of Alec calling my name, but I can never get to him. I drink to numb the pain I feel when I see Sam’s lonely, sad expressions. She tries to act like everything is okay, but I know it’s not. I can’t take it anymore, Tamron.”
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