Until We Are Gone

by Gia Riley

  “Nolan!” Meadow said, surprised to see me. “I haven’t had a chance to change yet.”

  Mimi smirked and undid the strand of pearls from around her neck. She shuffled over to Meadow and placed them around her neck.

  “There,” she said. “You’re ready for your date with my handsome grandson.”

  Grandson.

  Mimi had never called me that before, not to my face or around anyone else. I thought maybe she was having a lapse in her memory or that she was about to slip away from us a little more, but that wasn’t the case.

  She looked at me with so much pride, the kind only a mother had for her child. That was when I realized how much I loved Mimi and that I was proud to have the title.

  “Thank you,” Meadow said. “I’ll return them tomorrow.”

  Of course, Mimi wasn’t done having fun with us. The ornery old woman said, “Just leave them on Nolan’s nightstand when you go to bed tonight.”

  Meadow blushed and chanced a quick glance at me. I could barely swallow when I looked at her. In something as simple as navy-blue scrubs and a necklace, and she still knocked me on my ass every time I was in her presence.

  I didn’t have a clue what to say to her or how to get Meadow out of the house. Something told me that grabbing her hand and dragging her to my bedroom wasn’t the right choice, so I turned to Lucille for help.

  Like the professional she was, she caught on and said, “Mimi, it’s time for your bath. Then, we have some cards to play.”

  Once they were in the bedroom, Meadow turned toward me, and we both stared.

  “I hope you’re hungry.”

  She smiled and said, “Starving.”

  I wasn’t sure we were talking about food anymore, so I grabbed her bag off the chair. Slinging it over my shoulder, I caught myself staring at her ass the entire walk to my house.

  The awkwardness disappeared in my living room. There wasn’t even a second of hesitation. As soon as the door was closed, Meadow was on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  She kissed me so hard on the lips, our teeth scraped together. But I kissed her back even harder, and she wrapped her legs around my waist until we were out of breath.

  I didn’t think we’d have stopped if the doorbell hadn’t rung.

  Mimi had lost her balance and fallen, and our date was over before it ever started.

  It was still the best non-date date I’d ever had.

  After that, my feelings for Meadow slammed into me like a brick wall. She wasn’t just some girl I wanted to hook up with. We spoke about our hopes and dreams and had hours of phone conversations about what we wanted in life, and as strong as our physical connection was, I knew our bond went far beyond that.

  Suddenly, the future wasn’t this scary universe we were afraid to navigate. Our plans matched up; we had careers in the same field with demanding patients who expected us at our best. But, when we weren’t at work, she was whom I wanted to be with. And she felt the exact same way.

  Our relationship was so effortless, and I kept waiting for something to go wrong. It was too good to be true. It had to be.

  I waited for my parents to stick their noses where they didn’t belong or for Meadow to change her mind about being with me.

  I didn’t want to be right, but then, without any explanation, Meadow stopped coming to see Mimi. She didn’t return any of my calls, and her number was disconnected. It was like she’d ceased to exist.

  I’d had my happily ever after within reach. And it was torn away from me, just like that.

  twenty

  NOLAN

  Meadow and I have been in my office for hours, and just like when we were dating, our conversation flows effortlessly. It’s like nothing’s changed between us—other than the fact that Meadow has no memory of who I am or how we met.

  But, now that she’s sitting in front of me, breathing and alive, I pray like hell that we get a second chance to get this right. If she fell for me once, maybe she’ll do it twice.

  I don’t care what demons are plaguing her. I’ll find a way to make her whole again. I’ll give her all those weeks back, and we’ll pick up right where we left off.

  “I’d love to know what you’re thinking,” I tell her.

  She straightens on the couch and fidgets with the necklace around her neck. It’s not pearls, just a tiny golden heart that lies in the center of her neck—delicate, just like her.

  “Why do you want to know?” she whispers playfully.

  “Because you’re blushing.”

  “It’s warm in here, Nolan.”

  I point at her skin. “If you’re hot, then why do you have goose bumps on your arms?”

  Yesterday, I was freezing from the rain, battling a fever, and had the heat cranked. I specifically turned it down this morning because I was feeling better.

  But I also knew that Meadow hated being cold. When she was, she would cuddle extra close. A few times, I’d make my house cold on purpose, just so I could hold her all night.

  Maybe, subconsciously, I did that again. But I had no preconceived notions when I showed up to her session. It wasn’t like I’d planned to bring her back to my office. I just couldn’t walk away after I cut the session short.

  After Meadow saw me, she went from looking like she was about to cry to like she wanted to kiss me. Visions of spanking her while she was wearing nothing but a black thong consumed me. I imagined her screaming my name each time my palm made contact with her ass.

  How am I supposed to let her spend the night alone in her room, thinking she did something wrong, when I’ve been picturing her naked, imagining the ways I can reward her?

  I don’t want her to leave. I need more time, especially now that I know where she is and that she isn’t gone for good.

  “They’re not goose bumps, Nolan. I’m always like this.”

  She’s not. I’ve seen her wearing far less than she is now. I’ve seen her sweaty and naked, falling apart underneath me.

  “Whatever you say, gorgeous.”

  “What did you call me?” she asks with wide eyes, like she can’t believe she heard the word fall from my mouth.

  Another slip. I’m sure I’ll make a few more before the night’s over. “I asked if you wanted a blanket.”

  Smiling, she says, “That’s not what you said, but I’m okay. Thank you.”

  “If you heard me, then why did you ask?”

  “Because I wanted to be sure.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “Positive.”

  I’m so fucked.

  What started out as a conversation from opposite ends of the couch has led to our bodies side by side in the middle. Our knees are touching, and if I move my fingers half an inch, our hands will be, too.

  I’m supposed to be the professional. One of the people she can trust, but all I want to do is lay her down and show her how much I’ve missed her.

  We’re a giant conflict of interest. Because, say we do begin treatment and memories of me come back to her, what’ll I do then? She won’t give me a second chance. She’ll run away, thinking I’ve been playing games with her brain. And how would I convince her otherwise?

  Her accident was traumatic. The recovery painful. And the aftereffects destructive.

  Regression would be the natural course of treatment. They’d probably even work, but my plan of attack revolves around me and what we had.

  How is that ethical or legal?

  It’s not.

  And it’s never going to be.

  I have to figure out a way to make Meadow remember me on her own—without Gretchen in the corner, taking notes. Our sessions can’t be documented for Ms. Lucia or any of the social workers to read; it’s just too risky.

  So, until I come up with a plan, I just want to enjoy being in her presence again. Hopefully, as I gain her trust, she’ll buy my bullshit excuse about wanting to get to know her before I hypnotize her.

  “I have an extra shirt in the clo
set if you want it,” I tell her.

  “You’re persistent,” she says.

  “Can’t help it.” That’s the truth. When it comes to Meadow, I’m protective.

  “Why can’t you help it?”

  “My gut tells me to be. It’s just who I am, Meadow.”

  She’s not used to that kind of honesty, I can tell, but she doesn’t shy away from me or move back to her end of the couch.

  Instead, she asks me a question that I knew was coming. “Are you like this with all of your patients?”

  “No, Meadow. I don’t see patients after hours, and I definitely don’t invite them back to my office. We don’t sit on couches together or talk about my personal life.”

  “Then, why me? Why are you different with me?”

  “Because I know you better than you think.”

  “All you have is a file from Ms. Lucia. I’m not even sure any of it’s accurate. She won’t let me see my binder.”

  “Her notes are accurate,” I tell her. I know because I’ve read every page, and her observations are spot-on. Meadow has no idea, but there’s so much of her that hasn’t changed. She just doesn’t realize it because she’s forgotten who she was.

  I want to point that out to Ms. Lucia so badly, but I can’t. Just like I can’t tell Meadow.

  Meadow stares out the window. For a minute, she’s lost in thought, and then she looks at me, really looks at me. “I don’t know what’s going on, Nolan. But I don’t mind. I’m glad you’re here, and I like whatever this is we’re doing.”

  “Getting to know each other,” I remind her.

  “Yeah, getting to know each other,” she echoes. And then she shocks me and says, “But I couldn’t forget your face if I tried.”

  twenty-one

  NOLAN

  She’d never forget my face?

  “What did you say?” I ask as I stand up from the couch and pace in front of the window.

  Maybe I heard her wrong, but she’s looking at me like I’m about to pull out her binder and document the craziness, so I don’t think that’s the case.

  “I should leave,” she says.

  Taking two quick strides toward her, I put my hand on the doorknob. “You’re not leaving. Sit back down.”

  “Oh my God,” she whispers.

  “What is it?”

  “I missed bed checks. How could I be so stupid? Dr. Slater, you can’t let them kick me out. I’m not going back to the police station.”

  Jail? There’s no way in hell I’d ever let that happen.

  “Sit back down, Meadow. And stop calling me Dr. Slater. It’s Nolan. Always Nolan.”

  “Only when we’re alone though, right?”

  “I said always, didn’t I? I don’t care where we are; use my first name.”

  Hearing her call me anything else is weird. I can’t imagine my girlfriend referring to me as Doctor anything, especially when I’ve heard her whisper my name as she comes.

  “Okay, Nolan,” she stresses. “What about bed checks? Why aren’t you freaking out?”

  “Because Ms. Lucia knows you’re in my office.”

  “But I’ve been here for hours. I should have been back by lights out.”

  “Like I told you, it’s okay. I told Ms. Lucia I needed to spend some time with you to understand you better and so that you’re more comfortable with opening up to me. Your case is complex, and I want to make sure I get it right.”

  “So, I’m not here because you want me to be. You’re working. That’s all this is—another therapy session.”

  “Meadow,” I say louder than I should because I’m frustrated that she can’t see this for what it is and that she even needs to question my motives.

  Why can’t she just remember me and go back to kissing me instead of acting like I’m her teacher and she’s my student? That’s not our dynamic.

  “You’re mad at me,” she whispers. “Someone’s always mad at me.”

  Placing a hand on either shoulder, I say, “Look at me.” When she does, I then ask, “Why would I be mad? I’m not like everyone else. It’s me.”

  I trace every inch of her face, looking for clues that she understands what I’m saying. Sometimes, I see a wicked little gleam in her eye, and other times, she’s void of all emotion. I never know which girl I’m going to get.

  Just a few short months ago, she and I were the real deal. And it’s scary how quickly that disappeared. This isn’t some medical drama; it’s real life. And we’re real people. She only became an alcoholic because she lost her damn memory and didn’t know how to deal with it.

  “I’m not mad at you.” Not even a little bit. I’m still the same guy who’s been joking around and talking to her all night long.

  A knock on the door startles her, and she freezes. Shrugging out of my grasp, she sits back down on the couch, all the way in the corner, with her hands folded in her lap. She thinks it’s Ms. Lucia, coming to reprimand her for not being in her room.

  Ms. Lucia left the building hours ago.

  Like I told Meadow, therapists don’t stay here all night. I’m making an exception for Meadow because I don’t want to leave her.

  When I open the door, there’s nobody there, just a tray on the floor from the cafeteria. When I carry it inside, she smirks as I sit two steaming hot bowls of soup on the coffee table.

  “Surely, the kitchen’s been closed for hours, yet you always get what you want.”

  I don’t know what she’s implying, but if she means herself, then yes, I intend to have her, too.

  “The manager is a friend of mine. I sent him a text a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh, so he knows I’m in here with you?”

  Before I answer her, I wait for her to crumble the packet of crackers in her hand and dump them on top of the soup. I’ve watched her do it before, and that’s part of the reason I ordered soup. To tease her because she dumped mine all over the floor when she kicked me in the balls and to see what she’d do with the crackers. It’s still the same process, just the right amount of crunching before she covers the top layer of soup with crumbs. I’ve teased her about that in the past, too.

  She’s still Meadow.

  “My friend knows we’re in here. He’s actually a fan of yours.”

  “Me? But he doesn’t even know me.”

  “He’s seen you in the cafeteria, and after I told him you’d dumped soup all over me, he wanted to meet you.”

  She’s smiling because she knows what she did was a bullshit move, but she appreciates that I’m able to joke about it instead of hold it against her.

  “I don’t like people very much. I get confused when I’m supposed to recognize them and don’t. It’s easier if I keep my head down and ignore everyone.”

  I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for her. But that’s why I want to restore her memory and send her back to the job she loved so much. Mimi needs her now more than ever. She was devastated when Meadow stopped coming. And, now, I’m on a mission to make Meadow remember before Mimi forgets.

  “You should look up more often, gorgeous girl.”

  “That’s twice,” she says.

  “Keeping track?”

  “You make me want to.”

  Neither of us knows what to say next, so we busy ourselves with eating, and when my bowl is empty, I sit back and watch her. It’s not polite to stare at people while they eat, but I can’t help it.

  “Where are you from?” I ask, wondering if I can stir her memory with some simple questions—things we’ve discussed in the past, before the accident. Even a case of déjà vu would help.

  “I grew up in the city, but my grandma lived in Bear Creek, and that was my favorite place. I spent most of my summers there before college.”

  She lights up when she mentions her grandma, just like when she used to talk about Mimi. Her grandma might be my ticket to digging deeper into Meadow’s mind.

  Before I can ask her another question, she swallows a bite of soup and chokes on it, coughin
g into her hands. I hand her my bottle of water, and she takes a few sips.

  After wiping her mouth with a napkin, she says, “If I get the plague, you’re writing me a note.”

  “I’m not contagious anymore.” At least, I don’t think so. “But I’ll take care of you.”

  “I don’t think you can do that and still keep your job, but thank you.”

  She’s right. The chances of us spending another night together are slim—at least, as long as she’s living here, under a microscope. The only reason we’re getting away with it now is because Ms. Lucia scratched Meadow’s room off the checklist tonight.

  Nobody will find out how long Meadow was here if I have her back in her room before the morning shift starts, bright and early at six o’clock.

  “What about you, Nolan? Where are you from?” she questions.

  “I’m from the Pinewoods area.”

  “That’s right next to Bear Creek,” she says with a smile.

  Meadow lived in a condo in the dead center of Pinewoods, and she came to Mimi’s, about two miles away, every day. Once she and I started talking, she was at my house just as often. But she doesn’t seem to remember any of that.

  The address listed in her file is for Green Hills, about fifteen minutes away. I know she was still in rough shape after she was discharged from the hospital, so I’m happy that she was able to temporarily move in with a relative. But I’d love to know what happened to her condo. And I make a mental note to find out.

  “Do you like living in Green Hills?”

  She shrugs and then says, “The only good part is the farmhouse. If I hadn’t found that, I’d probably have gone completely crazy. I mean, I know I’m not in a great place as it is, but Grandma told me about it at just the right time.”

  I thought her grandmother was dead, so my next question is asked with caution, “Will you tell me about that?”

  “The farmhouse?”

  “Sure, I’d like to know about it, if it made you happy.”

  “It might take a little time. Maybe you want to call some more of your people or change.”