Forget Us Not

by Melissa Shirley

  Ushering him out, the nurse lets me take care of all my bladder-related business. Then she assists me into the shower.

  I don’t really know how long I’ve been here, but the hot water sluicing over my skin is as close to heaven as I’m ever likely to get. With nothing but a towel covering my body and a plastic baggie over my arm, she leaves to get me a new gown. It gives me a moment to digest everything. I am married. I knew it already. The man who’d spoken to me through the night and in my dreams was someone I cared for, someone who cared for me.

  I can’t say I’m displeased with his looks or with his body, but for all I know, he could be an abuser or an ax murderer. Whether he’s one of those things or simply a man I met one day and called my own, I don’t remember a single detail about him. And that sends a shiver over me, although it could as easily have been the cold tile seat under my ass.

  As soon as I’m as presentable as hospital attire allows, the nurse calls my husband back, and he lifts me as easily as I could pick up a feather. Almost before I’m settled, my mother is a pillow fluffing, blanket adjusting machine. My dad, whose worry has obviously passed now that I’m awake, has found the remote control and is amusing himself with a local ball game while my husband stares down at me with blue eyes filled with wonder. He has only a day’s worth of stubble which tells me I either haven’t been here as long as I thought or he left at some point to clean up. I decide it must be the latter as I catch a whiff of his cologne again.

  “Would you like us to get you some things from the house?” Now that the fluffing is done, Mom has nothing to do but wring her hands together and try to be helpful.

  “How long will I be staying?” For some reason, the idea of having my own belongings here sets an alarm racing through each of my veins until my heart feels as though it will pound out of my chest.

  “The doctor should be in soon. The nurse said she was calling to tell him you’re awake now. We can ask him then.” His voice is like warm honey as he once again takes my hand between both of his. He worries it back and forth as though shining it with his skin. The sensation is both pleasant and sweet. It’s as if he needs to be touching me.

  “Well, we can at least run down to the gift shop and get you some pajamas and some underwear.” Mom drags my dad from his chair. I smile as he protests that shopping for his daughter’s undergarments will invalidate his man card as much as missing extra innings to do so.

  They bicker quietly, but he follows her out, and I’m left alone with my husband.

  I am burning with a need for information. “Can I ask you something?”

  He smiles and nods. “Anything.”

  “It’s a weird one.” Heat creeps up my neck in almost painful inches.

  “It’s okay.” This time, he kisses each of my fingertips before looking up at me.

  I should just ask the damned question. It isn’t my fault I don’t know. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I suck in a big breath and hold it. “What’s your name?” The words are out before I release the air in my lungs in a whoosh.

  He chuckles. “Sam.”

  The dream was a memory then?

  “Sam.” I try it out once then again, and his smile broadens. I wonder if it’s short for anything and try out a few options in my head then give up deciding he is definitely not short of anything. “It fits you.” Instead of asking any of the questions I’m dying to ask, I stare at him, fully aware it’s rude, but I don’t stop until I’ve memorized the angled jaw, square chin, high cheekbones, and those eyes.

  Being in the presence of such beauty makes me wonder what I look like. “How bad is my face?” I hadn’t thought to so much as glance in the mirror above the sink when I was in the bathroom, so for all I know, I could be the Elephant Man’s ugly twin sister. Of course, it could be that I didn’t look much better before, too.

  He leans over me and takes my chin between his thumb and index finger to stroke my throat so gently, I ache when the touch ends. His gaze follows his finger before he stares back into my eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

  But I can tell there is puffiness from the way my mouth moves, and I think I can see my cheek below my left eye. “Please?”

  “You have three stitches here.” He grazes a spot just over my eyebrow. “And a bruise here is swollen.” His soft touch trails just below my eye across to my ear. From that spot, he moves down to my jaw. “You have a couple small cuts and some bruising here. That’s all. I promise.”

  The damage was confined to the left side of my face, at least, and is nothing so severe that the damage will leave a permanent mark. Though I’ve no idea how long I’ve slept, I can’t contain a yawn.

  One side of his mouth lifts. “Tired?”

  “Yeah.” There are bags under his eyes, and he has the general appearance of someone dead on his feet. “You don’t have to stay here, Sam.”

  “You want me to leave?” I’ve hurt him, and it’s evident in the darkness that creeps over his face, colors his eyes.

  “No. I just meant it can’t be much fun watching me sleep.” I know I should tell him how much having him here means to me, but I don’t. And I have no idea why.

  His eyes flutter shut for a minute, and I see relief wash everything else away. “I sleep, too.”

  I scoot as far to the side as I can move. “Come here.” I pat the spot next to me before I even have the chance to think about it.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I throw the blanket back and glide my hand over the mattress in a small circle. “Then don’t.”

  He moves slowly, lowers his body with such care that I almost laugh at the extra effort it takes him to not hurt me. I’m against the rail until he settles, but then I pull his arm under my neck. In a moment, his breaths come evenly, and the tension in his body fades. He’s asleep.

  Mom is laughing at something Dad said as they enter the room, and I smack my own lip with the heavy cast as I try to shush her so she doesn’t wake Sam. Instead, I wince, cringing enough his arm tightens around me. “Did I hurt you?”

  I put my cast on his stomach as he tries to get out of bed. “No. I’m okay. I accidentally hit myself with this stupid thing.” I give a finger wiggle and run my tongue along the sore spot. “It wasn’t you.”

  “Are you sure?” I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such devotion, but I hope I can live up to it. I’ve not a spare second to examine the thought before my mom sets a big bag on the table next to the bed.

  “I bought you some playing cards in case you want to play while you wait. You used to love playing Gin Rummy.” As she narrates each purchase, she holds them up as though I need to inspect them. “And some pajamas. All they had were shorts, so I got you a robe too, in case the nurses want to get you up. I also bought you some yoga pants and a hoodie to wear home, although we’ll have to cut the sleeve to get it over your cast. I should have bought the T-shirt. I can go back.”

  “No. It’s okay.”

  As if I haven’t spoken, she continues. “I also bought you some underwear and socks, and aren’t these just the cutest slippers?” When she hands me a hairbrush and some ponytail holders, her eyes well up with tears. “I’m so sorry, Makenzie.”

  Since I don’t know what she could possibly be sorry for, I can only nod my forgiveness.

  She turns to Sam. “Thank you for calling us.” Awkwardly, she throws her arms around us and keeps me in a vice grip until my side cramps from the angled position. I squirm free. There’s nothing familiar about her arms or her scent, but I pat her hand.

  I take a look at my dad. He’s resumed watching the twelfth inning as though he hasn’t missed a single pitch. “Dad seems to be handling my accident quite well.”

  “Oh, you know him. He’s ESPN all the time.” Mom shakes her head. “I’m the big old cry baby.” She holds up the pajamas. “Do you want me to help you with these or can Sam do it?”

  They’re both staring at me. My gaze flicks from Sam on my right to my mother on my left. “I�
�ll manage. It’s okay.”

  She ignores me, and I sense a pattern to our relationship as she cocks an eyebrow at Sam. “You’ll help her?”

  He nods and kisses the top of my head. “With whatever she needs. You have my word.”

  Apparently, that’s enough for my mother to pat my cheek and smile down. Tears spring to my eyes. I can’t account for all these feelings except to say that they are a response to the situation. I hope I don’t blubber like this all the time.

  Dad leaps from his seat and cheers as a run scores and the game ends.

  Mom rolls her eyes. “We’ll come back later on.”

  I nod and nestle back into the crook of Sam’s shoulder. He gives me a little squeeze and closes his eyes. “Do you want to change now?”

  I don’t want to move. I can’t possibly get closer without crawling into his skin with him, but I try. “Maybe after we nap?”

  “Okay. Are you sure?”

  To be honest, I’m more concerned with what condition the rest of my body is in. I know for certain his shape—extraordinary—and I want to investigate myself more closely before he gets a good look. As silly as it sounds, I want to make a good impression.

  He sleeps through the afternoon, and I steal that time to watch him. Expressions dance across his face as his dreams transport him away to somewhere that makes him smile. I could look at him forever and be all the better for it.

  Around four, a nurse armed with my chart and a small tray of pills shuffles next to my bed. “The beds are really only for patients.”

  I give her a smile. “If he had his arms around you, you wouldn’t let him go either.”

  He’s awake now and tightens the wrap around me all the while pretending to still sleep, but his breathing is different, less peaceful.

  “Still, when the doctor comes in, he’ll have to move.”

  I don’t want to be rude, but I want him to stay right where he is. She goes about jostling the bed as much as she can, disturbing him in the most passive-aggressive manner she can manage.

  He doesn’t make it easy for her. He’s a lot of man to move around, and she struggles until finally, with a huff and a wipe of her brow, she gives up. “I’ll come back later, and we can get you up a bit. Maybe try walking a little?”

  I nod because I want to walk out of here. “Thanks.”

  When she’s gone, he turns on his side and kisses my cheek. “Is this okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  CHAPTER 4

  SAM

  I don’t know the exact reason for the change in my wife, but I know I don’t mind her hanging onto me, needing me for more than my checkbook and credit cards. I don’t miss the bite to her tones, the contempt in her eyes. I like the way she watches me now, the way she loses her breath when she says my name, the way she fought to keep me by her. She looks like she put eyeshadow in all the wrong places, but she’s never been more lovely. My heart is bursting with all the feelings I’ve been hiding over the last few months.

  I can’t remember the last time she let me hold her, love her. For the last six or seven months, I haven’t touched her—rather, haven’t been allowed to touch her. Now, she’s gazing at me with a case of hero worship, and I only hope I don’t let her down. I’ll be here for her, no matter how long it takes and no matter what she needs.

  “You’re deep in thought.”

  I have to smile. Anything else doesn’t make sense. “I’m just enjoying my nap.”

  As wrong as it is, I almost hope her memory never comes back. I’m afraid if it does, she’ll go back to resenting all I can’t give her, the things any man with money would be happy to provide. I want a while longer of her loving me before she hates me again.

  She burrows closer, warm and fresh from her shower, and I can’t get enough. Her thoughts mirror mine. “You smell so good.”

  I soak up the rare compliment and kiss the top of her head. “It’s the cologne you bought me for Christmas.”

  “Well, my friend, I have very good taste in perfume for men.” She tilts her chin up. “In men, period.”

  I’m tempted to kiss her, but I don’t. I can’t push anything on her she’ll regret later. The other side of my brain says with any luck, she’ll never get it back. After these last months, I deserve a kiss. Instead, I trace a finger down her nose and push the button on the rail to sit us up. “You wanna change?”

  Her grin makes my heart stop. “Are you trying to get me out of my clothes?”

  There’s a melody of playfulness in her voice, and I can’t remember the last time I heard it. God help me. “I want you to be comfortable.”

  My innocence is an act. There’s nothing more I’d like than to get her out of her clothes, but I have a feeling it would be frowned upon by any members of the hospital staff because when that happens, if it ever happens again, it’s going to be very loud. The thoughts and images in my head make me hard, and I shift away, pretending to busy my hands by removing the tag from the tank top her mother purchased. “Just thinking of you.” But it’s more, and the gleam in her eye says she knows it.

  “That’s very generous of you.”

  “I’m a generous guy.” My heart is thumping out of my chest, and I can’t imagine how I could love her more than I did before, but if it’s possible, I do. I pray she stays in love with me—if that’s what this is—but I know, as soon as her head is clear, she’ll remember hating me. It’s foolish to let myself hope, but I can’t help it.

  She holds up both hands. “I’m at your mercy.”

  With a deep—d-e-e-p—breath, I unsnap the gown at her shoulders, and instead of holding it in place until I can work the new shirt over her head, she lets it drop to her lap.

  Holy shit.

  I’m not a teenager seeing his first pair of boobs. I’ve seen plenty in my time—mostly hers, but who’s counting? It’s just been so long that I can’t move. My hands are suspended in mid-air, and I’m powerless to do more than stare at her perfection.

  She’s always been a beauty—even before her three-hundred-dollar salon appointments and spa days that almost put us in the poor house—but now, she’s exquisite.

  “You all right, Sam?”

  She’s a vixen who knows exactly what she’s doing. That innocent, wide-eyed doe look reminds me of our beginning, the minutes when we were new to one another, when every sentence was a discovery and every smile a revelation.

  I tell myself it wouldn’t be right knowing what I know and still taking advantage of her anyway. To keep looking is only torturing myself, but what can I say? I’m a masochist when it comes to her.

  She further tests my resolve with a shoulder wiggle, but winces, and as suddenly as I got hard, I’m deflated. I can’t bear her pain. I slip the shirt over her shoulder and hug her to me, soothing aches in both of us.

  I never really thought of myself as someone who would use the word murmur, but there’s no other description for how softly I speak as I comfort her.

  When she pulls back, her tears break me. I grasp a handful of blanket with the pretense of holding myself up; but in reality, it’s to keep from driving my hand through a wall, to know the same hurt she feels so I can understand how to take it away for her.

  As though there are magic cameras in the room, a nurse appears with pain medication, and within a few minutes, Kenzie is leaned back against the pillow dressed and sleeping, mouth open, snoring softly.

  I can only watch her, and for me, that’s helplessness in every sense of the word. When I told her I loved her the first time, I swore to myself I would never let the world or anyone in it hurt her. It was a quiet oath I promised to the sun, the moon, the stars, and to God. Now, I feel the weight of the responsibility behind the words.

  She told the nurse it was her leg that hurt, but for whatever reason, she’d lied, and I could see it in the lines on her face as she winced without moving. Her head hurt worse.

  I would sell my soul to bear it for her, but I can’t, so I’ll make things as easy for her as I ca
n. I don’t care if I have to carry her everywhere she ever has to go. And if I have to do it in the dark to save her the pain of a headache, I will gladly.

  She cries out in her sleep, and I bend to brush the hair off her face, to let her know she isn’t alone even in her dreams. After a moment, her stirring calms, and I can breathe again. Her hair is fanned on the pillow, and even with the bruises on her face, she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.

  Why does she have to be so perfect now? Am I supposed to forget that she was on her way to arrange our divorce when the accident happened? Was I supposed to peaceably settle our affairs into a neat little pile of paper that would break the vows we made? No, I wouldn’t do it, and that’s why she’s lying here now, her memory shattered and her body damaged. I want to forget those details. More than anything, I want to take this person inside my wife’s body and love her until the day I die. If I’m given another chance, I won’t let a moment go by without making her smile and letting her know she’s the only reason I get up in the morning.

  CHAPTER 5

  MAKENZIE

  “Mom, this is Sam Camden. Sam, this is my mom, Veronica Carr.” My mother was impeccably dressed—in Prada, I think—and ever regal in her stance. Though she’s smiling her most gratuitous smile, her eyes betray her and my stomach churns.

  I’ve dressed him in a fashionable ensemble I bought as a gift for this night—the man’s choice in clothing runs toward department store fashions. He’s exquisite in a black mock-collared jacket with silver buttons and white shirt with slacks that could have been tailored just for him. He’s tied his hair back in a small bun at his nape—I couldn’t convince him of a haircut—and though he’s the definition of romance novel rogue, he just can’t portray one with money. I’ve shined him up like a new penny, and still, Mom’s found fault in the smile in his eyes.

  Sam extends his hand and waits a beat until it’s certain she’s offering nothing in return. He lowers it to his side, and I slip my fingers through his and give a little squeeze. Fury rages in my veins, but I bite back the anger and paste on a smile.