Текст книги "From the Wreckage"
Автор книги: Melissa Collins
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“You can’t do that.” Frustrated, Mom turns to Dad, begging him to make me understand. “Talk to your son, please. I need to go get some coffee.” Breezing past him as she walks out of my hospital room, Dad cups his face in his hands.
“Listen, I know you don’t want to–”
“I’m not moving in with my parents.” Standing at the window, I look out at the scene that once brought me some solace. Now, it just annoys the shit out of me. It turns out that one week is all it takes for cabin fever to set in. Well, that and the two weeks and two days I spent in here unconscious. Dr. Thompson informed me this morning that I would be discharged today. My recovery is nowhere near over—and I’m not even talking about the memory part. That’s still more than fuzzy.
Having suffered nerve damage on my right side, I’ll need weeks of physical and occupational therapy to regain full motion in my right arm. And my leg, well it’s broken pretty badly. Which in turn means that I need to use crutches to help me hobble around.
And that’s where the argument with Mom comes in. Despite Dr. Thompson reassuring her that I’m strong enough to live on my own, she won’t hear of it. It doesn’t help that my apartment is up a flight of stairs, either.
“You know she isn’t going to let up on it.” Dad joins me at the window, dropping a hand to my shoulder. “Just for a few weeks. Do a little rehab and heal a little more. Prove to her that you’re doing better and then she’ll ease up.”
“No.” I stand to my conviction. “I’ve felt like enough of an invalid these last few weeks. I’m going home and that’s–”
“You’re going home?” Grace’s shocked voice calls out from the door. Her face lights up, bringing to life the hundreds of freckles dotting the creamy skin of her nose and cheeks. “Oh my goodness. That’s fantastic news. I’m so happy,” she rambles on. Fuck if I’ve tried my hardest, but I still can’t remember who she is, what part she played in my life. But in the week since I’ve been awake, she hasn’t missed a day of visiting me.
That tells me something no memory can offer.
I nod, walking over to my bed. “Yes, I can go home. And that’s exactly where I’m going.”
“So you’re still stuck on that?” Mom stands at the door, Dr. Thompson at her side. “Please tell the doctor what you think you’re going to do.” Grace watches on as if she’s a spectator at a ping pong match.
“Oh, great,” I huff, settling down onto the hospital bed.
“David. I think it’s in your best interest to stay with your parents for a while.” The doctor looks down at my mother, her face splitting into a huge ‘I told you so’ smile.
“No way,” I challenge him.
“Look.” His face softens as he approaches me. Sitting in the seat usually reserved for visitors, he addresses all of us. “You’re young and strong and those things have helped you tremendously in your rather quick recovery. But your leg and arm, those are damaged enough that you’ll need someone there to help you. I’m not saying you need around the clock help, but you shouldn’t live on your own at first. Besides, you can’t drive. So you’ll need the help. And,” he adds as he stands from the chair, “being somewhere familiar might bring back some of your memory. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your discharge papers and the contact information for the rehabilitation center. I believe it’s the same one where your friend is staying.”
I don’t know if I was an angry man before the attack, but it’s not something I like about myself right now. Yet I have no other way to deal with what I’m feeling. Essentially, I’ve been reverted to a child. I can’t drive on my own. I can barely walk. And now I have to move in with my parents.
“John,” my mother calls out. “Come over here and help me pack up some of these things.” Busying themselves with the flowers, cards, and clothes I have here, they leave me and Grace alone.
Grace walks over to me, letting my parents pack up on the other side of the room. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think the doctor is right.”
“You’re right. It isn’t any of your business.” She pulls back from me, as if my words physically harm her. Immediately regretful of my meanness, I apologize. “I just want to get back to my life. The parts I remember at least.” And some of those parts have been coming back to me. The firehouse. My fellow crew members. My job and what a big part of my life it is. With every visitor, I gain a small piece of that part of my life back.
So when Grace suggests, “You could stay with me,” a million thoughts race through my brain. The primary one is that I still don’t remember her completely. It would be so unbelievably unfair of me to take her up on this offer in the blind hope that I might remember her. It’s clear she cares for me, that she remembers what we once were, that she wants it all back.
How cruel would it be for me to live with her? To offer her a glimpse of the life we apparently used to have only to remember nothing. “I’m on the ground level,” she explains. “And there’s an extra bedroom, so you don’t, you know . . .” Her voice turns bashful and her cheeks turn red. “And I work during the day, so you’d have the place to yourself, but I’m home early enough to take you to any doctor’s appointment you might have. And it would ease your mom’s concerns,” she rambles on and on. She takes my silence as a no. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even bothered. You should be with your parents.” She turns away from me, robbing me of the deep, sparkling blue in her eyes.
“Wait.” When she spins back around, something inside slides into place. Maybe it was the sway of her hips. The movement of her bright red hair flowing in long waves. The light in her eyes, that no matter the challenge, never seems to dim. She’s only a few steps away from me, but it feels like it takes me forever to cover the few feet.
Standing in front of her with the help of my crutches, I take a deep breath, weighing my options. For the last week, I’ve been too afraid to tackle this part of what my life used to be. Learning about my family and my job, those were easy enough somehow. But if I try to remember Grace and the couple we used to be, and I fail, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to recover from that.
Worrying her lower lip in between her teeth, she waits for me to say something else, not wanting to push me into something she feels I might not want. “I know you don’t remember me,” she says, cutting through the emotional silence in our tiny corner of the hospital room. “And I know you don’t love me like I love you, but I want to help you remember. And if I can’t . . .”
The end of that sentence seems as if it’s too painful for her to verbalize. And that knowledge is enough for me to say, “Yes. I’ll do it.”
Shockingly, my parents are okay with this move. Based on how adamant Mom was about me moving in with her and Dad, I can only take this to mean one thing: they trust Grace with my life.
That says something that forgotten memories don’t have to.
The two-hour drive back to her apartment takes more out of me than I’d like to admit. The fact that my parents are trailing behind us only adds to the stress. Grace apologizes over every bump and pothole, which in New York is a lot. When we make it back onto Long Island, my parents stop at my apartment, offering to pack up some clothes for me. Part of me wants to go with them, to just head home in the hopes that all my memories would be waiting there for me. But I know that wouldn’t happen. So instead, I go to Grace’s apartment with her.
A vague sense of recollection washes over me as I crutch my way into the door. There’s a framed picture of me and her at the beach. A wisp of smoke filters through my consciousness, but it’s extinguished before I can make anything of it. Balancing my weight, and situating the crutches under my arms, I lift the frame from the table. Standing at my side, she looks at the picture with me. “You threw me in the water that day.”
“I did?” A wide smile splits her face at the somewhat dumbfounded sound in my voice.
“I was tiptoeing along the edge, saying how cold the water was. And you didn’t believe me. Told me I was being a baby. So I splashed you.” Her fingers move on my forearm, resting there comfortably. We both look down at the contact, but neither of us pull away. “You lifted me up over your shoulder and carried me right into the surf. Threw me into a cresting wave and stood there laughing at me when I surfaced.”
“You must have hated me.”
Shaking her head adamantly, she smiles. “Not once. It was one of the best weekends of the summer. We camped out under the stars and ate S’mores for dinner. And then you . . . Well, it was an amazing weekend.”
“What were you going to say?” Dropping the frame back to the side table, I wait for her answer.
“Nothing. It’s not–”
“Don’t tell me it’s not important.” Propping the crutches under my arms, I reach for her. Holding her shoulders in my hands, I squeeze. “Don’t you get it? All of it’s important. It’s all that I’ve forgotten and if I don’t have someone here to tell me about it, well, then it never happened in the first place.”
Wiggling out of my grip, she laces her fingers with mine, a stark contrast to the cold metal at my side. “We made love all night and then again as the sun rose above the water. Sand got into places it shouldn’t ever be, but we were happier than anything. Lying there, watching the sun rise, it was one of the happiest moments of my life.”
Without even thinking about it, my hand moves to the side of her face, stroking over the round apple of her cheek. “I wish I could remember it all. Every single moment. Just the way you remember them. All the details—the sounds, and smells. How everything felt.” My voice wavers. “I just can’t. They’re not there, yet.”
“They will be,” she reassures, squeezing my hands in hers.
When my parents return with my clothes, they drop off some takeout as well. Exhausted from the long day, they excuse themselves. Lingering at the door with Grace as they make their exit, I know they’re all talking about me, but I don’t have the energy to care.
“You all settled in there?” Grace leans against the doorframe of the bedroom she’s spent the last hour fixing up for me.
Scanning the room, I take stock of everything she’s brought in to me: water, a snack so I don’t have to trudge my way inside if I wake up hungry in the middle of the night, the remote for a television that’s barely across the room, fresh clothes and towels if I want to shower. I’m holding off on that one, knowing I’ll need way more help than I care to take right now. All I need is the kitchen sink and I’ll be completely covered. “Yeah, I think I’m good.”
“Okay. I’ll leave you alone then. Have a good night’s sleep. See you in the morning.” Before closing the door completely, she adds, “I’ll be right in the next room if you need anything.” Watching her walk away, I wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
Stuck in a vortex of nothing, all I see is black. Stretching out my arms around me, I can ’ t feel anything. With trepidation, I step forward, keeping my arms outstretched. After a few steps, the ground changes. From hard concrete, cold under my bare feet, it fades away, turning into warm grains of sand. The darkness fades, a sun comes into focus in the distance. With each passing step, the sun lifts higher into the sky.
In the distance, I see a small tent. It ’ s far enough away from the shore so it doesn ’ t get wet, but close enough to catch the spray of the surf. Taking a deep breath, the salty air fills my lungs. I ’ m happy. The feeling spreads all over my body, warming my limbs, bringing a smile to my face.
As I walk to the tent, a woman steps out. It ’ s Grace, her fiery red hair flowing in the light breeze. With a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she stares out at the ocean. She looks happy. Blissful, actually. I open my mouth to say something, to catch her attention, to call her to me. Yet, before any words come out, a man steps out of the tent behind her.
It ’ s me. Stretching my arms above my head, I reach to the sky before letting my arms drop around her. It ’ s an oddly surreal scene to watch. I ’ m standing here watching a scene from a life I don ’ t remember play out in front of me. I ’ m watching me hold the woman I ’ m supposed to love.
They don ’ t notice me at all as I walk toward them. I don ’ t exist—this new, memory-free version of the man in the dream. They hold each other, letting the cool ocean water wave over their feet as the sun greets them. “ Mornin ,’ babe, ” I say, nuzzling into her crazy hair.
“ Hey, yourself. ” She leans against me, her heat seeping into my bones.
Grace turns around into the circle of his arms, wrapping both of them in the blanket she ’ s holding. Catching a glimpse of her naked body, I feel my own reacting.
She ’ s gorgeous. There ’ s no other word to describe her. Creamy skin, curves for miles. And that smile on her face. It rivals the light from the sun.
He drops the blanket to the sand, lowering Grace to the powder blue fabric in the process. Everything blurs together. There and here. Him and me.
Then it ’ s only me and Grace.
There ’ s no other me—the me who remembers. I become the same person.
Hovering over Grace ’ s body, everything from that weekend falls into place. Capturing her mouth in mine, I taste the sugary sweetness from the S ’ mores. The gritty texture of the sand scratches the palms of my hands. Her scent, vanilla and orange, surrounds me, holding me close to her body.
Sinking into her body is incomparable to any memory I thought I ’ d ever recover. The soundless vacuum in which dreams exists pops to life. “ Gracie, baby, ” I groan into her ear.
Clawing at my back, she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me impossibly close to her body. “ Oh, God . . . oh, God . . . oh, God . . .”
The height of our joint pleasure opens my eyes. Catching a glimpse of something, I ’ m not sure if it ’ s part of the dream or of reality.
“Grace,” I call out. Fumbling wildly, I try to maneuver my crutches. My arms, heavy with the sleep I so desperately needed, aren’t working fast enough. The tray at my side table crashes to the floor. The glass of water crashes to the floor, splintering into a thousand pieces. “Shit.”
Busting through the door, Grace is a disheveled mess. A beautiful, unruly mess of perfection. Her hair is knotted in a messy pile on top of her head. The T-shirt she’s wearing must be two sizes too big. And either she’s not wearing shorts or I can’t see them because the shirt comes down to the middle of her thighs. “What happened? What’s the matter? Are you hurt?” The words fly out of her mouth, not allowing me any time to warn her about the broken glass on the floor.
“Ouch,” she screams out. Hobbling the two more steps over to my bed, she falls to the bed, cupping her bloody foot in one hand. “Are you okay?” she asks, concerned only about me and not at all about the gash on her foot.
“Let me look at that.” Sliding next to her, I pull her foot into my hands. “It’s not too deep. Shouldn’t need to go to the hospital.” Reaching behind me, I lift my shirt over my head. Twisting it around her foot, I tie it into a makeshift bandage. “Sit here.” Moving to protest, I drop a hand to her shoulder, keeping her on the bed. “I’m fine. Trust me. Let me get some things from the bathroom and take care of this for you.” She nods, silently allowing me to take care of her.
It takes a little effort and coordination to carry the supplies back into my room while using the crutches, but I manage just fine. Without saying anything, I take care of her foot as best as I can. The shirt seems to have stopped the bleeding enough to allow me to bandage it up without too much fuss. Reaching behind me, I grab a pillow and prop her foot up on it. With her leg stretched out across the bed and mine casted up to right below my knee, I can’t help but laugh.
“We’re quite the pair, huh?” Tipping my chin back and forth between our injuries, a bubble of laughter falls from my lips.
Her laughter sounds like her song. It makes me laugh and smile—things that have been so foreign to my new existence I was beginning to think they’d be gone forever.
When the laughter subsides, the lightness shifts away, carving a path for her concern. “What happened?”
“I had a dream about the beach.” Raking a hand through my hair, I let out a sigh. “I remembered the things you told me. The S’mores, the tent, the sunrise.” Pausing, I add, “Making love.”
“That’s good,” she says shyly. “If you’re starting to piece together what people are telling you, that has to be good. Right?”
“And I remember the older couple. The ones who walked along the beach that morning. The ones who saw us . . .”
Her face falls in shock. Covering her open mouth with her hand, she gasps. A single tear leaks from the corner of her eye, telling me that part of my dream was more than a vision. At some point in our life, it was a reality.
“Ben and Carla,” she supplies their names for me.
“We were done, and they walked toward us. Somehow, we managed to cover up and be decent enough to carry on a conversation with them. We laughed for a solid ten minutes after they walked away.” Closing my eyes, I pull up the rest of that morning. “They invited us for breakfast in their camper and we were shocked to see that it was nicer than a house.”
“You remember all of that?” she says through her growing tears.
“I know it’s not much, but–”
“It’s something. And that’s all we need right now.” Her soft smile lights up her face and she swipes away her tears. “And I’m suddenly in the mood for French toast. Can I make you some breakfast?” Attempting to stand from the bed, she falls back down when she realizes she can’t put much weight on her foot.
Handing her one of my crutches, I say, “Here. You take one and I’ll take one. It’ll probably take us forever, but we can make breakfast together.”
“Deal,” she agrees, lifting herself from the bed.
And like a pair of fools, we make French toast and talk about all the things I can’t remember yet, in the hopes that someday I will.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know.” I’ve given him the opportunity to back out at least five times since the plans came up. Each and every time he’s simply shrugged and said he was fine. Just like now.
Letting out a deep breath, I try my best to let go of my own nerves over today.
If he’s fine with it, then I’m fine with it.
Tapping away at the steering wheel, it’s clear that I’m anything but fine with . . . well, with everything. It’s been about a week since David moved in with me. His memories are still lost somewhere in that vast abyss of nowhere. All he’s been able to grab ahold of is that one memory of us camping out at the beach.
Grasping to the idea that he remembered something when he was given a reminder of the event, he wanted to get our families and friends together with the hope that the rest of his memories would come flooding back.
Driving from my place to his parents’ house, I can honestly say, I haven’t paid attention to the road one bit. My mind is focused solely on the notion that this is a horrible idea. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but something about this day doesn’t sit well with me.
The only thing pushing me forward is David’s insistence on it.
As we pull up to his parent’s house, I wonder if anything looks familiar to him. If he remembers climbing the tree in the front yard with me all those years ago. When I ease the car into the empty spot in the driveway, I notice him scanning the property and I can tell he doesn’t remember anything.
My heart aches for him. He’s so strong and determined, but so broken and alone at the same time.
Covering his hand with mine, I lace our fingers together. He startles at the contact. He usually does—add that to the list of reasons my heart hurts.
“You okay?” I ask, trying my best to keep the pity I feel out of my voice.
“I don’t remember anything. Nothing looks familiar.” Looking past his house, his eyes land on the house that used to be mine. Hope rises in my chest, but it’s gone the moment he turns to me with sadness in his eyes. “Tell me something, please.”
It’s not his reliance on me to spark his memories that makes me smile. The softness in his voice, the calm strength he possesses as he tries to heal—those are the qualities that are making me fall in love with him all over again.
Pointing to the tree in the center of his front lawn, I smile, recalling an early childhood memory. “That tree out there. You bet me that I couldn’t climb to the top. I was only six at the time and we’d only just met.”
“Wait,” he gasps, twisting in his seat. “We knew each other as kids?”
The deafening sound of my heart breaking in half is one that only I can hear. Nodding, I keep my voice low, afraid if I say more than a quick, “Yes,” the emotion clogging my throat will give way to a river of tears. I don’t have it in my heart to tell him more at this point. Maybe another time.
“Did you do it?” His question cuts through my sadness.
“Of course,” I dismiss. “Are you kidding? The cute, older boy next door challenged me to a tree climbing contest. I had to say yes.”
His smile, so big and bright, is like a Band Aid across my heart. “I feel like there’s going to be a big but in there somewhere.”
“No childhood story is complete without one.” Twisting in my seat, I angle my head so I can almost see the top branch. “I made it to the top in no time, but once I got there. Well, let’s just say getting back down was a little bit of a problem.”
“Afraid of heights, huh?” he jokes, squeezing my hand in his.
“No way,” I defend adamantly. “I’m fine with heights, but falling—yeah, that’s high on my list of fears.”
“So what happened?” he asks. His genuine interest in the story is both endearing and difficult to bear. On the one hand, he’s still very much the same David—kind, loving, caring, compassionate. But on the other, he doesn’t remember something that’s imprinted in my mind so vividly.
That was the day I knew David Andrews would always be there to keep me safe. Long before he rescued me from the wreckage of my destroyed home, he plucked me from the top of a tree and soothed away my tears.
And now, he remembers none of it.
Charged with the task of helping him remember who he is and what he means to me is something I’m determined not to mess up. “Well, I was stuck. And it didn’t take long for panic to set in. You said you were going to go get my dad, but I wouldn’t let you leave. When I told you my legs were starting to shake, you climbed up and helped me get down safely.”
“But.” He drags out the word, knowing that there’s more to the story.
Pulling my hand from his, I trace the thin white line on the side of his knee. The contact startles him again, but much less than when I held his hand minutes ago. His skin, warm under my fingers, reminds me of when they touched more than just a scar on his leg. “You cut your leg on a branch. Brushed it off as nothing big, but you needed five stitches. Your parents were pretty angry at you, too. Thought you put me in danger so they grounded you for a week.”
“I’m sure you were pretty angry at me, too.” Looking out the window, I can tell he’s trying his best to recreate the memory in his head, to find a piece of it that’s his own and not from my words. But the tone of his voice suggests that’s not happening.
“I was in awe. I still am.”
And before I can say anything else, his mom steps out onto the porch, waving us to come around back. “Ready?” I ask as I turn off the car. The final words of Keane’s “Somewhere Only We Know” fade away as the engine silences itself.
“As I’ll ever be.”
After unloading his crutches from the back seat, I help him out of the car. I’m far too short to unlatch the gate at the side of his house, but luckily, his father is there waiting for us. “Hey, you two,” he greets us happily, a beer in his hand.
David takes a deep breath as he hobbles into the backyard. John pulls me into a warm hug. Keeping his voice low, he tells me, “Thank you again for helping us take care of him.”
Nodding, I kiss him on the cheek and let out a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
David scans the yard, surely trying to pair up the location with what should be in his brain. His shoulders sag, and I know he’s struggling. Thankfully, his mom cuts in, wrapping her arms around him as if she hasn’t seen him in years. She escorts us over to a table which is already set up with some bottles of water and chips.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, a hopeful lilt in her question.
“Fine,” he deflects. When he sees that he’s going to need to give his mother more than a one word answer, he explains, “I have another therapy session on Tuesday. It went well last week so hopefully this week will go better.” Penny eats up the little tidbits he’s offering her as if it’s her last meal.
“That’s fantastic. You’ll be out of that cast before you know it.” She smiles, and for the first time since his attack, her smile is lighter, less forced. “I’ll let you two get settled.”
“Can I help you with anything in the kitchen?” I ask, moving to stand from my seat. Penny simply drops a hand to my shoulder, gently pushing me back into my chair.
“No, dear. I’m just fine.”
“Okay,” David huffs. “Let’s get the awkward part over with.” Eyeing him carefully, I’m not exactly sure what he’s getting at. “What do I need to know about everyone coming today?”
There’s no sadness or pity in his voice, only the sheer determination to be a part of the life he used to live. Before I have to start the uneasy process of telling him about my own family members, we’re interrupted.
“What, you don’t remember me?” Ian chimes in. Jade pushes him up to us through the freshly cut grass.
“Hey, man,” David greets him, twisting in his chair. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Wheeling himself right next to David, Ian situates himself at the table. “We weren’t sure we’d be able to get the van from the rehab facility. And I sure as hell couldn’t drive myself. You kinda need feet for that,” he jokes. “Didn’t want to let you down if I couldn’t make it, so I didn’t say anything in the first place.”
“Luckily for him, I was free to drive that Scooby-Doo van.” Jade pulls a chair up next to Ian and he smiles at her, proud and warm. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek. David’s eyes fall to their joined together hands on the table and I would pay money to know what’s going through his head.
As David and Ian get lost talking about rehab and what will come after that, Jade and I excuse ourselves to get a drink. “How’s he holding up?” Jade asks with caution in her voice.
“He’s good actually. He remembered something the other day.”
Jade nearly chokes on her wine. “That’s amazing. Tell me about it.”
So I tell her about his memory of the beach and how I cut my foot open. When I tell her about cooking breakfast with him that morning, she gets that dreamy look in her eyes. “What’s that for?” I point to her lost and faraway dark brown eyes.
“You two are adorable, that’s all.”
“I don’t know about that. I mean we’re living together, but it’s not like we’re together. I can’t force him into being with me if he can’t remember me. That’s not fair.”
“Who said anything about forcing anyone? Memories aren’t only in the head. They’re in the heart too. I would risk everything on the notion that you are still very much a large part of his heart.”
Just as the tears sting my eyes, the side gate pops open, revealing my parents and sister standing on the other side.
John and Penny beat me to the punch and nearly race to them as they walk through the gate. “Meredith,” Penny greets, wrapping her arms around my mom so tightly I wonder if she can even breathe.
My dad and John pump hands and do that weird back slap thing. They’d seen each other once or twice in the hospital, but that was obviously not the most ideal of situations.
“Thank you so much for having us here,” my mom says, looping her arm through my dad’s.
“This can’t be Dani!” Penny hugs my sister with tears in her eyes.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She’s polite as ever and it makes me so proud of her.
“Hey, girl” I pull her into a tight hug myself. “How did you get away for the weekend?”
She wraps her arm around my waist, explaining, “Classes are canceled on Monday for Columbus Day so when Mom and Dad said they were coming here, I wanted to join. Plus I haven’t seen you in forever.”
With the group of us together, Penny looks like she’s about to burst. “It’s so surreal having you guys here. It’s been a lifetime.”
“Definitely,” my mom agrees, looking over the fence at what used to be our home. “They added an extension.” Pointing at the top of our old home, I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. But when she pulls Dani closer to her side, I have an idea.
“Listen, about that,” I cut in, keeping my voice low. “David doesn’t remember any of that. At least he didn’t seem to. Maybe we can try to stay away from some of the heavier stuff today.” My suggestion is met with unanimous agreement. “Let’s just have fun, enjoy a meal, and try not to focus on what he can’t remember. That only seems to make him angrier.”
Not wanting to make him feel like we’re talking about him, we break apart before David notices our little huddle. Penny and John retreat inside once more to get what they need for the barbeque. Dani and Jade catch up while they pour everyone some drinks and I bring my parents over to David.
Not wanting to put the focus on David not remembering them, I introduce my parents to Ian first. “Ian, these are my parents, Walter and Meredith.” David nods at me, thankful to have the attention off himself.
“Nice to meet you,” Ian greets them from his chair.
“Likewise, Ian.” Mom sits in the chair next to Ian.
“David,” my father greets him, extending his hand. “Good to see you again.”
A blip of silence descends on the group as we wait for David to say something in return. Tension laces through my body, wrapping itself around my throat. Even though we all know he doesn’t remember much from his recent past, it’s still so difficult to be face-to-face with the person we know and love and watch him struggle.
