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“She doesn’t know me,” I whisper into my hands.
“She knows you! She knows who you are!” Ana argues and I look up at her, shaking my head in denial.
“She thinks she hates me! She only remembers me before her. She remembers the ass I used to be. She hates me.” My chest starts to feel tight again as the words I speak out loud start to sink into my mind.
“She never hated you, even then when she tried to convince herself and everyone else that she did,” Ana reassures me. I feel no reassurance though. I move my hands from my face and up through my hair. I don’t even want to know what my hair looks like right now. It is a mess on a good day, but it has to be standing in every direction. I know I probably look like a bum, and that never used to embarrass me in front of her before. But now I feel like I need to look my best.
“I’m going to run home and take a real shower. Grab some clean clothes, and I’ll bring some more of her stuff back with me.” Her favorite pajamas with the llamas on them. The little essential oil contraption she keeps on her nightstand that I used to tease her for. Her pillow that she always brings with her no matter where we go. Although I finally convinced her to find and buy a new one a couple of years ago. The one she had bought for college was looking extremely rough.
I’ll grab anything that will help to make her feel a little more like herself.
“Okay, take your time. You should try to get some rest while you’re home,” Matthew starts, but I shake my head.
“I don’t want to be gone too long and miss anything.” I get up and kiss Helen on her cheek. “I’ll be back soon.” I pat Matthew’s shoulder, lightly squeeze Ana’s arm, and walk away alone. I can’t handle the pity I see in their eyes anymore.
Our home in North Hadleigh, New Jersey is only about fifteen minutes from the hospital. It’s the very first home we bought together. As soon as I’m behind the closed door, I lose it completely.
I’ve never cried this hard. Not when my mom died, nor when my grandmother died. I cried the day that I married Madeline, but those were different tears. Those were tears of joy that I never thought I would ever experience. Those tears were hope and love.
These tears feel like dread and terrible truth. I keep thinking that she just needs time to feel like herself again. But, what if that version of her is gone? What if this is who she is now? I can’t be mad at her about that because she had no control over what happened to her. She didn’t choose to lose her memories.
She didn’t purposefully turn my life upside down.
I remind myself over and over that it’s only been a few hours, but the worry that is gripping my heart feels like it’s never going to go away. It feels like this is only the beginning.
The thought of never again feeling her in my arms, of never again being able to make her laugh and feel comfortable is enough to make the tears come even harder.
NINE
MADELINE, THEN
The paramedics agree that he is okay. They put some butterfly stitches on his cut and tell him that he doesn’t need further medical attention. Apparently, when the ‘hero’ tackled the gunman and he fired his gun, Decker turned and tackled me to the ground. On his way to the ground his arm caught the edge of the sharp magazine shelf next to us and it tore through his thin sweatshirt and cut him. They wrap his arm in a bandage and Decker makes them check me out too. I explain that my ears were ringing badly, but it’s better now. They check my vitals and ask some questions before they tell us that we are free to go.
“Can I drive you home? Or somewhere else?” I ask him as we walk away from the crowd of first responders. Every fiber of my being wants to fuss over him and take care of him, even though I’m sure he would run in the opposite direction if I tried.
It is getting dark outside now. My car still sits at the pump, filled and ready to go. I start to make my way towards it hoping he will follow.
“No. I’m driving you home,” He says as he walks in front of me. My eyes widen.
“Oh, no Decker, seriously it’s okay,” I try to argue. “I literally live only a few miles away.”
“You live in this neighborhood?” He asks with incredulity. His face and tone make me self-conscious.
“Technically in the town over…and our apartment complex is nice,” I answer defensively.
“Our?” He asks quickly, almost in a panic. His eyes seem to darken.
“Mine and Ana, Ana Reyes. My best friend,” I say, confused as to why that would anger him at this moment.
He nods, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. But he still leads me to the passenger side door before opening it for me. I reluctantly get in and wait for him to get in the driver’s seat. Once he is buckled I ask, “What about your car?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He answers. Well, okay then. He holds out his hand towards me and my eyes go wide. Does he want to hold my hand? I look from his huge hand up to his face, confused. “Your keys, Madeline,” He sighs softly.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” My cheeks turn pink in embarrassment but I pull my keys out of my pocket and hand them over. He doesn’t make any comments about my numerous keychains, but he does look at them for a few seconds before starting the car. My favorites are the fuzzy pineapple and tiny rubber duck, both of them gifts from a young student I used to tutor. Ana always says that I shouldn’t have more keychains than keys, but I think she should keep her opinions to herself.
I give him directions quietly. We pull up to my apartment building just a couple of minutes later. He parks and turns the car off, but I don’t move right away.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not in shock or anything are you?” His words are tight and strained. His face is serious, turning back to its stone-like resting position. There goes the concerned and almost-sweet Decker that I was really enjoying.
