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I wanted to tell her to wait, to stay for a little longer, but I didn’t. I nodded and tried for a sympathetic smile. “I’ll clean up down here. Sleep well, Megs.”
I let my frustration and my fear over this whole memory loss business fuel me through cleaning the kitchen until it sparkled. When it did, I grabbed my phone, stepped onto the back porch, and called my friend, Ryan Branson.
“Case. Hey, I’m sorry to hear about Megan. What can I do?”
I grinned. That was typical Ryan, just leap in and offer to help no matter how impossible the task ahead. “Can you restore her memories the way you get one of those old clunkers up and running again?”
Ryan had built up his uncle’s auto repair shop and added his passion, classic car restoration, to the business. He was one of the few people in town busier than me.
He barked out a laugh. “I wish I could, man. How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.” I shook my head and dropped down on one of the chairs Megan had insisted we needed, because it made the place look homey. And so we could have a comfortable perch to watch the kids we would have eventually. “She has Megan’s face. Her smile. Her laugh. Every time I look at her, she is Megan. But not to her.”
“She will get her memories back, won’t she?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “Chances are good that she will, but there’s always a chance she won’t. And there’s the issue of how long it could take to recover her memories.” I didn’t even want to think about it taking years. “What if she becomes someone else?”
Ryan was quiet for a long moment, because that was how he was, always thinking everything through before he spoke. “Are you worried you won’t love that someone else as much as you love the Megan you know?”
“Maybe a little.” I hadn’t thought of it until she’d wondered if her big life was to be pursued outside of the life we had made here in Jackson’s Ridge.
“Are you more worried that the new version you’ve conjured in your head might not love you?”
“Not until you put the thought in my head,” I growled.
Ryan laughed. “Bull. That’s why you called me, because you needed the truth.”
“Or maybe I called for your expert advice.”
“Unlikely. Megan knows that you love her and she loves you back, she just doesn’t remember it. Persy has no clue.”
“If only there was some way you could just open your mouth and say the words to her face,” I joked.
“I’ve tried, but my mouth can’t say the words.”
“You’ll get there,” I assured him because I believed it. Maybe I was just a romantic, or maybe I needed that hope for myself.
“Thanks, but we were talking about you. What’s the plan to get Megan to remember? A stroll down memory lane like those romantic comedies the girls love to watch? Start with the one about that chick who can’t remember anything the next day.”
I let out a loud laugh and shook my head. “Did you seriously just suggest that I use an Adam Sandler movie to remind my wife how much we love each other?”
“Why not? It worked for that chick.” Amusement colored his tone, but I knew Ryan was half-serious.
“It’s better than any idea I’ve had, which is none. So far.”
“Then you have to at least consider it. If it works, I’ll be happy to take credit for it.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Ryan laughed. “If it doesn’t, then that’s all on you, my friend. I’ll text you if I have any other great ideas.”
“Thanks. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
“Later.”
I stayed in the backyard for long time after the call ended, trying to figure out the best path forward with Megan. I hated that she flinched when I came into a room, not out of fear, but because she didn’t remember that I was around, that I was her husband. It killed me how easily our story had been wiped from her mind.
It was so damn unfair.
But fairness never factored into things in life, and I knew that. It was time to stop worrying about what was fair and what wasn’t, and to focus instead on the present. I had to focus on my goals and how to achieve them, the same way I always did.
Megan
The sound of the doorbell ringing startled me out of my thoughts, which was a relief since the only thoughts swimming around in my mind were getting back my memory and trying to figure out who Megan Jackson really was. The bell rang again and I sighed, pushed away from the counter with more force than necessary, and made my way to the front door with wary steps.
Who would be at the door? Did it matter when I wouldn’t remember them anyway?
