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Pierre laughed a little, embarrassed. “You’re a first-class bastard. Worse: a drunk, a shithead, a whiner, and I could go on…” He put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “But you’re a good person. You’re my friend.”
“That’s not saying much,” Jeremy joked. “Tell me honestly how you see me every other day of the year.”
“Are you being serious?” Pierre asked incredulously. “You’re determined, strong-willed. A sensualist. You love life, and you know how to enjoy it like no one else I know. You like nice restaurants, fancy wine, aged whiskey, lively conversations, politics, your job, soccer, parties with friends, vacations, nice cars. You don’t like assholes, braggarts, your colleagues at work, board games, vegetarian food, religion, religious people, or anything that makes you feel like you’re wasting your time or that gets in the way of enjoying life.”
“What you’re saying…I don’t recognize myself at all,” Jeremy confided, more than a little stunned. “And Victoria?”
“Victoria? She’s the one who saves you every day. She’s your guardian angel, your guiding light.”
“But…How do I behave toward her? Do I love her?”
The question took Pierre by surprise. He scratched his head and furrowed his brow. “You’re asking me? Hard to say. She’s one of your only solid foundations. You know it, and you’re grateful to her.”
“That’s not the answer I expected.”
At that moment, Victoria entered the room. “It’s done. I got the impression he didn’t mind. He was in the middle of a round of golf. He suggested you take time to get well. What are you two talking about?”
“Jeremy. His personality. And you. His way of loving you,” Pierre answered, laughing. “I’m talking to a crazy person.”
“Oh yeah? So how do you love me?” Victoria asked, sitting on Jeremy’s knees.
“Like a crazy person. Pierre’s exactly right.” Jeremy let his gaze wander over Victoria’s face, so near, and he was suddenly aware of his luck.
She squeezed his hand. “Jeremy, I’m worried about you. I think we should see a specialist.”
“Don’t worry. Pierre’s right. Tomorrow, I’ll get my memory back. And if not, I promise I’ll go to the hospital.”
“Unless you forget your promise from the day before,” Pierre quipped.
“You’ll be there to remind me,” said Jeremy.
“What if you go take a nap?” Pierre suggested. “It’ll be good for you.”
At the thought of going to bed, Jeremy felt a ball of anxiety form in his stomach. He used humor to block the images taking shape in his mind. “I want to lie down and relax but not to sleep. What if I make another jump into the future? Five years, ten years, fifty years. I open my eyes and there, horror of horrors, I see a pair of dentures in a cup, and Victoria’s there drooling beside me.”
“Charming.” She laughed.
“And with that, I’ll be on my way,” Pierre interjected, getting to his feet. “I’m going to check up on Clotilde.”
“Would you apologize to her for me?” Jeremy asked remorsefully.
“No problem. I’ll explain everything and she’ll understand.”
When Pierre was gone, Jeremy stretched out on the couch. Victoria disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses.
“We can still celebrate your birthday together.” She handed him a glass. “Are you thinking about your amnesia right now?”
“I can’t think about anything else,” Jeremy said, and then corrected himself when he realized his mistake. “Even if I feel good right now with you.”
Victoria smiled. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I’m asking myself what will happen to our marriage if I don’t get my memory back tomorrow. In the end, our theory about an overnight recovery isn’t guaranteed.”
“But the last time…”
“Was the last time. You can’t make rules based on one time.”
“Don’t worry. If it doesn’t happen, we’ll consult the leading experts. Nothing will spoil our happiness.”
