Page 5 of Eternal

TANA

When I come out of the bathroom, he’s waiting for me with his head slumped in his hands. He looks up when I clear my throat. God, he looks so tired. Worn slap out. I feel a stab of empathy.

It’s not his fault that I’m here. It’s not anyone’s fault besides the person who hit me. But they are dead, and I have no one else to blame. No one else I even know. He’s the only person I recognize in my strange new life aside from the nurses and doctors who tend to me. There are others who came to visit, but I’ve already forgotten their names. Friends, neighbors. Alec’s coworkers.

He seems so determined to bring the before-me back, and I’m mad as hell about it. What if she never comes back? What if all he has left is this me? What if the after-me isn’t someone he likes? What if I get used to him and lean on him, and then all of it is ripped away when he realizes I’m not and can’t be the woman he fell in love with?

So when he gets his feet and takes a step towards me, I take one in retreat. I can’t risk it. I may act like a bitch and pretend to be strong, but inside I’m not. Inside I’m as beat up and tender and broken as my good for nothing brain.

This new world is scary and unfamiliar. I recognize nothing. I know nothing. The only thing I’m sure of at all is that all of it can be taken away in a second. So until I’m certain as to what I’m going to do, I can only rely on myself. Trust only me.

Alec’s face falls at my retreat, and he waves the expression away. It’s moments like this when I know I hurt him that I doubt my plan to keep my distance. But I know it’ll be better for both of us in the long run. I don’t know how I’ll do that with his—our—children, but I’ll figure it out.

“I’ll pull the car around to the entrance.” His expression is shuttered, and he sticks his hands in his pockets.

I wrap my arms around my waist and nod. “Thank you. I’ll meet you down there.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll come back up and get you.”

My chin goes up. “I can manage. You can’t keep treating me like I’m glass.”

“Right.” He looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t push it. “I’ll get the car.”

“Thanks.” I wait until he’s out of the hospital room before I relax.

It would be so much easier if the body I’m inhabiting didn’t respond so strongly to him. Thank God I’m not hooked up to the monitors anymore, so my reaction isn’t on display for the whole room to see. In the beginning, they wrote it off as fear or nerves, but I know the truth. Which I will never share. Whenever Alec gets close to me, I feel it down to my soul. The sensitive parts of me tingle and come to life. My brain may be damaged, but my body isn’t. And it knows him. Knows him better than I know myself at this point.

It’s infuriating to respond to him and not really know why or have any control over it. There’s a history there I don’t recall. He knows it, and my own body knows it, but my brain is the problem.

Every time he gets close to me, I want to let him for me into his arms. I want to surrender to his comfort. And that’s what scares me. Because although I should trust him, all I can think about is the fact that I don’t really know him.

All I know is what I’ve been told or learned through eavesdropping when everyone else thought I was asleep.

One, his name is Alec Phineas Dorran.

Two, my name is Tana Markham-Dorran.

Three, we have two children named Paisley and Gemma.

Four, we’ve been married for seven years.

Five, we’ve known each other most of our lives and started dating in our early twenties.

Six, he served four years in the Army until he was medically discharged.

Seven, he is, without a doubt, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. This isn’t saying much because the sum total of my memory is limited to the time I’ve spent in the hospital. But I have a feeling even if I traveled around the world and actually remembered it, he would still be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Keeping my distance from him will be incredibly hard when all my body wants to do is make friends with him.

Now that he’s gone and I’m alone, I think back to the earliest memory I have of him. I had woken up from a drug-induced slumber or coma, and he was leaning over my bed, holding my hand with one of his while the other was stroking my hair. He was so damn beautiful I wasn’t even scared at first. But even if I was terrified, the soothing words he whispered would have put me immediately at ease. His eyes were locked onto mine, and when he realized I was awake, they filled with a sheen of tears. Before I realized what was happening, I put my hand to his cheek.

Then he said my name. And that’s when I realized something was wrong because I asked, “Who is Tana?”

He gave me this look. At first, it was like he didn’t understand what I meant. Then the realization dawned for him and for me. I realized I was supposed to be Tana, and he realized the woman he loved didn’t remember who she was.

He held onto me for a moment longer. As the confusion set in for me, I began to pull away.

I didn’t know this man. I didn’t even know me.

I’d give anything to go back to that split second when I had just awoken and didn’t realize what was going on. The split second when he had me in his arms, and I felt at peace with the world. At home. For that one moment, I knew where I belonged. I haven’t felt that way since.

The real fear is that I’ll never feel like that again.

It’s a struggle to get down to the first floor without the wheelchair. I have to waive liability to the hospital, but I’m determined to walk out of this place on my own two feet. I’ve been doing over a month’s worth of physical therapy to walk again. And I’m determined not to rely on anyone else whenever I can. Besides, I’m lucky to even be able to walk. They weren’t sure I would when I woke up.

Alec is waiting at the hospital's exit. He’s annoyingly reliable. There must be a catch, right? No one can be that good of a person and be so good-looking. Truthfully, it’s unfair.

He’s perfect, from the top of his thick tawny hair to the bottom of his strong feet. He hadn’t been wearing shoes that first night. Long after we went through the back and forth with doctors and exams about the amnesia, he’d finally fallen asleep in the chair next to me with his feet crossed at the ankles and thrown up over the side. For the record, he’s also adorable when he sleeps.

Neither of us says anything as he loads my bags up into the back of the truck. I keep my mouth shut as he opens the door and helps me inside. I’m afraid if I speak all my fears and insecurities will come bursting out. It’s better to say nothing.

I roll down the window to feel the breeze on my face as he pulls out of the hospital parking lot. I’m giddy with excitement and nerves and fear. Everything about this is new. It’s scary and thrilling, and it makes my heart pump wildly in my chest. Not just because I’m in close quarters with Alec, but because I don’t recognize any of my surroundings.

Ravaged. That’s the only word I can think of to describe the landscape around me. It certainly doesn’t resembled the town I grew up in. It’s almost like a giant swiped his hand over the trees and buildings we drive by. The trees are broken a few feet up from the base. Buildings are leveled or are in different states of repair or disrepair. Blue tarps flap over many of the roofs.

“Hurricane Michael hit in 2018. It was a Category 5 and destroyed pretty much most of the area. Battleboro is still recovering,” Alec says when he notices my awestruck expression.

“But it’s 2022, isn’t it?” I can’t help but asking.

He gives me a wry grin that makes the corners of his eyes wrinkle up attractively. Damn him and the fact that even wrinkles make him look hot.

“If you think this looks bad, you should’ve seen it right after. They’ve done a lot of work since, but the truth is, it’ll be decades before it even looks anything remotely normal.”

I feel a lot like the destroyed landscape around me. A ghost of my former self. Never able to be restored to what it once had been.

Tears prick the back of my eyes, and I keep facing the window so Alec can’t see me cry. I haven’t done much crying since the first week. But getting out of the hospital and facing the fact that I have no idea who I am, who the people are in my life, or even where I’m from hits me all over again.

How am I supposed to cope with this? What’s the right thing to do? How do I even begin?

Not to mention all the people who knew the before-me. Like Gemma and Paisley. And Alec. According to him, I even owned my own business. I must have had people who worked with me, customers. How do I deal with all the things they want from me? How do I face their constant disappointment when I’m not who they think I am or want me to be?

I almost beg Alec to drop me off somewhere. Then I remember I don’t know if I have any money. I don’t even know where I would ask him to take me. A hotel? That’s not a feasible solution. I won’t be able to get a job until physical therapy is over. What would I even do? Do I have any skills? My memory is shot. It will also be a while before I can go out in public because of the still-healing bruises and bandages covering my sutures. It’s hopeless.

The truck stops, shocking me out of my self-deprecation spiral. I glance through the front windshield and find a cute little brick house in front of us. There’s a two-car garage at the end of the driveway, a small, covered porch, and a bright blue door.

That little detail is enough to distract me, at least for now. Alec doesn’t seem like the type to have a bright blue door. He’s more of a no-frills kind of guy. I realize with a jolt his wife probably picked the color. Probably bullied him into it. Then another jolt. His wife was me.

I start breathing rapidly. I’ve been confronted by the reality that we are married. But it’s not until I see the door that all the implications hit me. I’m going to walk into a house full of these little details of a life together. Pictures, videos, children. It almost makes me want to ask him to take me back to the hospital.

But then he’s getting out of the truck and opening my door. I don’t know why the action makes my heart go all soft, but I don’t argue with him, which surprises him too as I take his hand and let him help me down. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it and simply gets my bags from the back of the truck.

I’m frozen in the same spot where he left me when he puts a hand on my lower back.

It shocks me enough that I step toward the house, my eyes catching a quick flutter of the curtains in the front window. Despite my fear and my nerves, it makes me smile. It’s a sad smile, but it distracts me from the feel of Alec’s hand on the sliver of skin between my shirt and my jeans. Two little girls peer out from a thin slit in the curtains.

I don’t know what I expected to feel when I saw them for the first time, but all I feel is apprehension. The only thing I remember about children is being one myself—and even that isn’t a perfect recollection. These girls deserve so much more than a broken person. They deserve the mother who grew them and gave life to them. Who raised them and loved them.

I reach for Alec’s hand as he tries to move around me with my bags. He stops and looks back with a lifted eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“What do I say?”

Alec glances back at the curtains, and we both watch the girls duck out of sight. “Be honest. They may be young, but they’re smart kids. We’ve talked a lot to them about what happened and how you won’t remember them.”

When I still don’t move, he turns toward me. I hesitate, then say, “I don’t wanna hurt them. They’re just kids.”

“Let me worry about all of that. All they care about is seeing you and that you get better. You may not know them, but they know you and love you very much. All I ask is that you don’t make them any promises and treat them with kindness.”

I blow out a long breath. I don’t even know if I’m good with children. But I can handle those two things. Before I can forget, I take out my phone and jot down those requests in the notes app.

“All right,” I say and follow him up the short walkway to the porch.

He opens the door, and I’m met with the scent of apples and cinnamon. Like someone just baked a fresh apple pie, which couldn’t be more fitting, really. From what I’ve learned so far, Alec and his family seem to be the perfect American pie family. Like the ones I’ve seen on countless television commercials. The kind of life and family little girls dream of. It smells like what I imagine a home would smell like and even though this is technically my home, it causes a little hitch in my stomach when I realize it doesn’t feel that way.

Is it possible to be jealous of yourself? Because I am. Intensely. Especially when Alec stands by his two daughters, and they all turn and look at me. I want to belong to them. Somehow knowing that I used to makes it worse.

“Hello,” I say steadily as I can. My hand tightens around my phone, and it bites into my palms. “You must be Gemma,” I address the taller one. “And you must be Paisley,” I say to the smaller. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The first girl frowns and narrows her brown eyes at me. “No, I’m Paisley,” and then points to her younger sister, “and this is Gemma.”

Gemma giggles. “Hi,” she whispers shyly.

I give them a small smile. “I know. I was just joking with you. Your dad showed me pictures. I’m really sorry for everything that’s happened.”

Gemma has a hold of Alec’s hand, and Paisley stands nearby. She’s not as trusting and lighthearted as her sister. I wonder how I can tell that already. Maybe because she reminds me a lot of me. And then my heart cracks open when I realize she looks like me too.

Both girls have my blonde hair color, but that’s all the two sisters have in common. Gemma looks like her father. The same square-shaped head, the same wide full lips. Even their eyes, almond-shaped and a warm honey brown, match.

Paisley has my somewhat deeply set, hooded eyes. Hers are an identical pale, almost gray-blue. The same thin mouth. And her facial structure is longer and leaner than her sister’s.

Gemma may look completely different, but she has the same beauty mark on her right lower cheek that I do.

Like everything else, it’s strange to see myself reflected in their faces and not know them.

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