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Three
“Iwish you’d let me help,” Aubrey complained from her parents’ wide front porch. She held the front screen door open for her father, who wrestled the remainder of her luggage into the house.
Her mother bustled in after him, arms loaded up with a vase of fresh, colorful flowers, a teddy bear with a ribbon around its neck, and several novels. All gifts from Vic, as he’d visited her routinely while she’d been forced to stay in the hospital for observation. The longest week of her life. Especially without the distraction of television or her cell phone. She hadn’t been able to read much, either, thanks to her head hurting if she concentrated for longer than fifteen minutes.
“You’re not allowed to help.” Her mother winked as she issued the warning for the second time. “Stop being so stubborn.”
“I’m not.” Aubrey followed them inside with a shake of her head. She hadn’t magically regained her memory during that week of abject boredom, but the nurses and her doctor assured her that patience was key.
She trailed behind her parents as they dropped off her things in her old bedroom, now a guest room. The days of posters taped to the wall and rows of journals and stationery on the desk were long gone. Her mother had chosen a sophisticated color palette for the room. Muted blue-gray tone for the duvet as well as one accent wall. The other walls were painted eggshell white, including an upcycled dresser and the nightstands on either side of the double bed.
“It’s like a hotel.” Aubrey poked her head into the recently painted bathroom. “You said you were remodeling, but I had no idea it would look this different. Unless I’m forgetting?”
“No, no.” Her mother waved her off. “You haven’t seen it yet. I just did it!”
“Well, I like it.” It would have to do, since Aubrey wasn’t able to return to her apartment yet. Her apartment, which was decorated in the colors... She paused, her hand frozen on the bathroom light switch as she tried to picture her apartment.
Nothing.
“You all right, dear?” Mary asked.
“Yes. Totally fine.” But Aubrey wasn’t fine at all. She’d called up a blank rather than being able to picture her own bedroom. The way she’d called up blanks in many areas of her life. Some moments were crystal clear and bright. Others were lost in a black, cavernous void.
“I’ll start dinner. Come on, Eddie. I need you to fire up the flattop grill for the steaks.”
Her parents wandered down the hallway chatting as Aubrey knelt to unzip one of the suitcases her mother had packed for her. As she unearthed her clothes, she instantly felt better. The patterns and styles were familiar, and she recognized a college sweatshirt as one of her favorite go-to garments. She found lots of sleeveless shirts, her preference, as they showed off arms she worked out regularly at her apartment’s fitness center. Her mother had also packed several dresses, floral patterned and solids alike. Aubrey usually paired her floral dresses with cowboy boots—check—or with her favorite brown sandals. She lifted a jacket and found them, the same pair she’d envisioned, at the bottom of the suitcase. Hugging the shoes to her chest, she shut her eyes and tried to picture walking into her closet.
Again, nothing.
She blew out a sigh and reminded herself not to rush. Dr. Mitchell had discouraged her from trying too hard, which had caused several headaches already. Aubrey had hoped she’d be able to picture something as mundane as a closet, though. Maybe if she instead thought of being in her bedroom... Eyes still closed, she pictured Vic setting a mug of coffee on the nightstand right before he kissed her goodbye. The memory bloomed to life on the backs of her eyelids.
“I’m taking off. I made you coffee.” His voice was low and rocky. His sexy morning voice. It seemed like eons since she’d heard it.
“Okay.” She opened her eyes to take one last look at him. He was wearing last night’s jeans and flannel. He needed to shave, but then again, no, he didn’t. She preferred a bit of growth on that firm jaw of his. As long as he didn’t grow it out too long to completely hide the divot in his chin, she wouldn’t complain. Not to mention how talented he was with the mouth surrounded by that scruff. She could still feel it grazing the insides of her thighs...
“Mmm.” She opened her eyes and smiled as the puzzle pieces slid together. Vic had walked out of her bedroom while she’d hugged her pillow and watched his very fine ass retreat down the hallway. She could picture the decor of her bedroom clearly now: crisp, clean navy blue and white, with framed black-and-white photographs hanging on the wall. One of a mountaintop, one of a steer peeking through a wire fence.
She remembered.
She’d sat up in bed and sipped her coffee, several naughty and delicious details of that night dancing in her head. Sex with Vic had been exquisite. From the moment he’d peeled off his shirt and revealed a tanned, thick chest. So familiar and yet so different from when they’d first been together. To the moment he’d slipped her out of her clothes and laid his lips on her collarbone. Her skin had sizzled the moment his mouth touched her bare flesh, and when he’d pulled one of her nipples onto his tongue, she’d nearly burst into flames.
She remembered their night together, all right. None before it, which was odd, unless she counted her early college years. There seemed to be an awfully wide gap in her recollection...
“Progress is progress,” she said aloud, pushing out the threat of panic. Dr. Mitchell had told Aubrey to expect her memory to come back gradually. She’d take the small progress she’d made today as a win. She wasn’t going to beat herself up for not remembering everything all at once.
She stored her clothes in the dresser and hung her dresses in the closet. At least she’d remembered her evening with Vic—an entirely lovely memory.
Downstairs, she found her mother chopping vegetables for a salad. Aubrey nudged her out of the way and began slicing cucumbers into neat rounds, unreasonably satisfied when the slices were even. She hadn’t lost her ability to cut veggies, or walk, or chew. She had so much to be grateful for.
“What time’s dinner?” she asked her mom.
“Forty minutes or so. I have mac and cheese in the oven. That’ll take the longest.”
“I love your mac and cheese. I’ll let Vic know.”
Knife poised over a tomato, Mary regarded her daughter with raised eyebrows. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Dad is going to have to learn to live with disappointment. Me being here is an adjustment for all of us, but I’m not changing my day-to-day lifestyle just because I’m under your roof. I’m thirty years old, and if I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t.”
