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“He doesn’t remember me, Saxon. How is it going to be okay?”
His saddened sigh says it all.
“Did my parents say anything to you?”
“Let’s sit,” he suggests, breaking our embrace and placing me at arm’s length. I’m afraid to know why he thinks this next conversation needs to take place while I’m seated. However, I slump onto the infamous bench.
As he lights a cigarette, I appreciate the way the sunshine catches the blond in his hair, contrasting the woven strands of brown. It suddenly hits me that Saxon is now more familiar to me than Samuel is. The person sitting in Sam’s bed is a stranger.
“Your dad was sketchy on the details,” he says after blowing out a ring of smoke, “but Dr. Kepler thinks Sam has some form of amnesia. He can only recall certain things, places, events. And people,” he adds regretfully. “He has holes in his memory.”
“And I what? Fell through one of them? How can he not remember me?”
He raises his shoulders in defeat, looking just as baffled as me.
Trying to get my head around it, I state, “He obviously remembers you. What about your parents?” He nods, taking a pensive drag of his cigarette. “My parents?” He nods once again.
“How is that even possible?” I run a hand down my face in frustration.
“He recognizes them, but can’t place how he knows them.”
“So basically, he remembers everyone but me.”
“Lucy, no,” he refutes, sensing my pain. “He doesn’t remember a lot of things. Your dad said he doesn’t remember going to college, or what he does for work. Or where he lives. He just knows the basics.”
Too bad those basics don’t include me. But I refuse to cry. “Do they know how long he’ll stay this way?”
“No. They need to run some more tests. It’ll take time.”
“So what am I meant do to in the meantime?”
“Keep reminding Samuel of who you are. Whoheis,” he replies with conviction.
“And if that doesn’t work?” I ask, wishing I was as positive as he is.
We sit, lost in thought, both endeavoring to guess what comes next. “Just have faith,” he says, breaking the silence. It’s the second time he’s said this to me. I’m glad he’s more confident than I am.
“So what happens now?”
“We wait.”
“For how long?” I whisper, hating the hopeless undertone to my words.
“For as long as it takes.” He draws the cigarette to his lips, inhaling languorously.
“And if he never remembers me?”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
I sit upright, brushing the hair from my brow. “So you’re staying?”
He lowers his eyes. “I don’t know, Lucy.”
His response disappoints me as I can’t believe after all that’s happened, he would leave.
“Please don’t make that face.”
“What face?” I ask, a little more heated than intended. I don’t know what it is about Saxon, but he brings out a fiery side of me that I didn’t even know existed. Sam and I hardly fought, but with Saxon, it’s a miracle if I don’t throttle him the moment he speaks.
