Memories Of Us

Chapter 4

~ Carl ~

"Can I get you anything, boss?"

Taylor has been standing over me for the last half hour. I'm not sure why. Probably because I pay him to, but I don't need a babysitter. "No." I swallow. But I feel something... remorse? This isn't his fault. I'm being an ass. I've been impossible, to everyone. Why is my sense of decorum rearing its f*****g head now? "I'm sorry, Taylor. I know you're just doing your job."

He nods. "Sir."

My mother cautiously exits Abi's room. She folds her arms. "Well, she's back among the living, that's the important thing."

I nod to Taylor, and he moves away, but keeps within sight. "Tell me."

"She thinks she's supposed to take her midterms today. Senior year."

I squeeze my eyes shut, the blood rushes to my ears again. "Christ, she's lost it all." I want to hit something, put my fist through a wall. I've done worse. "How did this happen? Why these memories? Why not her whole life? Why not just the last couple of months? Why did she have to lose me?"

Mom shakes her head at me. "She's lost Ted, too."

Of course. And our daughter. I've got to be the most self-centered bastard in the universe. I swallow, hard. "I know, Mom. I just..."

"Oh Carl," she carefully wraps her arms around me. It's uncomfortable, but I bear it. This is my mother, I remind myself. She must feel my hesitation, because she releases me.

"I'm sorry, Mom... I'm so worked up."

"Don't apologize, darling. We all are."

"This is so..." I shake my head. "Hard."

"I know." She settles for clasping my hand. "We're going to take things slow. You should go home, get some sleep. See Teddy. Abi needs to rest."

"No... I need to stay. She needs me, whether she knows it or not. I can't leave her." I can't decide whether I sound desperate or unreasonable.

"You haven't seen your son in nearly three weeks. Go." She shoots a look at Taylor and physically walks me down the hall toward the elevator, continuing to talk at me. "I'm staying. She's familiar with me now. Her parents are on their way up, when she wakes again they'll be able to reassure her."

I feel the need to dig my heels in, but my mother's grip on my arm is much more firm than I ever recall. "But she'll think I don't care..."

"Nonsense, Carl. You're exhausted. Pick up Teddy, then get eight hours sleep, that's an order. I don't want to see you here before seven a.m."

I open my mouth to argue, then think better of it. I've gone f*****g soft. I stop as she jabs the call button, and the doors open. "You'll call if anything happens. No matter the time."

"Of course. I promise." And she pushes me into the elevator. Taylor follows.

~oOo~

My son is focused intensely on his orange scribble. "Ted?" I call him, hoping offhandedly that it's a nontoxic crayon he's holding.

"Daddy!" he drops the crayon and launches himself at me. I scoop my boy up into my arms and swing him round, clutching him to my chest. I breathe in his hair, his baby scent so sweet and familiar and soothing.

"Did you miss Daddy?" I ask as enthusiastically as I can mAbige.

"No more bi-ness tips," my son insists in his two-year-old lisp. I flash a halfhearted glare at his aunt. I suppose it was a lie as the best form of defense, but evading the question may have been better, like we've been doing when he asks for Abi.

"Sorry," she mouths, balancing my niece, Ava, on her hip.

I nod. " Thank you, for looking after him. It means a great deal."

"We wouldn't have it any other way." Tricia's very fond of Ted. "Your mom called to tell us the news. So... she's...?" Tricia raises her eyebrows.

I return my attention to my son. "Teddy, go find Mr. Leo so he can come home with us," I set him down and his little toddler legs propel him from the room.

Tricia waits patiently. I didn't know she had it in her, but she's mellowed quite a bit since becoming a mother; she's far less unbearable.

"She's... forgotten some things." I mAbige.

"Forgotten?" Tricia asks, alarmed. "Like what... her shoe size? Her name? Is she okay?"

I sigh. "She thinks she's still in college."

Tricia's mouth drops open. "Oh..."

I run my hand through my hair. "Yeah." I shake my head. I won't fall apart in front of Tricia. I sniff, raising my eyes to the vaulted ceiling. "She didn't recognize me."

"Oh, God."

I nod. A silence stretches between us.

"It'll come back to her, Carl," Tricia says, shaking her head. "She has to remember. You're far too memorable to forget for long." Tricia, always resorting to sharp jokes to lighten the mood.

I scoff. "I hope you're right. For once."

"Daddy, go home now?" Ted has a raggedy, stuffed lion clutched under one arm and a soggy cookie in his free hand.

"Yes, we're going home. Say thank you to Auntie Tricia."

Ted blows her a kiss with his cookie hand, and crumbs fly. I offer a smirk of apology.

~oOo~

"...good night stars, good night air. Good night noises everywhere." I close the book; my son is fast asleep. Leaning down, I press my lips to his forehead. "Good night, baby boy. I love you."

I leave his door cracked, night light on. He should be fine, but just in case, I'd set the baby monitor for good measure.

The open door across the hall causes me to falter. I quickly Smith myself and pull that door closed before I see enough of the lilac-and-sage quilt draped over Abi's rocking chair. I'll have Gail deal with packing up those items tomorrow. We won't be needing them now.

My bed looms before me. My stomach tightens. I'm exhausted, but unprepared. The place I lay my head has never looked so unwelcome before. The last time I was here, the last time I truly slept, Abi was here. She was with me, we were together. She loved me then. We hadn't quarreled in a long while. We were having a daughter. Things were good. Really good. And now...

I turn on my heel, returning the way I came. My son, sprawled out near the edge of his big-boy-bed, looks damn peaceful, and I envy him. My eyes droop of their own accord, and I barely make it over the safety railing before passing out. I'm barely aware of my son curling up against my chest.

~oOo~

My phone angrily, albeit silently, wakes me. s**t. It's wedged painfully between my hipbone and the firm mattress of my son's sailboat-themed bed. Ted is still curled against me. s**t. I roll back slightly, my son's body twitching at the movement, and retrieve the offender. Caller ID flashes a picture of my mother. s**t.

"What's wrong?" I whisper harshly, attempting to extricate myself from the bed, pulling the covers over Ted and tiptoeing from the room. The door closes with a soft 'click'.

"Nothing at all, I was about to ask you the same." My mother sounds anxious.

"What do you mean?"

"It's... it's seven thirty."

Shit. "Ted and I, we uh... had a late night," I explain, rubbing my face. "How's Abi?"

"She had a good night. She woke for a while, and Ray and Carla got to talk with her. She's pretty upset, which is understandable, but they've explained some general things to her, nothing about the children, of course. It might be better to let her gradually absorb things."

I sigh. "Yes, that's probably be best."

My mother pauses. This woman who raised me, cared for me, saved my life... I've not treated her so badly, not since I was a teenager... no, not even then. I've been horrendous to everyone, and she's been there for me, for Abi, more than the rest, and hardly looks the worse for it. I'm about to apologize when I hear her voice again. "She's asked to see you."

I feel the blood drain from my face.

"She still doesn't remember, if that's what you're trying to work out. I can hear your gears spinning, dear."

I sigh again. "You know me far too well, Mom."

"Sometimes," she acknowledges. "She only wants to re-familiarize herself with her life. Where most others would be in perpetual denial, she's chosen to face this head-on. You married a strong woman, Carl."

"I did." The thought reaffirms my commitment. "I'll be there soon."

"I love you, darling."

"You too, Mom."

~oOo~

The mirror over our vanity is on my s**t list at the moment. I've never found myself particularly attractive, not the way many women do, but I've steadfastly prided myself on maintaining my appearance. The figure looking back at me when I entered the bathroom was grandly repellent. I'd not realized how utterly the events of the past month had affected my appearance.

Twenty minutes later I'm showered, shaved and dressed, teeth clean and hair tousled in a presentable manner. I had to tighten my belt a notch, but things being what they are, it could be worse.

Teddy isn't in his room. A moment of panic stabs my gut, but relief takes over when I see that Gail has him on the deck, they're sharing waffles at the picnic table. I retrieve a yogurt from the fridge and join them; some vitamin D might do us all some good.

"Good morning, Teddy," I kiss the top of his head and sit across from him. His mouth is stuffed with a sticky mixture of waffle and blackberry jam. "Good morning, Gail."

"Good morning, Mr. Green," Gail flashes a kind smile. "Your mother called me yesterday evening with the news. I hope you're doing all right."

I nod, swallowing a spoonful of yogurt. For the first time in as long as I can remember, my food has flavor. "As well as can be expected." I pause, trying to remember. "It's Thursday, isn't it?"

"It is." She's making faces at my son. I nod, spooning more yogurt. It's delicious, actually. Scraping the remnants of the crushed fruit from the bottom, I scoop it into my mouth and stand.

"I need to get back. I'll be home this evening."

"Would you like anything in particular for dinner?"

I kiss my son's head again. His waffles are far too interesting and delicious to pay his father any mind.  "I'll leave that for you and my son to discuss."

"Six thirty?"

"That's fine." I hesitate on the threshold. "Gail... I wanted to apologize for my recent behavior. You should know that I appreciate everything you've done for us. I hope you can forgive my lapse."

Gail looks floored. It's rare that I speak out-of-character to the staff, and I normally wouldn't, but this is Gail. And furthermore, I need to start setting an example for my son, even if I think he's too young to understand. Abi would expect it of me.

"There's nothing to forgive, Mr. Green," her eyes are sincere, understanding. "What should I say if he asks?" she c***s her head toward Ted.

"The same as before." I consider this, and come to the same conclusion. Our son is only two. The difference between 'Mommy isn't here right now' and 'Mommy isn't here right now' is negligible at his age, but I can't get his hopes up of seeing her when she isn't even aware of his existence. That reunion would shatter them both, I fear. He hasn't asked once since I picked him up yesterday, and I'm not sure whether to be relieved or worried. I settle for an unhealthy dose of both.

~oOo~

My knuckles rap lightly on the heavy door.

Her liquid blue eyes, unfocused and turned toward the window, snap to my face at the sudden noise.

"May I come in?"

Her lips part, breathing quickens. She looks so weak, and yet she responds to me, I think. Her casted arm is slung across her belly, and the other lies limply at her side. She's clean and dressed in soft cotton pajamas. The bandages have been removed from her head, and her hair has been brushed and braided over one shoulder. The irony isn't lost on me.

I take her silence as an affirmative and enter cautiously. She watches my every move.

"I've brought you breakfast," I say, holding up her thermal lunch tote. My mother said you haven't been hungry, but I thought you'd like your favorite." I've reached her bedside and pull out a cup of greek yogurt. I suspect the reason she hasn't eaten is that she's having trouble lifting her non-dominant hand to feed herself, even if it's broth through a straw, and is too proud to admit it.

"No, thank you," she declines softly.

I gulp, regrouping my tactics. She's going to be difficult. I settle myself in the overwhelmingly familiar bedside chair and pull her rolling table between us, setting the yogurt on it and pull out a spoon I took from our kitchen. "Abi, I have to insist," I tell her gently. "You're far too light for my liking."

I'm not sure if it's the sincerity of my knitted eyebrows or the audible grumble that emAbites on cue from behind her cast, but she nods once. I peel back the foil cover. I have to consciously stop myself from blending the contents; my Abi eats hers from the top down. Dr. Sluder just finished telling me that sometimes the slightest action or familiar process can stir a locked memory, and I have nothing to lose. Abi's eyes continue to grip onto me as I bring the spoon to her lips.

"It's good to see you eat," I tell her, remembering a similar conversation in a room not too far from this one. We continue in silence. I study the deep purple-gray rims beneath her eyes, the hollowness of her cheeks, the pallid tint of her skin. The few, light freckles dusting her nose and cheeks stand out in stark contrast.

"No more... please," she resists. The cup is only half empty, barely breaking through the barrier between yogurt and fruit. I want to argue, but think better of it, setting down the spoon and pushing the table aside.

"Thank you," she whispers. She looks exhausted.

"Thank you, for letting me," I tell her.

A long silence stretches through the room. It's not uncomfortable exactly, just unfamiliar. I concentrate on the sound of her light breathing, and she keeps watching me. Looking for what, I don't know.

"Can I do anything? Bring you anything?" I offer.

She sighs, frowning. The 'v' between her eyebrows tempts me, oh what I'd give to kiss her there, for her to let me. I must resist; I refuse to frighten her.

"Tell me something," she decides.

The corners of my mouth twitch upward. She loves it when I tell her stories. "What would you like me to tell you?"

And in the following instant, she captures her bottom lip in her teeth. I inhale sharply. No. I mustn't react... it isn’t appropriate. I close my eyes briefly, willing the autonomic, licentious reaction to cease. When my eyes open, Abi is still staring at me, but she looks frightened. s**t.