During lunch the next day, I hum quietly to Evelyn, more to block out the voices in my head than to soothe her. If I hum long enough, all the noise fades away. But I know it’s just a temporary reprieve.
They’ll be back. They always are.
All around me, patients are either eating or just shifting food around on their plates. There’s a quiet murmur of conversation. A few patients, like me, sit at the same table for all three meals. The rest sit wherever; they’ll talk for a bit, but never long. Most of the time we all eat in silence; forever friendships aren’t exactly created at Fairfax.
Reagan sits across from me today. During meals, she hardly says a word. “Oh, will you stop the fucking humming!” she snaps.
If she could hear the noises inside my head, then maybe she’d get it. I just stare at her, and if anything, I hum a bit louder.
“Seriously, you gotta stop. I’m this close to chopping my ears off and throwing them at you!” For dramatic emphasis Reagan picks up her plastic fork and holds it threateningly to her left ear.
“Don’t listen to her. I think it’s a pretty tune. What song is that?”
Gasping, I lift my head and see Sinclair standing beside my table. Reagan drops the plastic fork and boldly looks him up and down. I can’t blame her. Wearing black dress pants and a white dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned, he looks mouthwatering.
“Hi,” I say dumbly.
“Hi.” Sinclair smiles and points to the empty chair across from me. “Can I sit down?”
I nod anxiously, feeling like a bobblehead doll.
As he scoots his chair in, his legs brush against mine, causing a bolt of awareness to shoot through me.
This is Sinclair’s third time visiting me. Warmth surrounds my heart. My guard lowers. My body relaxes.
“What were you humming earlier?” he asks.
I shrug, suddenly feeling embarrassed that he witnessed that. “Just a little nursery rhyme that Evelyn likes.”
His smile slightly fades but I choose to ignore it because my daughter turns her head and looks in Sinclair’s direction. She smiles at him, and when she likes someone, I like someone.
“Do you want to hold her?” I offer.
Sinclair sits back in his chair, looking shell-shocked. His face drains of color as he stares thoughtfully at Evelyn.
Reagan whistles loudly. “Don’t take this offer lightly, Tall Dark and Brooding. Mommy Dearest never lets anyone hold the baby.”
Sinclair doesn’t reply and apprehension kicks in.
“You don’t have to hold her if you’re not comfortable with it,” I blurt out.
“She looks content in your arms,” he replies quietly.
I paste a smile on my face to hide my hurt feelings. It didn’t occur to me that Sinclair just might not be a kid person. That’s okay, right?
It should be. But for me, it’s not. I want him to like Evelyn. I want him to see her brilliant smiles and hold her in his arms.
“I think she likes you,” I confess.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Does she not like a lot of people?”
I shake my head emphatically. “Oh yes. She hardly lets anyone hold her.”
Reagan spits out her water, spraying little drops across the table. “You’re kidding, right?”
When I dodge her question and glare at her she rolls her eyes and stands up, holding her tray in both hands. “As always it was a pleasure, Mommy Dearest.”
She walks away and harasses another patient. I take a deep breath and focus my attention on Sinclair.
He’s shaking his head. “Is that your friend?”
“Reagan?”
I nod. “I wouldn’t really call her friend.”
“Do you have any friends here?”
Before, I would have gestured to Evelyn and told him that with my daughter with me, I don’t need a friend. But that reply doesn’t hold up like it used to. I need someone to lean on, and to help me as I untangle my memories.
“No,” I finally say. “No friends here…but you’re here now. And you’re a friend, right?”
“I’ve always been here, Victoria.” His hand reaches across the table. It hovers over mine for a second, but at the last second he pulls back. He laces his fingers in front of him.
He’s becoming less and less of a stranger. Feeling and emotions are taking root in me, slowly growing. I see a flash of the memory I unearthed about him: the two of us walking around the house on moving day. The awareness that I had of him when I knew I shouldn’t.
I want to feel guilty. A good person feels guilt. But it’s like trying to force yourself to cry or to care. If it’s not there…it’s not there, and that makes me the shittiest person alive.
I sneak another glance at Sinclair, only to have my gaze collide with his.
“I remember you,” I say so quietly, I’m afraid he can’t hear me.
But he does. His face goes a little pale and I can’t tell if he’s happy or scared.
I have to speak up before I lose the courage. “I remember meeting you at the house. The walk-through that I was late to?”
“You weren’t late. Believe me, I’ve had clients who—”
“—who have been almost two hours late. Now that’s late,” I finish for him.
A small slip of a smile appears on his face. He swallows loudly and drags both hands down his face. “Holy shit,” he breathes. His hands fall heavily to the table. With his elbows resting on the surface, he leans in. “Do you remember anything else?”
“I remember the day we moved in.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He looks momentarily disappointed and I have to stop myself from asking him to tell me what’s running through his mind; he’s thinking about a memory of the two of us. I can see it in his eyes, how they take on a faraway look. There’s a chance it’s the moments I just mentioned. Or maybe not.
Nervously, I lick my lips. “There’s more to us, isn’t there?”
“Of course there is; hasn’t there always been?”
My eyes blink rapidly, trying to push back the tears as much as possible. “I remember your sister too….We had a good friendship, didn’t we?”
“You did. Which I’ll never understand because she’s bossy, and a loudmouth. You two were the complete opposites of each other, yet somehow it worked.” He pauses for a second. “Are you scared to remember everything?”
“Sometimes no. A lot of times, yes. I don’t know how I’ll react to the truth.” My eyes slam closed. I rub the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath.
“Is this all too much?” he asks.
“No.”
Yes.
But I’ll never tell him that.
Sinclair rests his elbows on the table and dips his head closer. I find myself doing the same thing. Those green eyes that border on being a burnished gold stare straight into mine. They’re enthralling, pulling me in when I have every reason to stay far, far away. My gut starts to twist again and my body starts to tingle.
“Tell me something I can’t remember,” I say quietly.
Sinclair looks me straight in the eye. “The very first time I kissed you, I got a taste of your soul and it was everything that I’m not; it was light to my darkness; cheerful to my worries. That moment will always stay with me. You may forget the story of us, but I’ll always remember.”
I think my heart just dropped to my stomach.
I cradle Evelyn just a little bit tighter and ask a question that I know I have no right to ask. “Sinclair, did you love me?”
Very slowly, he drops his hands and stares at me so intensely, so completely my hands start to shake. “I loved you then and I love you now.”