Eight
I don’t know what to expect when I walk into Samuel’s hospital room the next day. I’ve opened myself up to all possibilities, all possibilities bar my fiancé flirting with Nurse Bimbo.
I should be relieved that most of the machines are out of Sam’s room and he’s only connected to an IV, but I’m not. In this moment, I would rather he be in a coma where he remembers me, than awake, and not remembering me at all.
Two buttons are now undone on Nurse Bimbo’s uniform. It appears professionalism is optional in this hospital. I clear my throat very loudly, interrupting Nurse Bimbo taping a small gauze pad in the crease of Sam’s elbow. She’s leaning in way too close, while he appears that all his Christmases have come at once.
His eyes flick up and I hold my breath, hoping I’ll see recognition. But I don’t.
He looks over my shoulder and smiles. “Hey, Sax. Please tell me you’ve brought some real food. I’m living on a diet consisting of air at the moment. I was in a coma. Not dead. You couldn’t sneak me in some food could you, darlin’?” He has the gall to wink.
Nurse Bimbo laughs, fluttering her eyelashes, which resemble epileptic caterpillars. I curl my fingers, ready to dive forward and strangle her.
Saxon’s gigantic frame shadows me, as he can no doubt read my need for violence. “Sorry, Sam. But I did bring something better.” He nudges me and I ungracefully hobble forward like a wobbly puppet on a string.
Sam finally looks at me, but I wish he didn’t. “Oh, hey…Leanne.”
And suddenly, I’m Baby M again. “It’s Lucy,” I amend, trying to stay strong.
“Right. Sorry.” He pulls an apologetic face. His guilt at not remembering me is clearly evident, but it doesn’t ease the heartache.
He looks remarkably better than he did twenty-four hours ago and I wonder what triggered him to wake up. Dr. Kepler said he responded to stimuli, i.e. Saxon. So what triggered it this time?
My thoughts distract me from wanting to pluck out Nurse Bimbo’s black extensions one by one as she flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll come check on you later.” She stands behind her cart, placing Sam’s vials of blood into a tray.
“Feel free to bring some food with you,” he whispers from behind his hand in a conspiratory manner.
She giggles.
As she wheels her noisy cart past us, she makes no secret she’s checking Saxon out. “I can’t believe how alike you look,” she declares, while I raise my eyes to the ceiling. It appears one brother isn’t enough.
“That would be because we’re identical twins,” Saxon replies, not bothering to mask his apathy.
Both our mouths drop open—hers in shock, mine in humor.
She thankfully takes the hint and leaves. I’m still grinning moments later. That grin sadly disappears however when Sam opens his mouth. “I’m so bored. When can I go home? I can’t wait to get into my own bed and demolish Mom’s pot pie.” He runs a hand over his heavier stubble, oblivious to my internal meltdown.
Dr. Kepler chooses this moment to walk into the room. “Good morning, everyone. How are we all feeling?”
“Can I have a word?” I blurt out, indicating I’m bad, very bad.
Dr. Kepler nods, my desperate tone heightening the importance of my words. Saxon gives me a sympathetic smile as I follow Dr. Kepler out of the room and down the hallway.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Ms. Tucker,” he says, turning around.
Dr. Kepler is the kind of man who was born to be a doctor. His intelligent blue eyes show wisdom, empathy, and compassion—rare traits in a man of his standing. He’s gone out of his way to inform us of Sam’s condition, and not once has he made us feel stupid or meddlesome for asking endless questions.
Like right now.
“I do. The most important is how long will he stay this way?”
I can see the answer, the regret on his kind-hearted face even before he speaks. “We don’t know. Like I told your parents and Samuel’s parents, amnesia is unpredictable. It could be two days, two weeks, two years. And in some cases, possibly not at all.”
“Not at all?” I almost fall over myself, unable to digest the finality of his comment. I brace my hand against the wall to stop my plummet. “But that’s worst case scenario, right? Right, Doctor?” I press when he doesn’t respond.
“No, Ms. Tucker,” he says regretfully. “You need to understand. Sam may never regain those memories back. Segments may return, but it’s like a jigsaw puzzle. He’s missing some vital pieces to complete the entire puzzle. He may be able to get by with the pieces he has, but those missing pieces may always remain misplaced.”
This day has just gone from bad to worse. “So I’m a missing jigsaw piece? He seems to have all the pieces except my piece. How is it possible he doesn’t remember me?”
He pushes his glasses up his nose. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”
But I do. No matter what anyone says to me, I can’t not take this personally.
“Let’s just focus on the positives and get him well. Dr. Yates, an expert in this field, will be coming in today to talk to Samuel. She’ll be able to test his cognitive responses and give us better insight into where Sam is.”
I nod as it’s too much to process.
“In the meantime, help him find the pieces by looking in the right places.”
His comment stirs a ray of hope. “What do you mean?”
“Bring in photographs, watch his favorite movie, wear his favorite scent, anything that may help him remember who he was. Try and evoke those feelings of familiarity by associating today with yesterday. Jog his memory to why he loved the things that he did.”
One of those things used to be me. I thank Dr. Kepler, taking his advice on board.
Sweeping my palms over my face, I scrub away my sadness, as I’m determined to make Sam remember me. Inhaling then exhaling loudly, I untie my long blonde hair and shake it out around my shoulders. Digging into my pocket for my ChapStick, I apply a coat and smack my lips twice. This cherry flavor is my favorite and I never leave home without it. Maybe if I gave Sam a kiss, he’d remember the taste and smell. It’s worth a shot.
Smoothing out my hair, I flick it to one side, hoping to give my flat locks some body. When I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window across the hall from me, I understand why Sam doesn’t recognize me. I currently resemble the living dead. I barely recognize me.
Looking down at my scuffed black Chucks, blue skinny jeans, and tattered Beatles t-shirt, I decide to make more of an effort tomorrow. No more grieving and feeling sorry for myself. If I want Sam back, then I’ve got to show him the girl he fell for.
Pulling my shoulders back, I stroll into Sam’s room with a staged confidence because I’m burning up on the inside. Both Sam and Saxon turn when they see me enter. Sam looks completely and utterly untouched, while Saxon swallows. I don’t know why, but the look makes me feel…pretty. My cheeks instantly blush.
“Did you bring any food?” Sam asks, sitting up to see if I bear any bags in hand.
My cheeks redden for a different reason this time. “No, I didn’t. But I have food for thought.” He cocks a brow.
Saxon stands off to the side as I walk towards Sam’s bed. A whirlwind takes flight within when Sam narrows his eyes, indicating he’s listening. It’s a mannerism so like the old Sam. It hurts that I’ve grown to refer to him in this way.
Opening up my bag, I reach inside for my purse. Both brothers watch closely as I hunt through the pockets. Pulling out two tattered photographs, I run my fingertip reminiscently over the first one before flipping it around for Sam to see.
He stares at it for the longest of times, small lines etching along his brow.
“It’s us at prom, Sam,” I explain, remembering my blue silk gown and how handsome he looked in his tuxedo. I also remember what took place in the hotel room afterward. My cheeks heat at the memory of me losing my virginity to the man of my dreams.
He leans forward and takes the picture from my hand. His eyes are fixated on the image and I can see it. He’s trying to remember this moment in time. I can only imagine how strange it must be for him to look at an image and have no recollection of it.
“We look happy,” he says, which warms my heart.
“We were. We met when I was sixteen and you were seventeen.”
“How’d we meet?”
His interest has me edging forward. “We met at school. In the library, actually. I knew then that I loved you. I felt the spark from the moment we spoke. The moment we touched.”
The room is silent. Stale.
I unhurriedly take a seat on the bed beside him, ensuring I don’t smother or crowd him.
“And this picture.” I pass him the next one. “Is us in front of our home.”
He accepts, his eyes widening. “We live together?”
“Yes. On the day of your accident, we were going to get married.” I leave out the details, as I don’t want to overwhelm him.
“What?” he gasps, his face paling. He looks at Saxon for confirmation. “Is it true, Sax?”
I meet Saxon’s eyes. He looks torn. “Yes, Sam,” he replies a moment later. “It’s true.”
“How old am I? How old are we?”
Saxon swallows. “We’re twenty-seven.”
“What year is it?” His chest begins to rise and fall.
“2014.”
“No. It can’t be.” Sam shakes his head violently, disbelieving.
“It is,” Saxon confirms soberly.
“Where do you live?” he asks, sitting upright.
“In Oregon.”
“Why?”
Saxon averts is gaze.
“Sax, why?” Sam presses, his tone incensed. “Why would you move so far away from me?”
“Things change,” he replies, leaning against the wall and bracing his boot against it.
“What happened to our pact?” When Saxon remains quiet, Sam continues. “We promised to move out together after high school and live the college life. We promised to party hard, pick up chicks, and live the wild life. We promised to hitchhike around the country together if we both didn’t get into the same college. We promised that one day, we’d get to sunny California and surf the biggest waves. We promised to never let anything, anyone come between us. Do you remember that?”
“We were eight,” Saxon refutes, but his argument doesn’t deter Sam.
“Do. You. Remember?” he repeats, pausing between each word for effect.
“Yes.” Saxon sighs, his cheeks puffing out.
“So what happened?”
Silence.
I suddenly feel my pulse spike because the air is charged with anger and accusation.
“I know,” Sam snarls, his irate gaze landing on me. “I know what happened. You happened. You took my brother away from me.”
“What? No.” I shoot up, latching onto his forearm. “Sam, no.”
But he shakes his head, tugging his arm out from under me. “There’s a reason why I don’t remember you.”
That’s my cue to walk out that door, but I don’t. I need answers. “Why?”
With nothing but venom lacing his words, he declares, “Because maybe I don’t want to.” He holds up the photographs, flailing them in my face. “Maybe I want to forget these memories because I want to forget you.”
“Sam, stop it!” Saxon rushes forward, standing at the foot of the bed.
“Why are you sticking up for her?” He points at me, his finger accenting his anger.
“Because she’s done nothing wrong. You’re upset and angry; we get that, but stop being such a jerk.”
Sam shakes his head, aggravated. He doesn’t hide his annoyance and jealousy that Saxon is taking my side. “Get out.”
Sam’s harsh words bring home the gravity of this situation. “What?”
“Sam…” Saxon’s constant need to defend me seems to infuriate Samuel further.
“You heard me. Get out! And take your memories with you.” Please, somebody, pinch me and wake me from this nightmare.
But when he begins tearing up the photographs, I know this nightmare is real. “No!” I dive for him, attempting to stop him. “Stop!” But my efforts are futile.
In seconds, my memories are torn and scattered to the floor. My happy memories are now replaced with bitterness and hate.
Hot tears cloud my vision as I slump to the ground, frantically gathering up the torn pieces of my past. Saxon drops besides me, helping me pick up the remains.
“Let me help you, Lucy.” He places his hand over mine.
“No, I’m okay.” I sniff, my lower lip quivering as I hold back my tears.
“Lucy—”
“You heard her, leave her alone.” Sam’s unsympathetic words are my undoing.
“You may have amnesia, but you’re still an asshole!” Saxon yells, attempting to console me as he offers me a handful of my past.
“Well, fuck you, too.” I know he’s lashing out because he’s frustrated, but his lack of feeling hurts.
I can’t be in here a second longer. My sneakers skid on the flooring as I run out the door, ignoring Saxon’s calls that I stop. But I can’t. I need to get out of here before I choke.
Sadly, my plans to flee are ruined as I crash into someone. We both topple over, papers floating around us as they glide to the floor.
“I’m s-sorry,” I cry, madly trying to pick up the paperwork. My fumbling fingers are like sticks of butter.
“Are you all right?” a kind, soothing voice asks.
“No,” I reply honestly, giving up on helping the stranger. “I’m not. My life is a mess.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
By some miracle, I’m able to see through my tears and read the nametag of my kind stranger as Dr. Yates.
“You’re Samuel’s doctor?” I exclaim, wiping my eyes. “Samuel Stone,” I clarify when she appears confused.
“Oh, yes, I am. I was actually on my way to see him now.”
Pulling it together, I help her gather the scattered sheets of paper. “I’m Lucy. Lucy Tucker. I’m Sam’s fiancée,” I reveal, handing her a pile of paperwork.
Her face softens. “It’s so nice to meet you, Lucy. Were you just coming out of Samuel’s room?”
I nod, chewing my cheek to stop another onslaught of tears.
“I take it things didn’t go well?”
I nod again.
She peers down at her silver watch and smiles. “I have a few minutes before Samuel’s appointment. Would you like to grab a coffee?”
When I meet her warm blue eyes, I instantly like her. “I’d like that. Thank you.” We collect the rest of her things in silence before making our way to the adjacent coffee shop.
Once we’ve ordered our coffees, she leads us to a small garden table outside. I’m glad, as I need the fresh air. I cradle the paper cup, the warmth thawing out my internal storm.
“How are things going? I know it’s early days, but if anyone knows Samuel, it’s you.”
Her words are a heavy burden to my already plagued heart. “I know Samuel. It’s just too bad he doesn’t know me,” I reply unhappily.
She pushes her black framed glasses up the bridge of her small nose, emphasizing her big blue eyes. She’s absolutely stunning and looks to be no older than thirty. She also doesn’t look like a doctor. Her long black hair is tied back in an elegant knot, exposing the natural pink hue on the apple of her cheeks. Her porcelain skin is flawless. But beauty aside, I immediately feel a kinship with her because I know she’s the one who’ll bring my Sam back to me.
“I’ve read over his file briefly and it’s not uncommon for this to happen. Parts of Samuel’s brain were injured quite severely during the accident.”
Her comment has me thinking about the driver who was responsible for Sam’s injuries. I’ve been so caught up, I haven’t even thought about him and the consequences he’s faced with.
She goes on, “There are different types of amnesia, and my job is to determine just what form Samuel has so we can treat him accordingly.”
“What type do you think he has?”
“I don’t want to make any assumptions without a proper examination. There’s no point speculating and worrying you unnecessarily. He’s surrounded by the people who love him and sometimes, there is no greater medicine.”
Her words prompt a thought. “Samuel is an identical twin. Would his brother staying help him remember?”
She sips her coffee, leaving a bright red stain on the rim her cup. “There’s no denying twins share a special connection, especially when studies have proven that one twin feels what the other is feeling at the exact same time.”
I remember Saxon’s weird reaction seconds before we got the call. I still believe he’s the key.
She reaches across the table and strokes my hand. “We will get to the bottom of this, Lucy. I promise. I’ll be working closely with Sam, not only in here, but at home also. Once he’s discharged, he’ll be under my care. You have my word that I’ll try my absolute hardest to have Sam remembering again.”
“Thank you so much, Dr. Yates.” Her words are like a salve to my covert burns.
“Please call me Sophia.”
I try not to celebrate prematurely, not wanting to jinx my happiness as I know we’re a long way from things going back to the way they were. But Sophia’s optimism and caring nature has me feeling like the old me. I can only hope she does the same for Sam.
“Shall we go back in?” she suggests, finishing her coffee.
I nod, even though I haven’t taken a sip of mine.
We walk back to Samuel’s room, both silent, but the silence isn’t stale. A thousand thoughts are rolling around my head, but the forerunner is the fact I feel composed for the first time in days. To get through this, I have to accept that Sam’s road to recovery is a long one. Although we haven’t officially declared in sickness and in health, I take my vows very seriously and don’t plan on giving up on him any time soon.
When we round the corner, I see Saxon braced against the wall, looking worse for wear as he scrolls through his phone. I’ve been awfully hard on him and I’ve also been unfair. It’s his choice whether he wishes to stay or not. I’ve voiced my opinion on more than one occasion, so the rest is up to him.
He raises his head, his intense gaze falling on both Sophia and I. Now that I’m not looking at him through a veil of crazy, I can see his pain. Regardless of their strained relationship, I know Saxon cares for Samuel. I know that he cares for me. He’s come to my aid on more than one occasion, and all I’ve done is yell at him.
Sophia stops and smiles. “Hi, I’m Dr. Yates, Samuel’s doctor.”
Saxon pushes off the wall and shakes her hand. “Hi, I’m Saxon, Sam’s brother.”
I notice they shake for a little longer than needed, not that I can blame Sophia as Saxon is ridiculously handsome. I can’t say that he isn’t, considering he’s the spitting image of my fiancé.
“Lucy,” she says, turning to face me. I notice her crimson cheeks appear pinker. “I’m going to talk to Samuel. Would you mind waiting out here for just a few moments?”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.” Saxon doesn’t hide his surprise at my newfound composure. She nods before entering Sam’s room.
Saxon and I stand quietly, him peering at me, no doubt waiting for me to breakdown, or claw at the walls, screaming about the injustices of the world. I do neither.
“I’m sorry for being a complete bitch to you.”
He fumbles over his words. “You…what…huh?”
I can’t help but smile. “I haven’t been fair to you. It’s your choice whether you go or stay. I can’t force you. And that’s what I’ve been doing. You’ve got your own life to live in Oregon and honestly, my eyes have been opened these past few days.” When he cocks an eyebrow, I elaborate. “I don’t know what happened between you and Sam, or between your mom and dad, but I’ve seen the way your mom speaks to you. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to stay either. Sam is being a total asshole, so really, there’s no incentive for you to stay. There’s no reason for you to stay.”
Saxon’s mouth moves with wordless animation.
“Thank you for being there for me, Saxon. I won’t forget it.”
I don’t know why, but I do something totally unexpected. I step forward, stand on tippy toes, and kiss Saxon’s stubbled cheek. The texture is rough, but it’s also incredibly soft. I can’t help but compare the feeling to Sam’s.
I’m wrapped in his signature fragrance and the perfume has me closing my eyes, basking in the bouquet. I’ll miss him, which is ridiculous. Collecting myself, I step away, ready to say farewell. “Bye—” But I gasp, unable to finish when Saxon places a finger over my lips.
I meet his eyes, confusion swirling in mine. “I’m staying.”
“What?” I mumble in disbelief from under his fingertip.
“I’m staying,” he repeats, sweeping his finger down my lip, releasing me.
I try not to fall forward. Everything is too much. “Are you staying because I told you not to?” I ask, baffled. Is this one of those reverse psychology things?
He smirks. “No, Lucy, I’m staying because I want to.”
“But why?” I’m grateful, I truly am. I just don’t understand why he would choose to stay. “What reason is there for you to stay?”
The space between us becomes stiflingly still and I feel beads of perspiration form at the base of my spine. He takes a confident step forward while I stand my ground, too baffled to move.
“Ask me again when all of this is over with,” he replies, his voice heavy, driven with nothing but emotion.
My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I nod.
I don’t know why, but I feel like when I ask that question again, his response will change everything I believe in and love.