Nine
One Week Later
“Do you want to go for a walk?”
Sam looks up at me like I’ve just asked him to donate a kidney. “No, Lucy, I do not want to go for a fucking walk. I want to go home.” I suppose I should be grateful he got my name right.
“Samuel! Language,” Kellie scolds, looking up from her fashion magazine. “Apologize to Lucy.”
“Sorry, Mom, and Lucy—” he looks at me guiltily “—but I just want to go home,” he gripes, sinking against his pillows.
“I know, sweetheart, but the doctors say you need to stay for observation. There is still some swelling around your brain.”
“I doubt the swelling is from the accident. It’s most likely because I’ve got a headache from the constant nagging.” He glares at me while I timidly return to browsing through my iPad.
Sam has made his feelings for me perfectly clear—he hates my guts. I don’t know why he does, but it appears he can stand to be around everyone except me.
I’m trying not to meddle or hover, but I’m just so relieved he’s okay. I need to touch him to make sure he’s real, but the moment I come within reach, I recoil, afraid I’ll lose a finger. Kellie even appears overprotective and sends me on ridiculous errands to keep me away. The only person who seems to want me around is Saxon.
How backwards my life has become.
“Hey.”
I leap up from my seat the moment Saxon enters the room. He’s holding two cups of coffee, and I’m really hoping one is mine.
“Please tell me that’s an Irish coffee without the coffee,” Sam says, looking hopeful.
Saxon raises his eyebrows to the ceiling. “Good to see you’re Mr. Funbags today.” He passes me the coffee without making a fuss.
I gratefully accept and cradle the cup, basking in the warmth, as there is a constant chill in the air whenever I’m in this room.
“Why does she get one and I don’t?” Sam sulks, which looks as unattractive on a grown man as it sounds.
Saxon looks over at me fleetingly before addressing Sam. “Because she deserves it. She deserves a lot more for putting up with your bullshit.”
Kellie’s mouth gapes open in horror, Samuel flips him off, and I simply sip my coffee, hiding my smile.
* * * * *
Two weeks later
“Samuel, we really need your cooperation here,” says the physical therapist, holding a skipping rope. “Before you can go home, we need to test your hand eye coordination, among many other things.”
In response, Sam glares at the poor girl while flipping her off. “How’s that for hand eye coordination?”
She looks over at Saxon and me, asking for a little help, but I shrug my shoulders, powerless to lend a hand. Two weeks in, and if possible, Sam appears to hate me more. He still hasn’t remembered a thing. According to Sophia, his sessions seem to be going well. She said it’ll be a slow process, as any brain injury takes time to heal. But how long?
“Sam, seriously, hurry up and answer the question. The longer you’re a complete dick, the longer you stay in here, which nobody wants. This poor girl included,” Saxon says, while the girl blushes.
Once again, Saxon has saved the day. He seems to be the only person who can talk some sense into Sam. I have given up trying because the moment I suggest something, Sam decides to do the opposite. I feel like I’m hindering his progress because he makes no secret that he can’t stand to be around me.
I feel helpless and like I’m getting in the way. Kellie has suggested I go out and pamper myself on more than one occasion. She’s either trying to get rid of me, or I look like utter shit. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s both.
Saxon crosses his arms over his chest, daring Sam to argue. I don’t know how he does it, but Sam accepts the challenge and yanks the rope from the stunned therapist’s hands. She looks relieved that he’s finally cooperating. And so am I.
That relief is short-lived when he turns to look at me and scowls. “I’ll only do this if she leaves.”
Sighing, I head for the exit.
* * * * *
Three weeks later
I didn’t realize daytime TV was so sad. But I guess I didn’t realize a lot of things, like how my life is a complete and utter mess.
I’m sitting on the couch sobbing as I watch an 80’s Hallmark movie when the front door opens. Quickly wiping away my tears and hiding the dozen used tissues, I reach for my wine and try my best to appear composed.
Saxon pauses in the doorway when he sees me sitting huddled beneath a crocheted blanket, blotchy faced and in my pajamas at four p.m. Not a good look, I know, but I can’t face another day of Sam hating me.
“This movie is so sad,” I say, pointing to the flat screen, hoping to explain my tears.
Saxon cocks a brow when he sees the ridiculous, over the top acting, but doesn’t say a word. He’s holding two brown bags that I hope have more wine inside. “I’m making you something to eat,” he says, ruining my drunken dreams.
“I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway.” Just as I’m about to take a sip of wine, he snatches the glass out from under me. “Hey! I was drinking that.”
“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he refutes, tossing back the rest of the wine to remove temptation.
He’s right. I’ve drunk more in the past few weeks than I have my entire life. But I can’t face the day sober because the harsh light of day hurts my heart.
Saxon looks at the crumpled note on the table while I draw the blanket to my chin, tears filling my eyes. “What’s that?” He doesn’t miss a thing.
“That is Sam’s official ‘fuck you’ letter,” I explain.
He doesn’t bother asking me to elaborate, but instead places the groceries on the coffee table and reads the blasphemy for himself. It won’t take long, as Sam was never one to mince words.
When his face hardens, I sarcastically quip, “Have you gotten to the part where he says he’d rather live in hell than with me?”
Saxon shakes his head, tossing the note back onto the table.
The note in question is the letter Sophia asked Samuel to write as a form of therapy. I was the lucky one, as I was the only person Sam decided to write a letter to. I was ecstatic, thinking that maybe he’d come around. But when I read what he thought of me, I wish he didn’t write one at all. It was short and sweet and pretty much said, ‘I can’t stand being near you. I wish you’d get the hint and leave. P.S. I’m not coming home to live with you. P.P.S. Fuck you.’
I understand Sam is going through something awful and I’m trying not to take things personally, but I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. I’m miserable.
Saxon has learned to read me so well, and I’ve come to rely on him more than I thought I would. We’ve spent every waking minute together, as he hasn’t left my side. He’s been my one and only ally as both Kellie and Greg seem to be giving me the cold shoulder, too.
He takes a seat near me and sighs. “Lucy, it’ll get better.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No, I can’t, but I do know that something will give sooner or later—either Sam or you,” he wisely says. “Try and look at the positives.”
“There are no positives,” I refute.
Saxon runs a hand over his scruff, deep in thought. “He offered you an apple today without using your head as target practice.” I half smile.
What would I do without him? “Promise you won’t leave?” I selfishly ask.
Saxon’s chest rises and falls as he exhales steadily. “I promise,” he finally replies, and I smile, just like I always do whenever he’s around.
“Thanks, Saxon.” Without thinking, I shuffle over and give him a hug. He hugs me back and it feels nice that someone isn’t repulsed by my presence.
I stay pressed against him, thinking about how drastically my life has changed. What my future holds, I don’t know, but I hope Saxon will remain a part of it.
Just as I’m getting comfy, Saxon says, his lips pressed to the top of my head, “Now that that’s settled, next thing in order is for you to shower because you smell, well…a little ripe.”
His light tone reveals that he’s joking, and for once, in so many weeks, I laugh.
It feels good.
* * * * *
Four weeks later
“Okay, we’re all set.”
Even to my own ears, my voice sounds uneasy, strained. The past twenty-eight days have been trying, to say the least. But I persevered because that was the only way I knew I’d survive.
Saxon stayed true to his word, much to the horror of his mother. It’s true what they say that in times of crisis, people’s true colors emerge. Sadly, Kellie’s colors are that of the darkest kind. I was half expecting Saxon to up and leave; I wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he didn’t. He put up with Samuel’s daily outbursts and Kellie’s constant cattiness with ease. The more they barked, the less he cared and his carefree attitude soothed my bubbling hysteria.
Sam’s condition hasn’t improved; he’s still stuck—stuck not remembering who I am. And stuck being a complete jerk. Without Sophia’s encouragement, I dare say I would be close to giving up. She said Sam’s improving, but honestly, I think he’s getting worse.
He barely acknowledges me and when he does, I wish he didn’t. He’s short tempered, indifferent, and just plain rude. But then sometimes, I catch him watching me musingly. I know he’s lashing out in frustration because he can’t remember me. He knows that he should, but he doesn’t. I can only imagine how frustrating and scary it must be. But his mood swings are slowly driving me over the edge. I really can’t keep up with him. He really is two different people—the perfect Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. But remembering my almost vows, I don’t take his behavior personally because I know this isn’t Sam.
Zipping up his duffle, I smile, hoping the gesture displays my excitement at Sam coming home today. Whether he notices or cares, I don’t know, because he remains stone-faced and uninterested. “You ready to go home?” I ask, hoping for a signal other than this blankness.
He shrugs, turning to look out the window.
Counting to three, I remind myself of how hard this must be for him and don’t take his response to heart. “Well, I am,” I state, shouldering his bag. “I can’t wait for things to get back to normal.”
I refuse to believe that this staleness between us is our new normal.
Taking a moment to look at Sam, I still can’t believe he’s the same man he was weeks ago. Not only has his personality changed, so has his looks. He hasn’t bothered to shave nor groom his hair. The longer locks on both his face and head have him looking more like Saxon. His clothes are no longer conservative or chic, and when his mother asked if he wanted to wear his favorite green polo, he told her to burn it and any others just like it.
He now sits in ripped jeans, black Nikes, and a plain black t-shirt. He told me that I was to replace his entire wardrobe with items just like these. I did as he asked because I just wanted him home. However, now that the day has arrived, I’m not so certain on what I wished for.
“When is Sax coming back?” Sam asks, finally making eye contact.
Fiddling with the strap on the bag, I shrug. “He had to go back to Oregon to take care of a few things. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”
“Lucky him,” he mumbles under his breath. I do as Sophia says and brush off his lack of interest.
Saxon has been gone three days. He wanted to check on the garage and ensure things were running smoothly without him. From the brief conversations I’ve overheard, business is going well. I can’t help but feel responsible that he’s here and not there, but I’m selfish, and am glad he’s stayed.
“I’ll just have to do until he gets back,” I tease, hoping to lighten the mood.
He smiles, but it’s forced.
Sam has made no secret of the fact that he’d rather be going home with his mom and dad than me. But Sophia, Dr. Kepler, and Sam’s parents agreed for things to go back to ‘normal’ he was to return home and fall back into his usual routine. But I wasn’t so sure.
“C’mon, babe.” I bite my lip, the slip making us both feel uncomfortable. Sam thankfully doesn’t say anything and stands.
Time freezes as he reaches out and slips the duffle from my shoulder. It’s the first contact we’ve made in weeks and my heart sings at the connection. He however remains untouched as he peers around the room sadly. I suppose this was the first new memory he made, and leaving it behind and venturing into the unknown is a scary feeling. Especially venturing into the unknown with a stranger.
I stand off to the side, giving him the space to say goodbye.
After a few moments of silence, he turns to me. “Okay, let’s go.” Those words should be filled with hope, promise, and joy. Instead, they’re filled with dread.
We walk down the corridor and into the elevator, feet apart. To onlookers, we must appear to be complete strangers. Sam doesn’t look at me, nor does he appear excited to be leaving. Regardless of his apathy, I’m ecstatic to have him home.
It’s been nice having Saxon stay in the guest room, as the thought of going home to an empty house depresses me more than I care to admit. The thought has me wondering if Sam will be comfortable sharing our bed with me. I’ve been too preoccupied in ensuring he indeed was leaving this hospital with me, I skimmed over the minor details like whether or not he’ll want his own room for the time being.
I want him to remember me, remember us, but I don’t want to cram it down his throat.
In a way, we’re sharing a bed for the first time and I don’t want things to get any weirder. I can’t handle any more weirdness.
The bright sun warms my Vitamin D deficient skin thanks to being cooped up inside for weeks. Both Sam and I are outdoorsy kind of people and being contained within those four walls was making me go a little stir crazy. I’m happy to finally be free.
Sam follows closely beside me, oblivious to what car I drive. Slipping the keys from my pocket, I sound the alarm on our silver Jeep.
The lights blink once in sync with Sam’s eyes. “You own a Jeep?”
Opening up the door, I shake my head. “No, you do.”
His mouth pops open.
“Welcome home, honey,” I quip, unable to help myself as I get into the car.
I know I shouldn’t be making jokes, but it’s something I would usually say. And Sophia did say I wasn’t to walk on eggshells around him. I was to act normal, as that normalcy was going to help Sam settle in. But I don’t want him thinking I’m not taking this seriously.
But when Sam gets in a second later, a small smile touching his cheeks, I’m so glad I went with my gut. It’s the best sight I’ve seen since the night he kissed me on the forehead, said, “Tomorrow you’ll officially be mine,” and beamed like he was the luckiest man alive.
He buckles up, the smile still present as he runs his fingers over the leather interior.
I don’t make a fuss and start the car, feeling a little more optimistic than a minute ago. We drive in silence, the soft humming of the talk radio filling the air. The silence isn’t uncomfortable however, as from the corner of my eye, I see Sam taking in the sights and sounds around him. This is no doubt all so much for him, as I don’t know what he remembers, and what is all new to him.
“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing over briefly before focusing back on the road.
“I think so,” he replies a moment later. “I just…I think I remember where we are?”
I almost sideswipe an oncoming car.
Quickly correcting, I swallow down my hysteria and ask, “You do? What do you remember?”
“I…” he pauses. “Up ahead is Paulo’s, right?”
“Yes!” I reply, unable to contain my excitement.
“Their pizza is the bomb,” we both say at the same time.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, my hands shaking as I grip the steering wheel. That is their infamous catchphrase.
“Holy shit,” Sam says, not masking his surprise. “That was so weird.”
“What was? What happened?” I want him to keep talking in hopes it’ll spark new memories floating to the surface.
“I could smell the richness of the freshly cooked pizza, and I could taste the herbs, the cheese. I could hear the snap of the crust as I bit into it. It was like I was there,” he explains, baffled.
When he stops talking, I peer over at him to see him leaning with his head back against the rest, his eyes squeezed shut. His lips are pulled into a thin line as he places a hand over his eyes, blindfolding himself. I know he needs complete darkness, to shut him off from the real world and get lost in the past.
“I ate there after my basketball finals. Holy shit. I was fourteen.” His hand drops into his lap as he slowly opens his eyes. “I remember.”
I’m seconds from exploding in my seat, but concentrate on the road. “You remember what?”
“I remember we beat The Scorpions. Ninety-three to seventy-five. I was captain.”
“That’s right, Sam,” I say, encouraging him. “You were. You were captain all through high school. You never left home without your ball. What else do you remember?” Fleetingly looking over at him, I hope it’ll be me.
He stares out the windshield, his eyes never blinking. “A horse. Three horses.”
A strangled wheeze gets trapped in my throat.
“Why do I remember horses? I never owned any,” he asks, his tone littered with uncertainty.
Cleaning my throat, I reveal. “Yes, Sam, you do. We have three horses at home.”
He spins to face me, not hiding his surprise. “We do?”
I nod. This is too much.
“Am I rich?” He sounds genuinely curious. “I know my parents are well-off, but am I? Are…we?”
The fact he just referred to us as we has me glowing from head to toe. “We do okay for ourselves. You work with your dad on the farm. It’s been a good harvest this year.”
“It’s so surreal,” he confesses, slouching low and shaking his head. “Why can’t I remember any of this?”
I raise my shoulders in defeat. “I don’t know, but you will.” I tug at the necklace around my neck, hoping my good luck charm will work for me. Trigger some kind of memory. It doesn’t.
“You think?”
“Yes, I do,” I reply with poise. “And if any place can bring those memories back, it’ll be your home.”
As if on cue, I turn down a one way, graveled road, the tires crunching loudly over the loose stones. The sound instantly bathes me with a wave of nostalgia. I can only hope it’ll do the same for Sam.
“Whispering Willows,” he says, reading the wooden name plaque attached to the swinging steel gates.
“This is our home,” I reveal, disheartened that he doesn’t remember.
I ascend the pebbled driveway, our beautiful ranch in Big Sky County surrounded by nothing but lush greenery, vast countryside, and rolling hills. The dark wood exterior complements the large bay windows, framed by white panels, which allow the sunlight to stream in at every angle. Off to the right sits our big red barn and adjacent are the stables, housing our three beloved spirited Arabian horses.
The moment I saw this property, it was love at first sight, akin to how it was with Sam. Our neighbors are two miles down the road, much to the delight of both Sam and I. It was one of the reasons we bought this property. Sam and I loved our privacy and Whispering Willows was our own secluded oasis where no one existed but us. Now I’m afraid that seclusion will lead to nothing but uncomfortable silences and complete loneliness.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I switch off the car and gather my wits. I pull up my big girl panties because I’m determined to have my life back. Not wanting to smother Sam, I grab my handbag and exit the car, giving him time to process everything at his own pace. The car door closes as I climb the porch stairs.
My fingers shake as I unlock the door, which is ridiculous, as I have no reason to be nervous. I have to pull it together. Slipping off my shoes, I toss my bag and keys onto the hallway table and make my way into the kitchen for a much needed drink.
Although it’s twelve in the afternoon, I open the wine fridge and hunt for a bottle of Riesling. I’m not usually a big drinker, but lately I have been. Desperate times call for desperate measures and I can’t remember a more desperate time than this.
Hunting through the drawers for a bottle opener, I pause when Sam strolls in, eyes wide and mouth agape. By his surprise, I know he doesn’t remember where he is. “Would you like some wine?” I ask, the need for alcohol even more imperative now.
He scrunches up his face, my offer not interesting him in the slightest. “Do you have any beer?”
I point to the silver refrigerator. “I’m not too sure. You can check, though.” I hate that I’m giving him permission to look inside his own refrigerator.
He nods and walks over to the fridge while I continue my search for the bottle opener. When I find it, I practically saw off the cork, desperate to drown my woes. I pour myself a decent splash of the sweetness and take a desperate sip.
Thunder comes tearing into the room, jumping up on Sam, ecstatic to see him. Sadly, the same can’t be said about Sam. “Get down,” he snaps, pushing Thunder away and wiping down his clothes. Looks like Thunder fell through one of Sam’s memory mines.
“That’s our dog, Thunder,” I explain, as Thunder sits at his feet, his tail swishing along the tiles.
“What happened to King?” he asks, referring to his childhood pet. He looks down at Thunder, uninterested.
Sighing, I take an even bigger sip of wine. “King passed away, just before we got Thunder.”
“Oh.” His face falls and my heart goes out to him. His sadness turns to query. “So, where’s my room?”
This time, I toss back the contents of the glass in one long gulp. His room is my room, but looks like he has no interest in knowing where my room is.
When I think I can speak without crying, I place the glass onto the marbled counter and try my best to smile. “Saxon’s taken the guest bedroom, but there are another three rooms for you to choose from.” Feeling brass, I add, “But you’re most welcome to stay in my room—well, our room,” I amend.
Sam raises the Budweiser to his lips and takes a sip. The action reveals he’s thinking before he answers.
“But if you feel uncomfortable, then I totally understand. I understand how hard this—”
“I’m happy to stay with you,” he says, interrupting my nervous babble. “I just didn’t want to presume, that’s all. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m not!” I answer a little too eagerly. Oh god, this is so awkward. Why the sudden change of heart? I feel like I’m sixteen again as I say, “I meant, I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable at all. It’s your bed as much as it is mine. I think it would be good to try to do things that we normally would do.”
“Do what things?” he asks, his tone turning husky.
My cheeks begin to blister when he makes no secret that he’s checking me out. Is he still attracted to me in that way? The thought hasn’t crossed my mind as I’ve been too preoccupied wondering if he hates me or not. The way his gaze is lingering on my chest, I dare say today he doesn’t hate me as much as I believed he did.
Now I really feel like I’m sixteen.
Sam and I have never been overly adventurous in the bedroom. We both liked sex, but it never stemmed into the kinky stuff. By all accounts, it was relatively tame. But after being with the one person your entire life, the sex part, it fades, and you’re content with companionship because at the end of the day, sex isn’t everything. That emotional connection to another being is far more important and meaningful than having wild, sweaty monkey sex daily.
Well, that’s what I thought until five seconds ago. I suddenly feel hot and bothered and incredibly…turned on. But I quickly quash down those thoughts as I don’t want Sam thinking I’m an inappropriate pervert.
“Do you want to see the bedroom?” Sam cocks an eyebrow, while I almost die of embarrassment. “I mean, do you want me to show you to the b-bedroom so you can put away your things?” I quickly amend, tripping over my words.
My mind and the gutter are apparently best friends today.
Sam appears to like my trash talking however because he smirks. “Sure.” He takes a long sip of beer, licking his lips once he’s done.
Smothering the urge to take the bottle of wine with me, I turn on my heel and scurry out the door. Sam’s heavy footsteps reveal he’s following, and following close behind. The entire walk down the hallway all I can think is, are we going to have sex? Do I want to have sex? I’m not sure. I definitely have missed having Sam in my bed, but having sex now would feel like having sex with a stranger. Sam doesn’t know me, and I certainly don’t know Sam. On the flipside, maybe we need to have sex to reconnect on that personal level? Maybe it’ll help Sam remember? Scoffing, I doubt my genitals hold that kind of power.
Stopping at our door, I step to the side, deciding not to enter, as I don’t want to give Sam the wrong idea. “So, this is our bedroom.” I sweep my hand out, while Sam pulls in his lips, confused. He understands a moment later.
Peering inside, I observe him taking in the views of our large bedroom. Our king size bed is draped with a black duvet, which accents the dark gray throw cushions and the polished timber floors. Bedside tables sit on either side of the bed, and the huge stack of journals resting on the left side reveals which side I sleep on.
“I might take a shower and have a lie down.” Sam’s statement lingers in the air, a trail of innuendo following. Does he want me to shower with him? I’ve never been good with this sort of stuff. I’m completely oblivious when it comes to flirting. Not that I’ve had to worry, seeing as Sam and I got together when I was relatively young. But he was always the one who made the first moves, and I was more than happy to comply.
But right now, I want to run in the opposite direction as this feels forced and…wrong. “Okay, I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” I don’t give him time to respond as I dash down the corridor, hoping to leave my gutlessness behind.
I detour and run into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. This is ridiculous. Having sex with my fiancé is absolutely normal. So why does the thought leave me an uneasy mess? I know the answer. It’s because Samuel is as much of a stranger to me as I am to him. Sex is about celebrating your love, your reckless bond to be crazily in love forever. And at the moment, I don’t feel that. Of course I love Sam, but the feelings, the butterflies, they’ve gone into hibernation. When he looks at me, there is no love behind his eyes, only confusion. And that confusion has tainted our innocent love.
It appears I too need to remember what the old Sam was like because this new Sam is nothing like the man I fell in love with. Sam may be in a good mood now, but I don’t know when he’ll change back into the cranky, impatient Sam—the Sam I’ve been dealing with since he woke up.
Needing to get that Sam back, I push off the door and splash some cold water onto my cheeks. Peering at my crazed reflection in the mirror above the basin, I tell myself I wasn’t raised a quitter and I’ve lived through experiences far worse than this. Maybe rekindling our physical connection will help with the emotional blockage? It’s worth a shot.
The mini pep talk is exactly what I needed. I apply a coat of lip gloss before opening up the door and charging down the hall. I’m going to show my fiancé that I fight for what I want, and I want him. Regardless of the fact that he doesn’t remember me or us, I’ll love him no matter what.
With that resolve in mind, I unfasten the elastic from my hair, freeing my long hair from the high ponytail. It tumbles around my shoulders. Just as I’m about to slip off my t-shirt, I stop dead in my tracks, muting my nervous, ragged breathing.
I’m frozen in the doorway of my bedroom as I watch Sam sleeping peacefully on our bed. It appears he only got as far as slipping off his shoes, as he lays fully clothed, sprawled out on top of the duvet. He looks peaceful, his features soft and restful. Looks like I’ll have to prove my point another time.
Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly close the door and tiptoe down the passageway. Once I enter the living room, I take a seat on the sofa and let out the breath I was holding. I tie back my hair into a messy bun, seeing as my plan to seduce my fiancé just got shot to hell. But there’s plenty of time for that.
My cell chimes, thankfully interrupting my pity party for one. Leaping up, I hunt through my bag and answer it quickly, as I don’t want to wake Sam.
“Hello?”
“Why are you whispering?” Piper whispers.
I chuckle, needing her humor more than ever. “Sam just fell asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”
“Oh. How’s he doing?” My silence answers for me. “That good, huh?” she says.
Slumping into the recliner, I lounge back and sigh. “On the way home, he remembered Paulo’s, but that’s all he remembered. He doesn’t remember our home, or me.”
“He will, Luce,” Piper says encouragingly. But she doesn’t know that. No one does. No one knows how long he’ll be a stranger within his body. “Let’s throw a party,” she suggests when I remain pensive.
Her suggestion has me sitting upright, and shaking my head. “No way. What are we celebrating? My fiancé not knowing who he is?”
“No, we’re celebrating life. What happened to Sam is awful, but it could have been so much worse.” I know by worse she means Sam could be dead. She’s right, but I’ve never been one for parties, especially now.
“I’m really in no mood for celebrating, Piper. I just got shot down,” I share, needing her opinion on my insanity.
“What do you mean?”
Twirling my engagement ring, I explain. “Well, you know I suck at this flirting, girly stuff, but I think Sam wanted sex. So, I was going to initiate it.”
Silence.
“Hello? Piper?” I ask, pulling the phone away from my ear to ensure she’s still on the line.
“I’m here, sorry. My brain was just trying to process that last sentence. You were going to initiate sex? Wow, are you sure you’re not the one with amnesia?”
I burst into laughter, but mute my outburst behind my hand. “I’ve got to try something.”
“An even better reason to throw a party. What better way to seduce your man than by dressing up and shaking your tail feather.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I chuckle, shaking my head. But she might be onto something. Maybe inviting Sam’s friends will jog some memories, especially the friends he’s had for years.
“You know I’m right, and besides, stop being selfish. I need Saxon to see me in my Sunday bests.”
The mention of him has me smiling. “I knew there was an ulterior motive.”
“Hey, two birds, one stone,” she replies, her tone light. “Is he back?”
“No, not yet. Who knows if he’ll come back? I texted to let him know Sam is home, so he might stay in Oregon.”
“No, he can’t! What about my diabolical plan for us to be married by fall? If he stays in Oregon, how’s that supposed to happen? I’m his soul mate; he just doesn’t know it yet.”
By this stage, I’m cackling loudly, I’m certain I’ll wake Samuel with my laughter. It feels nice to laugh. “I’ll let you know the moment he returns.”
“You better. I need to know if he feels as good as he looks.”
“He does,” I tease, quickly zipping my lips as I just fell into a really big hole.
“And how would you know?” Piper asks, not masking her interest.
“Because I cried in his arms more times than I care to admit,” I confess. “And they felt nice.”
“Nice? I think the word you’re searching for here is un-fucking-believable.”
They did feel unbelievable, but not in the way Piper thinks. Saxon provided me light when I was shrouded in darkness. Even when I yelled at him constantly and acted like a complete basket case, he stood by me, allowing me to grieve in my own way. I’ll never forget that. I’ll also never forget that he stayed, just like I asked him to.
“Okay, fine, you can have your party,” I say, surrendering. “It might be good for Sam to see his old friends.”
“Of course it will. I think we all need some fun after the past few weeks.”
She’s absolutely right. We all need some fun. God knows I do. With that decided, we say our goodbyes, me promising to call her the moment Saxon arrives.
Feeling a little more like me after speaking to Piper, I decide to put on a DVD and wait for Sam to wake up. Nothing catches my eye until I run my finger over the spine of a case marked ‘Memories.’ This is probably not the best thing to watch as it’ll probably just make me miss Sam more, but realizing that’s not possible, I slip it from the rack and place it into the player.
The quality is awful, considering it was converted onto DVD from VHS, but that doesn’t matter. I can remember each moment like it just happened yesterday. The first home movie is of Sam’s basketball final—senior year. I’m perched on the edge of the sofa, watching Sam as his father proudly films his son tearing up the court like the skilled basketballer that he is.
His orange jersey highlights his tanned, taut skin and draws out the blond strands in his shaggy hair. When he bypasses two opponents and slams the ball into the hoop, the crowd roars in delight—me included. The seventeen-year-old me sounds completely smitten by her new beau. Sam runs backward, his eagle eyes landing on me as he points and winks cockily. I swoon now, just as I did then.
I continue watching, unable to tear my eyes away from the eighteen-year-old Sam, running circles around his opponents. He’s fast, cocky, and skilled—no wonder he got offered a scholarship to Montana State. A scholarship he turned down because Greg’s plan was for his boys to help him run the farm.
With a minute to go, Greg pans the camera sideways, bringing into view Kellie, Saxon, and I. I cringe when I see the adolescent Lucy because she looks like a complete geek. I have no idea what Sam saw in me—I was flat chested, not that that’s changed, had a mouth full of braces, wore ridiculously huge glasses, and my clothes weren’t exactly girly. But he never made me feel anything but beautiful.
Kellie hasn’t aged a bit; she looks youthful, spirited, and fashionable in the latest threads. Her blonde hair sits in a side bun, her face painted in natural undertones, complementing her organic beauty. The camera then zooms in on Saxon.
“Are you excited, Sax? Your baby brother has won the finals for his team,” Greg asks, the excitement evident in his tone.
Sax looks up for the briefest of moments, pinning the lens with an intense, unenthusiastic stare. I don’t know why, but I unexpectedly have a pitter patter low in my belly. The seventeen-year-old me is oblivious to Saxon sitting beside me, too preoccupied by Sam’s efforts on the court. But the twenty-six-year-old me is completely intrigued.
He looks untroubled, completely relaxed, reading a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird at a basketball game filled with cheerleaders and jocks. His hair is mussed, falling over his left eye, making him appear all the more enigmatic. He’s wearing a ratty Led Zeppelin t-shirt and baggy skater shorts. The look isn’t conventional for kids our age, but it suits him. He is utterly mesmerizing and I don’t know why.
Before I can question myself further, Kellie angrily clicks her fingers in front of the camera, shouting that Greg film Samuel. A second before he complies, he inadvertently captures Saxon’s frown, his expression conveying how Kellie’s cruel words have affected him. But his feelings aren’t anyone’s concerns, not even mine because as the buzzer sounds, we all jump up and celebrate because Sam’s team has won. The image ends on Sam being lifted onto the shoulders of his teammates, them singing his name.
A sinking feeling forms in the pit of my stomach and I suddenly feel like I’m missing something. I just don’t know what.
I don’t have time to delve deeper because the screen flickers and the next home movie is of my prom. The cinematographer this time is my dad. I could close my eyes and recite every moment, every word spoken because I’ve watched this a million times before.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” the past and present me say.
“He’s here! He’s here!” my mom says, rushing over to the hall table to grab her camera.
I didn’t know it then, but hours from this precise moment, I would lose my virginity to my prince charming. It went how any first time after prom was expected to be—rushed, clumsy, and awkward, but it was perfect. I wouldn’t trade the feeling of knowing Samuel that way for anything.
A knock sounds on the door. “Daddy, be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
I remember wondering if I looked okay, as the strapless blue gown showed off a little more skin than I was accustomed to showing. But when my mom opened the door and Sam’s eyes widened and he gulped, I knew I looked more than okay.
“Mr. and Mrs. Tucker.” Sam looked incredible. The simple black tuxedo clung to every plane of his athletic frame perfectly.
The white corsage he held was so pretty, so feminine, it brought tears to my eyes. I never felt more beautiful than I did that day. As he slipped it onto my wrist, I basked in his fragrance, anxious to get out of here so we could make out in his car.
“Now, son, let’s go over the rules for tonight.”
I laugh at Sam’s horrified expression, although I certainly wasn’t laughing when my dad started grilling Sam about having me home before midnight. Thankfully, Mom convinced him to let me stay out until one a.m.
I looked so nervous, and the same butterflies take flight within. I miss that feeling. That carefree, innocent first love is a love that compares to no other feeling in this world. I want that back. And I want that back with Sam.
The footage ends as Sam and I walk hand in hand to his old pickup, my dad mumbling, “He better take good care of my girl.”
And he did.
He has ever since.