Chapter Three

Isaac

I leaned against the door frame, peering into Maddie’s hospital room. She was beautiful. Her delicate fingers worked through her long strawberry-blonde hair, wrapping a holder in place until she had the perfect ponytail.

She was already dressed in the outfit I’d brought her: a bright orange top and pair of white shorts. “You look good,” I said, causing her to turn quickly in my direction. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” I assured.

Her smile was beautiful. It was everything. “They said I could go home,” she sighed, falling back onto the bed. She tucked her hands under her thighs, her bottom lip trembled, and I knew the waterworks were about to start. “I don’t know where home is,” she sobbed.

I moved towards her, slowly, carefully. I didn’t want to come on too strong, but I couldn’t leave her there alone, crying, scared. My arms wrapped around her as I squeezed her tightly and then released for a looser embrace. Her chest lifted and fell as her breathing became labored, and the palm of my hand circled on her back to soothe her fears. “I’ll take care of you,” I promised.

“You’ve been so good to me. I hate that I don’t remember,” she complained, sniffling over my shoulder as she began to regain control of her emotions.

“One day at a time. That’s what the doctors said to do,” I reminded her in my most encouraging voice.

“Knock, knock,” the doctor mimicked his tap on the door as he entered. “It looks like you’re ready to head home,” he said cheerfully.

Maddie’s face turned pale as she stared up at him with her big blue eyes. “Will my memory come back?” she squeaked out, obvious that she was fighting her tears once again.

I knew this had to be terrifying for her, but she was strong. Maddie Stewart was a strong woman.

“I believe there is a very good chance,” the doctor assured her. “With this type of amnesia, it’s rarely permanent. So, you’ll need to put yourself in familiar environments, and like flashes of short films playing in your head, memories will return,” he added.

I felt my gut twist. She wasn’t going to be in familiar surroundings. Her home was in Portland, not Miami, and she didn’t know anyone here. Guilt rolled through my veins like heroin, killing my soul slowly as I began to wonder if I was actually protecting her at all. Am I hurting her by keeping her from her life?

“I’d like to follow up with you in a week,” the doctor stated firmly.

I watched as he moved across the room, his hand reaching for hers. He was kind, concerned, and I feared what was going to happen if she remembered, when she remembered. This man entrusted her to my care, and if he found out that was a mistake, I knew he’d push for prosecution. His dark brown eyes narrowed as his lips widened into a smile. “This process takes time, and it’s different for everyone. Please don’t push yourself; just rest,” he pleaded.

I liked the idea of her not pushing herself. I wasn’t ready for her to remember, and as far as I was concerned, neither was she. This is what she needed: me to help her, protect her, and to rest.

“Thank you,” Maddie sighed, seeming somewhat relieved by the doctor’s words of encouragement.

“I’ll get those discharge papers ready. If you need anything, just call,” the doctor said, turning his attention to me. I extended my hand, shook his, a strong grip, and swallowed hard to rid the lump in my throat.

He walked out, leaving me with Maddie, who was obviously still shaken up. Her hands wrung together like she was squeezing the water from a sponge, and her eyes shifted back and forth in the room, stopping on mine finally. “What if I never remember?” she asked.

“Then I’ll just have to make you fall in love with me all over again,” I chuckled, not exposing the true irony in that statement.

Her sweet pink lips curled into a faint smile as her eyes closed for a brief moment. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but she didn’t offer, so I didn’t ask.

I gathered her items from the room, a few personal things I brought her to make her feel more at home, and a few items I lied about, saying they were her personal items, even though I’d picked them up at the vintage boutique up the street from my house. “You ready?” I asked, trying to stay cheerful and upbeat.

She let out a sigh, stood from the bed, and took the papers the nurse held in her hand. “We just need your signature,” she instructed.

Maddie smiled, took the pen handed to her, and began to sign her name at the bottom of the page. Maddie was quickly scribbled, and ironically it was in her handwriting, but she stopped as she started the last name. “What’s my last name?” she asked.

“Grubbs,” the nurse told her, and my heart sank deep into my chest as I watched Maddie struggle to feel a connection to the name I’d made up.

She placed the pen on the paper, pushing it across to create the name. Her handwriting was different, not familiar, and it was obvious her brain was slow to accept the false name. Shit, she was going to remember, and quickly.

“Let’s get you out of here,” I said, reaching for her small bag of belongings.

The nurse placed her in a wheelchair, even though she insisted she could walk, and I followed behind them as we made our way to the main hospital entrance. “You can go ahead and get the car,” the nurse told me with a smile as the elevator door opened.

I moved ahead of them, somewhat fearful that Maddie would beg her not to let me take her, telling her she didn’t remember me, and to please let her stay.

My car was parked towards the back of the parking lot, so I sprinted towards it to save some time. I didn’t want Maddie waiting, mostly because of the fear she’d have a change of heart before I got her to my house, home.

I pulled my white Escalade to the front doors, lining up the passenger door to where Maddie waited with the nurse. “Is this your car?” Maddie asked.

I nodded, not wanting to get too far into details until I got her home, safe. It was a gas guzzler, and Maddie was an environmentalist. I knew something inside of her told her that; I could see it in her eyes. It was my work truck, sometimes my home away from home when doing a stakeout. As a detective, a private dick as I was often teased, I spent long hours on stakeouts.

“Do you want to listen to some music?” I asked as she climbed into the truck. She nodded, but then looked scared again.

“What kind of music do I like?” she asked.

“Just play with the stereo until you find something you like,” I smiled.

I didn’t know the answer to that question. What does Maddie Stewart like to listen to now?

Her delicate hand reached for the stereo, turning it on. The station was set on rock, the only thing I ever listened to myself. She wrinkled her nose at the song by Imagine Dragons and spun the knob. A country song played; she turned the knob again to one that was more upbeat, like a pop song that the young kids liked to listen to, but she continued to turn. “I don’t like any of this,” she squawked, turned off the stereo, and pushed back to her seat.

Her frustration was obvious, and I felt like an ass for not being able to help. “It will all come back to you,” I smiled, reaching my hand across the console to her lap.

When I pulled into the driveway of my large beach house, Maddie sat up, seemingly excited. “This is where you live?” she asked.

“Yes,” I agreed, and quickly got out of the truck. I walked to her door, opened it, and helped her down.

“Do I live here with you?” she asked.

I swallowed hard, hard enough I knew she could hear the lump in my throat. “No,” I admitted.

“Where do I live?” she asked.

“Portland,” I replied.

She was silent. I didn’t know if the answer just surprised her, or possibly brought back a memory. I walked her inside and sat her on the couch in the day room where she could watch the waves slap at the shore.

“How are we engaged if I live so far away?” she questioned.

“Lots of people have long distance relationships,” I explained, sitting next to her on the couch.

Her eyes tore into me like thorns into my soul. What am I doing? Is this really for her own good, her own safety?

“So, I was here visiting?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“And, I visit a lot?” she probed.

“Yes,” I lied. “You were going to move here soon; this was going to be your last trip,” I added. That wasn’t exactly a lie. She was thinking about moving here.

“How did we meet?” she asked.

It was obvious my story was creating several holes that left her curious. I knew I had to tell her the truth, at least some of it. “We’ve known each other since we were kids,” I admitted.

She looked shocked, confused, distrusting.

“Here,” I pulled out an old photo album from under the coffee table. I set it in her lap and let her open it slowly. She stared at the images, and her fingers rolled across them as if to try and steal a memory.

“That’s me?” she asked, her finger stopped on an image of a lanky blonde girl with knobby knees and crooked ponytails. “Yes. And that’s me,” I said, pointing to the chubby kid with freckled beside her.

“Does that trigger any memories?” I asked.

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes and the stress of the situation beginning to show through her trembling hands. “You may need some rest. We can look at more pictures tomorrow,” I suggested, sliding the photo album from her lap.

“I am tired,” she sighed. “Where do I sleep?”

The thought of lying next to Maddie all night filled me with excitement, but I knew it would only cause her anxiety. I hoped we would grow closer, eventually getting to that stage, but it was obvious it wasn’t going to be tonight.

“I have a guest room. You can sleep in there if you’re more comfortable,” I offered.

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly in my direction.

It was settled: Maddie would sleep in the guest room until I could win her over.