Page 95 of Parrish

I want to believe him.

After all, if I can’t trust my husband what the hell am I fighting to remember?

Still, I can’t ignore Danny’s comment and I make a mental note to find out what he meant by Jack leaving.

“When are you coming home?” Danny asks, forcing my attention back to him.

“Soon,” I reply. “The doctor wants to run a few more tests and make sure I’m healing right.” The more I look at him, the more I see traces of me and Jack. Like for instance, he has his daddy’s lips and nose and my eyes. It’s as if we’ve immortalized our best features in this sweet boy and I wonder what personality traits we’ve passed down to him.

“I’m sorry for staring,” I whisper, forcing a smile.

“It’s okay,” Danny says. “Dad says good looks run in our family.”

Jack and I both laugh at that and the fear I felt a moment ago slips away as our eyes lock. When a man looks at a woman like Jack looks at me, he doesn’t leave her.

“What? I’m just speaking the truth,” Danny defends with a shrug.

“Honest and good looking, you’re going to be quite the catch when you get older,” I say, tousling his hair. It’s noticeably longer than in the photographs I’ve memorized. “Are you growing out your hair?”

“He’s starting to look like a blonde version of Blackie, I know,” Jack mutters. “We’re going to go for haircuts after we leave here.”

I don’t remember Blackie but thanks to Layla, I know he’s married to Lacey. He’s in a few of the pictures and has nicer hair than me. It’s probably longer than mine too. The thought of Danny growing his hair like him is comical and I bite back a chuckle.

At the mention of Blackie, Danny begins to ramble on and tells me how his brother-in-law is the best at baseball. I learn that he and Danny often play catch together and have plans to attend a Yankee game once the season starts.

Jack doesn’t seem too enthused by that and I think it’s because he might feel slighted. A boy usually does these things with his dad, doesn’t he? Maybe Jack isn’t into sports. That wouldn’t surprise me. He doesn’t look like the type that kicks back with a bucket of fried chicken and watches football on a Sunday.

Danny goes on to mention that Blackie isn’t around, and he professes his hopes that he’ll return so they can follow through with their plans. I turn to Jack for answers but again, he shakes his head and dismisses the notion.

There’s a lot of secrets to be told.

Things I’m not sure I want to hear.

Things that I realize I may have intentionally blocked from my mind.

Once Jack assures Danny that Blackie will be back, the three of us play a game. Shockingly, it’s Jack who suggests it and his game of choice is, two truths and a lie. He looks at me expectantly and I think it’s because he wants me to start us off. When I don’t react like he hoped, he explains it’s our thing, and that we played it on our first date.

I apologize for not knowing because every little thing I’ve forgotten causes him more pain and I hate that.

I hate it almost as I hate not being to remember every second I’ve spent with him.

“You start, Mommy,” Danny says as he settles into the chair next to mine.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to play. How am I supposed to know the difference between fact or fiction when I can’t remember? Still, I don’t want to disappoint either of them so, I give it a shot and say the first three things that come to mind.

“One, I can sing,” I say, raising my index finger. “Two, I can recite the Hail Mary backwards,” I add another finger. “Three, I thought Lacey was your girlfriend the first time I saw you and her at the mall—oh my God.”

My hand covers my mouth as the memory of Jack and Lacey vividly flashes before me. Hiding between the racks of clothes, I tried not to be noticed as I watched them shop. Jealously ran wildly through my veins as he looked at her adoringly. I remember wishing someone would look at me the same way.

I wished for him.

Meeting his gaze, I lean forward and lay my hands on his knees.

“It was your birthday,” I rasp as more details flood my memory. “You were taking her shopping, and she was cooking dinner for you. She asked me to join you guys at your house. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”

My voice sounds desperate even to my own ears and with every second that ticks by, I pray this is real, that I’m starting to recall our life together. His eyes don’t leave mine as he covers my hands with his and struggles to swallow.

“You’re right,” he rasps. His voice full of emotion. His eyes soft.

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