Page 26 of Last Summer

The night before her memory loss. The night of the commotion Nurse Jillian talked about. What happened that night?

Not only that, what happened right before the accident? Where had she been driving to? Why’d she leave right after dinner? Did she even eat the pork loin she’d cooked that night?

“Did I say anything else at the hospital?” she asks, curious.

“Like what?”

“I think Damien and I were arguing before my accident. I’m not positive. It’s just a feeling.”

“You didn’t mention anything to me. Have you asked Damien?”

Ella shakes her head. She chews a noodle, contemplating. She’ll ask him tonight.

“So you and Damien are good?”

“Yeah.” She hopes they are.

That evening Ella showers, and after, as she towels off, she catches her reflection in the full-length mirror. This time, she doesn’t avoid her image. She drops the towel and takes a good, hard three-sixty-degree look, from her full breasts to her wider waistline and distended, hollow abdomen. She gingerly touches the paper sutures taped over her fresh scar. Lynn said the redness and bruising around the area is normal and that the incision line will still be purple up to six months after the C-section. Eventually it’ll start fading to a pale pink. “Hardly noticeable and below your bikini line,” she reassured.

Turning, Ella looks at her calves and backside. She’s lost muscle tone. She probably traded laps from the Marina Green to the Golden Gate Bridge for prenatal yoga sessions. Definitely not at the intensity she’s conditioned for. Used to be, anyway, she thinks with a grimace.

Turning back around, she cups a hand over her scar. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to the life that is no longer there.

A fleeting memory, more of a feeling, touches her mind. The sensation of butterfly wings, the faint press of something against the inside of her abdomen wall. She starts to cry, turning away from the mirror and straight into Damien.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice gruff.

“How long have you been standing there?” She’d been so focused that she didn’t hear him come in. Embarrassed, Ella picks up the towel and wraps it around her torso. She doesn’t want him to see her body like this. Misshapen and unfamiliar to her own eyes. She hardly recognizes herself.

“Ella.” Damien edges toward her, corrals her in his arms. “You don’t need to cover up. You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

The familiar scent of him and the comfort of his arms—it’s all too much. She buries her face in his chest and falls apart. Damien, thankfully, just holds her.

After some time, Ella lifts her head. Her husband offers her a washcloth. She wipes her face. She hasn’t cried like that since...Well, she can’t recall since when. Damien’s dress shirt is drenched. Tears glisten on the inside corners of his eyes. He thumbs them off.

“It must be the hormones,” she excuses.

“It must be a lot of things.” Damien kisses her hair, pulls her into his chest again, and holds her even tighter. Like he’s afraid to let go, afraid to lose her.

Leaning back, he looks down at her and gently pushes damp hair away from her sticky face. “You good?”

Ella nods. “For now.”

“Join me for dinner?”

She nods again.

He kisses her softly on the lips. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you out there.”

Damien has set the dining table and dimmed the lights. Outside the wall of windows, the Golden Gate Bridge and, across the bay, Sausalito glitter against the darkness of night.

Damien uncorks a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. “Wine?”

“Small glass,” she says. She is still taking painkillers and doesn’t need to get loopy. She sits down to a plate of prime rib and blanched string beans. “Smells delicious.”

Damien joins her, dropping his napkin on his lap.

“How was work?” she asks. Such a normal question when everything is far from normal.

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