Page 9 of Last Summer

“You forgot Simon. Our baby. Christ, El. You weren’t supposed to forgethim.What about your emergency C-section? Do you remember that? What about last night?”

“What happened last night?”

“Seriously? You don’t remember any of it?”

“No. How can I? I don’t even remember being pregnant.”

Damien’s mouth falls open. One second. Two. He snaps it shut. “No. Way.” He cuts a hand through the air. “There’s no way you could have forgotten that. What the hell, Ella? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not! I don’t remember any goddamn baby! Now tell me what is going on.”

Damien swears and stabs a button on the remote beside her. She startles.

“What are you doing?”

“Paging the nurse.”

He shoves the food cart out of his way. Long strides take him to the door.

“Where are you going?” Mindful of her injuries, Ella sits up, ready to climb from the bed and follow him. She’s disoriented and scared. It takes a lot to frighten her and Damien isn’t helping. She doesn’t understand his anger. Why is he upset with her? It’s not as if she forgot on purpose. She’d expect her husband to be compassionate and understanding. Maybe even a little scared himself.

Damien stops at the door. “Stay put...please.You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Not until you tell me where you’re going,” she demands, swinging a leg over the side of the bed.

He yanks open the room’s wide metal door. “I’m getting your doctor. You’re freakingmeout.”

CHAPTER 2

Dr. Tate Allington, a neurologist, stands at the end of Ella’s bed. Bleached-white hair, a stark contrast to his sun-soaked skin, dusts the back of the wide hands holding a smart tablet. Silver wire-rimmed glasses sit on the end of his weathered nose. As he studies Ella’s CT scan from earlier in the week, her mind drifts. She wonders if he spends his afternoons golfing or on the tennis court. Maybe he likes to garden. He did mention his wife’s beautiful rose vines. Right after he announced he’s one month away from retirement. He wouldn’t mind working until he found himself in the morgue downstairs. Medicine is his passion. The brain is his favorite puzzle to unravel. But it’s the wife, you know. She wants to travel. He smells like sunscreen, Ella thinks, sniffing the air. The coconut aroma is a pleasant relief from the hospital’s sterile environment. And thoughts about the doctor’s personal life are less unsettling than her own problems, which seem insurmountable. She can’t remember her pregnancy.

She sniffs again, a deep inhale that draws Damien’s attention. He tosses her a funny look, then goes back to brooding. Ella folds her hands in her lap and waits for the doctor’s diagnosis.

He’s just finished explaining that they’ve met before. He evaluated her on her admission to the hospital. But for Ella’s benefit and because of the sudden memory loss, he recounted his findings. After her emergency C-section and due to the nature of the auto accident, Ella had undergone a CT scan. The scan revealed no evidence of trauma. No bruised brain tissue, bleeding, or other signs of damage. Other than her unfortunate miscarriage and a sprained wrist, her injuries are limited to scrapes, bruises, and aches from shattered glass and whiplash. That would explain the stiffness Ella feels in her neck and shoulders.

Ella would have preferred a visit from her ob-gyn, Dr. Lynn Noriega. She and Lynn go way back. They met almost ten years ago in their early twenties at a mutual friend’s dinner party. Once Lynn opened her practice, Ella was one of her first patients. She trusted Lynn. She wants to ask Lynn about her pregnancy. Had it been an accident? She can’t recall when she and Damien discussed having a baby. The only time they did talk about kids was before they married. Damien was quite clear on his position. No kids. Ella went into their marriage knowing this, so when did everything change?

She doesn’t remember, which worries her. So does Damien.

He stands apart, keeping vigil by the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He’ll glance at her every so often but he won’t make eye contact.

Maybe he’s frightened and this is how he deals with it. Pulling back and closing himself off. In the four years they’ve known each other, Ella can’t recall ever seeing him afraid or uncertain. He always has a handle on whatever dilemma he’s facing. He always has a plan. He’s a brilliant strategist at the office and at home. And he’s the first to praise her published articles and compliment her dress when he escorts her to the opera season’s opening night. He talks her through her writer’s block and is ready with an open bottle of champagne whenever she wins a prestigious assignment after going head-to-head withLuxe Avenue’s other staff writers.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dr. Allington asks, bringing Ella’s attention back to him.

“Dinner with Damien.” She glances at her husband. His attention is on the doctor. “I cooked pork loin,” she adds.

She remembers their meal clearly. Damien arrived home from work, tie loosened, with a fitted dress shirt that showed off the muscles in his shoulders and lean hips. From the kitchen, she could hear him walk through hisHoney, I’m homeroutine. He hung up his coat on the rack by the door, dropped his biometric briefcase on the floor, and shuffled through the mail Ella had left on the side table. He then joined her in the kitchen. She felt his breath on the back of her neck before his arms wrapped around her waist. It sent an intimate ripple of warmth through her. He kissed her shoulder, rubbing his nose along the curve of her neck. Her skin tightened, tingling in anticipation of what might come next. She’s always been so responsive to his touch.

“You smell good.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Dinner smells good. You’re cooking.” He sounded amazed.

“I’m trying.” She wasn’t a fan of cooking. Neither was Damien. But there were three things they did exceptionally well in their kitchen: brew coffee, make screwdrivers, and screw. Since the day they met, they’ve always eaten out or ordered in. But Ella had grown weary of take-out dinners and remembered she’d wanted to start cooking more often. They had a beautiful gourmet kitchen. Why not use it? Why not be more like a family?

The memory stalls.

Family.

Maybe she wanted to practice cooking since she had a baby on the way. Damien had something urgent to tell her.

---