Page 8 of Shielding His Heart
From the top of his thick tawny hair to the bottom of his strong feet, he’s perfect. He hadn’t been wearing shoes that first night. Long after we went through the back and forth with doctors about the amnesia, he finally fell asleep in the chair next to me with his feet crossed at the ankles and propped up over the side. For the record, he’s also adorable when he sleeps.
Neither of us says anything as he loads my bags up into the back of the truck. I keep my mouth shut as he opens the door and helps me inside. I’m afraid if I speak, all my fears and insecurities will come bursting out. It’s better to say nothing.
I roll down the window to feel the breeze on my face as he pulls out of the hospital parking lot. I’m giddy with excitement and nerves and fear. Everything about this is new. It’s scary and thrilling, and it makes my heart pump wildly in my chest. Not just because I’m in close quarters with Alec, but because I don’t recognize any of my surroundings.
Ravaged. That’s the only word I can think of to describe the landscape around me. It certainly doesn’t resemble the town I grew up in. It’s almost like a giant swiped his hand over the trees and buildings we drive by. The trees are broken a few feet up from the base. Buildings are leveled or are in different states of repair or disrepair. Blue tarps flap over many of the roofs.
“Hurricane Michael hit in 2018. It was a Category 5 and destroyed pretty much most of the area. Battleboro is still recovering,” Alec says when he notices my awestruck expression.
“But it’s 2022, isn’t it?” I can’t help but ask.
He gives me a wry grin that makes the corners of his eyes wrinkle up attractively. Damn him and the fact that even wrinkles make him look hot.
“If you think this looks bad, you should’ve seen it right after. They’ve done a lot of work since, but the truth is, it’ll be decades before it even looks anything remotely normal.”
I feel a lot like the destroyed landscape around me. A ghost of my former self. Never able to be restored to what it once had been.
Tears prick the back of my eyes, and I keep facing the window so Alec can’t see me cry. I haven’t done much crying since the first week. But getting out of the hospital and facing the fact that I have no idea who I am, who the people in my life are, or even where I’m from hits me all over again.
How am I supposed to cope with this? What’s the right thing to do? How do I even begin?
Not to mention all the people who knew the before-me. Like Gemma and Paisley. According to him, I even owned my own business. I must have had people who worked with me, customers. How do I deal with all the things they want from me? How do I face their constant disappointment when I’m not who they think I am or want me to be?
I almost beg Alec to drop me off somewhere. Then I remember I don’t know if I have any money. I don’t even know where I would ask him to take me. A hotel? That’s not a feasible solution. I won’t be able to get a job until physical therapy is over. What would I even do? Do I have any skills? My memory is shot. It will also be a while before I can go out in public because of the still-healing bruises and bandages covering my sutures. It’s hopeless.
The truck stops, shocking me out of my spiral of self-deprecation. I glance through the front windshield and find a cute little two-story brick house in front of us. There’s a two-car garage at the end of the driveway, a small, covered porch, and a bright blue door.
That little detail is enough to distract me, at least for now. Alec doesn’t seem like the type to have a bright blue door. He’s more of a no-frills kind of guy. I realize with a jolt that his wife probably picked the color. Probably bullied him into it. Then another jolt. His wife was me.
I start breathing rapidly. I’ve been aware of the reality that we are married. But it’s not until I see the door that all the implications hit me. I’m going to walk into a house full of these little details of a life together. Pictures, videos, children. It almost makes me want to ask him to take me back to the hospital.
But then he’s getting out of the truck and opening my door. I don’t know why the action makes my heart go all soft, but I don’t argue with him, which surprises him too as I take his hand and let him help me down. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it and simply gets one of my bags from the back of the truck.
I’m frozen in the same spot where he left me when he puts a hand on my lower back.
It shocks me enough to step toward the house, my eyes catching a quick flutter of the curtains in the front window. Despite my fear and my nerves, it makes me smile. It’s a sad smile, but it distracts me from the feel of Alec’s hand on the sliver of skin between my shirt and jeans. Two little girls peer out from a thin slit in the curtains.
I don’t know what I expected to feel when I saw them for the first time, but all I feel is apprehension. The only thing I remember about children is being one myself—and even that isn’t a perfect recollection. These girls deserve so much more than a broken person. They deserve the mother who grew them and gave life to them. Who raised them and loved them.
I reach for Alec’s hand as he tries to move around me with my bags. He stops and looks back with a lifted eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“What do I say?”
Alec glances back at the curtains, and we both watch the girls duck out of sight. “Be honest. They may be young, but they’re smart kids. We’ve talked a lot to them about what happened and how you won’t remember them.”
When I still don’t move, he turns toward me. I hesitate, then say, “I don’t wanna hurt them. They’re just kids.”
“Let me worry about all of that. All they care about is seeing you and that you get better. You may not know them, but they know you and love you very much. All I ask is that you don’t make any promises and treat them with kindness.”
I blow out a long breath. I don’t even know if I’m good with children. But I can handle those two things. Before I can forget, I take out my phone and jot down those requests in the notes app.
“All right,” I say and follow him up the short walkway to the porch.
He opens the door, and I’m met with the scent of apples and cinnamon. Like someone just baked a fresh apple pie, which couldn’t be more fitting, really. From what I’ve learned so far, Alec and his family seem to be the perfect American pie family. Like the ones I’ve seen on countless television commercials. The kind of life and family little girls dream of. It smells like what I imagine a home would smell like, and even though this is technically my home, it causes a little hitch in my stomach when I realize it doesn’t feel that way.
Is it possible to be jealous of yourself? Because I am. Intensely. Especially when Alec stands by his two daughters, and they all turn and look at me. I want to belong to them. Somehow knowing that I used to makes it worse.
“Hello,” I say steadily as I can. My hand tightens around my phone, and it bites into my palm. “You must be Gemma,” I address the taller one. “And you must be Paisley,” I say to the smaller. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
