Page 22 of This Love
That was interesting. So, something inside me was still me.
He kept walking toward the bright room. It was a kitchen lined with cabinets. A small table with metal legs and a white cloth on top sat in the middle. It was piled with boxes and flowers and small bags.
More boxes were piled on one cabinet.
“It’s messy due to all the activity,” Tucker said. “You had your hair and makeup done in here, plus a brunch with Tina and your sisters. Normally, you like things very neat and orderly.”
“We should check her meds,” my father said. He folded the wedding dress over a chair and sat the shoes on the floor.
Tucker opened a cabinet and pulled down a purple plastic case. “We keep them organized by day so she never misses.” He angled it toward us. “Saturday is in here. I guess in all the craziness, she forgot to take them.”
My belly quivered. So, this was my fault? The way I was feeling, the missed wedding, the fear? Because I didn’t take a pill?
I stumbled backward, running into the stove. When I pulled away, my sweatshirt caught on one of the knobs, making it turn. A click-click sound startled me, followed by a whiff of a new, sharp smell.
“That’s the gas!” My father lunged at me.
I let out a shriek and dodged to the side, but he was aiming for the knob. He flipped it off and picked up a towel, flapping it in the air.
I was trapped by my father near the door to the hall where we’d come and Tucker on the other side. I could escape only if I ducked under the table.
That sounded good. I dove beneath it, pushing aside a chair to give me room. I pulled my knees up, pressing my face between them. Rocking back and forth was soothing, so I did it fiercely, trying to tune out anything happening in the room.
“Ava, I’m sorry. I had to turn off the gas on the stove.” My father’s voice was close, so he must have kneeled down.
“Let her have a moment,” Tucker said. “This is overwhelming.”
The room fell quiet. I breathed into my knees, my back already hurting from my cramped position. But I kept rocking.
“Ava, I’m going to get your book,” Tucker said. “You can look at it down here.”
I turned my head and opened my eyes. His shiny black shoes left the room. My father’s were still here.
He pulled out a chair, and I almost bolted, but he sat down on it, a few feet from me. I watched his shoes and legs. One of his hands rested on a thigh, his thumb tapping rapidly.
Did that help? I tried it, resting my hand on my leg and thumping it with my thumb.
It didn’t. I gave up and rocked some more until my butt started hurting, too.
Footsteps returned. Tucker’s shiny shoes appeared. “Ava, I’m going to give you two things. One is the book so you can check the handwriting and remember your life. The other is your laptop computer, which is open to the video you made for yourself a few years ago the last time this happened. It’s a better one than the one with Vinnie. It tells you more.”
He sat down on the floor in front of me, but well away. He showed me a large book with a black-and-white cover. On the cover were the words:
* * *
Trust only this handwriting.
This is the book.
Remember your life.
* * *
My stomach quivered as he pushed it toward me. This was it. I shoved my sleeve up to my elbow and compared the handwriting on my tattoo to the book.
It was a match.
I clutched it to my chest for a moment. Tucker was watching me.
