Page 13 of Last Summer

And that made the tragedy of losing him, then forgetting, that much worse.

“Simon,” she whispered.

Damien had suggested to say his name out loud. Maybe thinking of their son as often as possible will help her remember him.

But why bother? She’d only feel the emptiness and worthlessness she’d read women experience. Ella had found the pamphlet discarded on the bedside table at the hospital:What to Expect in the Emotional Aftermath of a Miscarriage.

Even the hospital staff couldn’t get it right.

Try again, Lynn had encouraged.

Ever since she and her best friend Grace played “house” as kids, Ella’s wanted a baby. A part of her thought she could eventually change Damien’s mind. At some point, she must have. Damien seems like he was ready to welcome Simon and is devastated they’ve lost him.

Maybe they can try again.

But first things first. She needs to warm up.

Ella goes to the kitchen and finds her favorite mug, a teacup-shaped ceramic with a hand-painted floral design she’d picked up at Anthropologie. She searches for the stainless steel coffee filter, yanking open cabinet doors. A sharp pain radiates up her forearm and she cries out.

Damien comes up beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find the filter,” she says, close to tears. She holds her injured wrist close to her chest.

He opens the dishwasher and pulls out the filter.

The one place she didn’t look. She gestures for it.

“I got it.” He sets the filter atop her mug.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, resting her forehead against his deltoid. He tenses under her weight. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“Fine.” He drops a scoop of ground coffee into the filter and fills the kettle with water, setting it on the stovetop to boil. He watches it.

“You know what they say about a watched pot,” she teases.

“Humph.” A short laugh, but he doesn’t take his attention off the pot.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

He glances at her. “No, why?”

“Oh...I don’t know, except we’ve hardly spoken since I woke up yesterday. You can barely look at me.”

“Sorry. I’m just tired.” He pats her shoulder in reassurance.

Ella does not feel reassured.

He can’t look at her and he’s hardly touched her. But she needs to touch him.

She runs a hand down his spine, smoothing the creases in his shirt, relishing the solid plane of his back. She lingers over his tapered waist. It feels like months since they’ve been intimate. Maybe it has been, for all she knows. All she wants is for him to look at her. To see her and how scared she is.

Once again, his muscles go rigid at her touch. Ella sighs, letting her arm fall. She moves to the other side of the kitchen and watches him wait for the water to boil. She should ask him about the accident. How did it happen? Where? Were other people involved?

Oh, god.

What if she was at fault and injured or, worse, killed someone?

No, the police would have been waiting for her, right?

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