Page 53 of One Foggy Christmas
Jay places a calming hand on his wife’s thigh, stopping her from saying her accusation out loud. “We don’t want to fight with you, Nash. It’s obvious that you care about our daughter. But I think we both know you’re out of your depth here. You haven’t even been spending time with her since she woke up.”
“We talked last night. Had a great conversation.” I leave out how skeptical she was of me. It’s irrelevant to the conversation.
They glance at each other, surprised their daughter didn’t mention our encounter.
“She’s starting to ask questions and wants information about her life the past few years. I’m not going to lie to her. If she asks about Tate, I’ll tell her the truth.”
Jay's expression hardens. “Tate is none of your business. This is a private matter that needs to come from her family.”
“I’mher family now.” It’s shocking how often they dismiss me as her husband. “I’m loyal to Sadie only.”
“Youwereher family.” Jay shrugs, his insolence apparent. “But now that she can’t remember her life with you, there’s no place for you in it.”
“Don’t you think that’s up to Sadie to decide?”
“He’s right,” Lynette sighs. “Sadie is the one who needs to decide where Nash fits into everything. If we shut him out and she gets her memory back, we’ll lose her all over again. And I can’t face that. Not when we just barely got her back.”
“Fine.” Jay drops his patronizing tone. “But if she doesn’t want you to come to Skaneateles, I won’t force it. You’ll have to abide by her wishes.”
Not surprising at all.
“I’ll agree to that.” And because I don’t want to be at odds with her parents, I offer a compromise. “And I’ll also agree to let you guys tell her about Tate. But it needs to be sooner rather than later.”
“We were going to wait until we were back home to tell her.” Lynette bites her bottom lip, trying to hide her quiver. “I think it will be best if we break the news when she’s in a familiar place.”
“I can support that if you’ll let me be the one to talk to her about coming to New York.”
They both nod, and it’s settled.
Except, deep down, I know convincing Sadie to let me come might be a lot harder than I’m letting on.
So, nothing about me is settled.
SADIE
“Doyou remember anything about your accident?” Dr. Hatchet, a psychotherapist at the hospital, stares back at me with a pleasant smile. How she’s pulled her chair around the desk, close to mine, is supposed to ease my anxiety. But with a title that includes the wordpsycho,it’s not helping much.
I can’t remember anything of the last three and a half years, so why would I remember the accident? And by the way, I hate how everyone calls it an accident. It was a crash. I crashed into a tree, going twenty-five miles per hour. And I used to think I was a good skier—so good I didn’t wear a helmet.
Dr. Hatchet’s question is stupid, but I humor her anyway. “No, I only know what people have told me.”
She smiles warmly, using it as a choreographed pause before asking her next question. “And do you have any recollection of being in a coma?”
“No.” What is she looking for? A near-death experience she can write about in her medical journal? If that’s the case, she’ll be disappointed. There’s no recollection of a pillar of light.
“Are there any memories from the last few years that have popped into your mind?”
I shake my head as my answer.
“Nothing about your husband or your life in Chicago?”
“Nope.”
“The brain is such an unknown organ, and each traumatic brain injury is different. It’s hard to project how your recovery will go. This memory fog might last a few days or months, or it may always be like this. We just don’t know.” Dr. Hatchet smiles, even though nothing is reassuring about her words. “How does knowing that your memory may never come back make you feel?”
My eyes peek up at the clock behind her. We’ve already been talking for forty-five minutes. How much longer is this going to go on? I try to give her a thoughtful answer—because I forgot my memories, not my manners—and because Dr. Basu won’t release me from the hospital tomorrow until I’m cleared by a therapist as well.
How do I feel about my memory never coming back?
