Page 25 of Forgetting You, Forgetting Me

“The ‘I’m going to murder you in your sleep’ face,” he clarifies, his tone light.

I know he’s trying to make me smile. It works. “I promise you’re safe. Just one more night? Please.” I can’t explain why I need him to stay. He offers me a sense of security I so desperately crave.

He doesn’t answer. He simply butts out his smoke with his boot and grins.“Let’s get back inside.” He stands, offering me his hand.

The sun shines down on him, creating an illusionary halo as I look up and slip my palm into his. The moment we connect, I feel…better. I no longer feel like a nobody. Samuel may not remember me, but Saxon does. It appears Saxon has remembered me the entire time—Iwas the one who didn’t remember him.

Eight

I don’t know what toexpect when I walk into Samuel’s hospital room the next day. I’ve opened myself up to all possibilities, all possibilities bar my fiancé flirting with Nurse Bimbo.

I should be relieved that most of the machines are out of Sam’s room and he’s only connected to an IV, but I’m not. In this moment, I would rather he be in a coma where he remembers me, than awake, and not remembering me at all.

Two buttons are now undone on Nurse Bimbo’s uniform. It appears professionalism is optional in this hospital. I clear my throat very loudly, interrupting Nurse Bimbo taping a small gauze pad in the crease of Sam’s elbow. She’s leaning in way too close, while he appears that all his Christmases have come at once.

His eyes flick up and I hold my breath, hoping I’ll see recognition. But I don’t.

He looks over my shoulder and smiles. “Hey, Sax. Please tell me you’ve brought some real food. I’m living on a diet consisting of air at the moment. I was in a coma. Not dead. You couldn’t sneak me in some food could you, darlin’?” He has the gall to wink.

Nurse Bimbo laughs, fluttering her eyelashes, which resemble epileptic caterpillars. I curl my fingers, ready to dive forward and strangle her.

Saxon’s gigantic frame shadows me, as he can no doubt read my need for violence. “Sorry, Sam. But I did bring something better.” He nudges me and I ungracefully hobble forward like a wobbly puppet on a string.

Sam finally looks at me, but I wish he didn’t. “Oh, hey…Leanne.”

And suddenly, I’m Baby M again. “It’s Lucy,” I amend, trying to stay strong.

“Right. Sorry.” He pulls an apologetic face.His guilt at not remembering me is clearly evident, but it doesn’t ease the heartache.

He looks remarkably better than he did twenty-four hours ago and I wonder what triggered him to wake up. Dr. Kepler said he responded to stimuli, i.e. Saxon. So what triggered it this time?

My thoughts distract me from wanting to pluck out Nurse Bimbo’s black extensions one by one as she flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll come check on you later.” She stands behind her cart, placing Sam’s vials of blood into a tray.

“Feel free to bring some food with you,” he whispers from behind his hand in a conspiratory manner.

She giggles.

As she wheels her noisy cart past us, she makes no secret she’s checking Saxon out. “I can’t believe how alike you look,” she declares, while I raise my eyes to the ceiling. It appears one brother isn’t enough.

“That would be because we’re identical twins,” Saxon replies, not bothering to mask his apathy.

Both our mouths drop open—hers in shock, mine in humor.

She thankfully takes the hint and leaves. I’m still grinning moments later. That grin sadly disappears however when Sam opens his mouth. “I’m so bored. When can I go home? I can’t wait to get into my own bed and demolish Mom’s pot pie.” He runs a hand over his heavier stubble, oblivious to my internal meltdown.

Dr. Kepler chooses this moment to walk into the room. “Good morning, everyone. How are we all feeling?”

“Can I have a word?” I blurt out, indicating I’m bad, very bad.

Dr. Kepler nods, my desperate tone heightening the importance of my words. Saxon gives me a sympathetic smile as I follow Dr. Kepler out of the room and down the hallway.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Ms. Tucker,” he says, turning around.

Dr. Kepler is the kind of man who was born to be a doctor. His intelligent blue eyes show wisdom, empathy, and compassion—rare traits in a man of his standing. He’s gone out of his way to inform us of Sam’s condition, and not once has he made us feel stupid or meddlesome for asking endless questions.

Like right now.

“I do. The most important is how long will he stay this way?”

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