‘Jesse?’
I jolt and look down to find my wife looking up at me with concern. I quickly shake away my morbid thoughts of what could have been. She’s still here. With me. She might not be her normal self, but she’s still here. I hold her tighter. I can’t help it. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’
‘Home.’ She sighs, turning her eyes away from me. ‘Where is that again?’
‘Anywhere I am,’ I say, letting my usual candidness where my wife’s concerned creep back. Is she smiling a little? ‘Okay?’ I ask, not wanting to presume she’s finding me funny, or maybe recognising little pieces of us. But what else could she be smiling at?
‘You seem like the bossy type.’
I laugh out loud, the burst of amusement completely unstoppable. ‘You have no idea, lady. No idea.’
‘I don’t like being told what to do, just so you know.’
‘Oh, I know.’ I laugh again, feeling a small amount of pressure lifting from my shoulders. Only small, but . . . still. I look down and unleash my smile, the one I reserve only for her, the one she’s not seen since she came around. It definitely has the desired effect, her body going a little lax in my arms. It’s another small sign. ‘And just so you know, that’ll soon change.’
She scoffs. It’s the sweetest sound, even if it’s forced. ‘I don’t think so.’
My smile widens, because that right there was my wife. Defiant. Difficult.
Mine.
Hope flourishes within me.
Chapter 13
I watch her neck crane a little as we pull up the driveway to our home, her eyes taking in the grounds of our little manor. ‘I live here?’ she asks, clearly astonished.
‘We live here,’ I correct her, rolling to a stop. ‘Have done for nearly eleven years.’
I jump out and round the car, leaving Ava still taking in her surroundings from the passenger seat. I open her door, but when she shows no sign of getting out of my Aston, I dip and reach across her to unclip her seat belt. My cheek brushes her lips innocently, and she freezes, breathing in sharply. I freeze, too, my face millimetres from hers. From my peripheral vision, I can see her lips are pressed together, her eyes wide.
Have I startled her? Set her heart racing with my closeness? Something tells me it’s both. My eyes drop to her lips, instinct demanding me to just kiss her. Kiss her. Consume her. Maybe that’ll trigger whatever it is that needs to be triggered.
But she turns away from me, and the hope growing inside me dies a little. I clear my throat and back off, giving her space to get out of the car, which she does quietly and slowly, ignoring my offered hand.
She takes slow, tentative steps to the door – slow because of her injured leg, and tentative because, painfully for me, she’s nervous. Every so often she peers over her shoulder at me. I say nothing, just follow her, feeling as hopeless as hopeless could be. I push the front door open and stand back, and she hovers on the threshold, looking around the entrance hall. I simply wait for her to find whatever courage she needs to enter. The kids’ shoes are scattered in the corner, the small patch of marble tiles dull from the mud they’ve brought in from the garden. It’s a small, silly sign of our family life, but it has Ava’s undivided attention. Her home. Her hand comes up to her chest, and I see the pulses of it under her palm.
‘Take your time,’ I murmur gently. She looks up at me and smiles a tiny smile before going back to taking in the space before her. She takes a step inside towards the collection of photographs lining the wall above the console table.
My heart thrums in my chest as she edges closer to the pictures. Her hand reaches up to one of us on our wedding day, her lip slipping between her teeth and biting gently. Then she spends a while staring at one of me kneeling and kissing her pregnant tummy, her hand resting on her midriff as she does. She looks back to me and offers another small smile, which I return, so fucking nervous now, too. Then she finds one of my favourite pictures, one of the twins when they were toddlers, Jacob on my shoulders, Maddie on Ava’s. We’re on the terrace in Paradise. The blue sea behind us looks as alive as all of our eyes. The sun is as bright as my smile. Have any of these pictures spiked memories? Anything at all?
Closing the door quietly, I approach her, taking in the pictures myself. Pictures of us. Of our little family. Happiness and love are all over this wall. Everywhere I look, I’m finding things that could trigger something, and I hope so much that they do. And then there’s my Ava Wall in the family room, all transferred from my penthouse at Lusso and added to over the years. Hundreds of pictures of the four of us. Maybe that will help, too. Because being in the hospital hasn’t, the surroundings cold, clinical and unfamiliar.
Her shoulders tense when I’m just a few feet behind her, and she looks back at me, her face so sad. She recalls nothing. ‘I wondered if I was in some kind of nightmare.’ She turns back towards the photos. ‘Or someone was playing a cruel joke on me. I woke up and was told I was married and I have children, and until now I didn’t quite believe it.’ She points at the picture of us on our wedding day, her chin trembling. ‘That’s me.’ Her voice breaks, and she looks at me, tears flooding her eyes. ‘With you.’
I nod, trying to force down my own emotion. Jesus, nothing much breaks me, but my wife so distraught is guaranteed to cut me open. She looks back at the pictures, wiping at her eyes. ‘And that’s me there, too.’ She points at a picture of the twins tackle-hugging her on the trampoline in the garden. ‘With . . .’ She hiccups over her words, sniffing back her sobs. ‘My children.’ Her shoulders start jumping, and she breaks down completely, covering her face with her hands.
I drop her bag and move in to comfort her, fighting back my own tears. ‘Come here.’ I pull her into my chest and cuddle her, looking up to the ceiling in despair. What the hell am I going to do? Her petite frame is jumping against me as she cries, her grief pouring out as her reality crashes down. ‘It’ll be okay,’ I vow, dropping my head and burying my nose in her dark hair. ‘We’ll be okay, I promise.’
‘Why can’t I remember you? Why can’t I remember my children?’ She pushes me away violently, clenching her fists. ‘Why can’t I remember?’ she screams, shaking the house with the volume. ‘I need to remember! Please, help me remember!’ She folds to the floor, landing on her knees, sobbing like I’ve never seen my wife sob before. The sight will torment me for the rest of my days. Fucking kills me.
I brush at my wet cheeks harshly and force myself to pull it together. She needs me to be together. Strong. Her husband. I scoop her up and cradle her in my arms, getting my own sense of comfort as she curls up into me and clings to me like her life depends on it. Like it’s natural.
I walk us to the kitchen and sit down on a chair, holding her close to my chest while she lets it all out. What more can I do? Just be here. Hold her when she needs to be held. Tell her it’ll be okay. I keep my face close to hers, hushing her quietly until she eventually calms down. It could be a minute. It could be an hour. Time means nothing at the moment.
‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffs, wiping at a wet patch on my T-shirt.
‘Don’t be silly.’ I reach up and wipe her eyes, and she lets me, studying my face closely while I savour the tender moment. I’m so grateful that she’s allowing me to comfort her like this. Does she realise that?
‘Where are the children?’ she asks, looking to the doorway, maybe listening for the sounds of kids.
‘I’ve asked your mum and dad to take them to the coast. Just so you can settle in and get used to things.’