“But what if my memory never returns? What if I spend months going on dates with Angie, dates where I’m not really thinking about her because I’m really wondering what Nurse Capshaw is doing. Is she working on crossword puzzles for me? Is she shopping at Target without me? Is she running in her sexy running shorts? Or is she delivering someone’s baby and grinning from ear to ear? Is she so excited that she needs someone to kiss? And if I’m on a date with Angie, how can I be the one Nurse Capshaw kisses? And why is my thirty-three-year-old brain thinking about a woman ten years younger than me? Is it the accident? Did I permanently damage something? And after all these thoughts, my brain circles back around to the possibility that I might remember everything tomorrow. It’s quite the quandary.”
Yes. So many quandaries. I was in quite the quandary myself.
“Well …” I inhaled and released it slowly. “I don’t know how to respond other than to say that this Nurse Capshaw is a very lucky nurse. If she knew your feelings, I’m certain she would be flattered. And maybe a little sad too. Sad that you’re feeling so tortured by your thoughts and the uncertainty of what tomorrow or a thousand tomorrows after that will bring. And I wish I had the answer for you. But I don’t.”
With several easy nods, he seemed to process my words. I was so ready to go knock on his door and say, “Hey, remember me?” But I knew he didn’t.
“I finished your crossword puzzles. Do you want to see them?”
“You mean, do I want to check your work?”
“No. My work is correct. I mean, do you want to see them. I’m bragging, not looking for confirmation that I did them correctly.”
I giggled. “So much confidence for someone who wasn’t even sure he liked crossword puzzles.”
“I still didn’t say I liked them.” He passed me and headed up the stairs. “I was just painfully bored.”
Sure, Fisher …
I followed him into the house.
“Beer? Wine? Water?”
“Wine would be great. I’m not on call for the next seventy-two hours.”
“Wine it is.” He pulled a bottle of wine from his wine rack, a corkscrew, and two glasses. “Let’s go downstairs.”
“Is that where your crossword puzzles are at?”
“Yes. I’ve framed them and hung them on the walls.”
I laughed. “Sounds about right.”
The puzzles weren’t on the wall, but he flipped on my favorite globe lights and led me to the screened-in porch. So many memories.
The folders of puzzles were on the table along with several pens.
“Have a seat.” He nodded to the chair where Rory used to sit.
I took a seat on the sectional, instead, in the exact spot we slept that night over five years earlier.
“You took my spot.” He frowned, handing me my glass before trying to uncork the wine.
“Fucking cast,” he grumbled, fumbling with the corkscrew in his left hand.
“Let me.” I took the bottle from him.
He kept his frown pinned to his face; it only made me grin bigger as I easily uncorked it.
“And this isn’t your seat.” I poured myself a generous glass before handing him the bottle. “It’s where I used to sit. And I know you don’t remember that, but I do. So sit somewhere else.”
He turned and started to sit on my lap.
“Fisher!” I held up my glass so it didn’t spill.
On a hearty laugh, he adjusted his aim and sat right next to me. It was a little weird since it was a big sectional and there were two chairs as well.