Выбрать главу

“Listen, about that,” I cut in, keeping my voice low. “David doesn’t remember any of that. At least he didn’t seem to. Maybe we can try to stay away from some of the heavier stuff today.” My suggestion is met with unanimous agreement. “Let’s just have fun, enjoy a meal, and try not to focus on what he can’t remember. That only seems to make him angrier.”

Not wanting to make him feel like we’re talking about him, we break apart before David notices our little huddle. Penny and John retreat inside once more to get what they need for the barbeque. Dani and Jade catch up while they pour everyone some drinks and I bring my parents over to David.

Not wanting to put the focus on David not remembering them, I introduce my parents to Ian first. “Ian, these are my parents, Walter and Meredith.” David nods at me, thankful to have the attention off himself.

“Nice to meet you,” Ian greets them from his chair.

“Likewise, Ian.” Mom sits in the chair next to Ian.

“David,” my father greets him, extending his hand. “Good to see you again.”

A blip of silence descends on the group as we wait for David to say something in return. Tension laces through my body, wrapping itself around my throat. Even though we all know he doesn’t remember much from his recent past, it’s still so difficult to be face-to-face with the person we know and love and watch him struggle.

Eventually, David settles on a simple, “Same here” as a response.

I can’t say there’s less awkwardness throughout the rest of the afternoon, but it is good to catch up with my parents and sister. While she tells me about how her classes are going, I can’t help but sneak glances at David standing next to the grill with his father. Even though he has to lean on his crutches for support, he’s helping him cook.

He’s laughing, too. It’s such a rich and full sound. Pulling me from my conversation with my sister, I would do anything to be able to make him laugh like that.

Catching on to my distracted state, Dani drops a hand to my arm. “He’ll get there. Don’t worry.”

And though I smile and nod, I’m getting more than a little tired of people telling me that. I know in my heart that with each passing day, we’re getting further from the possibility of him remembering everything.

But as I stand there, watching him talk on and on about god knows what, I begin to realize I don’t care if he remembers anything at all.

Because I still love him with all my heart.

And the heart is what matters.

“Can I help with those?” My crutches give me away, making Mom turn around before the words actually come out of my mouth.

Swatting me away, she deflects my offer to help, saying, “I got this, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I can dry.” Snagging a dishtowel from the rack next to the sink, I hobble into position and dry the first of the dishes. “Kitchen’s nice. It’s new.”

“Yep,” she agrees, never taking her eyes away from the task at hand. “You and your father did most of the work. You actually helped install this sink.”

There’s something different about hearing my memories from her mouth, something calming. “I did a nice job, huh?”

“You did beautiful work.” She goes on to tell me how I helped tile the backsplash and even the floor. “And that cabinet . . .” She pauses, tipping her chin to the door above my head and to the right. “See how the knob is all out of place compared to the rest of them?”

“I guess I should stick to tile work,” I joke, laughing at the out-of-line placement of the handle.

“Oh no, sweetie. That was your father’s handiwork. He didn’t want to bother you, so he tried to do one on his own. I hid the drill on him after I saw the first one and called you immediately. All the rest are perfect.” Turning off the water, she leans back against the counter. Taking the towel from my hands, she dries her own.

“I can fix it you know,” I say out of nowhere. “All we need is a little putty and some tint to match the cabinet. It might not be perfect, but it’ll look better than that.”

Misty eyed, she nods. “Just tell me what I need to get and I will. You two can come over for dinner one night.” More than appreciative she doesn’t make a big deal out of me remembering how to do something, I drape my arm over her shoulder.

All too casually, she folds up the towel and asks, “So how are things going over there?”

Not willing to say more than “good,” I leave it at that. And that’s enough for Mom. Not wanting to pry, or maybe not wanting to hear something that’ll upset her, she drops that line of conversation.

Grace walks into the room right before the silence gets awkward. “Hey, you two.”

“I’m going to go put out the coffee and dessert.” Mom excuses herself, leaving me and Grace alone in the kitchen.

“How you holding up?” As she walks toward me, her hair in long coppery waves, something in my chest falls into place. Despite not being able to remember every single detail about our past, I can remember her from yesterday and the day before. She’s the only constant part in my life right now and it’s a consistency that I need more than I’d like to admit.

Shrugging makes my crutch slide out from under my arm, clattering against the cream tile floor. “Okay, I guess. I mean as good as I can be. It’s weird to be here and not recall much.” Bending down, I grab my crutch from the floor and make my way over to a stool at the L shaped counter. Grace sits next to me, her familiar scent billowing around me, comforting me. “I’ve met your parents before, right?”

She nods. “A few times.”

“Do they like me?”

“They love you.” There’s no sugary coating to her words as they tumble from her mouth without reservation. “They know I’m safe with you and they know I’m happy. I mean that’s part of it, but they know you’re a good man. To them, those are the only things that matter.”

Her hand covers mine on the table and I want so much to pull her onto my lap, bury my face in her hair and kiss her senseless. Since I’ll never be able to thank her enough for all she’s done for me, I let those words stay in my head. Sounding lame right now is not high on my priority list.

When her eyes lock with mine, something passes between us. Her lips pull at the corners and her smile is so soft and sweet. It makes me want nothing more than to taste her, take her, and make her mine. But I know I can’t take that from her. I can’t kiss her and muddle everything up. It’s selfish and wrong, but damn that doesn’t make me want it less.

“Let’s get back out there. I think I saw some brownies on that plate.” Letting the moment pass, she stands from her seat, handing me my crutches.

As we make our way out of the kitchen, we pass an opening into the living room. “Hold up,” I call her back when my eyes land on a few pictures hanging up and standing on a side table.

Following behind me, Grace and I make our way into the spacious room. There’s a gigantic television mounted to the wall, a feature my father insisted on I’m sure. But what draws my attention is a picture of me in a baseball uniform. Lifting it from its spot in the entertainment center, I hold it in my hands, staring at a younger version of myself that I can’t exactly place.

“You’re really good,” Grace fills me in. “At baseball, I mean,” she clarifies, a red flush heating her cheeks.

“You’ve seen me play?”

“Not when you were this young, but more recently yes. It was a charity game. You played against the police department.”

Flipping through the dusty files of my brain, I stop on something that feels familiar. “Ian was there. Wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” she croaks.