Page 34 of Fox
She used to look at me like that until I fucked it up.
She reaches out her hand, and Dina takes it as she sits on the edge of the bed.
They don’t say anything for a moment, and I look away because it feels private in a way I have no standing to intrude on, but that isn’t going to stop me. I am here to glean every tiny piece of information I can about my wife.
“I love you. I was so scared.” This is from Dina.
“I…I can’t remember what happened, but…they’ve told me.”
“You’reneverallowed to drive again,” Dina declares.
I’m with her on that. Like fucking hell, Lucy is getting behind the wheel. She’ll have a car and a driver from now on. If she doesn’t like it. Tough.
They talk about Dina’s, about how Jackie, who is Lucy’s replacement there, is doing, and how Lucy wants to get back to cooking.
Like hell!
Dina doesn’t argue with her, just says, “As soon as the doctor gives you a clean bill of health.”
Then, after a long pause, Lucy calls out to me. “Fox?”
I turn. “Yeah, sweetheart.”
She frowns whenever I use the endearment. So I keep using it. I want her brain to remember me, and if that means keeping her uncomfortable with how I talk to her, I’m going to do it.
I also keep telling her I love her, which makes her look even more puzzled.
I’ve told her I’m her husband.
We’ve been married for nearly two years.
We’re very much in love.
I don’t tell her about the baby. She doesn’t need to remember that. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t need to remember anything painful—even the moment where I broke her heart by telling her I didn’t love her and never would, that I married her out of duty and stayed out of guilt.
What utter bullshit!
“Ah…can you give Dina and me a minute?”
No.
“Of course, sweetheart. If you need something, just let me know. I’ll be in the hallway.” I cast a warning look at Dina before I close the door behind me.
I told her on the phone that she doesn’t remember me, and then I lied and said that the doctor has decided we shouldn’t tell Lucy about the recent emotional distress. I assume Dr. Reyeswould agree, right? I mean, she’s recovering; she doesn’t need to know she moved out. She needs to feel safe until her memory comes back.
And then what?
I don’t listen at the door. Not because of scruples, but I’d be caught by the hospital staff, and they already don’t like me.
I pace the hallway like a caged animal.
After a while, Dina comes out, and I accost her.
“Shereallydoesn’t remember you,” she remarks, as if she’s surprised by it.
“No.”
“She remembers everything else. Right up to about two years ago and then—“ She makes a gesture that saysgone. “She asked me what year it is, and when I told her, she looked like I’d said something in a foreign language.”
