Page 54 of Love Wells Kept

“I’m so sorry, Jackson.”

“I’m right…aren’t I?”

Instinctively, I move around the end of the island, and I envelop him in a hug like I did that day. Wrapping my arms tight around his torso and letting him give me his weight. Jackson pulls me closer, sweeping the heat of his palms down to my lower back and pressing my cheek to his chest. Our heartbeats fall in sync as if no time at all has passed since I was last in his arms, and I can’t help the tears that fall in meandering rivulets down my cheeks.

He has no idea how something as simple as a hug has every fiber in my being yearning for more. I didn’t know if I’d ever have this again, and now that I do, I’m so scared to let go. I’m right back in the hospital, clinging to him for fear that letting go would make him slip away. He’s been home for weeks, and while he should be getting better each day, Jackson’s only become more detached. Odessa’s birthday party felt like the first positive change, and now I’m terrified a single bad memory will carry him deeper into depression.

“You’re right. I’m so sorry,” I mumble against the soft fabric of his T-shirt. “I didn’t want you to get your memory back like this. Did something trigger it?”

I’m instantly racking my brain for ideas of what might need to change in our bedroom. It was all renovated before we took it over, because the last thing either of us wanted as we started our own family in this home was the constant reminder of Lucy’s final moments in the room that should be our sanctuary.

Jackson’s hot breath cascades from the top of my skull down to my shoulders, and I relax into it. “I’ve been having these dreams lately, and they feel…I can’t quite tell if they’re memories or stories my brain is making up. That one felt too raw to be made up.”

“Have you been having good dreams, too? Maybe they’re all real.”

I feel his nod move my hair around. “Yeah, not any big moments. Just us outside—me and you on a porch swing. Sometimes the kids are playing in the grass.”

Closing my eyes, I envision it. That dream could be from any number of evenings, when we sit outside after dinner and sway on the old wooden swing hung on the back porch. I don’t think he’s been out there since he came home from the hospital, so I pull back from our tight embrace enough to grab his hand and give it a firm tug.

“Let’s go sit on the porch swing.” I grab my tea and start toward the door.

“Isn’t it too cold outside?”

“We’ll only be a minute. I want to see if it sparks anything.” I tug him again. He’s sturdy as a damn tree. “Besides, the fresh air will be good for you. Come on.”

He shakes his head but follows, muttering under his breath, “Bully.”

Okay, so it’s a little colder out than I anticipated. The air’s damp, bordering on frosty despite it being late April, and our breath is clearly visible in puffs of vapor as we shuffle across the dark porch. On second thought, the tea was a poor choice, because I’m immediately shivering so hard, it’s hard to maintain a steady grasp on the ceramic mug. Scared I’ll slosh hot liquid everywhere, I abandon the mug on a windowsill before slowly lowering onto the wooden swing. The boards are cold, permeating through my thin pajama pants and straight into the marrow of my bones.

Jackson hisses as he sits next to me. “This is crazy. It’s so cold out here.”

“Sit for a second. Tell me if it feels familiar.” The patter of hope in my chest is the only thing keeping me from aborting this mission and heading back into the warmth.

My knees tuck up to meet my chest, and I wrap my arms around myself. Feet firmly planted on the deck, Jackson straightens then bends his knees, and the swing begins to move. The frigid metal chains holding us in place creak and squeak with each pendulum motion.

I tip into him, and his hand falls to my side. He’s warm and comfortable, and honestly, if it were a few degrees warmer, I could fall asleep right here. The cadence of his heart is soothing against my head, and I wiggle to get the tiniest bit closer. I’m taking everything I can get today…just in case.

“I don’t know if this is working, Kate. I’m too cold to think.”

“What are we doing in your dreams? Just talking?”

“Sometimes…” His hand dips lower, so it’s covering my hip bone. And it feels the strangest kind of wrong and right to feel heat spread through my thighs before uncoiling low in my stomach. “Mostly you talk.”

A burst of air blows from my nose. “Now I know this is fake. I do not talk as much as you like to believe I do.”

“You do. You didn’t shut up the whole time I was in the hospital.” His fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, seemingly mindlessly. Brushing my goosebump-speckled skin so briefly, I start to wonder if I’m the one making things up in my head.

“In the hospital you wouldn’t talk back. If I didn’t say anything, we’d sit there staring at each other in silence the whole time.”

“I let you do all the talking because I like listening to you.”

Is he…flirting?

I’d assumed after years of marriage to this man that I’d be able to tell when he was flirting with me. But now he has me questioning it, and the whole thing makes my heart stumble a beat.

“What would you like me to talk about?” I debate what to divulge, whether to keep it reasonably light like I did in the hospital or dive into the thick of it the way I would’ve before he erased his version of our history.

“Anything. Everything.”