“I don’t feel like talking,” I say.
She smiles sadly. “I don’t have any advice for you anyway.” Then she does something that takes me by complete surprise. She pulls a small, cushioned stool from the side and places it in front of her. “Come sit and let me work out the tangles in your hair.”
I can’t remember the last time my momma brushed my hair. That’s not true. I was ten and some girls at school made fun of me for not having a daddy to bring on donuts with dad day. When she found out, she had a come-to-Jesus meeting with those girls’ parents and that night, she sat me down and brushed my hair until I fell asleep.
“Okay.” I make my way to her, sitting on the familiar stool. My back is ramrod straight, my muscles tense. Perfect posture that would make any southern mother proud.
“Relax, Lia,” she murmurs as she starts to brush my hair. My muscles ease a fraction, allowing me to slump a little. She starts to hum an old hymn. One that brings me comfort and pain. “You can lean on me if you want. Rest a little before Duke comes back to get you.”
“I’m fine,” I say, although I want to do exactly that. I want to be the little girl who only knew her mother’s unconditional love.
“Don’t be like me, Lia. Don’t let this turn you bitter,” she whispers. “Laird is a good man. Cherish the time you had together.”
For a long while we stay just as we are, me at her feet and her brushing my hair while she hums. The warmth of the fire makes me drowsy, so drowsy that I dare to lean back and lay my head on her leg. My eyes feel like lead weights, but my body is starting to feel free.
I can’t remember the last time I slept or even ate, but this small kindness from Momma... I’ll remember it until the day I die.
Maybe there’s hope for us after all. Maybe something good truly can be found from Laird’s... disappearance.
Chapter Five
Ophelia
IT’S BEEN FOUR MONTHS since my husband was lost in a storm, and there are two facts I can no longer deny. The first that no one has found Laird or his boat, and most likely won’t.
As for the second...
“Ophelia King,” the nurse calls.
I move to where she’s waiting for me, making small talk with answers that require virtually no thought. At least she won’t ask me about Laird.
God, I wish he were here with me. I wish I could look into his eyes and be comforted, share in the joy and slight apprehension.
She hands me a clear container affixed with a sticker that has my name typed on it. “Fill it to the line and then cap it, then put it on the metal shelf. We’ll take care of the rest and give you the results.”
“Thanks.” I don’t know why they’re making me do this. I already know what the results will be. If the constant morning sickness didn’t give it away, the lack of period is a sure thing.
When I’m done, I’m shown to a private room to wait for the doctor. On the wall are pictures of babies in the womb, the different stages of human development, and images of ovaries. The images start to blur together and my head starts to feel like it’s floating away. I sway slightly, then lay down on the table, the thin paper crinkling under me.
I hear the door open and close, the sound of the doctor and nurse talking. I answer in a monotone as the doctor goes over my char with me. She opens the door again and I hear something being pulled inside.
“We’re going to do an ultrasound. You’re far enough along we don’t have to do a transvaginal one.”
“That sounds...painful.” I try to smile, but I’m sure I look more like I’m grimacing.
“It’s uncomfortable, but the one I’ll do today is a little sticky and cold.”
“Sticky?” I struggle to sit up, but she forestalls me.
“You need to lay down for this.”
“Oh, okay.”
Then she proceeds to tell me what she’s going to do in detail. “Everything sound good to you?”
I nod, my heart beating so loudly in my chest that I wonder if the ultrasound will pick it up. Maybe a silly thought, but I’ve never been pregnant before. She pulls up my shirt, baring my stomach to the cold air and squirts even colder jelly before running the probe all in it.
“And there’s baby,” she says, her smile bright. You can tell she loves her job.
My eyes widen at the sight of the image on the screen. I can see the outline of arms, legs, sweet little head and body. Okay so the head is bigger, but Laird’s head was big. Or maybe I have a big head. Either way, I won’t care if our baby comes out looking like a pumpkin, I’ll love him or her with every bit of my heart and soul.
“So at this point, baby is about fifteen weeks along.” She takes measurements for a bit, then turns on the speakers. “Let’s listen to the heartbeat. It’s always my favorite sound,” she says, then frowns. “That’s... Patricia, would you come in here please?”
Cold fear knifes me in the back, pouring anxiety in that unhealed wound. “What wrong?”
She glances at me. “I’m having a little trouble finding it, but sometimes babies aren’t cooperative and are in a position that makes it harder for us.”
“Does she want to find out if it’s a boy or girl?” Patricia comes in, smiling, then frowning as soon she spots the screen. “I’ll call General.”
My heart screeches to a stop. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”
Doctor Lewis is no longer frowning, but she’s very calm and that eases my fear a little. Very little. “Your baby is in distress. The heartbeat is barely detectable. We need to take action by sending you to General. They’ll take very good care of your baby and you.”
“But the baby will be okay?” I ask, trying to concentrate on that instead of the fear that’s just been magnified by a million.
Instead of answering me, she starts to get things going, calling in support and helping me into a wheelchair. “Please call my momma and Laird’s momma, too.”
I’ll need all the support I can get.
Plus, shamefully, I don’t know if mine will show up.
“Don’t worry,” Patricia says, her dark brown eyes kind. “I’ve already notified them both. They’re on their way.”
“Both of them?”
“Without hesitation.”
It’s all going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay.
Just because Laird was never found doesn’t mean you’ll lose the baby. The baby is probably being just like his or her daddy, mischievous. Playful.
I gulp in air as they help me onto a gurney and load me into the ambulance.
It’ll be okay.
Chapter Six
Ophelia
DEAR LAIRD,
Our angel baby’s name is Connor. The doctors and nurses tried very hard to save him. They let me see him, hold him. He was perfect in every way, only his heart wasn’t strong enough.
My momma and yours stayed with me at the hospital. The powers that be allowed me to take Connor home so I could bury him in the family plot. His casket was so tiny it didn’t seem real. None of this seems real.
I wish it wasn’t real.
I don’t know why God took him from me, no more than why He took you first.
What I do know is why my namesake went insane in Hamlet and killed herself.
I can feel the call of the ocean Laird. It’s so strong, so loud in my head, but for now, I’ll ignore it. I think your momma needs me still.
Yours Forever,
Ophelia
Chapter Seven
Laird
FOUR YEARS LATER
I had the same dream again last night. The one where I’m swimming in the ocean and a mermaid is chasing me. She has long black hair, eyes like jade, and is constantly attempting to pull me back. I get the sense that in deeper water danger lies, but I can’t stop myself. A riptide comes and takes me away.
Also, who the hell names their kid Laird Connor King?
I finish my journal entry and cap my pen, then toss it on the floor beside my chair. Dr. Drees
say that my dreams are most likely a key to remembering my past. I’m not so convinced.
Six months ago, I had no idea who I was until some military guy turned up with my picture and name, said I had an entire family back in the States. A year ago, I was in rehab, learning to walk again. Two and a half years before that I was in a coma.
Everyone around here calls me Eric, or rather they used to call me that. When I was brought to the hospital, I was in really bad shape—delirious and dehydrated with a huge bump on my head. Turns out I had been diving during a really bad storm and had gotten lost, I guess, then no one really knows for sure, but a “fishing” boat had found me and had taken me to the closest island on their route. Luckily for me, Dr. Drees happened to be at the pier that day and brought me to the hospital.
“So you’re really leaving us Prince Eric,” Dr. Drees says with a slightly mocking grin and I roll my eyes at him. “Excuse me, I mean Laird King. You know that’s not really much better of a name.”
“Are doctors supposed to say shit like that to their patients?”
He nods. “Absolutely, they should.”
I grin. Since I woke up a year ago, I’ve done nothing but rehab and talk about my feelings and what I remember. Or rather what I don’t remember. “I think you’re going to miss me when I’m gone. Star patient and all.”
“Meh. You’re taking up bed space.” He shrugs, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. If there’s one thing I do know it’s that Dr. Drees gives his all to his patients. So much so that this hospital is financed by a large family inheritance he came into about five years ago—again, lucky me. “Seriously though, you don’t have to return, yet. It’s perfectly fine if you asked your family to come here, where you feel comfortable.”
“I don’t know, doc. Something tells me I’ve never been the wait and see how I feel type.” I rub my hands together. “Besides, I’m very curious to meet this family of mine with very weird names.”
“Thematic is probably a better word.”
“If you say so.” I get up from my chair, moving to the window that looks out at the Caribbean. Palm trees dot the pink sand beaches. I wish I was out there with.... “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” Dr. Drees asks.
“The usual. I was wishing I was with someone, only I have no idea who that person is.”
Dr. Drees looks suddenly uneasy. “Could be anyone in your family or perhaps someone closer.”
I blink at him. “Is there’s something you haven’t shared with me?”
He grimaces. “Yes, but I didn’t and I still don’t feel like it’s my place to share that information with you.”
“Who shared it with you?”
A throat clears and I turn sharply to find an older guy looking me. He looks vaguely familiar. My pulse jumps and my brain tries to recall anything about him. “I did. I’m Duke, by the way. Your oldest brother, and I’m here to take you back home.”
I jerk my gaze to Dr. Drees even as my heart pounds against my chest so hard, I’m shocked it doesn’t crack—my heart or my chest, that is. Both feel close to breaking right now. “Is this what you didn’t want to share?”
“Seems like the never wait to see how you feel type is a family trait.” Dr. Drees gives Duke a meaningful look. “You were to supposed to wait until a nurse brought you in.”
“I’ve been waiting for close to an hour. Plenty of time for you to share.” Duke runs a hand through his dark hair. There’s a wedding band on his ring finger. His blue eyes are stormy, a mix of grey and blue that look nothing like my own. His gaze, both happy and anxious. “I really want to hug you, little brother, but you don’t look so happy to see me.”
“I’m not exactly.” Hey if he can be blunt, then so can I. “But I’m not unhappy either.”
He cocks his head to one side. “Do you remember me at all?”
“A little,” I say slowly. “Sometimes I get memories of you guys, but your faces aren’t very clear.”
He nods. “Fair enough. Everyone else would have come, but uh, we didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Appreciate that.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my grey sweatpants. “Any other surprises you got—kids or a wife waiting at home for me? Or maybe I’m a neurosurgeon.” I laugh at the horrified expression on Dr. Drees’s face. “Just kidding.”
Duke’s gaze remains steady. I’d bet my last dollar that he’s not the type to flinch at anything. “You don’t have kids and you sure as hell aren’t a brain surgeon—although you are pretty damn smart. Probably the smartest out of all of us.”
Fuck my life. “What do I have?” I swallow hard. This feels like the most important thing I’ve ever learned since I realized that I had an entire past I knew nothing about.
He pause for a beat, then...“A wife.”
I HAVE A WIFE.
A wife.
Holy fuck, I have a wife.
I don’t know her name. Don’t know what she looks like. Or why she’s still my wife... although, wouldn’t she be considered a widow by now? Why didn’t she ever remarry? Why in the hell did we get married so young?
Why in the fuck isn’t she here?
None of us have spoken a word in the past five minutes. I think Duke and Dr. Drees are giving me time to adjust.
Finally, Duke says, “Don’t want to know about her?”
I want her to explain why the fuck didn’t she come get me herself. I have to admit that it’s pretty fucked up to care about a person I have no memories of ever being with, yet somehow this rejection cuts through to the bone. Anger burns through me, a rage like I haven’t felt since I my first attempt to walk again in order to build up my muscles.
Right now, I don’t know if it’s a reasonable feeling or not. Dr. Drees says that feelings without actions are reasonable, but once you take action on feeling, you better have a damn good reason for it.
“If you mean my wife, then no. I’d rather she tell me what kept her so busy she couldn’t bother being here today.” I give Dr. Drees a pointed look. “And why in the hell wouldn’t you tell me I had a wife. You had no problem dropping the family bomb on me.”
“Now Laird,” he begins, a stricken look on his face. “I—"
“Thought you’d grown out of your asshole tendencies,” Duke says before the good doctor can finish.
I give him a bland smile. “Must be in the DNA.”
He shrugs. “Possibly.”
Dr. Drees stands for the first time since Duke walked in the therapy room and looks at me. He squeezes my shoulder. “This is going great.”
Only Dr. Drees would say this. Or maybe other head doctors would think this, too.
Duke nods. “Just like old times.”
“Wonderful.” Dr. Drees grin falters and his hand falls away. “I don’t like long goodbyes, so I’ll just say it now. Make the best of the rest of your life, Laird. You have the extraordinary gift to start over with a completely blank slate.”
“Pretty sure a wife fills at least a corner of it.”
“Yes, well. I wish you the best. Thank you for allowing me to serve you these past four years.”
I can’t harden my heart to the guy. He put up his own cash to pay for my medical treatment and he’s treated me like a son the entire time. “Thank you for being my friend.”
“If you need me, Granada is only a hop, skip, and a flight away from the U.S,” he says, then quickly leaves the room.
“Are you ready to leave?”
“Sure, let’s get this over with.”
“We have a six-hour flight back, so you’ll have to get it over with slowly.”
“Oh look, he has jokes.”
Duke scratches his chin. “Well, since you seem to have lost your sense of humor, I though I’d make up for it.”
Damn, he’s quick. “You really shouldn’t mess with a guy who has a brain injury.”
“I don’t know... you seem the same to me, kid.” With that, he leaves the room and I have no choice but to follow him.
; The thing is, I am ready to go home. I’m ready to start my life... even if there’s someone I used to know waiting for me back home who couldn’t be bothered to show up. Couldn’t bother to send word that she misses me, loves me... wants to divorce me.
Unless that’s why she didn’t show up. Maybe she’s moved on and Duke’s trying to do me a solid by lessening the shock of it all. Again, I’d rather get it over with than wait.
Perhaps the old me would be reasonable, maybe ever consider that Duke was exactly the right person to come. I mean, I knew I had a family, but I never remembered a wife.
This me, however, feels betrayed, and until I get answers, I’m not going to make this easy for anyone.
Including myself.
This might be why Duke basically called me an asshole.
Chapter Eight
Laird
“WOULD YOU RATHER GO to where you grew up or your old house first?” Duke asks as he drives us to Castle Beach. We’re about ten minutes away, so I don’t have a lot of time to make my decision. Honestly, I think he did that shit on purpose.
“Where’s my... wife?” I ask, the last word so bitter on my lips and tongue that I want to strike it from my vocabulary.
“At home.”
“Take me to the missus.”
Duke grunts. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I slice my gaze to him. His knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel of the black F-150 he drives. “Why? You got thing for her?” I ask.
“If I thought it would knock some sense into you, I’d beat your ass for saying that.” He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d be having the same conversations with you at twenty-four, I did at fourteen.”
“Maybe I’m just hard headed.”
“Or you’ve regressed.”
Ouch. “Why are you being so protective of a woman who couldn’t bring herself to show up at the hospital?”
Picture Perfect Love Page 4
