“Mmm.” Surprisingly, food sounds good. Then again, it’s Davie’s lasagna, made from her Italian mom’s recipe. Mama Mayer’s lasagna would make anyone salivate.
Damien settles on Imagine Dragons and adjusts the volume to background music level.
Ella rubs her eyes. “Those meds knocked me out.”
“I can send Davie home if you’re not up for company.”
A part of her wants Davie to leave dinner at their doorstep so that she and Damien have more time to talk. She still has so many questions. But she’s hungry, and she misses her friend. And if memory serves her correctly in this instance, it’s been a while since she’s seen her.
“No, I’m good,” she says. “I want to see her and her food. I’m starving. I’m going to freshen up.”
In the master bath, Ella strips off her clothes and puts on the plastic cover the hospital provided her to keep her wrist brace dry. Lynn covered her C-section scar with paper tape-like Steri-Strips. Ella’s not supposed to mess with them. They’ll fall off on their own. But they can get wet. She’s just not supposed to scrub the area.
Stepping into the steaming shower, she avoids her reflection in the mirror and soaps her body quickly, but she can’t avoid how much bigger she is. Heavy breasts, soft belly, and fuller hips. All this new weight and no baby to show for it.
She slams off the water.
After her shower, she carefully towels off and pats dry the Steri-Strips. Getting dressed, she slips into an oversize button-down blouse and stretchy, high-waisted black yoga pants. The only loose and comfortable articles she could find that aren’t maternity clothes, clothes she doesn’t remember.
Damien and Davie are at the dry bar when Ella joins them. Damien has mixed Davie a Manhattan and poured himself a Macallan over ice. When Davie sees Ella, she bursts out crying. She sets down her drink and rushes to Ella’s side, hugging her as though she hasn’t seen her in years. But Ella catches the floral scent of Davie’s CHANEL Chance perfume and she remembers. They went shopping at Bloomingdale’s last week. Davie needed shoes for a function at SFMOMA. One of her publicity clients was exhibiting.
“Oh, Ella,” Davie says, teary-eyed. “Your baby.” She sobs, overcome with emotion, and gives Ella another lung-crushing hug. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ella says, even though it’s not. She’s the one who’s sorry. She’s the one who messed everything up by getting into the car after . . .
After what? She has the vague sense she and Damien had been arguing.
About what?
Davie releases her grip and holds Ella at arm’s length. “It’s not okay. It’s horrible. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. You forgot your baby.”
“Damien told you about my amnesia?” She looks at her husband. He’s staring into his drink, looking like he’s working through a particularly complex coding issue.
“Yes, while you showered. Do you remember shopping with me last week?” Ella nods. “What about seeing Hamilton last month?”
“Yes. Loved that musical.”
“Me too. But you don’t remember anything about the accident?”
Ella shakes her head. “Or my pregnancy.” She doesn’t remember decorating the nursery or wearing maternity clothes. Ella felt like she was snooping through a stranger’s closet while looking for clothes after her shower. Her wardrobe of designer jeans and dresses had been pushed aside for blousy, A-line stretchy shirts and pants with elastic waistbands.
“How unusual,” Davie murmurs.
“That I can remember buying a size large Hamilton shirt but not the reason why?” She wore a size small. Used to, anyway.
“Well, yes, but more that you lost your memory, rather, fragments of your memories—”
“That’s a good description,” Ella replies.
“It is, isn’t it? I’d drink to that if I had my glass with me.” She looks back at the dry bar. “I meant that your memory loss happened five days after the accident.”
“I know. It’s unusual.”
“Did the doctor say why?”
“He thinks losing the baby was too much for me to handle.”
“Did something happen at the hospital to bring it on?” Davie whispers. She glances at Damien. He has moved into the kitchen and is popping the lasagna into the oven.
Does he know something? Ella wonders.
Damien returns to the dry bar and mixes himself another cocktail.
“I have no idea,” Ella answers, turning back to her friend. “If something did happen, I blocked it out.”
The lobby buzzer sounds.
“Who’s here?” Ella asks Damien, who hands Davie a tissue on his way to the door. She takes it graciously and dabs her eyes.
“Andrew. He called while you were in the shower.”
“How is that annoying little brother of yours?” Davie asks.
“Still annoying, I’m sure.”
When Andrew comes in, dressed in baggy jeans and a faded red hoodie, he shakes Damien’s hand. He then sees Ella and his face falls. In two long strides, he is at her side and grabs her up in a tight embrace. Ella makes a noise of distress when she feels a burn in her abdomen. He quickly lets go.
“Yikes, sis.” He grimaces when Ella gently massages the area around her scar.
“I’m fine.”
“Really? ’Cause Damien told me about your head. Damn.”
“With any luck, I’ll recover. My doctor said my chances are good.”
Nodding as though he’s trying to understand, Andrew bites his lip. Andrew, the one who’s always so lighthearted, looks like he is going to cry. She hasn’t seen him cry since their parents died. They both cried a lot that year.
Ella clasps his hands. “Trust me, everything will be fine.”
“If you say so, sis.”
“I know so.” She’ll make sure of it.
They sit for a dinner of lasagna, garlic bread, and roasted vegetables, and despite the dark cloud of the week’s events, talk is lively. Damien has always shone at dinner parties and he keeps the conversation light, asking Andrew about his latest project, Come Over Rover, an app that connects dogs in the neighborhood for canine playdates.
“I have two interested investors,” Andrew announces.
“Fantastic! I knew there would be.” Ella gives her brother a fist bump. His latest app wasn’t his first venture. Andrew’s been designing and selling off apps since he was nineteen. He’ll do the same when he gets bored with Rover. Poor doggy.
Damien cuts into his lasagna. “I guess that means my human resources department shouldn’t expect a call from you.”
“You know Andrew abhors the eight-to-six grind,” Davie says. She nods when Damien offers to pour her more Cabernet. “Andrew’s just saving you from the hassle of firing him.”
“It’s true, honey. He’s never going to come work with you,” Ella agrees. “He spends mornings at the gym, afternoons at the coffee shops, and evenings at the bar,” she ticks off, then corrects herself. “My mistake. He spends his evenings at the Blue Light.”
“I watch the Niners there. Doesn’t everyone?”
Three heads shake.
“Sorry, Damien, my brother only works nights and in his pajamas.”
“I don’t wear pajamas.”
Davie leans forward, resting her chin on her palm, intrigued. “Really?” She likes to egg him on. Harmless flirting because, frankly, she finds him a bit of a tool.
“Shorts! I wear gym shorts. And a shirt, except when it’s hot.” He throws his bread down. It bounces off his plate. “What is this? Andrew roast night?”
He sounds annoyed but he’s grinning. Ella knows it doesn’t take much to get her brother riled.
“I was thinking about your app the other day. TinderPooch, right?” Damien asks in all seriousness.
“Come Over Rover,” Andrew grumbles.
“You should program a feature where a dog barks to find a match. Once for yes, twice for no. Or you could train them to swipe
.”
Ella and Davie burst with laughter.
“Ow,” Ella whines, grabbing her waist. Everything hurts, but she can’t stop. Damien’s too damn funny when he gets on a roll.
“You’re in rare form tonight, Russell.” Andrew stuffs a forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “Normally, I’d be quick with a retort full of awesomeness, but given the shitty week you’ve had, I’ll refrain.”
Damien’s face darkens.
“Andrew,” Ella reprimands.
He looks at her. “What?”
Damien’s jaw ticks. He puts down his fork and pushes away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me.”
They watch him head down the hallway until they hear the door to his office close.
“What’s his deal?” Andrew asks.
Davie shoots him a dirty look. “He just lost a baby. Give him a break. He’s having a hard time.”
“Crap.” Andrew cups his hands over his mouth and nose. “My bad,” he says into his hands. His gaze darts to Ella. “I wasn’t thinking. And come on, he was picking on me first.”
“Oh, my god, seriously? How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“That was a rhetorical question, you dimwit.” Ella gives him a playful punch in the shoulder. She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “It’s not you. He’s upset I can’t remember Simon.”
“Sure he is. But obviously you’d remember if you could. And it’s going to come back, it just takes time,” Davie says. She comes over and bends down to wrap Ella in a hug.
Davie’s sweet perfume and warm skin comfort Ella and she feels her tears coming on. “I should go see how he’s doing.”
Davie rubs her back. “No, you should cry. Come with me.” Davie straightens and holds out her hand. “Excuse us, Andrew.”
Andrew gets up from the table. “I’ll go find him and apologize, I guess.”
Ella follows Davie down the hall to her office, right next to Damien’s. She can hear Andrew’s and Damien’s muffled voices through the wall and wonders what they’re talking about. Her brother isn’t exactly famous for his apologies.
“I’m okay,” she tells Davie after she closes the door. She plucks a tissue from the box on her desk, dabs her eyes, and wipes her nose. “I think Damien thinks I’m lying.”
“About what?” Davie asks, sinking into the chair across from Ella’s desk.
“My selective memory loss.”
“He does? Did he say something?”
“Not really. It’s more a feeling than anything.”
“Forget a moment about what you think and what you think he thinks.” She waves her hands in front of her, confused. “Why would you fake something like this? There’s no point.”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You guys will figure it out and deal when you’re ready. The memories will come back. Give it time.” Davie folds her legs under herself. “You know, I visited you in the hospital.”
“When?” Ella asks, sitting on the edge of her desk.
“Umm. Let’s see. Five days ago.”
“How was I?”
“Miserable. So was Damien. You were both in shock.”
“Makes sense.” Ella looks at her bare toes, the pink polish chipped and dull.
“Your pregnancy wasn’t planned,” Davie says softly.
“What?”
“I wasn’t sure how much you remember. I thought you’d want to know.”
Ella’s heart races. “Damien did want Simon, right?”
“Yes, he was ecstatic.”
“Good.” Ella sighs, relieved.
“But . . . it took him a while to come around. That’s what you told me.”
Ella chews her lower lip, her mind tracing back to Damien’s reaction to her memory loss. “You weren’t supposed to forget him,” he’d exclaimed. Why would he say something like that?
“Did I say anything at the hospital, anything strange?”
Davie frowns. “Like what?”
Ella shakes her head, unsure how to make sense of what Damien said and how to phrase it for Davie without it coming across as bizarre. Damien could have simply been shocked and the words came out of his mouth all wrong.
“What do you know about my accident?” she asks instead.
“Only what Damien told me.” Davie reiterates the same story Damien gave Ella that afternoon.
“Nothing else?”
Davie shakes her head. “I take it you don’t remember the accident.”
“No.” But she has the impression she and Damien argued beforehand. She asks Davie about it.
“If you did, you didn’t tell me.”
Ella hears laughter outside her door and the music on the Sonos speaker in her office abruptly stops.
“Game night is on,” Andrew shouts for them to hear.
Davie groans and sags in the chair. Ella, though, is relieved Damien’s mood has shifted.
“Come on. It’ll be fun.” Ella could use an insane night of Cards Against Humanity. She slides off her desk and pats Davie’s knee.
“Fine,” she grunts, getting up. “As long as it’s not ‘Exploding Kitties’ again. I refuse to give your little bro another belly rub.”
“You weren’t supposed to give him a literal belly rub. And it’s Exploding Kittens, by the way.”
“Whatever. His fault for lying about the rules.”
“Maybe he’ll purr this time if you’re lucky.”
“Fuck you.”
CHAPTER 6
Ella wakes the following morning with the vague memory of Damien kissing her goodbye.
“I’ll try to be home early,” he murmured. But the softness of his tone belied his worry. He’d read an email from his vice president of sales before bed. They’d lost Imperial Properties, a nationwide commercial real estate company. Ella didn’t want him to go in to work. She’d rather spend the day in bed in his arms. The painkillers make her so sleepy. But after seven days off, he needed to make an appearance at the office and meet with his sales staff. He had to find out what went down with Imperial. Damien left before the sun was up with a promise. He’d pick up dinner at Bob’s Steak and Chop House. Ella loves their steaks.
Ella boils water and fixes her coffee, skipping breakfast. Her appetite seems to have taken another hiatus. Coffee in hand, she makes her way to her office, still wearing her wrinkled sleep shirt and ratty terry cloth robe. She’s ready to dive into work, grateful for the distraction. She’s also grateful Damien kept the door to the nursery closed. Easier to imagine the room as the guest room it was before. Empty for a very different reason than it really is: no houseguests rather than no baby.
She settles into her chair with a groan and sets down her mug beside a white iPhone box. A large silver bow is taped on top with a note from Damien.
All set up and fully charged!
Couldn’t find the same case so I got several.
They’re in the Apple bag on your credenza.
Love, D.
Ella swings her chair around and peeks inside the bag. Her throat swells with emotion. The past week had to have been hell for Damien. One of the worst in his life. Yet he still had the forethought to replace her damaged phone. God, she loves this man.
One of the cases looks similar to the one she had before, an owl pattern. She unpacks the case and the phone and powers on the device. Everything she had on her previous phone since her last backup loads, old emails and hundreds of new ones. Her voice mailbox is full—plenty of calls came in during the past week she’ll have to go through. Damien even synced to her cloud account. All her settings are the same.
Tears well. She swallows roughly, then laughs at herself for crying over a stupid phone. But it’s a phone from her husband, who’d labored over it while she’d been laid up. That man.
She sends him her first text. Thank you.
He doesn’t reply, but she didn’t expect him to, not right away, considering how busy he must be today.
Time for her
to get busy, too.
Launching her laptop she opens Outlook and sags in her chair. Seven hundred fifty-eight unread emails. That’ll keep her busy for a while, but rather than culling through them, she opens the most recent message from her editor, Rebecca. Rebecca, whose tasteful bouquet of white lilacs and garden roses Damien had brought home from the hospital sits on her credenza. Her editor can be tough, but she’s always been Ella’s biggest cheerleader, and for good reason. Ella’s one of Luxe Avenue’s most dependable staff writers. She’s never missed a deadline, and memory loss or not, she doesn’t intend to break that record.
Rebecca’s email arrived earlier that morning.
Rest up and call me when you’re ready. Rebecca xo
Ella calls her.
“I said when you’re ready, not when you get out of the hospital,” Rebecca answers after the second ring.
“I’m fine,” Ella insists.
“I have it on good authority from your husband that your doctor put you on a two-week hiatus. Call me then or later. Take more time off if you need it. I’ve got assignments in the pipeline and I want you in top form when you get back.” Rebecca speaks a million miles a minute as usual and arguing with her when she’s like this is pointless. Ella sinks further into her chair with a long sigh.
“And Ella.” Rebecca’s tone softens. “Damien told me everything. I’m sorry about the baby.”
“Thank you,” Ella says, sitting upright. She wonders exactly what Damien mentioned. Does Rebecca know about her memory loss?
“Did he say anything else?” she asks.
“Not much. We didn’t talk long, and he hasn’t called since the day after your accident.”
Good. Rebecca doesn’t know about the amnesia and Ella wants to keep it that way. No need to give her editor reason to doubt her capabilities or redirect those assignments in the pipeline to someone else.
Unfortunately, that also means Rebecca can’t tell her anything more about the accident or what led up to it than what she’s already heard from Davie. Come to think of it, she’d be surprised if either of them knew anything. If she and Damien were fighting, he wouldn’t share those details. He’s too private and he’s yet to share them with her.
“Listen, why don’t you walk me through your calendar,” Rebecca suggests. “I can reassign whatever you’re working on and we can postpone everything else. Your job for the next two weeks is to get better. Everyone here is so devastated for you, including Paul.”
Last Summer: A Novel Page 5
