Until We Are Gone

by Gia Riley

  “I’m fine.”

  She’s lying.

  “Teddi, don’t bullshit me. That’s one thing we don’t do with each other, remember?”

  “You’re the one who’s supposed to be with Meadow right now. Why are you here, Cash?”

  Ouch. I didn’t need that reminder thrown in my face even if it is the truth.

  “Can I come inside?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Come in.”

  She holds the door open, and I step in front of her, accidentally brushing against her chest.

  I feel her shiver, and I know it’s not from the temperature. The robe wrapped around her is too thick for her to be so cold that fast.

  When I glance over my shoulder, she’s staring at me, watching me take my usual spot on her couch.

  Normally, I’d do something to make the silence less awkward, but it’s been a long night, and all I want to do is have a conversation with my friend. I want to tell her about the notebook, and then I need her to reassure me that I have nothing to worry about.

  Teddi disappears into the kitchen. When she comes back, she’s carrying two glasses of iced tea, and she hands me one.

  “Thanks.”

  I could use something stronger, but Teddi never drinks around me. She has a dozen bottles of wine in her kitchen, yet she’s always respectful to my situation, even in her own home.

  “Did you get to see Meadow?” she asks as she stares into her glass, seemingly a million miles away. That’s not like Teddi either. Normally, she’s full of life, hanging on every word I say, ready to respond with great advice.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  I wait for her to look at me, and when she does, I get a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  After I clear away the unexplainable burn in my throat, I take a sip of my drink. “What’s going on with you tonight, Teddi?”

  Shrugging, she holds on to her glass with both hands and chews on her bottom lip. “Just one of those days. Work was tough.”

  I saw her outside when I was leaving to visit with Meadow. She looked perfectly fine, dressed like she was about to go out to dinner or something. When I waved, she returned the gesture and smiled.

  The woman I saw two hours ago isn’t the same one sitting on the couch in front of me, so I’m not convinced her mood has anything to do with work.

  Teddi’s a miracle worker during the day, caring for sick people and helping to save those critically injured. In the time we’ve known each other, she’s never looked this down or disturbed though.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “It’s just something I need to get over,” she explains. “I will—with time.”

  “I hate seeing you hurting.” I mean that. It doesn’t sit well with me. Someone as beautiful as she is should be smiling, enjoying life. Not everyone has to have problems thick enough to suffocate them.

  “Tell me about your visit,” she says, changing the subject.

  I go through everything—from the moment I signed in at the front desk up until Meadow went into the bathroom. I’m about to unleash the drama of the notebook, but Teddi suddenly looks worse, so I stop.

  “I should go,” I tell her. “I’ve taken up too much of your time as it is.”

  She sets her glass on the table and stands up. “Don’t act so formal, Cash. We’re beyond that. I’ll snap out of it.”

  “Come here,” I tell her.

  I scoot to the edge of the cushion, taking her hand and looking directly into her turquoise eyes. “You’re an amazing nurse, Teddi. Whatever happened today, you have to let it go. Losing people is hard; I get that. I’ve been on the other side of things, not knowing if Meadow would pull through or not. But I can tell you one thing; even if she hadn’t, I’d still be grateful for the nurses who stood by my side. You’re angels. I mean that.”

  Teddi’s as tough as nails, yet she’s standing in front of me, shaking, trying her best not to fall apart.

  Pulling her hand out of mine, she politely says, “Thank you.”

  It’s time for me to go. Whatever she’s dealing with, I think I’m only making it worse by being here.

  I know better than anyone that, sometimes, you just need to be alone to work it out and find a way to move on from the pain.

  Teddi follows me to the door, and once I’m on the porch, I turn around.

  It’s never been like this before—her so sad and me wanting to comfort her but not knowing what she needs or how to do it.

  I’ve never wanted to grab her and let her cry on my shoulder before, but for her, I’d do just about anything.

  I owe her so much.

  “Will you call me if you need anything?”

  “Cash,” she says, “I think—” She gets cut off by her ringing phone.

  Debating on whether to talk over the song or answer it, she reaches into her pocket on the third ring and pulls it out.

  With wide eyes, she says, “I just missed a call from the treatment center.”

  I reach into my pocket for my phone and realize it’s not there. “Shit!”

  “Cash! Wait!” Teddi yells as I run down the porch steps and jump behind the wheel of my car.

  My cell has been sitting in the cupholder the entire time I’ve been with Teddi. Two missed calls from the center linger on the call log, and I throw the car into reverse so quickly, the gears grind.

  My driveway is a straight shot across the street, and as soon as the engine is off, I sprint inside the house, checking the home phone for any missed calls.

  The center called here, too, so I listen to that voice mail first. It’s nothing but a dial tone.

  The first message on my cell is the same thing, but the second starts with heavy breathing. It’s Meadow, and I’m scared she’s having a panic attack.

  She hangs up, and the next voice mail begins. This time, she says, “Have fun with Teddi.”

  Fuck.

  I was in such a hurry to get to Teddi that I didn’t even check to see if I had my phone with me. That never happens. I’m always careful to make sure it’s fully charged and that the ringer’s loud enough for me to hear it, no matter where I am.

  Meadow knows that.

  And, now, she’s probably worried because I didn’t answer.

  I always answer.

  It’s after calling hours, so the chances of me hearing from her tonight are slim, and they’ll never give me permission to talk to her because I was just there. We’d already been given special privileges today.

  Call back, Meadow. Please, call back.

  I stand in the living room with my coat still on for fifteen minutes, holding a phone in each hand, praying one will light up.

  The guilt of missing a call from my wife eats me alive. Because I was with another woman.

  Teddi.

  I forgot Meadow had called her, so I dial Teddi’s number and slide down the wall, burying my head in my hands. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  “Hello?” she says.

  Her voice is slowly becoming more familiar than my wife’s, and I realize just how much time we’ve been spending together—and how much I’ve been enjoying it.

  “Hi.”

  I don’t know what we’re doing, but every time I’m with her, I feel like we’re inching closer to crossing a line. I saw it tonight when she looked at me, and I felt it in my gut when I held her hand. There’s just this thing between us, and I’m not sure how to stop it or if we even can.

  “Who is this?” she says.

  “Cash. How many guys do you have calling you?” I’m a dick for saying it, and maybe she doesn’t have my number saved like I thought she did, but it still bothers me that she didn’t recognize my voice. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

  I hear her swallow, and then she says, “You know you’re the only man I’m talking to.”

  Talking to.

  Teddi has feelings for me.

  And I think I care about her, too.

  This revelation shouldn’t
come as such a shock because I think, deep down, I’ve known that for a while. And, if it truly bothered me, I probably would have stopped talking to her when I first felt it. Yet here we are, spending our days and nights together, so neither one of us has to be alone.

  “Yeah, I know,” I tell her. “But it’d be okay if I wasn’t. You understand that, right?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “I get it, Cash.”

  I wish she didn’t have to get anything. Because being around her has made my life easier. Our conversations are never forced, and even now, when things are in limbo, we’re communicating. She never shies away from me or acts like I have the plague when I try to touch her.

  Teddi gets me like Meadow used to.

  Without even trying, we’ve somehow gone there.

  “Maybe we should take a break,” I tell her. “Let things cool off a little.”

  “Why? Nothing’s happened, Cash.”

  “I missed Meadow’s calls.”

  “I figured that was why she called me. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  It’s mine. I’m the one who’s responsible for everything. I didn’t go to the mall with my wife. I practically caused her accident, and now, I’m living in hell, trying to find my way out of the aftermath.

  “You deserve to be happy, Cash. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  “So do you, Teddi. You deserve so much more than this mess.”

  “I think I should get to decide what I want.”

  I so badly want to ask her what that is, but I’m not ready to hear her answer.

  I’ve asked myself a million times why I’m trying to force a life with a woman who doesn’t want me. Each time, I come up with the same answers.

  Because she used to.

  Because I think she could again.

  Because I’m afraid to give up.

  Because I don’t want her to be alone.

  I could go on and on with a list a mile long. It wouldn’t do any good.

  Meadow and I need more time. Time to figure out the situation. Time to see if she’ll regain her memories and time to figure out who the hell we are if we aren’t with each other.

  The truth is hard to swallow though. My wife slammed the door in my face tonight. She’s having fantasies about another man, documenting a very private sex life. And, whoever he is, he’s not me.

  No sane human would put up with that behavior. Leaving Meadow now though, while she’s in the thick of her recovery, I just can’t do that. Happy or not, I have to do right by my wife.

  “I’m sorry, Teddi.”

  I’ve never regretted an apology so much. Nothing about being with Teddi feels wrong. If anything, she keeps me sane. She’s the little bit of goodness I look forward to when everything else in my life keeps falling apart.

  I hear her sniffle, and it takes everything I have not to walk across the street.

  She’s a mess because I’m breaking her heart.

  “I wish it were different,” she whispers.

  I wish it were, too.

  God, do I wish my life were different.

  seventeen

  MEADOW

  “Meadow,” Ms. Lucia says with caution.

  She can tell there’s something going on with me; she just doesn’t know what. I’m not about to fill her in. If I did, I’d have to explain the dreams and my notebook, and I’ll never be comfortable with sharing those personal moments. Even if they turn out to be nothing more than a figment of my imagination, they’re still mine.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her.

  I’ve said it so many times that I’ve mastered the perfect posture and tone of voice to sell it. I’m rock solid on the outside, but inside, I’m just a hamster running circles around a wheel, trying my best to get through another day in this place.

  If I could have gotten inside the supply closet, I’d be comfortable right now, my core numb and my mind foggy enough to drown out the therapist and her attempts to wash away what little memories I have left.

  “I just want you to rest on the couch. Dr. Slater’s running a little behind with another patient. As soon as he’s finished, he’ll come here to begin your session.”

  “Can’t he wake them up?” I question.

  She sighs and says, “No, Meadow. It’s not like that. You’re full of preconceived notions. I’d like you to work on releasing them, so you have success.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you. If at any time you’re anxious, have him call me. I’ll sit with you if you’d like me to.”

  “Isn’t someone else supposed to be in the room anyway?”

  I read enough of Ms. Lucia’s pamphlets to understand the proper protocol. I figured there was a backup system, so the doctor couldn’t do anything stupid to me, like make me quack like a duck on command.

  “Dr. Slater has an assistant. Not like the movies, remember?”

  Rolling my eyes, I take a seat on the fancy couch. If this isn’t like the movies, then why the hell am I sitting on a stereotypical sofa?

  “See you soon,” she says before disappearing into the hallway with an arm full of green binders.

  Unsure of how long I’ll have to wait for Dr. Slater, I try to get comfortable. I’m sure I’d be freaking out if I wasn’t so tired.

  Maybe not being able to sleep is a blessing in disguise. Last night though, it didn’t seem that way.

  After I tried to call Cash and couldn’t get ahold of him, I panicked. I felt so bad for kicking him out, especially when he had been so excited to come visit me.

  When sleep wouldn’t come, I ended up in the computer lab, searching for Teddi’s number on the internet. Against my better judgment, I called her just to see if she’d answer. The call went to voice mail, and I knew they were together. Why shouldn’t they be? I make Cash miserable.

  I was getting what I deserved.

  Because, if I had been more careful or made better choices, Teddi wouldn’t have had any reason to call the cops. Carelessness got me here, and now, I have to sit in front of some mind-bender and try to get my brain fixed.

  I’d rather be at the farmhouse, inside my tub, talking with Grandma. That’s what I miss the most and why I have a problem with Teddi.

  She took away my freedom and the only piece of my past that I need.

  Maybe I am losing my mind. What sane woman would care more about a dead relative than her husband spending time with another woman?

  This one.

  Me.

  I have no room to talk about what they’re doing. I’m just as guilty as they are. Though I’m not spending time with someone else, the man in my dreams controls so much of my mind, body, and spirit.

  From the moment I wake up in the morning until I close my eyes at night, I can’t stop thinking about him.

  Even right now, as I stare at the wall, waiting to be hypnotized, I’m imagining him.

  I close my eyes for a couple of seconds, picturing the last thing he did to me. It was so good, the way he touched me and spoke.

  Warmth pools between my thighs, and he spreads my legs wide, forcing me to feel his tongue and each lap at my clit. My hips buck off the bed, and he pushes down harder to keep me still.

  “Don’t move,” he whispers. “I need you still.”

  His voice is gruff, a little rough around the edges, and it’s the sexiest sound I think I’ve ever heard.

  His five-o’clock shadow brushes against my sensitive skin, and my stomach muscles contract.

  The friction.

  The warmth of his tongue.

  It’s all too much yet not nearly enough.

  “More,” I tell him.

  “You want all of me?”

  “Yes,” I moan as his tongue dips inside me.

  He could ask me anything, and I’d give him the answer he wanted.

  “Be mine, baby. Tell me you’re done with him.”

  Anything but that.

  “Meadow.”

  I try to find his stormy eyes
again, but they’re gone. That’s how this always works. Just when things get good, I either wake up or lose him.

  It’s not fair.

  “Meadow, can you hear me?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Are you okay? I’m Dr. Slater. You look really pale.”

  Turning my head, I open my eyes and say, “Don’t stop,” in a breathy whisper I barely recognize.

  He tilts his head to the side, and I realize my dreams have met reality.

  eighteen

  MEADOW

  “Who are you?” I ask him.

  Maybe I’m still asleep. But, when I sit up and look around, I’m on the couch in the treatment room. There’s a woman sitting in the chair in the corner, typing on a laptop. I don’t know if she’s recording me or not, and that makes me nervous.

  He notices me watching her and says, “That’s Gretchen, my assistant. She’ll be present for your sessions. There’s no need to worry about her. She’s only here to take notes, so I don’t have to stop while we’re working.”

  “You’re Dr. Slater?”

  “Nolan Slater,” he says. “In the flesh.”

  I’ve seen his flesh. Every last inch.

  Nolan. God, even his name twists my insides around.

  There’s so much I want to say to this man, starting with finding out how he manages to weasel his way into my brain when I go to bed at night.

  I’d think it was some wild side effect of this place, that maybe they send subliminal messages to their patients through the air vents, but my dreams started before I came here.

  Since I’ve been sober, they’ve intensified, and instead of only dreaming about Grandma, I’ve found him.

  I thought Grandma was God’s way of sending me a little reprieve from the pain, but if that’s the case, then what would Dr. Slater be? What have I done to deserve that kind of satisfaction?

  “I’m so confused,” I whisper, afraid that if I talk too loudly or look at him directly in the eyes, he’ll disappear. Surely, this is too good to be true. I’m hallucinating.

  He fidgets with something in his hand, and I expect him to dangle a pocket watch in front of my face and tell me I’m getting sleepy. Very sleepy.