by Jess Petosa
The room is the same one from my last memory, except now it had been painted a deep red and my bedspread was black and white. I am a teenager in my memory, maybe sixteen or seventeen. I know that the boy in the picture was important to me at the time, but I can't think of his name. I remember his hat easily, the purple baseball hat with a picture of a tiger across the top. How many schools in the country boast a tiger as their mascot? Probably too many to narrow down any answers.
More snippets come back to me, things that I just suddenly know.
I remember my mom being upset that I met this boy at summer camp, and that we were dating. I remember her forbidding me to go on a date with him, or to be with him. I don't know how, but I just remember.
Maybe if I focus more on the memories I do have, the blanks around them will fill in with details. I turn back to the window when the phone rings in the kitchen. I hurry to answer it in case Charles and Marie are calling to check in.
"Hello?" I answer.
"Jane." Will breathes my name into the phone and all the hurt from earlier washes right back into my body. "Are you okay?"
No. "Yes, why?" I ask.
"I just want to make sure you have everything you need with the storm, and the power being out. My mom said you’re welcome to come over to the house and wait it out. They have the back up generators running and I can pick you up..."
"Will," I say his name firmly, bringing his babbling to a halt. "No. I don't want to come over there. I don't want to pretend everything is fine when it isn't. We can't be together, I understand that."
"What are you talking about? Jane?" Will sounds worried now.
"You said you were afraid, and I get it. I do. I just don't want to make this any harder than it already is."
I hear a frustrated groan on the other end. "Jane, I'm coming over. I'll be there soon."
"You don't need to come out in this st..." but the line is already dead.
I'm still wearing my pajama shorts and a tank top. I know that my high ponytail is probably a mess from my nap, but I can't bring myself to move. I stand by the phone, peering out the front window until, finally, headlights appear on the driveway. Will's SUV comes to a quick stop and he hops out of the driver side and sprints to the porch. I hurry to open the door for him so that he doesn’t have to knock. He uses one hand to wipe the fresh rain from his hair and pauses in the foyer, looking me over.
"You know, Charles and Marie asked me not to have boys over while they’re gone," I tell him. I can't help but tease him, even in a moment like this.
He smirks. "I'm sure even they broke the rules once or twice when they were our age."
I shrug. "I'm pretty sure she was married at this point."
I shut the door behind Will and wrap my arms protectively around my chest, thinking that maybe I can shield my heart from anymore hurt.
"We need to talk," he tells me and I nod.
"Then talk." I don't move to sit down, but rather remain standing in the foyer. I want him to know that after he says what he has to say, he needs to leave.
His eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere but me. He starts to speak several times but stops, running his hands through his hair in frustration.
"I’m afraid of getting hurt," he finally says.
I watch him carefully. He is only confirming what I already know.
"But it doesn't matter," he adds.
And just like that my stern demeanor falters. My hands fall to my sides and my hands grasp the soft, cotton material of my shorts.
Will takes a step toward me. "It doesn't matter because everything I feel for you, every moment I spend with you, is worth more than that fear. Even if it turns out that I can't have you for a lifetime, or if things change when your memory returns, at least I'll have this. I'll have the good moments with you. The moments I didn't expect to happen."
My tongue is caught in my throat and I think that maybe I'm going to fall over. I steady myself against the wall, my eyes never leaving Will's.
He reaches a hand out and wipes a tear from my cheek; a tear I didn't know had escaped.
Why am I crying?
His hand falls back to his side and he continues. "I know it's crazy, how quickly things have moved, but I've fallen... I've fallen for you Jane. I've fallen for who you are in this moment, and I'm sure I'd have fallen for whoever you were before the accident. Maybe it’s because we feel like we are racing a clock that this is all so intense. But..."
He trails off and I know what is coming. Somehow, I feel exactly the same as he does.
Will cups my cheeks in his hands, and the light from the lantern in the kitchen casts an orange glow over his face.
"I love you, Jane."
I lose my balance and crumple into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He runs his hands over my back and holds me close.
"I love you too," I whisper into his chest.
We both break apart, for a split second, and then we are scrambling to get close to each other. Our lips meet in an almost painful reunion, and we all but devour each other in the foyer. Will grasps my waist as he kicks his shoes onto the rug by the door and as soon as the task is complete, he lifts me into the air and backs me into the wall. My legs wrap around his hips and my arms snake around his neck. His lips leave a trail of heat as he kisses a trail from my mouth to my ear, and then down to the hollow part of my neck. A gasp leaves my throat and I'm rocking against him, gripping the back of his shirt so tight that I’m sure my knuckles turn white.
Somehow we are moving and suddenly we are up the stairs and heading toward my room. I don't know if he guesses that it is mine or if he knows, but I don't care. The lantern I set in here earlier is smaller than the others, and only gives off the faintest of light. He leans me back onto the bed and hovers above me, pulling his gray t-shirt shirt over his head. I run my hands over his chest, feeling the hard lines of his muscles rise and fall with each breath. I feel him shiver under my touch as I run my hand down his chest, over his stomach, and to the waistline of his pants.
His hands fumble across my waist and make contact with my bare skin. It’s everything I wanted to feel on the beach the other night. The fire burns brighter in my lower stomach and a moan escapes my throat. He pulls my tank top over my head and brings his mouth to mine. Soon, in a not so graceful way, our clothes lay scattered around the room and Will hovers over me. I can sense his hesitation by his posture, the same hesitation we both had on Friday. Everything changed with his admittance downstairs.
"Jane," he says my name and I reach up to touch his cheeks.
"Will," I say. "It's okay."
In the soft light I see his eyes flick over me and I catch a look of adoration in his eyes. He lowers himself slowly and covers his body with mine, our lips meeting gently. Our bodies line up and no inch of flesh is left untouched. Will is hard and soft all at the same time, and I run my hands over his back, up his arms, and through his hair. He grips my hips with his hands and deepens the kiss, and I know that everything is going to be okay.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When I wake up in the morning, rain still pounds against the window, and I’m amazed that the house has yet to wash away. The clock on the bedside table is still powerless, but enough gray light pours in through the window that I know the sun has risen. I’m on my stomach, with my head facing the dresser, and Will's arm is thrown over my back. I can feel his warm breath on my neck and his forehead is pressed up against the back of my head. I don't dare move, for fear of waking him up, and I close my eyes with a smile.
I can't even think up words to describe last night. Our relationship shifted the moment we said 'I love you' and now it’s as though we are trying to fit a lifetime of love into the short time we may have. After sharing last night with Will, and being with him in an intimate way, I've decided to give in to the risk of hoping. Hoping that when my memories do return completely, that I’m just a girl that is looking for a new start. If so, I've already found it.
I reali
ze that Will's even breathing has stopped just as his fingers start to curve around my stomach. Soon he is trailing kisses along my shoulder and down to my neck. I scrunch up and giggle. I roll to face him, and push my hair out of my face.
"I must look wonderful," I say out loud.
Will shrugs. "I think you'd look beautiful no matter what."
"Suck up," I say, and he silences me with his mouth. One hand travels along my waist and down the outside of my thigh, rounding up over my knee.
I gasp against his mouth and lean back. "You know, Charles and Marie are coming home today."
Will shoots me a wicked grin, one that sends goose bumps dancing across my skin.
"I bet we have time."
He brings his mouth back to mine and he rolls on top of me.
Even though I’m still off work because of the power outage, Will needs to go to work. He hurries out the front door and I stand in the opening, watching him jog down the stairs. He pauses and turns around, jogging back up the stairs and sliding to a stop in front of me. He cups the back of my head and gives me another good-bye kiss, the third one, and turns to leave again.
I giggle and wave. "See you later!"
I watch his car pull down the driveway before I head back inside. The rain finally stops and bits of sunlight try to peek through the clouds. I'm halfway up the stairs when the power clicks back on. The clocks downstairs beep to life. The light in my room is on when I enter to gather my stuff for a shower. The bed is heavily rumpled and I feel myself blushing as the memory of last night floods into my mind.
After a hot shower, I blow dry my hair and put on make-up, feeling the happiest I have since waking up in this house. I make myself breakfast in case Shelley calls me in to work. I'm cleaning up my dishes when I start to feel nauseous. The icky feeling rolls through my midsection, and cool sweat beads on my forehead. I drop my dish in the sink and take a seat at the counter, laying my head against the cool granite. The feeling seeps away slowly and I stand with a deep breath.
I make it two steps before the nausea hits me again. This time it’s coupled with a sharp cramp in my lower abdomen. I grip my stomach with my hands.
Did I eat something bad?
The carton of eggs is still on the counter and I check the use by date. There is still a week left. I groan as the sharp pain hits me again and I fall to floor. A strangled cry escapes my throat as the pain intensifies. Something is wrong. Really wrong. I try to think fast and end up crawling across the floor even though each movement brings extreme pain. I manage to reach up and grab the phone. I turn it on just as another sharp pain hits me. I look down and choke back a scream. My shorts are dotted with blood.
I punch 9-1-1 into the phone, pretty sure that this is definitely an emergency.
I'm looking at the growing spots of blood as the dispatcher answers the phone, and I'm just muttering "help" when spots appear in my vision and the floor is rising up to greet me.
"Mel." My name falls from his lips in a warm breath, and his lips brush against mine. "I love you."
"I love you too," my mouth says back, even though I'm not sure I want them to.
We are in the back seat of a car, parked under the dark shadows of a large tree. I'm curled up in his lap, with my right hand cradling his cheek and my left hand gripping the back of his neck.
It's the boy from the picture. The one I remember seeing in my room.
"Jason," I mumble before my lips move forward to meet his.
His hands are moving under my shirt and up my stomach. A pleasurable shiver runs through me.
"Do you trust me?" his whispers against my mouth.
I nod and lean into him.
"Jane, can you hear me?" I recognize Dr. Morgan's voice immediately.
My eyes open and are greeted with a bright light. The room comes into focus and at first all I see is white; white walls, white lights, white faces, white clothes. Dr. Morgan stands at the end of the bed, a manila folder in his hands. I look on either side of me.
"Am I in a hospital?" I ask.
Dr. Morgan nods. "You’re currently in Eastern Maine Medical Center. You had emergency surgery in Hampton Harbor and then we transferred you here for recovery."
I close my eyes and think back to my last memory.
"Do you remember what happened to you?" I can hear the double meaning in his question. He is wondering if I've forgotten everything all over again, or if maybe I've remembered.
"I was in the kitchen when I started to feel sick," I recall. "I called 9-1-1... and that is the last I remember."
"A Mr. William Davey actually got you to the emergency center before the ambulance responded," Dr. Morgan tells me.
I run my hand over my lips, which are dry and cracked. Dr. Morgan steps to my bedside table and pours me a glass of water. "He just happened to be coming to the house at the time."
Coming to the house? Had I imagined the previous night?
"What day is it?" I ask groggily. My head feels fuzzy and I notice that there is an IV line running into the crook of my arm.
"Same day, just late afternoon. The surgery was pretty quick and we've let you slowly wake up from sedation."
It’s then that I notice the nurse to my right. Had she been here the whole time?
"So what happened to me?" I ask.
Dr. Morgan nods at the nurse and she leaves the room. He pulls up a chair and sits down beside my bed.
"Jane, when I called you last week and wanted you to come in, there was a reason I made it sound urgent." He looks down at my chart and back up at me. "Jane, you were pregnant."
The world around me stops. Machines cease to beep, my IV stops dripping, and I think my heart may stop beating. I suck in gulps of air and Dr. Morgan helps me sit up, patting my back.
"Deep breaths, Jane. Deep breaths."
"Melissa," I cry out. "My name is Melissa."
Dr. Morgan drops to his chair and looks up at me. "You remember?"
"I remember that," I tell him. "I remember my name."
He writes something on my chart.
"You said I was pregnant?" I ask. “Why didn’t you tell me over the phone?”
Dr. Morgan sighs. “Normally, I would have. But in your case, I was worried that sharing news like that in any way other than in person would be a bad idea.”
"You had an ectopic pregnancy. That’s why you got so sick this morning. Normally there are warning signs, but yours came on pretty quickly."
"Ectopic pregnancy?" I understand pregnancy, but the beginning part alludes me.
Dr. Morgan leans forward in his chair. "It means that the baby was growing in your Fallopian tubes, instead of your uterus. Your tube ruptured this morning, which is why you went down so easily. You are lucky you didn't bleed out."
His words are frank and I know this is how doctors speak, but I'm starting to feel upset.
"You were about 8 weeks along," Dr. Morgan tells me. "Which might be a hint to your previous life."
I close my eyes again, letting the information take a stroll through my mind. Could I have been running because I am pregnant? Was pregnant? Am I running from the person that got me pregnant? My head beings to throb and I open my eyes again.
"That isn't all," Dr. Morgan stands up and sits on the edge of my bed now. He pats my hand, and the gesture is fatherly.
"What else could there be?" I ask with a groan.
"Since you were bleeding so heavily, you had a gynecological exam as well." He pauses. "There are some signs that you've been pregnant before, and delivered."
A new wave of dizziness falls over me and I'm gripping Dr. Morgan's lab coat, frantic.
"Are you saying... do you mean... are you telling me?" Incoherent sentences escape my mouth.
"Melissa." He uses my true name. "There is a good chance you already have a child.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Somehow I’m conscious when Charles and Marie come in to visit me. I had a panic attack after Dr. Morgan told me the news, and a nurse had to g
ive me a mild sedative. I slept for a short bit and woke up with a dinner plate placed in front of me. A nurse, whose nametag reads Betty, comes in to ask if I am ready for visitors.
When Marie enters the room, she immediately runs to my bed and coddles me.
"We were so worried. As soon as we got off the plane there was a message from Will telling us you were in the hospital. They wouldn't tell us anything at the desk, since you aren't a minor," she says.
Charles stands at the end of my bed. "It's a good thing he was headed to the house to check on you in the storm..." he trails off.
