by Emma Scott
And I’d been playing most open mic nights since.
Laura took the stage. “Heya! How y’all doing tonight? You ready for some music?”
A roll of enthusiastic applause and cheers.
“We’re going to start things off with our own secret weapon, Haven’s own, Jim Whelan!”
The crowd cheered louder, and Laura shot me an I-told-you-so look from across the room.
“You’re up, Jimbo,” Kevin said and leaned into Stan. “He’s going to quit slinging booze to be a YouTube star, just wait.”
“I’m racking up too many student loans to quit,” I said. “I’ll be working here until I’m sixty.”
“Yeah, right.” Stan tossed me a cocktail napkin. “Can I have your autograph?”
“Sign his boobs.” Kevin laughed.
I chuckled and wiped my hands on a rag. I came from behind the bar to more applause. Laura had my guitar ready.
“Knock ’em dead,” she said and left me alone on the stage.
“Hey, all, thanks for coming out,” I said, taking a seat and adjusting the mic stand. “I’m going to play one song—”
Boos and catcalls.
“You want me to sing, or do you want to drink?”
They laughed and one guy called out, “When you put it that way…”
I smiled and settled into the guitar, letting my fingers feel the strings. The song I’d chosen wasn’t easy.
“This one is from Mumford and Sons,” I said. “It’s called ‘Beloved.’”
The crowd quieted down, and the room became still. The spotlight over me created a curtain of light. I was alone with Thea. Just her and me. I strummed the guitar and began to play.
For three and a half minutes, I sang to her, asked her to remember I was with her. And she was loved. Always.
The last note wavered and the crowd stayed still and hushed.
I leaned into the mic a final time. “That was for Thea.”
Every person in that room lifted their glass or bottle. “For Thea!”
They all knew our story. When people spoke to me now, I talked back. Behind the bar, at the art supply store or just passing on the street. I was a voice in the world, not a mute observer watching from afar.
The crowd erupted into huge applause as I left the stage.
“Brilliant, Jim,” Laura said in my ear. “Just beautiful.”
I un-looped the guitar strap. “I’m glad because I’m nervous as hell.”
“You? Nervous?”
“Not for this,” I said and gestured to the crowd.
Laura’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, is tomorrow the big day?”
“Day after.”
“I knew it was coming up. So exciting and just in time for Christmas.” She gave me a short hug. “I’m so happy for you, Jim. We all are.”
“Thanks, Laura,” I said. “It helps. It helps a lot.”
Having someone—a lot of someones—on our side, even if Thea never knew it, had gotten me through many long days. But then again, if she’d taught me anything, it was you didn’t have to know something was real in order to feel it.
The following morning, I drove over to Roanoke Speech, Language, and Learning Services. Jason Taylor was already in the therapy room, waiting for me. This was Sunday, so the room was empty. But the tenacious Jason wanted to put in as many hours of therapy as possible, and I needed as many practical hours as I could get for my clinical requirements at Roanoke University. So we made our own schedule.
“Where’s your mom?” I said, shaking out of my coat and hat and taking a seat across from him.
Jason grabbed his iPad off the table and typed, Getting coffee
“Cool. You ready to start?”
He shook his head and looked away. His blond hair was neatly brushed, and he wore nice pants and a shirt. As if he’d come back from church. Jason was always neat and put together. He’d once told me it was so that no one could find some other reason to make fun of him.
I leaned over the table, arms folded. “What’s up, buddy?”
He looked at me warily, then his ten-year-old fingers flew over the iPad with the agility of an adult who’d been typing his whole life.
Mom says this program is almost done
“That’s true. My semester is almost over.”
Jason’s single mother qualified for this program between the speech center and the university. It allowed for free therapy by students, like me, who were still in training.
She said U won’t be my therapist anymore.
His own arms crossed, bracing himself for my answer.
“Yeah, it’s possible they’ll assign someone else to you,” I said. “Someone more qualified.”
He shook his head and typed vigorously.
I don’t want anyone else
I smiled gently. “Me neither, buddy. But I’m your starter-pack. You’re doing so well, they want to level you up.”
He shook his head slowly as he typed: Not doing well
“Yeah, you are, Jase. I promise. But tell you what, why don’t we talk to your mom about meeting up once or twice a week anyway.”
His eyes lit up. “Rrrrrrrreally?”
“Sure, man,” I said, my throat thick.
Jason was an only child. No friends. His disfluency was so severe, no one had the patience to talk to him. Except the assholes, naturally. It killed me to imagine this sweet, smart kid wandering the playground at school alone at every recess, just hoping to get through the day without being made to feel like shit. Never mind making a friend.
“Yeah,” I said again. “We can keep working together or we can just hang out. You like basketball, right?”
He nodded.
“We’ll shoot some hoops. If that’s okay with your mom.”
“If what’s okay with me?”
Linda Taylor approached with two coffees and handed one to me.
Jason started to type, but I reached over and stilled his hand.
“Tell her,” I said gently. “Remember what we talked about last week?”
Jason reluctantly let go of his iPad because he trusted me. It had taken months to earn that trust, and I’d be goddamned if I let anything happen to it.
Jason made a deep inhale.
“Just let it flow on the breath,” I said in a low voice. “Don’t force it.”
“Jim waaaaaaaaants to h-h-haaaaang out w-w-with mmmmmmeee.”
“My God,” Linda said. “That sounded so good, baby!”
I beamed. “Great job, man.”
Jason shrugged off the praise. He’d made huge strides, but it wasn’t enough for him. He seized the iPad and typed: Says we can play basketball sometimes
“If they reassign him to a new therapist,” I said to Linda. “Or even if they don’t.”
“You’d do that?” Linda’s eyes filled as she sat beside her son.
“No brainer,” I said, shooting a grin at Jason. “He’s a great kid.”
“Thank you,” Linda said. “I know he is, but it’s nice to hear from someone else. For both of us.”
Then her eyes widened. “Wait… Tomorrow’s the day, right?”
I nodded, my heartbeat taking off at the mention. “Yeah, it is.” I looked to Jason. “We might have to cancel this week’s appointment, buddy.”
Jason rolled his eyes with a smirk and tapped his iPad: Because of your GIRLFRIEND???
“Look at that,” I said turning the iPad to Linda. “I didn’t teach him to be a smart-ass. Did you teach him to be a smart-ass?”
Linda gave her son a look, but Jase looked supremely proud of himself. He loved when I swore around him. It made him feel grown up.
“You’ll let us know how it goes?” she said.
Perfectly. It has to go perfectly.
“I will,” I said.
I finished the session with Jason, working with him on breathing and relaxation. Like mine, Jason’s stutter was psychological, a result of his father’s abuse. Linda escaped the marriage two years ago, but Jason�
�s trauma remained. He struggled with elongation of vowel sounds and blocking of consonants. He had a long road ahead of him, but I knew he’d find his breakthrough. I couldn’t give it to him, I could only tell him it was there.
In the parking lot, I gave him a hug and ruffled his hair. “Send me all your good mojo, okay. I’m nervous.”
Slash, scared shitless.
“I h-h-hope she’ll beeeeeee o-o-okay,” he said.
“Thanks, Jase. I hope so too.”
Linda gave me a wave and they drove off. I hurried to my truck and cranked up the heat, then drove to Blue Ridge Sanitarium.
“Hey, Jim,” Melanie said from the front desk.
She’d replaced Jules awhile back when Mr. Webb was found wandering toward the security checkpoint. Jules had been on an illicit smoke break.
“Hey, Mel.”
I signed in on the Visitor’s Log clipboard. If I were to flip through the pages, my name would appear on every single one. For the last five hundred and forty-seven days.
Eighteen months.
Thea had been back in her prison for eighteen months. Tomorrow morning, Dr. Milton and Dr. Chen were going to try again to break her free.
They’d found the issue with Hazarin—an enzyme that caused blood clots, which led to stroke. The new drug—Laparin—had been tested for months and deemed safe, but there was no round of test subjects ahead of Thea this time. She’d be in the first group to trial it.
Because I had power of attorney over her healthcare decisions, it was up to me whether she took the new drug or not.
“Yes,” I’d told Dr. Chen immediately, wondering how it was possible to feel incredible elation and heart-stopping fear at the exact same time. “Yes, give it to her. It’s what she’d want.”
Rounds of tests commenced. Thea’s MRI and PET scans all came back clear. Dr. Milton flew in from Sydney and was ready to perform his procedure again, bonding the new drug and the stem cells. Erect a new bridge between Thea and her memories.
I was terrified but Thea was ready.
She’s suffered enough.
Alonzo stood outside the door to the rec room, chatting with Anna and Rita.
“Hey,” I said addressing the people I loved most, which I supposed made them my family.
“How you holding up?” Alonzo said. “One more day to get through. Lord, I’m too old for this kind of stress.”
Rita gave me a hug. “It’s going to work, and it’s going to last,” she said. “I can feel it.”
I didn’t let myself hope the way she did, out loud. If I let my hope out into the world, it might get beat up and come back mangled and bleeding. I kept it to myself, safe.
Anna pursed her lips. “Let’s remain professional, please,” she said, then smoothed her uniform that didn’t need smoothing. “Though, honestly, I’m quite excited myself.”
“Yeah, you look it,” Alonzo said, giving me a wink. “Bursting with excitement.”
“Oh, hush.” Anna turned to me. “When are Ms. Delia and her husband expected to arrive?”
“In a few days,” I said. “I wanted time alone with Thea after the procedure, no matter what happens.”
“Good call,” Rita said. “When Thea opens her eyes tomorrow morning, the first person she should see is you.”
My chest tightened. “Goddammit, Rita.”
“I know,” she said, “but I’m just so happy. For both of you.”
“Whatever happens,” Alonzo said, “we’re here for you. And her.”
“Jesus, you too?” I said with a laugh choked with tears.
Alonzo blinked hard, laughing, before he slapped me on the back. “Christ, that’s enough out of us. Go to your girl.”
Thea stood at her easel, earbuds in, her jeans and bright yellow top smattered with paint despite the smock covering them. Hips swaying side to side, she hummed as she recreated a view of New York City from a high window; the lights strewn across the darkened cityscape like stars.
The view from our hotel room at the ArtHouse.
I moved close so Thea could see me from her peripheral vision.
“Jimmy…” She had enough time to smile and pull the earbuds from her ears before the absence seizure hit. I stood still until it passed, then she threw her arms around me.
“You’re here,” she said into my neck. “How long has it been?”
“Eighteen months,” I said.
The script was altered slightly. Her prison had undergone slight improvements. As before, Thea remembered there’d been an accident, but now her parents’ death was connected to the event. She knew they were gone and never slipped and asked when they were coming. She knew her sister lived far away and visited sometimes. She remembered Rita. She stopped saying she was an Egyptologist or etymologist. And she wasn’t freaked out or confused about the tattoo on her arm. Rita had told me it somehow kept Thea grounded from being overwhelmed with sudden grief. That looking at it brought her relief. I kept mine hidden from Thea after that, so she wouldn’t be confused and lose that peace.
The best gift of all was that I didn’t need to wear a nametag or re-introduce myself. She remembered me. She remembered she loved me.
But How long has it been? stayed, and answering sixteen… seventeen… eighteen months, hurt like hell.
“Are the doctors working on my case?” she asked.
“They are,” I said, and it was the truth. “In fact, they’re going to try again.”
She frowned. “Again?”
Eighteen months and I still made dumb mistakes. The word again had no meaning to Thea.
“They’re going to perform a procedure on you,” I said. “And give you some medicine to make you better.”
I hated speaking to her like she was a child, but once, when a reset hit, I told her she wasn’t coming awake for the first time, but she’d been awake and aware all her life. It spun her into a loop of panic and hysterics. Her amnesia was like staring into a hall of mirrors, her reflection multiplying itself by infinity with no way out, and I’d stupidly tried to tell her the door was right in front of her.
I never tried to explain it again.
But Dr. Milton’s procedure was the door out, and I never stopped telling Thea about it. Again and again, every day—every five minutes—for the last two weeks. Since Milton called Dr. Chen with the news.
“It’ll make me better?” she asked.
“Yeah, baby, it will.”
It has to.
She hugged me tight, as happy to hear it as she was every other time. She didn’t need to know the details about the procedure, only that it was coming. Thea was still in there, and she knew, down deep, that “being better” meant freedom.
“When is this procedure?” she asked. “Soon?”
When, soon, and tomorrow morning were all tricky words that had no real meaning for her either, but I told her the truth. “Tomorrow morning.”
“Should I be scared?”
“No,” I said. Leave that to me. “Everything’s going to work out how it should.”
Thea smiled and kissed me again. A peck on the lips was all I let her do. It didn’t feel right to kiss her deeply. If a reset hit in the middle, she’d be terrified. I never wanted our kissing to be tainted by fear.
“I love this,” I said, nodding at her painting. “It’s fucking incredible.”
“Thanks. I’ve never been to New York City, so I’m not sure where this image is coming from. But it’s with me. Always. I’ve probably seen pictures of it.”
I smiled. “Probably.”
“Is Delia coming?”
“Not today,” I said. “But she’ll be here soon. You want to get some fresh air?”
Rita brought Thea her winter coat—a colorful wool coat Thea said was “fuchsia.” A reset hit. She suffered an absence seizure, and then she threw her arms around my neck.
“Jimmy, you’re here. How long has it been?”
We started over from the top. The time, the questions, until we arrived back to where w
e left off.
“Want to go for a walk?” I asked.
“I’d love to.”
She linked her arm in mine and we strolled along the grounds, having our same conversation, over and over, every five minutes. I told her again the doctors were going to help her, and she was radiant under the heavy, gray sky. Her cheeks turned pink with cold and snowflakes drifted into her hair as the first snow of the season began.
“It’s so beautiful,” Thea said, holding her hand out to catch the flakes.
I looked down at her. “So beautiful.”
My heart ached at the déjà vu—Thea looked like this at last year’s first snow. She caught the flakes on her fingers and said how beautiful it was.
She’s still smiling. Despite day after day of that prison, she has hope. She always has.
“I love you,” I said, pulling her to me.
“I love you too. Jimmy with the kind eyes.”
She rested her cheek on my shoulder and watched the snow come down.
“The doctors are going to give you a procedure, Thea,” I said, my cheek against her hair. “They think it’s going to make you better.”
Excitement rippled through her. “Will it?”
I closed my eyes. “I hope so, baby.”
She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Will you be there?”
I lifted my head. She’d never asked me that before. “Yes. When you wake up, I’ll be right there. I promise.”
She cocked her head at me, a funny smile on her lips.
“What’s that look for?” I asked, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek.
“I’ve heard you say that before. That you promise,” she said. “I remember.”
I stared. “You do?”
She nodded, her eyes impossibly blue, and her smile serene. “It was in a dream.”
“Oh.” My shoulders fell. A dream. Not memory.
But for Thea—trapped in the amnesia—a dream was the only memory she had.
She brushed her fingertips over my chin. “The best dream I ever had. You and I were together, and we were happy.”
I smiled and held her close. “We were,” I murmured into her hair. “We are.”
