I drove home and threw things into an overnight bag. By the time I reached the airport, I was shaking. It was all a blur from there — going through security, finding my gate. When I reached the gate, there were still thirty minutes until the flight could board. I stood as close to the ticketing agent as possible. The marquee above her desk read Scranton, but it might as well have said Caleb. When the first boarding call was announced, I was the first one to hand her my ticket. Collapsing into my seat, I pressed my fingertips to my eyes to hold back the tears. I distracted myself by pulling out my iPhone and Googling amnesia. I was reading through the different types when the flight attendant told me I had to turn off my phone. I hated that. My boyfriend had amnesia, my father was going to disown me as soon as I got home, and the blue eye shadow wearing biotch was worried about my cell phone taking out a plane. I stowed my phone and flicked my nails over the pad of my thumb, one by one — starting with the pinkie and working my way across. I did that for the duration of the flight.
When it was finally time to land, I could barely keep from standing up and rushing to the front of the plane. I thought of all the things that could go wrong. Luca had mentioned on the phone that Caleb’s memory loss was classified as retrograde amnesia — meaning he had lost the ability to recall anything that happened before the accident. How could someone just … forget everything about their life? I didn’t believe it. There was no way he could forget me. We were together every day … he loved me. That was the absolute worst thing about love; no matter how hard you tried, you could never forget the person who had your heart. Until Caleb, I didn’t know what that meant. I was queen of date ‘em and ditch ‘em.
The line moved forward and I trotted out of the terminal and to the car rental kiosk. Thirty minutes later, I was speeding toward the hospital in a Ford Focus, the heat turned all the way up and my right thumb flicking, flicking, flicking at my nails. It was snowing outside. All I’d brought was a light jacket and a couple light sweaters. I was going to freeze.
The walk up to his hospital room was the longest I’d ever taken. My chest hurt as I worried if he’d remember me or not. His doctor — an Indian man with a kind face — met me in the hallway.
“There was some bleeding to his brain that we managed to get under control. He is in stable condition, but he is very confused. Don’t be upset if he doesn’t know who you are.”
“But, what caused it? Thousands of people get concussions and don’t lose their memories,” I said.
“There’s never a single causal explanation for these things. All you can do is be patient and give him the support that he needs. With this type of memory loss, it usually takes time, but their memories return.”
I looked fearfully toward his door. This was really happening. I was going to walk through that door, and the only man I’d ever allowed myself to love would not recognize me.
“Can I see him?”
The doctor nodded. “Give him space. To him, this will be the first time he’s meeting you. If you want to hug him, ask permission first.”
I swallowed the fist in my throat. Thanking the doctor, I knocked lightly on his door.
I heard him say, “Come in.”
The first thing I saw when I walked in was the pretty nurse who was checking his IV line. She was flirting with him. My initial response was to walk directly up to Caleb and to kiss him. My territory. Instead, I stood furtively by the door and waited for him to notice me.
Please … please …
He looked up. I smiled.
“Hi, Caleb.” I walked a few steps closer. There was nothing in his eyes. My heart shook with each second of realization. There was not going to be a miracle when he saw my face, my beautiful red hair would not usher back his memories. I was made of steel. I could handle this.
“I’m Leah.”
He glanced at the nurse — who was pretending not to notice me — and she nodded, touching his arm lightly before heading out the door.
“Hi, Leah,” he said.
“Do you — “ I caught myself before I could say anymore. I wouldn’t question whether he knew me or not — no — that would surely paint me as an uncertainty. I would simply assert who I was to him and demand that he mentally accept it.
“I’m your girlfriend. It’s weird having to explain that to you.”
He smiled — the old Caleb smile. I released the breath I was holding. God, I needed a cigarette.
I neared the side of his bed. He was pretty banged up. There were five stitches over his right eye and his face looked like a Kandinsky.
“I was so scared,” I said. “I came right away.”
He nodded and looked down at his hands. “Thank you.”
The muscles were working in his jaw as he ground his teeth. I blinked at him, unsure of what to say next. Did we start at square one? Did I give him a summary of who we were, where we’d been?
Be still my manic heart.
“Can I … can I hug you?” I shook as I waited for his answer. They were tremors of fear, a calculation of the loss I’d feel if he rejected me.
He looked up, his brows furrowed, and nodded. It was one of those great moments of relief I would always remember. My internal knots untangled and I dove at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and sobbing into his chest. For a few seconds, it was just me holding him, and then I felt his hands rest lightly on my back. I cried harder. This was so messed up. I should be comforting him, and here I was weeping.
If he had died … oh God … I would have been all alone. His mother had told me that the driver of the car had died. I’d met him once or twice at Caleb’s work functions.
When I pulled away from him, I couldn’t meet his eyes. I grabbed a wad of tissues from my purse and turned my back to him as I dabbed at my eyes.
I had to keep it together. Think positive. Soon this would be over and buried into our past. For now, I needed to be there for him. We were so good together. Even if he had no memory of before, he would see it now. I needed to make him see it. I stifled a sob. Why did this have to happen? Right when our relationship had finally been moving forward.
“Leah.”
I froze. My name sounded foreign on his voice, like he was saying it for the first time, tonguing the syllables cautiously. I dabbed at the last of my tears and faced him … smiling.
“Are you…? God…” He balled his fists when he saw my wet eyes. “I’m so sorry.”