and back again. Finally settle on me. “I’m gonna give you some time with Nedleman. Do you want to meet in Lindsay’s room when you’re done?”
I nod and flash a grateful, if tired, smile. He leans in, brushing a kiss over my hair, and then he’s slipping out of the room. I focus on Dr. Nedleman and not the feel of Rike’s lips and scratch of his beard.
“Are you having any breakthroughs, Peyton?” she asks hopefully.
“No. I know most of my past, up until I was about twenty. A few years are kinda hit or miss—some stuff I remember, and some I don’t. And then it’s all gone. The past three years. I don’t remember. I know who my parents are and that I have siblings, but I’m not close to any of them. I know I’ve struggled with an eating disorder.”
She shifts in her chair. “Yes. How are you doing with that?”
I shrug. “I haven’t relapsed, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But you’ve reconnected with Rike.”
I nod. “Not sure what that means. It would help if I knew who I was. And I’ve researched. Retrograde usually means that it’s temporary. Memory should’ve come back by now. So why am I still a blank slate?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know. It’s just as baffling to me as it is to you.” She spreads some documents across her desk. “I’ve studied your MRIs and the x-rays. There was no lasting damage done to your brain. No bruising or bleeds, no permanent loss.”
“Except the memory,” I say flatly.
She nods. “But what you need to remember is that the brain is a marvelous machine. And while yours is a bit faulty at the moment, there is nothing to say that this is permanent. The memories could be triggered by something as simple as smell or touch or a song. The more you’re out there in the world, with the people who care about you, experiencing things and living, the more you’ll remember. It might take years for it all to come back or it could come back tomorrow all at once. We can’t say.”
“And you can’t help, right? I’m just stuck with this.” She looks a little crestfallen, her smile wilting and her eyes dimming a little—almost like a puppy that’s been scolded—and I wave a hand. “Don’t look depressed, Doc. I’m not bitter. I’m just getting used to the new normal.”
She nods, and gives me an uncertain smile. “This isn’t forever, Peyton. And you are making progress. Being with Rike again—that will help.”
I push to my feet, finding an unsteady balance on my crutches. “Thank you, Doc. I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me. If I ever come across someone with memory loss, I’ll be sure to point her in your direction.”
She laughs, and I leave the little office. I get around the corner, and lean against the wall. Concentrate, for just a few minutes, on nothing but breathing.
There isn’t a magic cure. This is it. My new normal. I let out a shuddering breath and shove down all of the fear. Push off the wall, and crutch my way toward the room on the third floor where Lindsay is.
I don’t get to dwell on how terrifying my normal is. Not when hers is so much worse.
The room is covered in flowers, and a trim blonde woman who looks like she could be Lindsay’s older sister bustles by the door with another vase full of white roses, chattering a mile a minute. She sees me and her face goes as pale as the flowers she’s carrying.
“Jim,” she gasps, and a man lurches from the couch, snagging the flowers from her as she sweeps me into her arms, crying and laughing as she holds my head to her chest.
I don’t know who the hell this woman is. I don’t know why I matter to her. But I do know that being here, being held by her while she sobs and smiles at me like I’m the moon in the sky—it feels right. The same way Rike holding me feels right. But where I fight that feeling with him, with her I don’t. I relax, my entire body wilting into hers as my arm comes around her and I cling to her. To the right that she represents.
“Ma. Let the poor girl breath. She doesn’t remember me, and she’s probably wondering why the hell she’s being molested by a southern diva.”
The woman laughs and steps back, dabbing at her eyes. She fixes a bright, watery