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 we 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.”
No matter what happens tomorrow, we were happy.
We had the time of our lives.
Epilogue II
Thea
I open my eyes for the first time…
“I cannot believe this is real,” I said. “It’s a dream and I’m going to wake up at any second.”
“I can believe it,” Jimmy said, slipping his arms around my middle and kissing my neck. “You’re a genius. You deserve this.”
I held the arms holding me and stared around the darkened gallery. It took up an entire wing at the Richmond Museum of Modern Art and was devoted solely to my exhibit. It opened tonight with a gala party thrown by the curator. Art critics called my paintings, “an extraordinary visual journey through the life of the world’s second-worst case of amnesia.”
Recovered case of amnesia.
I’d been on Dr. Milton’s Laparin for the last ten years, and aside from one difficult side-effect, I’d stay on it for the rest of my life. It kept me in my life.
“Are you ready?” Jimmy asked. “They’re opening soon.”
“I want a few more seconds alone with you.”
“That works for me. You look stunning.” He bent to kiss my collarbone, across the scar there. “Was this dress expensive?”
“Why do you ask? Don’t you want your wife to look pretty on her