Last Summer(12)

Ella slowly eases from bed, stiff from sleep and still aching from her injuries. The large contusions on her left shoulder and ribs have deepened to a Halloween purple. She finds Damien in the great room. He’s dressed in dark wash jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, his feet bare. She watches him for a moment, wondering how he feels after his rest, as he scans Pandora stations on the iPad they have linked to their Sonos speaker system. Then she comes up behind him, wraps her arms around his waist, and presses a kiss to his spine. He startles but quickly recovers and pulls her into his side.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“Good, thanks. Who rang?”

“Davie. She’s on her way up.”

“That’s right.”

“She’s brought lasagna.”

“Mmm.” Surprisingly, food sounds good. Then again, it’s Davie’s lasagna, made from her Italian mom’s recipe. Mama Mayer’s lasagna would make anyone salivate.

Damien settles on Imagine Dragons and adjusts the volume to background music level.

Ella rubs her eyes. “Those meds knocked me out.”

“I can send Davie home if you’re not up for company.”

A part of her wants Davie to leave dinner at their doorstep so that she and Damien have more time to talk. She still has so many questions. But she’s hungry, and she misses her friend. And if memory serves her correctly in this instance, it’s been a while since she’s seen her.

“No, I’m good,” she says. “I want to see her and her food. I’m starving. I’m going to freshen up.”

In the master bath, Ella strips off her clothes and puts on the plastic cover the hospital provided her to keep her wrist brace dry. Lynn covered her C-section scar with paper tape-like Steri-Strips. Ella’s not supposed to mess with them. They’ll fall off on their own. But they can get wet. She’s just not supposed to scrub the area.

Stepping into the steaming shower, she avoids her reflection in the mirror and soaps her body quickly, but she can’t avoid how much bigger she is. Heavy breasts, soft belly, and fuller hips. All this new weight and no baby to show for it.

She slams off the water.

After her shower, she carefully towels off and pats dry the Steri-Strips. Getting dressed, she slips into an oversize button-down blouse and stretchy, high-waisted black yoga pants. The only loose and comfortable articles she could find that aren’t maternity clothes, clothes she doesn’t remember.

Damien and Davie are at the dry bar when Ella joins them. Damien has mixed Davie a Manhattan and poured himself a Macallan over ice. When Davie sees Ella, she bursts out crying. She sets down her drink and rushes to Ella’s side, hugging her as though she hasn’t seen her in years. But Ella catches the floral scent of Davie’s CHANEL Chance perfume and she remembers. They went shopping at Bloomingdale’s last week. Davie needed shoes for a function at SFMOMA. One of her publicity clients was exhibiting.

“Oh, Ella,” Davie says, teary-eyed. “Your baby.” She sobs, overcome with emotion, and gives Ella another lung-crushing hug. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ella says, even though it’s not. She’s the one who’s sorry. She’s the one who messed everything up by getting into the car after . . .

After what? She has the vague sense she and Damien had been arguing.

About what?

Davie releases her grip and holds Ella at arm’s length. “It’s not okay. It’s horrible. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. You forgot your baby.”

“Damien told you about my amnesia?” She looks at her husband. He’s staring into his drink, looking like he’s working through a particularly complex coding issue.

“Yes, while you showered. Do you remember shopping with me last week?” Ella nods. “What about seeing Hamilton last month?”

“Yes. Loved that musical.”

“Me too. But you don’t remember anything about the accident?”

Ella shakes her head. “Or my pregnancy.” She doesn’t remember decorating the nursery or wearing maternity clothes. Ella felt like she was snooping through a stranger’s closet while looking for clothes after her shower. Her wardrobe of designer jeans and dresses had been pushed aside for blousy, A-line stretchy shirts and pants with elastic waistbands.

“How unusual,” Davie murmurs.

“That I can remember buying a size large Hamilton shirt but not the reason why?” She wore a size small. Used to, anyway.

“Well, yes, but more that you lost your memory, rather, fragments of your memories—”

“That’s a good description,” Ella replies.

“It is, isn’t it? I’d drink to that if I had my glass with me.” She looks back at the dry bar. “I meant that your memory loss happened five days after the accident.”

“I know. It’s unusual.”

“Did the doctor say why?”

“He thinks losing the baby was too much for me to handle.”

“Did something happen at the hospital to bring it on?” Davie whispers. She glances at Damien. He has moved into the kitchen and is popping the lasagna into the oven.

Does he know something? Ella wonders.

Damien returns to the dry bar and mixes himself another cocktail.