Last Summer(3)

“No, it’s true. Simon died. The impact of the airbag tore the placenta. Simon didn’t survive.” He cups a hand over his mouth and nose. He stares at Ella, shaking his head. “Impossible.”

That she lost her memory? Maybe she hit her head in the accident Damien mentioned. Amnesia makes more sense to her than Damien saying she was pregnant. But her bandaged pelvis and the drastic changes to her midriff prove he’s probably telling the truth.

“You forgot Simon. Our baby. Christ, El. You weren’t supposed to forget him. What about your emergency C-section? Do you remember that? What about last night?”

“What happened last night?”

“Seriously? You don’t remember any of it?”

“No. How can I? I don’t even remember being pregnant.”

Damien’s mouth falls open. One second. Two. He snaps it shut. “No. Way.” He cuts a hand through the air. “There’s no way you could have forgotten that. What the hell, Ella? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not! I don’t remember any goddamn baby! Now tell me what is going on.”

Damien swears and stabs a button on the remote beside her. She startles.

“What are you doing?”

“Paging the nurse.”

He shoves the food cart out of his way. Long strides take him to the door.

“Where are you going?” Mindful of her injuries, Ella sits up, ready to climb from the bed and follow him. She’s disoriented and scared. It takes a lot to frighten her and Damien isn’t helping. She doesn’t understand his anger. Why is he upset with her? It’s not as if she forgot on purpose. She’d expect her husband to be compassionate and understanding. Maybe even a little scared himself.

Damien stops at the door. “Stay put . . . please. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Not until you tell me where you’re going,” she demands, swinging a leg over the side of the bed.

He yanks open the room’s wide metal door. “I’m getting your doctor. You’re freaking me out.”





CHAPTER 2

Dr. Tate Allington, a neurologist, stands at the end of Ella’s bed. Bleached-white hair, a stark contrast to his sun-soaked skin, dusts the back of the wide hands holding a smart tablet. Silver wire-rimmed glasses sit on the end of his weathered nose. As he studies Ella’s CT scan from earlier in the week, her mind drifts. She wonders if he spends his afternoons golfing or on the tennis court. Maybe he likes to garden. He did mention his wife’s beautiful rose vines. Right after he announced he’s one month away from retirement. He wouldn’t mind working until he found himself in the morgue downstairs. Medicine is his passion. The brain is his favorite puzzle to unravel. But it’s the wife, you know. She wants to travel. He smells like sunscreen, Ella thinks, sniffing the air. The coconut aroma is a pleasant relief from the hospital’s sterile environment. And thoughts about the doctor’s personal life are less unsettling than her own problems, which seem insurmountable. She can’t remember her pregnancy.

She sniffs again, a deep inhale that draws Damien’s attention. He tosses her a funny look, then goes back to brooding. Ella folds her hands in her lap and waits for the doctor’s diagnosis.

He’s just finished explaining that they’ve met before. He evaluated her on her admission to the hospital. But for Ella’s benefit and because of the sudden memory loss, he recounted his findings. After her emergency C-section and due to the nature of the auto accident, Ella had undergone a CT scan. The scan revealed no evidence of trauma. No bruised brain tissue, bleeding, or other signs of damage. Other than her unfortunate miscarriage and a sprained wrist, her injuries are limited to scrapes, bruises, and aches from shattered glass and whiplash. That would explain the stiffness Ella feels in her neck and shoulders.

Ella would have preferred a visit from her ob-gyn, Dr. Lynn Noriega. She and Lynn go way back. They met almost ten years ago in their early twenties at a mutual friend’s dinner party. Once Lynn opened her practice, Ella was one of her first patients. She trusted Lynn. She wants to ask Lynn about her pregnancy. Had it been an accident? She can’t recall when she and Damien discussed having a baby. The only time they did talk about kids was before they married. Damien was quite clear on his position. No kids. Ella went into their marriage knowing this, so when did everything change?

She doesn’t remember, which worries her. So does Damien.

He stands apart, keeping vigil by the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He’ll glance at her every so often but he won’t make eye contact.

Maybe he’s frightened and this is how he deals with it. Pulling back and closing himself off. In the four years they’ve known each other, Ella can’t recall ever seeing him afraid or uncertain. He always has a handle on whatever dilemma he’s facing. He always has a plan. He’s a brilliant strategist at the office and at home. And he’s the first to praise her published articles and compliment her dress when he escorts her to the opera season’s opening night. He talks her through her writer’s block and is ready with an open bottle of champagne whenever she wins a prestigious assignment after going head-to-head with Luxe Avenue’s other staff writers.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dr. Allington asks, bringing Ella’s attention back to him.

“Dinner with Damien.” She glances at her husband. His attention is on the doctor. “I cooked pork loin,” she adds.