Graham settles down on the edge of our bed. It’s only now that I notice our comforter isn’t the only thing that’s different about the bed. It’s a completely different bed. Harry and I had a metal bed with a saggy box spring, but this is a nice, firm mattress with an elaborate wooden headboard. It’s probably got memory foam and everything.
Graham looks like he’s going to reach for my hand, but I yank it away before he can grab it. He flinches and bows his head. I don’t know what this guy’s game is. Is this some kind of elaborate con? Am I missing a kidney now?
“I know this is disconcerting,” he says. “I understand.”
Gee, you think? “Who are you really?”
His shoulders sag. “I’m your husband, Tess. Do you remember at all?”
When I shake my head no, he points to the dresser across from us. The dresser itself is unfamiliar. Last night when I went to bed, we had a warped wooden dresser from IKEA. That old dresser has been replaced with a chestnut brown wooden chest of drawers with burnished edges. It does not look like it came from IKEA. But what’s even more shocking is what’s on top of the dresser.
Photographs.
There are about half a dozen framed photos. And each of the photos has me in it. Me and Graham, usually. The two of us bundled up on a ski lift. Dressed up fancy, drinking champagne, our lips frozen with laughter. Lounging on a beach somewhere.
And then there’s the photograph right in the middle. Me and Graham. Holding hands. Him in a tuxedo. Me in a white dress.
“No,” I whisper.
I don’t understand what’s going on here. Last night, Harry asked me to marry him. Harry—the love of my life. He got down on one knee, for God’s sake. We celebrated with Cabernet. And now… he’s vanished. And somehow I have entered some other crazy life that I don’t even recognize.
Tears gather in my eyes. “Harry,” I whimper.
Graham drops his face into his hands and rubs his eyes. A few seconds later, he lifts his head. “I need to show you something.”
“What?”
“It…” He pushes up to his feet. “It will help. It usually does.”
Wordlessly, I watch Graham walk around our bed to the night table. He opens the top drawer and pulls out a piece of lined paper, folded into thirds. He hands the paper to me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s a letter.”
“From who?”
He smiles crookedly. “From you.”
I put down the tweezers, although I’m still watching Graham out of the corner of my eye. I start to unfold it, but then I look up at him. He is standing over me, watching me.
He notices my expression and rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll go take a shower. Give you a little privacy.”
At first, I’m worried he’s going to strip right in front of me. If he is truly my husband, I suppose he would have the right to do that. But I’m grateful when he goes into the bathroom, still in his boxers and undershirt. A second later, I hear the water running in the shower. My shoulders relax—the stranger is gone.
Gingerly, I unfold the piece of paper. The creases of the letter are worn, like it’s been folded and unfolded dozens of times before. The entire page is filled with writing. I recognize my own handwriting.
And I start to read.
Chapter 3
Dear Tess,
I know what you’re thinking. I know how you’re feeling. Because it’s the same exact thing that I was thinking and feeling this morning. So today I am writing you a letter hoping it will help you/me in the future.
So here are the basics:
You have been in a car accident. You were the one driving, and nobody else was hurt. You swerved to avoid an animal on the road and lost control of the vehicle. You hit a tree. The animal was unharmed.
Unfortunately, you suffered a brain injury during the accident. You had a lot of bleeding in your brain and the doctors did what they could. You survived, but you have permanent memory problems. Some days are not that bad. Some days you remember more than others. Other days, you wake up and can’t remember anything that happened in the last seven or eight years. I’m writing this on one of the better days. If you are reading this, it’s probably because you’re having one of your bad days.
If you’re having a bad day, you may not remember Graham. So let me assure you, he has been a good husband to you for many years. You had a beautiful wedding that was the happiest day of your life. He has been taking care of you since the accident. This has been hard on him too, and he’s been trying his best.
If this is a bad day, you are probably also wondering where Harry is. Harry is no longer a part of your life. Trust me, it’s for the best. He wasn’t who you thought he was. He did something unforgivable to you.
If you relax and try to have a good day, you will be much happier. Just remember that the people around you care about you very much and only want you to be safe. Do what they say.
You are in good hands. Trust me.
Love,
Tess
After I finish reading the letter, I read it a second time. And then one more time. After the third time, the stream of water shuts off in the shower. Graham will come out any second. I am seized by the almost irrepressible urge to make a run for it. Before Graham comes out, I could throw on some clothes and run out the door.
But where would I go? This is my home. And I don’t even know what year it is.
The door to the bathroom swings open, and I’ve missed my chance. Graham comes out wearing a towel around his waist. At first, I look away, but then I take a peek. I can’t help it. And…
Oh my God. My husband is hot. He must work out or something.
“Tess?” His light brown eyebrows scrunch together. “Did you read it? Are you okay?”
I nod slowly. “When did this happen? When was my accident?”
“A little over a year ago.”
A year. I’ve been living this way for a year. Waking up every morning and not remembering my life.
He stands there, waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he goes over to the dresser and starts rifling through the closet. “I’ll get dressed in the bathroom, okay?”
“Thank you.”