Page 41 of Fox
Do we have any pets?
“No. But we’ve been thinking about getting a dog…we should do it now.”
She chuckles. “Because life is short.”
My heart seizes. “Please don’t say that.” My eyes fill with tears, and hers fill with shock. “I can’t…no jokes about that. Okay?”
She looks at me when I say that—a long, searching look. “Okay.”
She holds the look for another moment, then looks away, out the window, at the Nashville skyline in the middle distance.
“It’s strange. Not remembering. It’s like”—she pauses—“arriving somewhere you know you’ve been before, but everything is unfamiliar.”
“It’ll come back to you.”
“You seem certain about that.”
“I am.”
She looks back at me. “You seem very…I don’t know…sure about things.”
“I used to think the same thing.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “But I’m learning that mostly I was full of horse shit.”
She blinks and then laughs, and then, because she moves her body, she winces.
“That’s enough questions for now. It’s time for you to close your beautiful eyes and get some rest.”
She doesn’t argue, and within a few minutes her breathing deepens.
I pull out my laptop as I sit in the chair I’ve been spending more time in than I have on any other piece of furniture except my bed.
I’m not doing much work, but I’m answering urgent emails and signing whatever needs to be signed. Percy is holding fort without a single complaint. He’s given the whole team strict instructions that only he and my assistant may contact me.
I see movement by the door.
Dr. Reyes.
She jerks her chin, and I set my laptop down, brush my lips against Lucy’s cheek, whisper I’ll be back, and follow her out.
The door clicks shut behind us.
“She just fell asleep,” I tell her.
“Let’s go to the breakroom.”
I glance uneasily back at Lucy’s door.
She sighs. “Fox, she’ll be fine alone for ten minutes.”
I cock an eyebrow.
Sure. I looked away for a few days, and she ended up here. I’m never taking my eyes off her again.
But saying that out loud would get me sent for a psych evaluation, so I follow Dr. Reyes.
“I’ll be honest,” she says, pouring us both the terrible, inevitable hospital coffee, “you’re not what I expected when I first saw you. A devoted husband, I mean. You didn’t look the type.”
I’ve drunk so much coffee these past few days that, honestly, it could taste like horse piss and I wouldn’t know. My taste buds are shot, and probably my stomach lining too. But it keeps me upright, so….
