tension, which seemed to have eased somewhat when Tanner was watching from the kitchen, immediately rematerialized the moment Tanner entered the room.
“Here,” he said, offering a mug to Rebecca. “Taste it and see what you think.”
Rebecca sipped at the coffee, which was a light mocha color due to all the cream and sugar Tanner had dumped into it. Her expression relaxed.
“This is really good. Thank you.”
Tanner let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Everything else in their lives had changed, and he hadn’t been positive that wouldn’t have included Rebecca’s taste in coffee, as well.
Did amnesia even work that way?
He really was clueless, and didn’t have the slightest idea where to start.
He looked around, wondering where to sit. Rebecca was seated at one end of the couch, while Peggy was in her usual spot in the only armchair. That left him with the choice of awkwardly sitting on the other side of the couch or choosing the rocking chair, which had been a favorite of Rebecca’s when she was knitting mittens and hats from alpaca wool. He’d only started using the rocker recently, when he needed to calm Mackenzie down from an anxiety attack or rock her to sleep.
He and Rebecca had bought that rocking chair when they’d first started trying for a family, certain they’d be using it to rock their newborn within the year. How young and naive they’d been back then. Tanner never would have guessed that the desire to start a family could also ruin one.
When month after month the negative pregnancy tests taunted them, Tanner had subconsciously grown to despise that piece of furniture as a constant reminder of what had never been. And then after the stillbirth—
But at the moment, it was either the rocker or the couch, and he knew he would never be comfortable sitting right next to Rebecca. He settled in the rocker and took a sip of his coffee, welcoming the scald of hot liquid as it burned down his throat.
All three of them were looking at each other, but no one spoke. The tension and uneasiness was so palpable he could have sliced it.
How did one even start a conversation like this?
“So, Rebecca,” Peggy said tentatively, relieving Tanner of having to be the first to speak. “Why don’t you tell us what you remember.”
* * *
What did she remember?
A big, fat nothing.
It was all she could do to remember what she’d had for breakfast this morning, although in the past month her short-term memory had made significant gains. It was impossible to describe how lost she felt. It was almost like someone coming out of a coma of many years and finding her life to be completely different than she recalled. She remembered her childhood up to a certain point and then there was nothing but a big, fat murky cloud shadowing her memories.
She’d returned to Serendipity in the hopes that seeing what ought to be familiar people and places would trigger her memory, but all she was getting was a throbbing headache for all her efforts.
She pulled out her cell phone and opened her notes.
“My friend Dawn helped me with this,” she explained. She didn’t miss the resentful look that passed between Tanner and her mother. Neither appeared happy with the knowledge that the notes she was consulting came from Dawn.
Why was that?
“Is that who you’ve been staying with? Dawn Kyzer?” Mama asked, with a surprising edge to her tone that hadn’t been there before.
Rebecca was startled by their negative reaction and responded a little defensively. Dawn had been her best friend all her life. She remembered that. Which meant her mother would have known that, as well. And though she didn’t know the reasons behind the choices she’d made, she’d clearly gone to live with Dawn after her breakup with Tanner.
“I was driving, but Dawn was in the car with me when the accident happened. Thankfully, she only received a few bumps and bruises. She stayed by my side in the hospital and has cared for me ever since.”
“Then we owe her for that,” her mother acknowledged begrudgingly. “Although she should have called us and let us know what had happened.”
Tanner didn’t respond, but it was clear he didn’t like Dawn. Rebecca searched her mind for why that might be, but no explanation came to her.
She was an amnesiac, but that didn’t mean she was stupid. Dawn had obviously refused to come with her to Serendipity today, and now Rebecca could see why. There was some kind of rift between her husband and best friend, and she suspected she was the root cause of it. And her mother was right—Dawn should have reached out and let them know Rebecca had been in an accident instead of telling the hospital she was the only person Rebecca had.
Rebecca watched as Mackenzie carefully and methodically set up an entire ranch scene of stuffed animals, all the while humming a joyful tune under her breath. She positioned two horses, a cow, a pig, four goats and what Rebecca thought must be a llama in what Rebecca belatedly realized was with the same organization as Tanner’s ranch. The little girl was brightly chattering away at the animals, making sure they knew they were in the right place and why. Rebecca couldn’t help but smile as her heart warmed toward the preschooler.
Reluctantly, Rebecca turned her attention to the adults in the room.
“How long ago was the accident?” Tanner asked, gesturing to her ankle boot. “Tell us more about it.”
She blinked in confusion and once again consulted the notes on her phone.
“It’s been a month now. I was in the hospital for two weeks, the first of which in the ICU.”
“Two weeks?” Peggy echoed. “Oh my.”
“And your memory? It’s not improved since then?”
“That’s hard for me to gauge,” she pointed out adroitly. “My short-term memory has its moments. I call it Swiss cheese. Sometimes I remember, sometimes I don’t. I am having better success retaining an entire day’s worth of memories, but they don’t always follow me into the next day. I make copious notes about everything, mostly hoping to stimulate the fog in my brain. My long-term memory is completely AWOL ranging back to my early adulthood.”
She paused. There was one question she’d been wanting to ask ever since she’d first encountered her mother at the community center. She had gathered her mom was staying with Tanner and helping with Mackenzie, but was that because—
“Mama?” Her voice was dry and she coughed to dislodge the emotions jamming her throat. “At the community center—I didn’t see—didn’t see—”
She couldn’t finish her sentence as tears once again filled her eyes. At this point she couldn’t seem to stop bawling and sniffling no matter which direction the conversation went. She pressed her palms to her eyes, not wanting to disturb little Mackenzie with a frightening outburst.
Her mother reached for her hand and gently stroked it in both of hers. “Your father passed away several years ago. He had a massive
