initial blast of relief subsided, Savannah started to notice little differences. She loved to collect refrigerator magnets, and all of her magnets were gone from the simple black refrigerator in their galley kitchen. Her favorite “chicken and egg” salt and pepper shakers she had picked up in a yard sale had been replaced with generic shakers from the grocery store. How could all of those little touches make such a big difference in the feel of the home? It was as if she had been deliberately erased.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, pushing back a wave of sadness. What a cruel trick, this head injury. She could remember the early part of their married lives together, but couldn’t remember what led them to separate. She couldn’t remember ever being apart from Bruce. It was so...unfair.
“D’you get enough to eat?” Bruce broke her train of thought.
Savannah opened her eyes and put her hand on the spot on the fireplace mantel where their mismatched compilation of family photos had once been kept. She nodded her head, not turning to face him. Suddenly, the excitement of being home and the realization, if not the actual memory, that she had left the home she had built and loved, struck her like another blow to her head. Her fingers tightened on the rough-hewn mantel that Bruce had crafted by hand; she felt herself sway and the room began to spin.
“Whoa!” She heard Bruce’s deep voice, felt his large, warm hand on her elbow to steady her. “What happened?”
Savannah closed her eyes and swallowed back the feeling of nausea. “My head is killing me.”
“We overdid it.”
“Yes.” Her response was weak, more from sadness than loss of strength.
Bruce put his arm around her shoulder for support. “Let’s get you to bed.”
She nodded her agreement. Bed was exactly what she needed. She wanted to snuggle down into her own bed, with her own mattress and pillows, and pull the comforter up over her head so she could shut the world out for a bit. Savannah left Bruce and the dogs in the bedroom while she got ready for bed in the bathroom. She had never shut the door on her husband before when she moved through her nightly routine, yet tonight felt different.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Bruce told her through the closed door.
“Okay,” she said after she spit toothpaste into the sink.
After she was done digging out her toiletries from her small carry-on bag, Savannah sat on the edge of the tub and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She tried to tuck her longish bangs behind her ear so she could lightly touch the large, rectangular bandage on her forehead. The right side of her face was still puffy with green-and-yellow bruising around her right eye and cheek. Small cuts and scratches on her nose and chin, already on their way to healing, had scabbed over. In her opinion, she looked like a hot mess, but not just because of the bruises and scratches and bandage. She didn’t like her hair at all; sometime during the lost years, she had decided to go with bangs, blond streaks and layers. Three of her most hated hairstyle don’ts! What had possessed her to do that? It looked awful.
After a long inhale and exhale, Savannah pulled a face before she stood up cautiously and opened the bathroom door. In her favorite flannel long-sleeved pajamas, she faced the four males in her life. Buck and Hound Dog had already staked out their spots on the bed, while Murphy, the dog that had always favored her, was waiting patiently just on the other side of the bathroom threshold. Bruce was standing on the far side of the bed—her side of the bed—waiting for her. He seemed awkward and stiff to her, and there was a concerned look in his striking blue eyes.
She spoke to the concern she saw in his eyes as she bent down to pet Murphy on the head. “I’m okay. Just really tired.”
Bruce had pulled the sheets and comforter back so she could easily slide into bed. As she walked by him, he held his body stiff and away from her. Her husband gave her a dose of her medicine, redressed the bandage on her head and then pulled the covers up to her chest after she lay back on the pillows.
“I haven’t been tucked into bed since I was a kid,” she mused, her eyes intent on Bruce’s face.
“I won’t do it anymore if it bothers you.” Bruce switched off the light on the nightstand.
“No,” she said faintly. “It makes me feel...”
Loved by you, cared for by you—
“Safe,” she finished after a pause.
In the low light from the hallway, Savannah saw the smallest of smiles drift across Bruce’s handsome face.
“Sleep well.” He turned away from the bed.
Savannah had slipped her hand out from beneath the comforter to catch his hand.
“I love you.” They had never gone to bed without telling each other that they loved each other—not that she could remember, anyway. It had been their promise to each other—never go to bed mad. Never go to bed without saying “I love you.”
Bruce turned back to her, his eyes so intent on her face. After a squeeze of her fingers, Bruce replied, “I love you more.”
* * *
After tucking Savannah into bed, Bruce went through the motions of cleaning up the kitchen, starting the dishwasher and letting the dogs out one last time. Normally, his three canine companions would stick to his side like glue, following him from room to room. Tonight was different. All three dogs opted to return to the bedroom, to get back into bed with Savannah. He’d felt so lonely after Savannah had left him, that he often found any reason not to be inside the house until he was ready to fall into bed. And he had counted on the dogs to fill some of the void left by his wife.
Now, sitting on the couch in the living room, the only light provided by the three-quarter moon glowing in the purple-black sky, Bruce felt more alone than ever. Having Savannah’s energy back in the house, when he thought to never have it back, had been more of a shock to his system than he had expected. Even though it had felt like the heart had been hollowed out of the house, he supposed he had grown accustomed to it.
He hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements with Savannah—he assumed that she understood that they wouldn’t be sharing a bed. He’d turned the second bedroom into a storage room, so his only option was the couch. He had moved his necessary toiletries into the spare bathroom, and that was where he prepared for bed. Wearing only his gray boxer briefs, Bruce lay back on the couch, stuffing two of the couch pillows beneath his head. With a tired sigh, he pulled the blanket draped over the back of the sofa down over his torso. The blanket smelled strongly of wet dog; Bruce pushed the blanket down to cover his groin, and far enough away from his nose not to be distracted by the smell. He’d wash the blanket tomorrow.
Arm behind his head, the cowboy stared up at the vaulted ceiling of the log cabin, his mind racing with “what if” scenarios revolving around Savannah and her missing memories. It was a good long while before he could finally close his eyes and fall into a fitful sleep. But this sleep, as restless as it was, didn’t last long. At first, he thought that he had dreamed the sound of dogs barking in the distance; it wasn’t until he felt a dog licking him on the side of his face and mouth that he began to awaken.
“What?” Bruce asked Murphy as he sat up while at the same time wiping his hand over his mouth to clean away the dog’s saliva.
Murphy disappeared back into the bedroom and joined the other two dogs barking.
