a little ceramic Woodstock on here, and there were two ornaments on the little Christmas tree in my hospital room.”
“You like birds. And you love Woodstock. Always have. For your birthday every year when we were kids, I would get you something Woodstock. Woodstock erasers, Woodstock socks, Woodstock key chain. In fact, the one in your hand I gave you on your fourteenth birthday.”
She smiled. “Really?”
He nodded. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s head in.” He gestured for her to lead the way because he wanted her to feel that this was her house, even if she didn’t remember it.
She used her key and opened the door, slowly stepping inside. “I like it!” she exclaimed, nodding at the colorful round area rug in the entryway and vintage Le Chat Noir poster with the black cat on the wall.
“Oh my, who’s this?” she asked as a German shepherd hurried up to her with mournful whines. The dog sat at her feet.
“That’s Moose, retired K-9. We worked together for years when I was a detective, but for the last three years he’s been enjoying a life of leisure. He’s eleven years old and adores you.”
“Aw,” she said, kneeling down to pet him. “Hi, Moose.”
“He missed you the past couple of days.” And so did I. Praying you’d wake up. That’d you’d be okay. Bargaining.
“I’ll take your coat,” he said, removing his and hanging it up in the hall closet. She unzipped her down jacket and handed it to him, and he hung it up with her red-and-pink scarf, a gift from her knitting-crazy twin.
He watched her walk around the living room, looking at objects and peering at photos. She picked up their wedding photo off the mantel, one of her favorites because that devilish chapel beagle had photobombed him dipping Maddie in a kiss near the steps.
Her shoulders slumped, and she put the photo back. “I can’t remember my life.” She shook her head. “And it’s clearly a wonderful one. Loving family. Handsome, devoted husband. Lovely home all decked out for Christmas. A sweet dog named Moose.” Tears shone in her eyes, and she dropped down onto the sofa, Moose padding over and putting his head on her lap. She leaned over and buried her face in, hugging the dog.
Well, if it makes you feel any better, things weren’t all sunshine and roses.
Badumpa. Not.
He sat down beside her, hands on his knees. And before he could even think about it, he blurted out, “It’s my fault you got into the accident, Maddie. I said something that upset you, and you got in your car and peeled out fast to get away from me.”
She turned to him. “What did you say?”
“That maybe we should separate.” He closed his eyes for a second and let out a breath. He’d hated saying that. The first time and now.
“The emphasis on should makes me think someone else suggested it first. Me?”
He shook his head. “Right before the accident, we’d had our weekly appointment with a mediator slash marriage counselor. We’d been going to her to help us deal with a stalemate. She said it seemed to her that neither of us was willing to budge and that maybe we should think about separating. I got so upset, I stalked out. You followed and we argued outside. And then I said it—maybe we should separate.”
“What could have possibly come between us to that degree?” she asked.
He took a breath. “Starting a family.”
“Ah,” she said, looking at her left hand. Her bare left hand. “Now things are making sense. Before I got in my car and huffed away, did I yank off my wedding ring because I was angry about that and about you saying maybe we should separate?”
“That’s exactly right. You took it off and handed it to me. I have it in my wallet.” He’d never forget how that had made him feel, like his entire world was crumbling and he couldn’t catch the pieces.
“So I assume it’s me who wants kids?” she asked.
He nodded.
“And you’re content with things as they are. Wife, dog, job.”
He nodded again.
“Married seven years, thirty-two years old, seems like a reasonable time—past reasonable time—to start a family,” she said, a prompting lilt in her voice.
Acid churned in his gut. “I never wanted kids. You always did. And you counted on me changing my mind. You had no doubt I would, even though I cautioned you about that. You never really believed deep down that I wouldn’t want a ‘little Wolfe, a little us’—as you used to say.”
She tilted her head. “And you still don’t?”
He got up and walked over to the windows, looking out at the snow still clinging to the bare tree limbs. “The past two days, while you were lying in that hospital bed...and I had no idea if you’d wake up...I made so many bargains. If only you’d wake up, I’d agree to ten kids. As many as you wanted.”
“So we’re going to have ten kids?”
He turned around to face her. “If that’s what you want.”
“Because you bargained?”
He nodded. “The most important thing to me was having you back. I have that. So yes. Ten kids.” He’d almost lost her. He’d said, prayed, that he’d give anything to have her back. And he’d meant it.
She stared at him, lifting her chin, and he had no idea what she was thinking. Her expressions, the way her mind worked now—all that was new to him. “Well, the only thing I want right now is my memory back. Maybe just being here, in my home, with you, will jog something, trigger something.”
He hoped so. Until then, they had this rare chance to be together without the past stomping on their marriage. He had the unfair advantage of knowing everything about them while she knew nothing, and there was no way he’d take it. He’d always be honest with Maddie. And what was most true this minute was that he loved her more than anything, would do anything for her. Ten children. Twenty.
All that mattered was that she’d survived, that she’d be all right, that she was home.
Maddie needed to take a big step back, let everything she’d learned settle in her mind, her bones, so she suggested a tour of the house. Sawyer seemed relieved. She followed him upstairs, admiring the photos lining the wall. Pictures of the two of them—together—at so many different ages, from early childhood to what looked like recently. She and Sawyer, age five or six, holding kiddie fishing rods at a riverbank, a bucket between them. She and Sawyer, middle school years, arms linked for a semiformal, Maddie liking her pale pink dress. She and Sawyer, early twenties, Sawyer in a Wedlock Creek Police Department T-shirt, giving Maddie a piggyback ride. A couple with a long history together.
Upstairs was a wide landing with a sitting area. Off
