Sal balls her hands up into small fists, keeping them in her lap. Across from her, her newfound therapist, Dr. Cara Carter, smiles in sympathy.
“Go on. Take your time.”
Sal shifts on the leather couch. She’s a ball of nerves and anxiety. All she wants is to shed her skin and run. She’s been talking to complete strangers ever since she miraculously came back from the dead. So why is this so hard?
Dr. Carter crosses her ankles. The space-egg chair she sits in has Sal feeling like they’re in a galaxy far, far away. “We were talking about Luke,” Dr. Carter nudges, as if Sal needed a reminder.
Luke.
Her mind practically overheats on his name, and she glances out the window to where her husband waits in the truck.
He had offered to come in, but Sal wanted to go at it alone. At least this first session. Despite his reassurances this morning, she doesn’t feel it’s fair to keep dragging him through her bullshit.
“Do you feel supported by your husband?” Dr. Carter’s question cuts through Sal’s thoughts.
Her lips curve, her stomach a slow roll of a crashing wave. “I do. Luke ... he’s been wonderful. He makes me feel safe. He loves me.”
“And that’s important to you?”
“It is. I know my life now. My real life. It’s not some lie Roy fed to me,” Sal bites out bitterly.
All along, Sal had love. She had a home she’d made. A family she was missing. The idea that Roy kept it all from her pisses her the fuck off.
Dr. Carter stares at her thoughtfully. “You feel frustrated.”
“Yeah, I am.” Sal leans forward. “Everyone’s been great. I just feel undeserving. Like all I am is a damn spectator in my own life.” She raises her eyes to the ceiling, puffs a lock of hair from her eyes. “I want to remember on my own. I want to go back to work. I want to remember my husband.”
Sal’s eyes flick to the window. Her voice growing soft, she says, “I don’t have time to waste. I’ve wasted too much time already.”
“And that,” Dr. Carter says, “is not your fault.” Another kind smile. “This will be a process, Sal. You have been through a terrible trauma. I know you wish there was a magical way to snap your fingers and implant the memories, but there’s not.”
“So what do I do?”
“What you’re doing. Immerse yourself in your life. Spending too much energy on trying to recall your memories is less important than letting the memories occur naturally. It’s probably safer too. Less frustrating.”
Sal crosses her arms. “Right. Less frustrating.”
Chuckling, Dr. Carter checks the clock on the wall. Sal blinks. The forty-minute session’s flown by. They’ve barely covered the basics—her name, her strange situation, her migraines—and now it’s over? At this rate, she’ll be lucky if she can go back to work by Christmas.
“I can give you some hope,” Dr. Carter says, and Sal perks up. “Based on your charts, I believe it’s not a traumatic brain injury but more a traumatic memory loss, due to emotional trauma.”
Sal frowns at the lingo. “What does that mean?”
“It means there’s a high probability you will remember. The memories aren’t lost. They’re buried.” Dr. Carter closes her notepad. “Your mind is protecting you until you’re healthy enough to process it. When you need the memory, it will come to you. I’m sure of it.”
Luke sits in his pickup truck, waiting on Sal. His hands drum the steering wheel. They itch for a smoke, for something to do.
Fuckin’ helpless. That’s what he is.
He should be there. Not because he’s worried about her remembering, but because he’s worried how it could affect her. What if she remembered something—something bad—and he wasn’t there? He’d never forgive himself.
He smears his face in his hands. Christ, he’s gotta pull it together.
The chirp of his phone calls Luke’s attention elsewhere. Thankful for the distraction, he grabs it off the dash.
“Hello?”
“You’re not at the house.”