Mallory McDonald

 A short fiction story

          “What is that?” Holly asked me. We stood in her office at the Daily Post.

“What is what?” I said.

“That mark on your arm. What is that?” she repeated herself.

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know it was there.” I told her.

“How could you not know it was there? It’s pretty noticeable.”

“I know—I don’t know—I just didn’t.”

I looked down at my arm. What was that? And when did it happen? How did something just appear on me and I didn’t even realize?

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go. I gotta take care of something.” I said and rushed out of the office.

I didn’t know what was going on with me, but I needed to figure it out. I needed to find out where I have been and why I don’t remember anything. But where could I go? It’s not as if there was just a way I could just snap my fingers and figure it out. I knew I needed help, but who could help? I finally left The Daily Post building, where I worked and walked out onto the streets; how could my boss notice something on my own arm before I did? Actually how did I not notice it period? It’s huge. It’s this huge red scar. Nothing was making sense anymore.

The air was cool and crisp and it was just morning. Where could I go? There were very few people I could trust. But I had—had to find someone I could. I grabbed a cab and decided to go to the only place I could think.

“Thanks,” I said and paid the driver. I turned around and looked up at the familiar building of the Grand. But everything was different now. My whole life was and the scary part was I didn’t even know how different it was yet.

I walked through the familiar revolving door and into the Grand, for the first time in I don’t know how long, but then again there was a lot of my memory missing.

I walked towards the elevators and headed to his apartment. My heart was beating out of my chest. It had been so long, I wasn’t even sure I could do this. I knew I desperately needed his help; knew that he was my only shot; but what I didn’t know was if I was strong enough to get there.

With my thoughts everywhere, I approached his door. I took a deep breath and rang the bell.

Seconds passed, but it felt like forever till he answered. And finally the door opened and there he was.  Johnson stood in front of me after so long. Johnson had this way about him—maybe it was his stance, the way he seemed always in control not only of himself, but of his environment or maybe it was just who he was. Johnson was broad and physically strong, yes, but it was more than that. He radiated balance, confidence, and strength—something I had always admired in him.

“Viv, what are you doing here?” He asked me. His face, I could tell, was filled with so many thoughts, and questions. But like always, he had control over his face, he wasn’t going to let me see his emotions. His eyes were set, with no signs that I had even the slightest effect on him. While I felt…rattled. I could tell he was confused, but I didn’t have any answers. I didn’t have any explanations.

“I need your help.” I told him.  I was, in that moment, tempted to let him rescue me–to let him save me. I needed that. I needed to finally feel safe. But I was stronger than that. Deep down, I knew I was. I couldn’t rely on him—or anyone for that matter to save me. I had to save myself. I had to. But, I did need his help.

 

And without my consent my mind flashed back…

 

“Why is it always so damn important for you to always be independent?” He shouted at me.

          “Because Johnson!” I yelled back.

          “Viv, I love you,” his voice softened. “I really love you. Just let me take care of you sometimes.”

          “You’re not trying to love me! You’re trying to control me! And I can’t,” I shouted. 

          And before he responded he stepped closer to me. His large presence took up all the space between us and he tucked a few curls behind my ear.

          “Viv, I promise you, I don’t want to control you. I just don’t want you getting into trouble.” He said.

“Well I won’t get into trouble.” I said proudly. He had to know I could take care of myself.

“You don’t know that. And, I, on the hand, know that if you publish this–” He said shoving my article copy at me, “you will most definetly get into trouble.” 

“Then, fine. Fine. I get into trouble.” I said.

“You know I always thought your stubborness was sexy. I always thought  your craziness was hot. But, now I just don’t get why you won’t let me take care of you! I’m not saying always! But, Jesus Christ, Viv.” He started to get pissed, I could tell.

          Despite myself, despite how hard I tried to fight it, my voice cracked a bit, but I still wouldn’t let a tear out, “Because if I let you in—if I let you take care of me, then what happens when you’re gone?” 

He pulled me into him, completely encompassed into his arms. His warm chest and perfectly built arms felt safe, welcome, and so familiar.

          “Don’t ever think that. I promise you, you will always—” he emphasized the always, “have me to take care of you. I will always be here, Viv.”

          We forgot about my article. We forgot whatever we had planned and instead curled up in my bed and he held me the entire night. I nuzzled into him and fit perfectly. We didn’t have sex. We didn’t even make out. He kissed me softly a few times—gently, purposefully.

But we never solved anything that night. Not really.

Suddenly I was snapped back to the present. The memory burned inside me. I felt my cheeks flush. I should have never done that.

 

I could only imagine what he was thinking, what he thought of me, standing in front of him after so long—my mind was racing.

“What do you need help with? Oh—I’m sorry—come in, of course.” He said his face blank and set—he wasn’t going to let this get personal—neither would I.

I walked through his apartment door, into the familiar surroundings and again my mind flashed back to years ago, when things were so very different. The floor was a dark, sleek wood, and his couches were a neutral shade of comfy-ness. I couldn’t even count the nights we’d spent there—football games, movie nights, and drinks with friends. And now we were nothing, closer to strangers more than anything else.

And I was only in the living room. But the whole apartment flooded my mind with memories. I didn’t want to be this girl. The girl who got weak because she wasn’t with a man, but standing here all I could think about was us. But that “us” didn’t exist anymore. And I couldn’t go there—I couldn’t. I had to focus on why I was here—help.

It was peculiar—I could remember years ago, but the last eight months were gone. Nothing. Completely blank—as if I have been asleep for eight whole months, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t been asleep, I have been alive and living a life that I knew nothing of.

“So what’s up, what do you need?” He asked me.

“Well, I guess. I mean.” I stopped, took a deep breath and tried to focus myself on explaining what I did remember. “I guess, to start, I have no memory of the last eight months of my life. The last day I remember is April 18, 2011. Two days ago—December 4th, is when I start remembering again, of course, I thought it was April 19. I woke up in my apartment—that was still the same. It was about 9:30ish and my phone rang. I picked it up and it was Holly calling to ask and I quote, “Where the hell are you?” I guess she is the new editor for the Post, or so she explained to me. She thought I was drunk and to be honest I thought I was too. She told me I had to come into the office or I was fired so I got up and I went in. But things weren’t adding up, I didn’t remember Holly becoming the new editor; I didn’t remember certain things in my apartment, like a new bedspread, furniture rearranged and just little stuff. But, I finally realized it was a lot bigger than just bedspreads when I saw the newspaper. Eight months, Johnson. Eight months had passed and I remembered nothing since April. I don’t know anything; I don’t know where I went; what I did; I don’t know who I’ve been for the last eight months. Everything—I mean every part of the last eight months is a blank—total darkness.” I only began to tell him.

“Wait—wait a minute. You’re telling me, you literally do not remember anything? Nothing at all?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He was perplexed, so was I. It didn’t make any sense, that’s why I needed his help and I needed it badly.

Johnson was an FBI agent. He also used to be my fiancé. Though I knew he was the only person who would have the contacts and resources to help me, he was also the only person I didn’t want to ask for help.

Before I met him, I had barely even ever been in a relationship. I never wanted to hold someone’s hand before; I had always found it cheesy. But then, I wanted to hold his. I had never wanted to just snuggle on the couch for hours in his arms. And then, I wanted to be there forever. I had never gotten it. I had never known what people were talking about. But then I did. Love. That stupid, clichéd, overused, four letter word, finally made sense. And I thought I was sure—positively sure—I had met the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I was sure like I had never been sure before.

Sure, I’d been sure that other guys weren’t the one, and sure I was sure that maybe I wasn’t meant to be with anyone, but now I was finally sure in the way I had always wanted. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do believe in trusting your instincts and mine were screaming at me that he was it—he was “the one.”

“Well, why are you here? What can I do, Viv?” he asked me, his face just as I remembered.

“I need to know if you know someone who can help me track down where I have been and who I have been with. And why I don’t have a memory of it. Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

He paused, thinking. “I have. I think I can help. I’ll talk to some people I know who could probably help. But—”

“But what?”

“Ahhh,” he sighed and covered his face with his hands, “I just want you to be prepared. I have seen cases like this. A loss of memory is never good, Viv. There may be things you find out—things you don’t want to remember.” He told me.

“I have to have the truth. I do. I don’t care if it hurts, I’ll take it. I need the truth.” I told him. It was nice of him to warn me, but warnings weren’t what I needed; what I needed was the truth.

“Well…if you’re sure. It’s weird to see you. I mean I don’t mean weird, but you know what I mean.” He kind of fumbled his way through his words.

“No, I know what you mean. It is for me too. It’s good, though, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I think so. But anyway, back to why you’re here. So what I’ll do is call Warren. We still work together on a lot of different projects; I think he would be good with this.”

“Okay.” Him—Warren—I remembered it all, as if I was still living it; as if I was still his wife to be. But I wasn’t. And even more than that, I couldn’t even remember the last eight months of my life. What the hell was I going to do? How would this ever get sorted out?

Johnson stepped in the other room to make a few calls and I was left alone with my thoughts. I couldn’t figure out why I could remember my whole life, everything except the last eight months. It made absolutely no sense. I just prayed that coming to Johnson wasn’t a mistake; I just prayed that he could actually help or at least find me someone who could. I just needed to know; I needed the truth. How could someone or something take away my memory? The more I thought about it the angrier I got. It was my mind and those were my memories, how could they just be gone? But more importantly why were they gone? What was wrong with me?

“Okay, so Warren says he’s in. He said he missed you too. I also called Reese and she says she’d help as well.” He said as he walked toward me.

“And so that just leaves me. I’ll leave it up to you. How involved do you want me to be? I can be done now, I trust them and I’m sure they can help. But it’s up to you.” He told me.

“I…I don’t have a problem with you helping. I…I wouldn’t have come if I did. But if you don’t think it’s a good idea or if you just don’t want to, I understand.” I knew it. I knew he didn’t want to see me; knew he wouldn’t want to be bothered with the current issues of his ex-fiancé. And frankly who could blame him? I was a mess. I looked down at my hands, not really wanting to meet his eye.

But then I felt his hand lift my chin up and my gaze met his, “I’ll help.” He simply said.

I felt out of breath. This was too much. Being out of control of my life. Not remembering eight months and then seeing him; all within two days—it was too much to digest.

“I promise, I’ll stay professional; treat you as I would any other client off the street.” He said his eyes that perfect sea blue that hooked me in the first place. Johnson was taller than me—which wasn’t hard to be, with my short 5’ 4’’, but still he was tall. He stood in front of me, looking down into my eyes the way he always did, and I couldn’t help but get flustered. I mean this was Johnson, the man I almost married, there was just so much there, so much in the space between us—history—memories—fights—and love. Again I couldn’t stop my mind from wondering back…

 

          “It’s not that—“ he cut off.

          “Then what is it?” I demanded.

          “I just can’t fuck up. I can’t.” he said.

          “Johnson, you’re human. You can’t say you can’t, because you will. We all will.” I tried to understand, but he wasn’t making sense.

          “Viv, you once asked me what my biggest fear was, remember?”

          I smiled, “Yes back when you were trying to impress me.”

          “Well, I gave you a bullshit answer then. But, honestly what I fear most is coming to a big decision and fucking it up. I’ve seen my dad fuck everything up and I don’t want to be that kind of man. I won’t be that kind of man.”

          My heart broke for him.

          “Johnson, you aren’t. You aren’t your father. But you also don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

          “I just don’t want to fuck it up with you Viv. I don’t want to disappoint you the way my dad did to my mom. I want to be better than that.”

          “You already are. But there’s more to this than just that, come on, what is it?” I asked again.

          He was quiet for a while. Long enough that I almost didn’t think he was going to answer.

          “I guess…I guess I just think if I fuck up—I don’t know.” He was so close to really opening up, but he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say, what I could already see. I wonder if he saw it too.

 

I knew we didn’t love each other anymore, but it had been there for so many years, it just didn’t get wiped away. And I couldn’t wipe my memory clean of him either.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I told him. Not that I really cared.

He took his hand off my chin and it fell to his side, “So what are you going to do today? I have the number of a memory specialist I could call for you—see if they could get you in…unless you had something else you needed to take care of?” He offered.

“No, that would be great. I need to start working on my mind, figure out where the heck the last eight months went.”

“’Kay, I’ll call. Help yourself to something in the kitchen, I guess I haven’t been a very polite host, I never offered you a drink.” He grabbed his cell from his jeans pocket and I walked in the other room. And I headed to the kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge—he still bought Deja Blue, funny, I thought to myself.

Although I tried to suppress the memories of us, I couldn’t help it, it took me back…

          “But why do I have to get it when the Target brand is so much cheaper? Who cares, Viv, it’s just friggn water.”

          “I know… I know I’m a freak, but if you’re gonna marry me, you might as well figure it out. Deja Blue is the best bottled water. It’s my favorite, we have to get it.”

          “It all tastes the same to me,” Johnson told me.

          “Then you won’t care that we’re getting the Deja Blue,” I said.

          “But why? The other stuff is cheaper.”

          “Because Deja Blue tastes the best and plus it has those great little caps that pop up…I mean come on this is clearly the best water,” I said as I held the bottle out to him. “It’s just all part of my system—this—“and I shoved it towards him, “is the water that we havvvveeee to buy.”

          “Fine, you win,”

          “Yes!” I couldn’t help but laugh, “See I wear the pants in this relationship,” I bragged.

          “Oh really, you think?” He grabbed me and held me so I couldn’t get out, “really, still think so?” And he tickled—everywhere. “If you wear the pants, then I’m taking them off.” I couldn’t breathe he was tickling so hard.

          “Johnson,” I gasped, “We’re in public!” I finally managed to get out.

          “So what?” He eyes joking and laugh lines surrounded them. “I’m not letting you go till you agree to my terms.”

          “And what might those be?” I asked.

          “Either I wear the pants in this relationship or I take yours off—your choice.” He joked, but still held me.

          “Fine!” I said through laughs, “Fine, okay, okay, you wear the pants!”

             “Told you,” he said as he finally let me go, “I knew you’d cave.”

          “But we’re still getting the Deja Blue.” I insisted.

I shut the fridge and sat down on the couch while he talked into the phone. I had to stop letting memories of him flood my mind—I had to focus on finding out what I’ve been doing the last eight months.

“Okay so her name is Estell and she is the best I know in the business. She said she would see you as early as within the hour, if you’re interested.” Johnson told me.

“Um…well yeah. I guess I can do that.” I stood up from his couch. “I’ll just head there. You’ll let me know if you or Warren hear anything?” I finished telling him. As I stood there, ready to leave him, I felt so exhausted; it was all too much at once. Him. This apartment. My memory gone.

“Viv,” he grabbed my arm as I passed.

“Thank you Johnson. You have no idea how grateful I am. Really.” I said.

“Yeah, of course. But Viv–”

“Yeah,” I cut in.

“I…I don’t know. Do you have a ride over to Estell’s?”

“Oh—I was just gonna grab a cab.”

“I can take you; I’m not working at the office today, so I’m pretty much doing nothing. And after I drop you off, maybe I can check on some things for you.” He offered. I couldn’t help it; it felt so nice to have some to help.

“You really don’t have to—“

“It’s really no problem. Be good to get out.” He assured me. “Come on, why waste money on a stupid cab. I’m taking you.” And with that it was decided, he dragged me along and we headed out his apartment door and down the hall.

The Grand was a beautiful building. Johnson and I picked it out together, actually. It had marble walls and ceilings and gorgeous chandeliers and the most amazing grand staircase, it actually always reminded me of the one from Titanic. I used to tease him that we needed to reenact the part in the movie when Jack and Rose meet at the staircase and Rose has on the most amazing black and red dress, but he never was very keen on that, can’t imagine why not.

Finally we reached Estell’s office; I walked into the building, hoping and praying to god that this would work—it had to.Johnson dropped me off and then he sped off to talk to some connection or other that would help me get to the bottom of this huge mess that was now my life.

“So,” Estell said, her voice a high and shrill pitch, “you don’t remember the last eight months…well for today we can start by just talking. The last time you remember is April, correct?” she said.

“Yes, April,” I told her.

“And what can you tell me about the time leading up to your memory loss? Maybe the last month or so you remember, what was going on in your life?” she asked.

“Well… where to start… It had been about three months since Johnson and I broke up and I was still dealing with that. We had spent five years together and after three months it was still very raw, but I had resolve—I wasn’t going to be one of those weepy girls who fall apart after a break up and I decided to focus on writing. I worked as a features reporter at the Post and I also did a lot of freelance. I had just gotten back from London working on a story there about international relations and the perception of the American government in the UK. My editor loved it. I threw myself entirely into my work and volunteered for every abroad story. Anyway, that was my main focus.”

“What about other aspects of your life? Friends? Family?” Estell asked.

“Well, both my parents and my brother live in Phoenix. My brother is married and they have two kids. I don’t see them very often. It is always hard to arrange and then I’m either off writing or they’re vacationing. Since my parents retired, they spend most of their time traveling or babysitting for my brother.”

“And do you feel you have a good relationship with your family?”

“Yes, My family is amazing; they have always been so supportive of me and my dreams and never demanding. I love them all; we just don’t get to see each other a lot.” I explained.

“As far as friends, Johnson was my best friend for years. I wouldn’t have dated him if he wasn’t. Warren, who is one of Johnson’s partners now, I actually knew him before they knew each other. Warren and I went to high school together, which I know is a small world; we lost touch during college, but somehow ended up at the small graduate school. Anyways we got back in touch and he introduced me to Johnson. They were probably my two best friends. After graduation, I met Zena who lived in the apartment across the hall from me and still does. And then, there’s Fi, who I work with at the paper. Between those four and my brother, they pretty much are my closest friends.”

“And of those four, who have you talked to since you realized you lost the memory of eight months of your life?” She questioned.

“I talked to Johnson today, obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. And then I talked to Zena.”

“And what did Zena say you have been doing the last eight months?” Estell asked, as she scribbled something down.

“She said, about end of April I told her I had to travel for an article and would be gone for a couple of months and that was the last she saw of me until a few days ago. She said she had been worried sick, but she didn’t know what to think. Z told me she even called my parents to check on me, but that I had told them the same thing and they all figured it must be a very important story. But then she showed me a letter I sent about a month ago, telling her I was okay and still traveling around the world. I told her in the letter that I needed to be distracted with work and not to worry; so she didn’t anymore.” It was all so messed up, and I didn’t remember a thing about it, I thought as I continued to explain to Estell.

“Well that certainly helps. Do you think you really were working on a story or was that a cover up?” She asked.

And I thought for a moment, somewhere deep down I had to know; I just had to.

“Yes,” I said, before I even realized the words were coming out, “Yes, I was working on a real story. Wow—I didn’t even know I knew that.”

“Our subconscious knows more than we think often times.” Estell told me.

After an hour more of talking and going over the last month of my life that I remember, I left her office feeling a little more grounded and with a little more to go off.

The next morning, I dialed Warren’s number and after a few short rings his voice came on the line, “Kyle Warren,” he said.

“Warren—it’s me, Viv.” I said.

“Hey,” his voice softened slightly, “I’m working on your case now, how was Estell’s? Johnson told me he dropped you off there yesterday.” He asked.

“It was really good. I think—I think I may have figured out the key to all this, well at least part of it anyway. I was working on a story. I don’t know what about yet, still gotta talk to some people. But that’s where I was, I was traveling for a story and it has to do with all this—I can feel it.” I told him.

“Yeah we’ve been tracking your traveling too. You went a lot of places. Right now we’re just getting the facts, where you went, where you stayed, what you did. We got a lot of camera footage of you believe it or not. That’s the great part of having big government—it means no privacy and there’s a lot we can go off of now.”

“That’s good…I guess.” I said.

“Hey—I was thinking we could really use your help, you know yourself the best. And maybe we can unlock information simply from your subconscious and maybe these videos will ring some kind of mental subconscious bell—you know?”

“Yeah, yeah maybe you’re right. I’m just leaving my apartment I looked through my home desk to see if there was anything there about a story I was working on—there wasn’t. Just let me head to the Post first, I just want to see if there is anything I can find about the story there. But then I’ll head over—is it still the same building?” I asked.

“Yep. Same one and you still have your old security badge we got you–right?”

“Yep.” I answered and with a few other quick words, we hung up. I still had the badge—thank god. Warren and Johnson had gotten it for me after they told me the truth about where they work. Being the best friend and girlfriend of two FBI agents sometimes had its privileges.

I leafed through my office desk but was disappointed again. How could I have gotten rid of everything to do with a story that I must have been working on for months?

As I walked through the security check in the FBI office that Warren and Johnson worked, my mind was racing. What sort of trouble had I gotten myself into? Was it really to do with a story? Being a reporter, I’ve always dreamed of unlocking some huge life changing story, but what was the price? My memory—my life? Was I really that career crazed that I would risk my own safety? I wasn’t sure.

But—but, if I was really honest with myself, I knew the answer was yes. I was consumed, I knew I was. Reporting, writing, traveling was all I thought about—and the bigger the better. I loved it, after losing Johnson work became my everything and there was a little part of me that wasn’t surprised I had gotten myself into some dangerous mess. That’s what happens when you play with fire. And I had been playing with a lot of fire.

On the drive over to Johnson’s office, my mind was everywhere. I flicked on the radio to try and distract myself, but it simply made it worse. “Rhythm of Love” came on and again I couldn’t help the flash back….

          “My head it stuck in clouds,” I sang, “Come on dance with me,” I pleaded with him as I tried to look sexy in my new dress. “This is my absolute favorite song, please, please,” I whined.

          “This song is about a one night stand you do realize that, don’t you?” he told me.

          “Oh come one, don’t be such a butthead. We may only have tonight, but till the morning sun you’re mine allllll mine,” I sang.

And though he resisted, I could see the caving in his eyes, “Oh for Christ’s sake?” he said as he grabbed my hands and pulled me into a dance with him. “What is it about you, that you have so much power over me? You dance around in your new dress and I’m a goner.” He whispered into my ear.        “And by the way, you look incredible in it.”

          I sang some more, “He’s got blue eyes deep like the sea, that roll back when he’s laughing at me he rises up like the tide the moment his lips meet mine. Do you like my abridged version? See it’s about us,” I teased.

          “I love it,” he said, and suddenly all the teasing left and he just stared into me, “I love you,” he said. It was the first time he had ever told me he loved me and though the song still blasted through the speakers, we stood completely still and Johnson cupped my face, “I love you,” he repeated.

          I knew I felt it too. I always had, my best friend, my boyfriend, but for now I just let him love me. I let his love be enough.

 

I had to stop it. Really—stop it. I couldn’t help it, though, that song always took me back. But as I repeated over and over to myself, I needed to focus on my memory and had to let go of the personal stuff between Johnson and I, however hard it would be.

I walked into the room and Warren, Reese and Johnson all looked up at me. We greeted each other and then I sat in the nearest chair. There were T.V. screens playing of me walking in and out of restaurants and hotels; there were computer screens full of flight information and credit card information; there were piles and piles of papers that seemingly all had to do with me.

“Well—did you find anything about your story?” Warren asked.

“No—no there was nothing in either of my desks.” I told him.

“It doesn’t matter, I didn’t think you would.” He said.

“You didn’t?” I asked.

“Nope. We found records of you opening your own safe box at a bank in Scotland. I think whatever it is, it’s probably there. And we have video of some of the people you have been associating with these last eight months, but—“

“What?” I asked. “What?”

“It’s just…it’s just…” he stammered. “Jesus, this is hard. I mean for Christ’s sake, this is you we’re talking about. You’re not just another one of my projects.” And I could hear his voice shake. What was it that Warren didn’t want to tell me? He was trying to protect me from something I could tell.

“Look, I know this isn’t easy, but ya’ll can’t keep me in the dark. I want to know—I have to know. I can handle it. I obviously lived it; I can take it Warren.” I told him, but really I told them all. They had to understand that I deserved to know what happened in my own life.

“I think it’s…it’s just that he cares about you,” Reese said in her British accent. “I ‘supose he can’t just tell you like he would anyone else.

I just stood there looking from face to face—all three of them stared at me, as if they felt…as if they felt sorry for me. I rested my gaze at Johnson’s eyes and within that deep blue I knew there was something there that he wasn’t telling me. I tried not to but I couldn’t help it as a small sob escaped me. I felt so helpless. It was really that bad—so bad that it had three FBI agents speechless and unable to tell their own friend what the hell was going on.

And then I was in his arms. Johnson grabbed me, and shot over his shoulder, “I’ll tell her,” he said as he took me out of the office.

We walked through the office halls and down corridors and maybe even stairs, I couldn’t tell. My mind raced and my vision blurred with tears. All the emotions I had done so well at holding in were now rushing out of me and I had no control over them anymore.

Finally we reached the end of a hallway and entered an empty room and Johnson shut the door. He turned and looked down at me. “I’m gonna tell you the truth. But you have to know I don’t want to. God Viv, all I want to do—all Warren wants to do is protect you. We don’t want you to have to know this bullshit. I’d rather you have these last eight months of hell erased from your memory. But—but it’s not up to me. I’m gonna do what you asked and I’m gonna treat you with respect, like I would any other client, just like I promised.” He said. And I could tell it was killing him.

“Now, we don’t know everything, mind you, we’ve only been working on this a couple of days. But good for us, neither parties were very thorough in covering all this up so it wasn’t too hard to track down what we think happened. And what kills me is I think I had a lot to do with it. You were right about a story. It…it looks like you were going to write about a terrorist sect, called Bog Pekel, or in English god of hell. It is a terrorist group in Slovenia that you were about to expose. They focus on invading hospitals and spreading diseases and preforming corrupt surgeries for their medical research and experimentation. I guess you were after a gripping story of untold and unknown terrorist groups and you were about to get it, that is, before they discovered you. You have a red scar on your right arm, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah. How…how did you know it was there?” I asked looking down at my long sleeves I had been wearing since I first went to see him.

“I didn’t. Jesus, I can’t breathe, I can’t believe this.” He said, and he looked…he looked like he was about to be in tears, I had never seen that look in his eye—ever, a helpless look. “That…that mark means they operated on you Viv. God, I should have protected you from this—it’s my fault—” and he was cut off by his own shaking voice.

He covered his face with his hands and he looked—defeated in grief. And I just stood there—dumbfounded. I was operated on, but what did that mean? What did they do to me?

“You and I both know where you got the inspiration and I’ll never forgive myself for that.” He said.

“But—what did they do to me? What was the operation?” I asked, ignoring his statement.

“Viv, I’m sorry. I should have protected you” he said “—I should have.”

“Johnson, stop. Yes, we both know you had been investigating underrated terrorist sects. But it was me—me,” and I pointed to myself, “I decided to pursue the story. I obviously wanted to be the one to undercover terrorist sects that the other media had yet to. That’s on me; not you.”

“No. I am an FBI agent and I shared intell on what I was investigating with a civilian and now—now look where’s it’s gotten you! No, Viv, that’s on me.” He shouted.

“Will you stop it! I am not some random civilian you were stupid enough to place trust in. I was your fiancé! All you told me was you and Warren were looking into some terrorist sects; that’s it. I did the rest. You have no accountability for this—I do.” I said. I had to face the truth. I got myself into this and I had to face the consequences of my own actions. And despite the fact that I wasn’t completely sure what those were yet, I did know that Johnson wasn’t to blame—I was.

And he just looked at me, with an unbelievable amount of pain in his eyes and I…I was speechless, yet my mind still raced with questions.

“That still doesn’t explain why I don’t remember any of it? What happened to my memory?” I asked him.

“I’m guessing they erased it with some form of drug during the surgery to be sure you wouldn’t publish any story about them. You have to have some tests run to find out more specifically. But that’s been their policy in the past, with other prisoners they’ve held. And as for the operations—“ but he stopped mid-sentence, like he couldn’t even bring himself to say it aloud.

“What? Remember just like any client—tell me.” I pleaded.

He didn’t meet my eye—I’m not sure he even could.

“They do all different kinds of experimentation with the human body. We haven’t found out everything, but in the past they have taken blood samples, egg samples; they have impregnated women to run tests on the baby that usually result in the death of the child. They have dissected brains; they’ve basically ripped a part every inch of the body. I think they search for ways to protect themselves during suicide bombs and look for cures to their common diseases and then some of them are just for the sport of it. They also—“ he broke off. “God I’m gonna be sick, they also just use women sometimes for…for…” he couldn’t say it, but I knew what he meant.

And my mind was everywhere. I…I didn’t even know what to think. I had undergone that?Never, never would I have thought my memory loss would lead me here; my knees felt weak and I fell into a nearby chair—my mind total chaos.

I rolled up the sleeve of my shirt and ran my fingers over my red scar, “So I was their little guinea pig; their rat for experimentation. I let myself get into this—this” but there was no word for what I had gotten myself into. It was simply sick.

“There is a chance none of that happened to you. There is a chance that all they did in your operation was erase any memory you had of the story. If we get you to a hospital and run some tests we’ll have a better idea of what your body underwent.” He said, a little more composed than before and with that he got up. “I need to go talk to Warren for a sec and then we’ll take you over to the hospital.” He said as he walked out the door.

I sat there my mind racing. So I was tracking down terrorists? The scary part was, that sounded a bit like me. It sounded exactly like a story I would go crazy for. What happened to me, though? Was I okay? Was I healthy? And what was in the safe in Scotland—there were still so many unanswered questions; this only scraped the surface.

 

I sat there for a little while. Johnson reentered the room quietly. Finally, I found words.

 

“You can’t rescue me. It isn’t your job. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, at least any more than I already have. I am so grateful to you for everything you’ve done. I’m gonna get it all sorted it out now, I’m gonna head to the hospital and I’ll—I’ll be fine.” I told him in my most convincing and strong voice. “I want you to just let all this go. You don’t deserve this crap coming into your life and ruining it. I should never have gotten you into this mess and I am so sorry.” I told him and then turned to walk out of the room.

My entire world felt like it was collapsing in on me as I walked away, as I didn’t want to walk away. I realized in seeing the pain in his eyes how much I loved him—I never stopped. But I couldn’t do this. I needed to figure out what happened to me, and he clearly did not need this in his life. He was a man of control. He grew up with chaos. He didn’t want it back in his life. He made that clear when I published the story on his Chief. I brought chaos. I complicated things.

I put my career first and had some stupid narrow minded dream of success, and I lost and hurt him, but I wouldn’t anymore. I was stupid and I was selfish. I had gotten myself into more trouble than I could have ever dreamt up and I hurt so many people, but I wouldn’t do it any longer. I wouldn’t let it destroy Johnson. I wanted the best for him—I wanted him to be happy; he deserved that. I didn’t even make it around the corner, till I felt him grab me.

“Why the fuck?” he said. “You think I am going to let you just walk away, just like that?” This was the first time his eyes unlocked a little. I started to see the deep sea blue narrow with emotion. Finally he was loosening, finally he was moving the stone set stance he always held onto so tightly.

“It’s not a matter of letting, Johnson, I am a complete mess, I have so much about these last eight months I have to figure out and I have to rebuild who I am. And I’m not gonna bring you any more of my mess. I think I’ve done enough of that, and I am so sorry.” I kept back the tears that stung at my eyes.

He lifted my chin till our gazes met, “Do you honestly think I care about me right now? Do you honestly think I care if you bring “drama” into my life? I don’t give a flying fuck about that.” he said.

“Yes. I did it before and now I’m doing it all over again.” I whispered, my voice hoarse from needing to cry.

“Well fuck the Chief because you were right about him. Sure, it was awkward as fuck that my fiancee wrote the article that caused my boss his job, but everything you wrote was the truth. I was wrong.”

I hardened myself. I was good at doing that. I let go of all emotion, “Well either way, I’m going now. Thank you for all your help. I’ve got it from here.”

“No.” he said.

“You can’t tell me no. Yes, I’m leaving and I’m taking care of it.” I said firmly.

“Well I’m coming with you.” He said. The walls within his eyes were going up again. He wasn’t going to tell me how he was feeling. Fine, neither would I.

“Fine, come if you want. Whatever.” I said and I walked past him toward the outside. I could feel him follow.

“So I’ll drive he called from behind me.”

We drove to the hospital in silence. It wasn’t awkward. It just was. Neither of us wanted to be the one to break. Neither of us wanted to loose control.

Johnson parked in the parking garage and we walked through it till we finally reached the door of Mercy Hospital.

“I think we should go to the ER,” he said.

“OK.”

Again we walked silently. Our strides in unison, but we had always been that way. He walked up the to ER desk and got the paperwork I needed to fill out. We sat and he handed me the clipboard and pen. I began to fill out the documents.

“I think I’ll go get us some coffee.” He said and I watched him walk away. For the millionth time, my mind took me backwards…

 

I stood outside the hospital door, about to enter, but then I heard voices. I knew I should turn and walk away, but my feet wouldn’t move. I stood perfectly still and I couldn’t help but overhear.

          “Thank you for coming.” Mr. James said.

          “Of course. Mom wanted me to, and…” Johnson trailed off.

          I took a step forward and peered inside the cracked door, making sure neither could see me. And I saw. I watched them just look at each other. Intently. Deeply. In a way, I knew Johnson never had before.

          “You’re my dad.” Johnson said.

          “I know. I know, son.” Mr. James said.

          “I hate to see you like this, because despite it all, I still love you.” Johnson’s voice shook. He seemed like he was about to crack, about to cry.

          “And fuck me, I don’t even think you know what love is. But I still stupidly fucking love you.”

          “And I don’t deserve it. You’re right about that.” Mr. James said.

          “You’ve just done so much. You hurt mom and you hurt Hailey. You broke them. How am I supposed to forgive that?”

          Mr. James began to cry. “I know. I know I did. I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to.”

          “Stop with the fucking excuses dad. Be a man. For once in your God Damn life! Be a fucking man! You’ve been a fucking coward and people have let you! Jesus fucking Christ!” Johnson shouted.

          “Johnson, you’re right. I don’t know how to love the people I love. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love them. Don’t you think for a second that I don’t love your mom, you and your sister. I love you more than anything.” Mr. James stated firmly.

          “I can’t believe that though. Sure, it sounds nice. And you’re laying here in this hospital bed and you’re probably gonna die,” Johnson said with a lack of emotion that frightened me, “But you know what dad? What good does it do to love people if you can’t show it? What fucking good does it do to hear you say you love me when everything you’ve ever done has been selfish as fuck?”

          “I don’t know. You’re right.” Mr. James didn’t even try to argue. “

No. I honestly don’t think you know. I don’t think you know what it was like to watch mom and Hails wait for you and you never come home! To watch two innocent heart be smashed and wasted on a selfish dick. I don’t think you know what it was like when Hails got ready for the father daughter dance and I took her. I did dad.” He said and pointed to his chest. “You don’t even deserve to be called dad–I was the dad!” He said.

          “I don’t want to be anything like you. And yet—” Johnson held back once again.

          “Johnson, it’s okay. I just have to say some things. Please let me say some things?” Mr. James pleaded.

Johnson didn’t voice a response, but he nodded his approval.

“Johnson, I’m probably going to die. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but very soon. And before I do I need you to listen.” Mr. James said.

“I’ve been the worst fucking father. I know that. I’m a selfish bastard. I hurt you; I hurt your mom; I hurt Hailey. Whatever I do, whoever’s involved—I hurt people. I do love you. I do. But this is all I know how to be. You’re right about one thing, I don’t know how to show love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t.”

‘To be honest, I don’t know if I will be able to believe that.” It sounded harsh, but I knew Johnson had the right to say it. Sure, he could lie and appease his dad on his death bed, but it wouldn’t be honest.

My heart broke for him. I knew so much, but seeing it—hearing it made his pain so much more raw. I could imagine the child version of the man I loved. I pictured him taking care of his mom and sister. I pictured him hiding his own pain and carrying theirs. I imagined him showing up to football practice acting like his life was normal, acting like his life, the life of the star quaterback, was perfect. And, I pictured the man I love as a little boy who never got to be a little boy. He had been a man, taking care of everyone since as long as he could remember. And I fell in love with Johnson even more. I got it, I just got it. I understood why he was the way he was. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to give him what he was used to or what he wanted. I wouldn’t be able to let him take care of me.

          “Viv! Viv!” Johnson’s voice pulled back to the present.

“Sorry, what?” I asked.

“I asked you if you feel faint. You look extremely pale.

“No I’m okay. I’m not gonna faint.” I told him.

“Ok, well just don’t do that again. You scared me,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Get all pale and glossed over,” he said.

 

We walked into the ER and Johnson talked to the lady at the front desk. She handed his a clipboard and pen and then we walked over to the chairs in the waiting room. He handed me the paperwork and I started on it.

I finished filling it out and Johnson took it up to the front desk for me. We had to wait for a while, I couldn’t tell how long. Nothing really felt real to me. I felt like I was just watching my life from the outside, instead of from my own perspective. And then it was time for me to be seen. Johnson and I stood and followed the nurse back through the large double doors.

“Excuse me sir, are you family? You can only go back there if you’re family.” The male nurse told him.

“Okay. Viv, will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

 

Since I was a baby I hated everything about the hospital. My parents used to have to pin me down on the counter and force me to drink the purple liquid medicine when I was sick. When I was in college, I would just simply refuse to go. Now, I had gotten at least a little more mature about it, but still there was something about the cold, sterile rooms that made me feel—empty.

“You can sit on the table,” the nurse told me. “I’m just gonna ask you some general questions and then the doctor will be in shortly.” he said.

And he went through the list of stock questions that I anticipated. And then the doctor came. Tests were run. More questions were asked. Hours passed. I was emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. I just wanted to be out of here and in my bed. I had reached the point that I didn’t even care. I didn’t care if I was okay or not. Whatever had happened, whatever they did to me, it was done. There was nothing I could do about it now. I was helpless and I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want to dwell in what I couldn’t control. I needed to just move on from it. Get the medicine and get the hell out.

Finally, I was done. I walked back through the double doors, I didn’t expect to see Johnson, but he was sitting there his head down, his forearms resting on his thighs, and his hands folded together. He didn’t see me yet and he didn’t look up. But I just looked at him. His hunched shoulders, his entire bent stature, he looked like I’d only seen him look once before, that day at the hospital with his dad. He looked defeated. He looked out of control. I didn’t know how it could be true that such a strong and bruiting man could look so small, but paradoxically, in that moment he did.

Finally, I walked toward him. I walked right up to his bent head and put my arms on his shoulder. He looked up into my eyes and grasped my waist. I didn’t expect to see pain behind the blue, but there it was starring into me. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. I had never been very good at hiding my emotions, my face was always so expressive, and even though I didn’t have a mirror, I was sure he could see the turmoil that I tried to hide.

He stood and he wrapped me in his arms. We knew each other so well. We didn’t need words. There was a muscle memory our bodies had and we knew exactly where to go in each other’s arms. He held me for a little longer, and then we headed out of the hospital. We made it back to Johnson’s car and without asking he headed in the direction of my apartment. He pulled into the garage of my apartment and got out quickly to open my door before I even could. He helped me out of the car and wrapped his arms around my waist. He held my purse and pulled my keys out to open my apartment door.

I walked into the familiarity of home, but none of the usual comfort washed over me, instead I felt scared—weak—tired. Things I physically couldn’t handle being, so I tried to fight them. I tried not to give in to failing apart. So I stayed quiet. Johnson placed my purse on the counter and then walked through to my bedroom, I heard the shower come on and then he reappeared.

“Lets get you cleaned up,” he said and I followed him through my room to the bathroom. Again, we didn’t say much. I couldn’t, and I didn’t think he could either. But there was an unspoken trust between us. He stepped toward me and pulled my shirt over my head, not in a sexual way, but in the way that a mother takes care of her child, in a way that was pure, unselfish, and fully for me. Not for what I could or would give with my body. I knew Johnson was attracted to me, we were engaged for goodness sake, but he eyes weren’t hungry with lust, despite my exposed breasts and my simply black lace bra. No the deep blue of his eyes weren’t filled with lust. Instead they held concern, pain, and…and…love. Who knew what kind of love it was, where it was, if it was what we had before, or if he would just always care. But the undeniable love spread like steady calm waters and they washed me, they cleansed me, they warmed me, and they filled me. I unhooked my bra and stepped out of my jeans and my panties slide off. Johnson opened the shower door, stuck his arm in testing the water, “It’s warm,” he said. He held the door open for me and I stepped in. Closing it, he bent and picked up my dirty laundry and walked out of the room. I stood in the shower and let the warm water run down my body. And I just stood there, letting everything sink in. The doctor had told me what happened. Still I refused to think it, still I pushed it out of my mind.

I finally finished washing myself and I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. I walked through the bathroom doors and up to my dresser. I thoughtlessly picked out panties and a large T-shirt. I dressed and then I went to find Johnson. He was shutting the laundry room door, I could hear a load running. Again the blue in his eyes filled me back up. Each time I felt emptier and emptier, his eyes did something about it. Each time his eyes refueled me. My apartment was an open floor plan and we stood in the large room that encompassed the kitchen and living room.

“Feel better?” He asked.

“I guess a little.” I said.

“Johnson—” I began.

“Viv—” he said at the same time.

“You go first,” I said.

“I was gonna say I can head out if you want me gone.” He said.

“If you need to go, whatever you want.” I said.

“I don’t need to be anywhere,” he said. Still both of us were so stubborn, neither allowing the other to know. ‘

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“So…?” he quizzed me, pouring into my face to see if he could read me. Finally, I gave in.

“Stay. Please. Stay.” I said.

“Okay.” His eyes set again. Why couldn’t I read him? But I was too exhausted to try. We both were.

“I’m exhausted,” I said.

“Do you want to go to bed?” he said.

“I think so.”

“OK.” He turned and opened the hall closet and pulled out an extra blanket and threw it onto the couch.

“Goodnight, then. I’ll be here if you need anything.” He told me.

“Johnson—” my voice cracked.

“What?” and he walked forward, he was still careful of over stepping boundaries, but I wanted him to know I didn’t mind. I didn’t want space from him, but I didn’t know how to tell him.

“Will you hold me? Please?” I was weak. I was so fucking weak. I normally didn’t swear, but I was ashamed I was begging my ex to hold me all night. I felt so—so pathetic.

“Of course. I was just trying to be respectful. But of course.” he voiced cooed and comforted me. And I let it.

He wrapped me up in his strong build and we walked to my bed. We pulled back the sheets and crawled inside like we had so many times before. Once again, it seemed our muscle memory kicked in. We resorted to the same sides we had filled in the bed as we always had, but once I landed my head on the pillow he wrapped me up in his arms. And the same fit we had before resumed. So much had changed. I was stubborn. I never let him take care of me. I never gave him any kind of control, never any room to fully love me. Now, I didn’t fight. In this moment, I was all Vivian Katherine Carey, the good, the bad, the weak, the sad, the strong, I was everything I was. And I was letting him see it. For the first time, I let Johnson take care of me, truly take care of me.

He just held me, all night, he held me, until I finally fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning in the same position I fell asleep. He hadn’t left me. He stayed; he held me all night.

“Hi,” I said and I rolled over so I could face him.

“Good Morning,” he said and he brushed my curls off my face. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m okay. Thank you. Thank you so much, I can’t even—“ he interrupted me before I could finished.

“Don’t thank me.” he said. He sounded pissed off.

“I want to.”

“Well don’t.” he said again just as harshly as before.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, his eyes set dark.

“Tell me. Please, please tell me.” I begged.

“I’m just so angry. So fucking angry.” he said.

“Why?”

“It makes me sick—literally sick to think of anything hurting you. And I’m so fucking pissed I didn’t protect you.” He blamed himself. He thought he’d failed me. He thought he’d become what he’d always worked so hard not to be. Out of control. A coward. His father.

“Johnson—”

“No. I know you’re gonna tell me it’s all your fault, but Viv. God Viv.” he said and finally his eyes broke. I thought he might cry.

“God Viv, I will stand in between you and the whole god damn world if I need to. To protect you. And I didn’t. I wasn’t there.” He said looking down at me with the most intense, seriously painful gaze. I was killing him.

“See! This is what I was afraid of! I don’t want to hurt you anymore Johnson! I already did that with the Chief. You should just go. I shouldn’t have asked you to help.”

“Oh stop with that. Don’t you get it?” he asked me. Still angry, still his blue eyes deep in pain, and still starring into me.

I was quiet. What could I say?

“Viv, just let me love you. Please God just let me love you.” he begged. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked. But this time he begged. He was desperate to save me, desperate to take care of me, desperate to love me.

“I can take care of myself.” I said. I was so stupid. So fucking stupid, but I would not be one of those girls. I didn’t not run into the arms of any man. I was strong enough. I was enough.

“But I don’t want you to. We’re never gonna get anywhere are we?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re never gonna let go, are you? When are you gonna realize that letting me in is just as much for you as it is for me? I don’t have a shot in hell at being happy if I can’t make you happy. I want to be the one to do it.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t want you to just be fine on your own. I want you happy, truly happy. And if you don’t care enough about yourself to let me, then do it for me,” he said.

“What?”

“Let me love you. But this time I don’t want to screw around. This time I don’t want a story to break us up. I want all of you. I want your annoying ass stubbornness. I want your career-driven, independent, sexy, crazy, funny, talkative, smart, full and total self. And I want you to finally give it to me. We won’t make it if you don’t.”

“I want to. I want to.”

“Then do it. Just let fucking go. Promise me?”

I couldn’t help it anymore.Once again I looked up at him, there was so much love behind the blue in his eyes, “Johnson…I…I…what can I say,” as a sob escaped my lips. I tried like hell to collect myself, but I was failing. I was falling a part.

 

“Please leave. Can you just please get out!” I yelled at him. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t trust. Fear paralyzed me and I just needed to run. I needed him to get out so I could figure it out. I had to process, but I was so…so scared.

He didn’t say anything for a while.

“God Viv. I don’t know what the fuck to do.” he said as he got out of bed. He paced back in forth in the room. He turned, angry and shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you? Let me love you! Let me be the man I want to be for you!” He paused, took a breath and I looked at him.

“I know you don’t “need” me! But I can match you Viv. I have just as much passion and independence as you! I’m not gonna take that away. Jesus Christ, the only thing I want to take away is your pain! Why the hell won’t you let me?”

Finally, I lost it. “JOHNSON! STOP IT! I DON’T TRUST ANYONE. IT’S NOT JUST YOU. I DON’T WANT ANYONE “IN!” I JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.” I screamed at him. And then it ended in a cry. A sad pathetic cry.

“You’ll hurt me, you’ll break me. If I let you in, you will.” I sobbed, with no control, I sobbed. “And I can’t be broken. I won’t.”

He closed the spacial gap between us. He pulled me up from the bed and cupped my face in his hands. “Viv, I will never break you. Listen to me,” his voice softer now, “I promise you, I will never break you.”

“But how do I know that? How can I believe that? When everyone,” I sobbed, “everyone else has. Everyone else has left. And I’ve killed myself to not let them break me, but I’m tired. I’m so tired.” I cried.

“You won’t ever know for sure. But when I marry you, you know a little more. And when I hold our first child, you’ll know a little more. And when I hold your hand when you’re too mad at me to kiss me, you’ll know a little more. And when we’re both old and ugly, but your eyes still light me up, you’ll know a little more. And on the day that I die, I hope you know that I lived for two things. To be a good man and to make you happy. You won’t ever know, but I swear to God I’ll work every single day of my life to help you. To help you know.”

A week later I sat in my home office chair, thinking. I wanted to write, but I couldn’t take my thoughts to words. The phone rang and interrupted my block.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Is this Ms. Carey?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Yes ma’am. This is Vivian Carey.”

“Ok, good. Ma’am we have your test results. You do not have an STD from the series of rapes you endured.” The voice continued on for a little while longer about the other results and the medication I would need. And I listened, but I felt outside myself again. Hearing it aloud—it forced me to stop running, it forced me to finally think about what happened.

And time just stood still. I got off the phone and I continued to sit in my office chair. Just sit. Would I ever be okay? Would I ever be happy? It was stupid and childish to ask, but I was legitimately scared. I was scared I never would. Scared I never could.

I always had to know. The the ceaselessly burning desire to know is what led me to journalism, led me to every story, led to me a lack of faith, led me to a lack of trust, led me to finding my memory. My narrow, focused, stubborn, stupid burning need to know. I. Always. Had. To. Know.

But, the truth is, I thought, I can never know. Not really anyway.

Six Months Later…

 

Johnson stood talking to his mother and his younger sister, Hailey, and I just watched him. His easy smile, his dimples, his softened hair, his large and broad shoulders and I couldn’t help but smile. I loved him. I looked from him down to my left hand and to my beautiful engagement ring. It shone with all the hope and possibility of love and of happiness I had for us. I looked up again at the room full of people, My parents, my brother, his wife and kids, Zena, Holly, Warren, Reese, and the rest of Johnson and I’s friends.

I heard the spoons hit the glasses with clacking. Speech time. Johnson took center focus.

 

“Thank you all for coming. I just wanted to say a few words, so bear with me. Hopefully I won’t be too embarrassing.” He said, “I met Viv six and a half years ago. I met this smart, vivacious, driven, somewhat crazy woman and I fell completely in love with her. In love with everything about her, from her wild bouncing curls, to her even more wild dreams. And I knew. I knew I wanted to get to this day, to our wedding day, and to all the rest of the days of our lives. And I knew it. Now, I stand before you all making it happen. It only took six and a half years to convince the woman I love of our love, but I wouldn’t change a day of it. I just thank God everyday she knows now. Knows how deeply, truly, and unquestionably I love her. So if everyone could raise a glass.”

“To knowing.” Johnson said.

I looked around every glass went up in the air, and the room said in unison, “To knowing.”