Chapter 12
"I never expected this. I never expected to fall in love with you."
Daryl woke in a cold sweat, panting as he sat up in the middle of his bed, blinking into the darkness as the sweat trickled down his neck. He glanced at the clock and blinked until the blurry red splotches morphed into numbers. 4:32. He groaned and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. For the past few days, he'd been having vivid dreams, and they seemed to fade away within moments of waking. He'd done some research on remembering dreams, and there were many helpful tips about starting a dream journal.
He picked up the pad of paper off of his bedside table and flicked on the light. He furiously scribbled on the pages as the last fleeting memories of the dream bled into his unconscious mind.
Carol and me in the on-call room at the hospital. She was crying, because I told her I didn't want to make her choose. I wanted her to be happy. She said she was happy with me.
He stopped writing as the last echoes of her voice left his head. He wasn't sure if these were real memories or just dreams, and he wanted to ask her about them, ask her if they were real, but he was still afraid to give her false hope. Each flash that crossed his mind was so quick, but it always cut deep, piercing him right through the heart, shaking him to the core.
They were fragments of a puzzle, pieces he couldn't fit together no matter how hard he tried, and he felt exhausted after, usually lying there for the longest time, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. They were glimpses, and there were never nearly enough of them.
With a frown, he picked up his phone, pulling it out of the charger. He wondered if she'd be away, if she'd be waiting to hear from him. But before he could even attempt to send her a message, the screen lit up with an incoming call. It was from Rose. From Carol.
"Hello?"
"Did I wake you?"
"No," he promised. "I'm up. What's going on?"
"I can't sleep," she murmured. "I've been tossing and turning for hours." She sounded tired and sad, and he wished there was something he could do for her. He knew the stress of Ed's death and funeral were taking a toll on her, and his own memory issues weren't helping matters any.
"There anything I can do?" he asked. He heard a noise, almost a choking sound, and then he heard her begin to sob. The lump in his throat swelled, and his heart ached. "Don't cry. M'sorry. Don't cry."
"I shouldn't be doing this to you," she choked out between sobs. "You're such a good man, and this isn't your fault. None of it's your fault."
"Are you home?"
"I'm home," she murmured.
"What's the fastest way to get to your place?"
"No, you shouldn't…"
"I don't want you out drivin'." Carol hesitated for a moment before managing to give him coherent directions. "Alright, you sit tight. I'll be there in ten minutes." Without waiting for a response, he rushed out of bed and quickly dressed and grabbed for his wallet and keys.
He was in the truck within three minutes and heading toward Carol's place. He was there in less than five minutes, and he found her sitting on her front porch swing. The whole house was dark, save for a soft glow from one of the upstairs bedrooms.
"Hey," he said quietly, stepping up onto the porch, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You ok?"
"No, I'm really not," she murmured. He could see her shoulders trembling as she looked up at him. The soft glow from a neighbor's porch light illuminated the sadness in her eyes, and he felt at a loss to do anything to help her.
He sat down on the swing beside her and thought of what he could say or what he should say. But words were paltry things in the face of the mess that their lives had become.
"This porch swing was broken for years," Carol murmured. "Ed never got around to fixing it. One day, Sophia was at school, and you drove me home, and you fixed my porch swing for me. I didn't even ask. But you said you saw how I cringed every time I looked at it just sitting there against the wall of the house with a broken chain." She smiled a little. Ed never noticed it. Didn't even seem to care that it was fixed. To the day he died, I don't think he noticed." The lump in Daryl's throat seemed to grow thicker, and he found swallowing difficult. "The day you fixed it, Sophia was at a friend's house, and Ed was working late, and I remember that I made you lemonade, and we made love. And it was one of the best days we had together." One of her hands was white knuckling the swing chain, and Daryl could hear the distress in her voice. "I miss you."
"I wish there was somethin'…I wish I could help you."
"I must sound so selfish." Daryl shook his head, but Carol continued. "I should be thankful. My daughter's ok, this baby's ok, and I survived. So did you. We're here. We're alive. We're still breathing. But I miss you, and it hurts."
Daryl took a shaky breath, wanting desperately to tell her about the glimpses of possible memories he'd had, about the feeling he seemed to get every time he looked into her eyes, like he knew her, like he had a whole life with her in another time. But as he looked at her, gripping the chain on the swing as her shoulders shook with suppressed cries, he knew that this bright, beautiful woman deserved so much more than sitting around, hoping and praying that he would get his memories back and remember what they had together.
"You should stop," he said quietly.
"What?" she sniffled.
"You should…you should try to move on."
"Daryl…what?"
"I hate to see ya like this. I hate seein' ya so upset. Ya got the baby to worry about, and I'm worried about both of ya. I don't know if I'm ever gonna remember, and I wish I could be the man you remember. The man ya fell in love with. But I don't know if I'm ever gonna get that back. I don't know…"
"You are the man I fell in love with. Don't you understand? It's not a memory. It's not a personality trait. It's all here. All of you. You're all here. You just…you don't remember loving me."
"Sometimes I think…I think I do," he said carefully. "You touch my cheek, and I feel…I dunno…déjà vu, maybe. Like it's happened a hundred times before. And I wanna remember, 'cause I care about you. I care about this baby. But you need this guy that remembers drinkin' your lemonade and makin' love to you. I wanna remember everything, but I…I can't. And I don't want ya sittin' around waitin' for it to happen, 'cause it might not. It might never happen." He watched as the pain twisted in her face, and her lip began to quiver. "I want ya to be happy, and you're gettin' yourself all worked up over me, and I hate that. I'm so sorry."
"It doesn't…you not remembering doesn't change how I feel. I look at you, and I still love you, and that's what kills me." She reached over and gently stroked his cheek again, and he placed his hand over hers. "What do you feel when you look at me?" He felt his heart ache then, and he couldn't help but feel this strong pull toward her, like she was everything, but everything was so confusing and muddled up. He did care for her, but he was terrified but that feeling wasn't enough to carry them through. He didn't want to hurt her, and he didn't want to make her miserable.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm sorry."
"It's ok," she whispered. "I understand." She reached over to take his hand. "Just don't ask me to give up on you. On us. Because I have to believe that there is still something good in this world for us." She looked down. "Unless you want to move on. Do you want that?" She looked up at him, worry and fear etched in her face, and he hated that he'd made her feel that way.
He had two choices. He could give her hope that may never be realized, or he could completely break her heart. As much as he wanted to tell her that she should move on and find a way to be happy, something inside of him needed to comfort her, to make her feel better, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in, and he pressed his lips against hers.
...
"You're insatiable," she laughed, as Daryl trailed lazy kisses over her shoulders and snaked his fingers between his legs. "I invite you in for lemonade, and you have me up on the kitchen counter with my panties around my ankles."
"Couldn't help it. Lemonade that damned good deserved some praise." Carol laughed at that, as she curled her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. They were sprawled out together on the linoleum of her kitchen floor, and as hot and sticky as the day was, neither of them could muster up the strength or energy to reach for that cold pitcher of lemonade that was sweating on the kitchen counter.
"Well, wait 'til you try my sweet peach tea," she teased, as he popped her breast into his mouth and sucked teasingly. "Ohhh….God." She arched back, gripping the back of his head and pushing herself further into his mouth. "Daryl…" She bit her lip and gasped when he moved his hands to her hips and nudged his knee between her thighs. She squeezed her thighs around his, grinding down against him for friction, and within moments, she was writing and panting beneath him.
"God, I love you," he groaned against her breast, as he trailed kisses back up to her neck. She held him tighter then, and she opened up to him when he kissed her.
"I love you, too," she whispered, words tinged with sadness and regret.
"I wanna marry you," he murmured, pulling back. His gaze was fixed on hers, and he watched as her lower lip trembled. "I wanna marry you, and I wanna make babies with you." He moved his hand down over her stomach, and the muscles jumped under his finger tips.
"Daryl, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish I could give you that." She kissed him then, and she pulled her arms around his shoulders. "I wish I could." She pressed soft kisses to his temple then and then to his cheek and his jaw.
"Someday," he murmured. "Someday, I'm gonna help you get outta this. I'm gonna make sure you're happy." She blinked back the tears, and she just smiled, bringing him down for one more kiss, holding onto this moment, because she knew that someday, somehow, this would all come crashing down, and she prayed that when it did, they would come walking out of it together.
