A/N: Catsluver, you're an awesome beta and an awesome friend! Thank you.

I know some of you are wanting to know what Sam is thinking, and, thanks to Catsluver, who persuaded me that the Sam girls were starving for him, his point of view will be in the next chapter. I promise! In the meantime, I hope this chapter still holds your interest. :)

Thanks to all of you who have favorited, alerted, reviewed, and who tune in each week just to read. I appreciate you all so very much!

Chapter 15

TJ was dressed in loose jeans and a loose pink top that felt like they belonged to someone else but were supposedly hers. It didn't help that all of her "old" clothes were too big for her because she'd lost so much weight while in the hospital. Even her flip-flops were unfamiliar, like she was stepping into someone else's shoes—someone whose shoes she had no desire to fill.

Everything was all packed and she was ready to go, at least physically. Mentally, the thought of going home, of having to face the mess her life had become, was galling.

The only thing she looked forward to was the fact that she would be able to spend more time with Jeremy. They had talked or texted each other almost every day. He was the one thing that hadn't changed in the last six years—at least, not that much. He looked different, but he still had the power to make her heart beat like mad every time she saw him. He was more polished and acted more mature, but those weren't bad things. He was still her best friend, and once she figured out how to get Sam out of her life, maybe she and Jeremy could pick up where they'd left off that night at the pond.

She knew that it was wrong, that she was contemplating committing adultery, but did it count? Was it adultery if she didn't remember making the vow, if she didn't even remember the wedding or the husband?

She thought about what it must be like for Sam. Did he feel the same way about her as she felt about Jeremy? It seemed so odd to her, the possibility that a stranger might have such strong, potent feelings for her when she felt absolutely nothing in return. She couldn't imagine how painful that must be for him if that were the case, but what was she supposed to do about it? She couldn't help that she'd had the stroke, that any memory of him had been erased. Still, she felt a twinge of guilt, and the intense dislike she'd felt toward him at first was fading into a wary curiosity.

Sam seemed like a nice enough guy, but she didn't know him, and she loved Jeremy. Jeremy was the one that made her laugh, that made her feel normal. She could be herself around him and didn't see hints of sorrow or disappointment on his face every time he looked at her, the way she did from her parents and Sam and even sometimes Aunt Tru.

She still hadn't gotten the whole story from Jeremy about why their relationship never went anywhere all those years ago. He was always vague about it and changed the subject. She knew deep down that she should care, that she should push him for answers, but she didn't. Things were good between them right now, and she was willing to let it go for the time being. Whatever had happened between them was in the past—the past that she couldn't remember.

She told herself there had to be some rhyme or reason for the chaos and pain that losing her memory had caused. There had to be some meaning to it—and maybe Jeremy was the reason. Maybe it had all happened so that the two of them could have a second chance.

She had a cardboard box full of cards, flowers, and get-well gifts, and she swept her eyes around the room to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything. Then she zipped her suitcase and went into the bathroom to make sure she'd packed all her toiletries. When she came out, Sam was near the bed sitting in his wheelchair as if he'd appeared out of thin air. He was preoccupied with his phone, and she didn't make a sound because she wanted to study him unobserved for a second. She tried to see what she might have seen in San Diego, what might have drawn her to him—what might have made her fall in love with him.

He was good-looking, no doubt about that. Oh, who was she kidding? He was really hot. The wheelchair kind of threw her for a loop, but he actually looked kind of cool in it. His wheelchair wasn't like the clunky chairs around the nursing home. It was...stylish, if you could say that about a wheelchair.

He fit in it perfectly, his posture balanced, his shoulders strong and broad above the low backrest, his legs neatly symmetrical. He wore black sneakers, and his feet were tucked back closer to the chair and placed evenly on the solid, flat, metal footrest. His jeans were loose and his legs were a bit too thin, but, otherwise, there didn't seem to be too much wrong with him, other than the obvious fact that he was sitting in a wheelchair. In fact, he was astonishingly muscular, and his arm and chest muscles bulged under the red-and-gray-striped shirt he wore.

How long had he been paralyzed? Obviously, his "plumbing" was working because he'd fathered the twins, but her mom said it was a miracle. What did that mean, exactly? Lord, what an awkward conversation that would be. She would have to research paraplegics on Google and see what she could find out because she knew absolutely nothing about them except for what little her mother told her about Sam, which mostly had to do with what a great guy he was and how much TJ had supposedly loved him. It was too embarrassing to ask anyone about intimate details, and she hated being in the dark. She didn't know how much everyone around her knew and what was okay to ask and what wasn't.

He glanced up from his phone. "Hey," he said with a quick flash of a smile and stuffed his phone in his pocket. His smile didn't reach his eyes and was the one that he used whenever he was around her, whenever it was obvious he didn't know what to say, like he wasn't sure how she would react to him.

"Hi," she replied, walking toward the bed. He had to look up at her as she got closer, and it made her feel self-conscious about her height. She slumped her shoulders a little, glad that her mom wasn't there to poke her in the back and tell her to straighten her posture. "So, um, where are my parents?"

"They stayed home with the twins."

"Oh." There was an awkward pause. She didn't want to be rude, but she was wondering how he got there. "Um, how did you—I mean, are you taking me home?"

His mouth quirked for a second, causing a flicker of dimples, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and quiet. "I drove, TJ. And, yes, I'm taking you home."

"Oh." She was disappointed her parents hadn't come. She hadn't been alone with Sam since the day everyone had realized a big chunk of her life was missing—at least, not alone with him when she wasn't pretending to be asleep. She felt uneasy around him, but she pasted a polite smile on her face, trying to act like being alone with him was no big deal. "Um, well, that's good—I mean, you know, it's good that you can drive. That's great."

His features were unreadable, except for a faint tightness to his mouth that, again, caused a flash of shallow dimples. It was hard to tell if he was amused or annoyed with her. Maybe she shouldn't have made the driving comment. God, she was always saying the wrong thing, even in the best of situations, and she'd never been around a handicapped person before—not someone like Sam. She didn't know how to talk to him. She felt like everything she said might offend him.

He turned to the baggage on the bed. "So, which is the heaviest?"

She frowned. "Probably my suitcase. Why?"

"So I can carry it for you."

"Oh."

Well, at least he was chivalrous. She handed him the suitcase, and he settled it on his lap.

"Give me the small bag, too," he directed, "and all you have to get is the box."

She handed him the small toiletry bag, which he stacked on top of the suitcase.

"Wow," she said a little too cheerfully, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Who needs a luggage cart when you're around, right?"

He gave her a look, but it was hard to read the emotion behind it.

She was embarrassed. "Sorry. Was that not—I mean, was that insensitive? I didn't mean to offend you. I just—I've never known anyone, you know, like you before."

He smiled, but it was tinged with that sadness that irritated her, like she'd just inadvertently brought up something that she should remember and reminded him of how tragic it was that she couldn't.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "It's okay. You didn't offend me."

She let out a long breath, dreading the day ahead, and grabbed the box. "Let's go, then."

She walked in the hall a little behind him and watched as he pushed his wheels. He was graceful in the way he moved and confident, like his chair was a second skin. When they reached the main lobby of the skilled nursing facility, otherwise known as the old folks' home, she was touched to see several of the nurses waiting to bid her goodbye. Aunt Tru was there, of course, and there was a cake sitting on the reception counter.

TJ set her box down and Aunt Tru gave her a hug.

Aunt Tru's eyes were moist. "We just wanted to give you a little send-off, hon. Most folks didn't think we'd ever see this day—you know, you walkin' out of here."

TJ nodded and grimaced out a smile. She was sick of hearing about what a miracle she was and how much of a miracle the babies were and what a miracle it was that she had even gotten pregnant. Miracles, miracles, miracles.

How was it a miracle that six years of her life were missing? It was true that things could be worse—much worse—but that didn't mean everything was all roses now. She was still brain damaged, and her life had been shattered. Her gaze traveled over the almost reverent faces of Aunt Tru and the others. She gritted her teeth and pasted a smile on her face, not wanting to cause hurt feelings. "Y'all just wanted an excuse to eat cake."

"Busted," said Aunt Tru with a laugh.

Everyone chuckled except Sam, who had a vague, polite smile on his face and was watching TJ intently. She hated it when he did that. It was like he was watching for something or trying to figure something out, trying to see inside her head.

TJ didn't want any cake and neither did Sam, so she said a proper goodbye to everyone and gave hugs all around. To her surprise, everyone seemed just as interested in Sam as they were her, each giving him hugs and saying they were so happy for him that he was finally taking her home. Aunt Tru was the last, and she leaned down and took his face in her hands.

Sam's shoulders tensed, but he endured Aunt Tru's invasion of personal space and smoker's breath with stoic politeness.

"I know you'll take good care of our girl, Sam," said Aunt Tru in her raspy voice. "She's so lucky to have you."

He smiled, and Aunt Tru took him into a tight hug. TJ was a little annoyed and embarrassed by her aunt's emotional goodbye to this guy that TJ hardly knew. Apparently, Sam had thoroughly charmed her rough-around-the-edges aunt.

After the farewells were done, TJ and Sam headed to the car. Her car. As they walked up to it in the parking lot, she got a tight, bad feeling in her stomach. It should have been almost new, but it looked like it had seen better days. It was just two years old when her parents had given it to her as a high school graduation gift, hardly a scratch on the teal-colored exterior, but she could see a large scrape on the back bumper and several door dings on it now.

She looked at Sam, suddenly angry, like the car's condition was his fault—and for all she knew, it was. The fact that the car was eight years old now didn't matter.

He frowned. "What?"

She just looked at him.

"TJ, is something wrong?"

"No," she said, grinding her teeth. "Everything's just fine." She stalked around to the back. "Open the trunk, please."

He gave her a bemused look and then fished the keys out of his pocket, pushing the button on the remote that popped the trunk. She set the box in, and he wheeled himself over and heaved her suitcase and toiletry bag in next to the box. She slammed the trunk lid and held out her hand for the keys.

He stared at her hand, obviously not comprehending what she wanted.

She tried to keep the anger from her voice. "Hand over the keys, please."

"TJ—"

"It's my car. I want to drive it."

His expression was wary.

"I still remember how to drive," she said testily, although she wasn't a hundred percent sure that she did. So far, though, in all the tests the neurologist had done on her, it seemed her ability to perform most everyday, mundane tasks hadn't been affected by her memory loss. Well, except for a few things—strange things—like forgetting how to button her clothes.

"TJ—"

"Just give them to me."

He eyed her for a minute and then plopped the keys into her hand. "Fine."

He stiffly wheeled himself around to the passenger side of the car, and she opened her door and slid into the driver's seat. She was a tall girl, but she had to push the button to move the seat forward. Sam had it pushed as far back as it would go.

She was distracted when he opened the passenger door, wondering how he would get into the car. There was no one around to help him.

He pushed the button to make the seat slide back as far as it would go, and then he scooted himself forward a bit on the seat of his wheelchair. Next, he put his leg in the car, foot on the floorboard. After that, he fisted his hand and pressed it down on the car seat while, at the same time, he used the frame of his chair as leverage for his other hand. In one swift motion, powerful arm muscles taut and defined, he pressed down and shifted his butt to the car seat.

It surprised her that he did it so swiftly and efficiently. He definitely didn't need any help—that was for sure—and she was grudgingly impressed with his upper-body strength and agility. She'd never thought much about how people in wheelchairs did things. She thought they all had to have special vans to travel around, that they never got out of their wheelchairs once the were in it for the day.

Once he was in the seat, one leg still outside, he started taking the wheels and seat cushion off his chair. Again, she was surprised. She'd never seen a wheelchair like his before—not that she'd spent a lot of time studying wheelchairs. Apparently, his didn't fold.

He put his wheels in the backseat, and as her eyes followed his motions, she saw two odd-looking hard plastic things anchored to the backseat, one on each side.

"What are those?" she asked cautiously.

"Oh. Those are the bases for the twins' car seats. We got the kind that you can snap the carrier on and off the base instead of the kind that's stationary. It makes things a lot easier, especially when the twins are asleep—and they nearly always fall asleep in the car. It's the best lullaby there is."

She closed her eyes for a second, trying not to let that get to her. He had turned her car into a family mobile. Her car was like a soccer mom's car.

He paused for a moment and looked like he wanted to say something, but then he exhaled and turned away, reaching for the frame of his wheelchair, which was still outside the car. He had moved his seat as far back as it would go, but when he pulled the frame of the chair across his body, it bumped the dash, making a little scratch.

She pressed her lips together, annoyed.

"I'm sorry."

"It's...okay," she ground out. She knew she didn't sound very sincere.

His jaw squared and his brows came together. Obviously, he felt bad, and the look on his face made her soften a little. He had puppy-dog eyes that would melt the hardest of hearts.

What was wrong with her? The guy was handicapped. It wasn't like he could help that he had to have the wheelchair, and she knew he didn't scratch the dash on purpose. She was about to reassure him, when she looked down and noticed a weird contraption attached to the steering wheel, gas, and brake pedals.

Sam cleared his throat. "They're portable hand controls so I can drive. Don't worry. They're not permanent. Just ignore them. You can still drive the car and use the pedals like you normally would."

She didn't say anything. She felt like the three bears from the Goldilocks story. Someone had been driving her car, putting strange contraptions in it, and turning it into Carol Brady's dream vehicle.

"I have a car, but it's in the shop," explained Sam. "That's why I drove yours. My car is a two-door and it's harder to access the backseat with the twins, so I put the car seat bases in yours."

She nodded disinterestedly and put the keys in the ignition, not wanting to continue the conversation. After a few minutes had passed and it appeared she did still remember how to drive—and even remembered where she was going—she began to relax. She felt like she'd been transported to an alternate universe as her hometown whizzed by. It was the same, but it wasn't. Some things that had always been there, like the Tastee Freeze, were still there, but the "castle," an old, dilapidated mansion that had been on Main Street forever, was gone. She wondered what had happened to it and felt a twinge of sadness that the piece of history was lost.

She didn't want to dwell on it and cast a look at Sam, drumming up the courage to ask him some questions. "So, um, how did we meet?"

He smiled a little, showing his dimples. "You used to be a waitress at a place called Shorty's in San Diego."

"Oh, yeah," she said. She turned her attention back to the road, remembering the photo she had seen with herself and the others in front of the place. She could feel his eyes on her and glanced at him.

He was regarding her strangely, almost hopefully. "Do you remember it?" he asked.

"What?"

"You sounded like the name might be familiar."

"Oh." She almost rolled her eyes. "No. I saw a picture of it on my phone."

He seemed to deflate. "Oh."

"So...what?" she prompted. "We saw each other across a crowded room and fell madly in love?"

He flashed another small, tentative smile. "Uh, no. Well, it might have been that way on your side of it," he teased.

She arched a brow at his cockiness, secretly amused by it despite herself. "Ha. Funny."

His smile widened. "You scared off a girl that had sort of camped out uninvited in my booth."

"I did?"

"Yeah. I was glad you did."

She didn't say anything, trying to picture herself doing that.

"We started out as friends," he continued. "You worked with Dean—you know, my brother—and I happened to be at Shorty's one night when you mentioned that you needed a Latin tutor. He sort of made sure that I was the tutor."

Latin?

Lecturum te ad 5:00.

The phrase suddenly popped into her head. Where had that come from? Even weirder, she knew what it meant—Picking you up at 5:00. What the hell? Her pulse quickened.

"You okay?" He was frowning, forehead wrinkled.

She drew in a breath and focused on the road. "Yeah. I'm fine." They had left Moss Fork and were now on the outskirts of town, not far from the farm. "So, you sound like you didn't want to do it—you know, the tutoring."

"I didn't. I was..." He looked down. "It was a difficult time in my life. I wasn't feeling too sociable."

She wondered what he meant. Was that when he had gotten hurt?

He answered her question like he knew what she was thinking. "It was about a year after my injury—my spinal cord injury. I wasn't dealing with it too well. I was depressed, and then I hurt my shoulder and had to have surgery on it." He paused to look at her. "I use my arms for everything. The shoulder injury was devastating, made me pretty much helpless for a while. It was...frustrating, to say the least. Sometimes it was humiliating." His tone grew jaded. "And that was just the beginning."

What did he mean by that? Every question he answered raised another question. "The beginning of what?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "Let's just say I had a demon to fight." He kept staring at her like he was weighing the effect his words had on her.

It was a strange thing to say. "You mean you had to learn to deal with your handicap?"

He sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest. "Yeah. Something like that."

"So, what happened? I mean, I guess you ended up tutoring me eventually, right?"

The corners of his mouth curved upward and his dimples appeared again. "Yeah. You wouldn't take no for an answer."

She studied him for a second before training her eyes back on the road, unsure if he was serious. She could be tactless sometimes, but she couldn't imagine imposing on someone like that, especially someone who was handicapped.

"You came to my apartment one day because Dean lied and told you that I had changed my mind, that I wanted to help you." He shook his head slightly. "I was so pissed at him at the time for doing that, but it was one of the best things he ever did for me."

That made her feel flushed for some reason, which annoyed her, and she focused her attention on the road like she was the safest driver in the world.

He didn't say anything and she thought he was finished, but then he started talking again. "It wasn't you. I mean, I wanted to tutor you, but, like I said, there were other issues at play."

She tried to picture it, him as the teacher and her as the student. She found it hard to believe she had even needed a tutor. She'd always been a straight-A student. She'd never needed a tutor for anything in her life. Of course, she couldn't see herself taking Latin voluntarily, either. It sounded like it would be horribly boring. Still, she could think of worse fates than having Sam as a tutor. It left her with a funny feeling inside. She kept up her diligence as a driver, not looking at him.

"We became really close friends," he said, a hint of wistfulness in his voice, "and things grew from there."

She didn't comment, didn't know what to say, and was relieved when she sighted the driveway to the farm. They pulled up to the farmhouse, an old one-story, clapboard house where her grandparents and great grandparents had lived long before she was born. Her heart clenched at the sight. Even this was different. The pink color that she remembered of the house was a different shade of pink, darker now, like someone had thrown up Pepto-Bismol all over it. Her mother really had horrible taste. At least the trim was still white. When TJ was in high school, Fern had threatened at one time to paint it purple or gray.

There was a wooden ramp off to one side that was the same hideous color as the house. It led up to the side of the porch where a portion of the railing had been removed, obviously so Sam could make it around the steps leading to the front door.

Her dad's black Tahoe was in the driveway along with a couple of other cars. She didn't recognize any of them except for an old, beat-up red Ford pickup that brought a smile to her face. It meant that either Jeremy or Liv was there, or maybe both of them. That old thing had been a part of the Suggs farm since before TJ and Jeremy were born.

She put her hand on the handle of the car door to open it when she felt a firm grip on her wrist.

"TJ?" Sam's deep, slightly husky voice was quiet and strong, even when all he said was her name.

There was no ignoring it, and she froze.

"I know this is...hard for you. It's hard for all of us. I just want you to know that you can ask me anything. I'm sure you must have a lot of questions."

Lord, she had so many questions her head ached with them sometimes.

"I just want you to know that we loved each other very much, and I still love you—more than you'll ever know." He looked so earnest, so sincere. "I'll never stop loving you."

His words touched some part of her soul she didn't want touched, and her stomach twisted into a knot. "I—I'm sorry, but you're a complete stranger to me."

"Then give me a chance. Get to know me again."

That was the last thing she wanted. She wanted her old life back, as much of it as she could get back, anyway. She wasn't ready for marriage, and she sure as hell wasn't ready to be a mother. She didn't know what she was going to do, but she did know that Sam Winchester wasn't a part of her plans. She extricated her wrist from his grasp, feeling a little shaky. "I, um...I need to get out." She opened the door and slammed it shut before he could say anything more.

As she was about to get her bags out of the trunk and Sam was putting his wheelchair together, the front door of the house opened and her parents came spilling out, along with Jeremy, Aunt Joyce, and Uncle Joe Mack. Her mom was holding the girl twin, who was dressed in a pink onesie, and Aunt Joyce was holding the boy, who was dressed in a blue one.

Aunt Joyce, who was Fern's younger sister by two years, looked almost the same as she always did—a slightly taller replica of Fern. TJ's heart sank when she saw Uncle Joe Mack, Aunt Joyce's husband. TJ knew the look, the gaunt, pasty pallor, the bald head that wasn't natural. All were signs of the lung cancer that claimed so many lives in tobacco country.

Uncle Joe Mack had been a huge horse of a man, had seemed indestructible. He was her favorite uncle and never failed to bring her candy when she was a kid whenever he came to visit. He always brought the good kind of candy, too, something that usually involved chocolate. He and Aunt Joyce had four kids, all grown and out of the house. They lived in the next town over, which was about twenty-five miles away.

Vern came out, hugged TJ, and then started grabbing her bags. Uncle Joe Mack ambled slowly over and enveloped her in a skeletal embrace. "Hey there, Speed Bump. It's good to see you, kid."

"Hey, Uncle Joe."

He pulled back a little and his deep brown eyes traveled over her. "You're lookin' good, 'cept you need to get some meat on them bones. We came to visit you in the hospital, but you was pretty out of it. We would've come more, but as you can see, I've had a few bouts with the hospital myself."

She nodded, unsure of what to say, and her eyes welled up. Yeah, Uncle Joe. I can see that you're dying.

If Uncle Joe sensed her emotion, he didn't acknowledge it, and he didn't elaborate on his condition—a bad sign. There were no words of reassurance to offer hope. All he said was, "We was sure worried about you for a while there, girl."

She held up a hand. "Let me guess. I'm a walking miracle."

He eyed her narrowly for a second and then wheezed out a laugh, which turned into a cough. He smiled through the cough like he was used to it until he was able to speak. "I take it you're sick a hearin' that?"

She smiled a little. "Yeah. You could say that."

"Well, it's true, darlin'. Them doctors said you was gonna end up not knowing whether to scratch your watch or wind your butt."

TJ laughed, but Aunt Joyce looked horrified. "Lawsy, Joe Mack. I can't believe you just said that!"

Uncle Joe gave her an innocent look. "Why not?"

"Because brain damage ain't nothing to joke about. That's why!"

Uncle Joe looked like he had a retort, but Vern, whose hands were full of bags, spoke up. "Shut it, y'all. TJ don't need y'all gettin' into an argument three seconds after she gets out of the car. At least wait until she gets into the house. It's hotter than hell out here."

He was right. The temperature was in the upper 80's, but the humidity made it seem hotter. For the first time, it really sank in with TJ that it was summer. The summer was half gone, actually. It was the second week of July. Time kept slipping through her fingers.

Sam, who was in his wheelchair now and had rolled around to the back of the car, spoke to Vern. "I can take the box." He grabbed the side of the box and slid it toward him, about to lift it out of the trunk with one hand, his other gripping one of his wheels.

Jeremy came over and took the box out for him. "I got it," he said with a polite smile and a nod, carrying the box in both arms.

For some reason, that didn't sit well with Sam. He was quiet, mouth tight, but didn't say anything. Still holding a wheel of his chair with one hand, he reached a long arm out, shutting the lid of the trunk.

TJ was distracted from the scene when Aunt Joyce gave her a one-sided hug, since she held the baby boy on her shoulder. "Welcome home, sugar doll."

"Thanks, Aunt Joyce." TJ inhaled the scent of her aunt—Pleasures perfume by Estee Lauder that Aunt Joyce had worn for years—and it made TJ feel like she'd really come home. It was a familiar smell from the life she remembered, the life she might be able to get back.

After a moment, TJ made a move to break free, but she felt a sharp tug on a loose strand of her hair that had fallen out of its ponytail. "Ouch." She saw that the baby boy's hand was gripping her hair.

The baby made a little grunting noise and focused dusky blue eyes on her that promised to change color. His head bobbled and then, suddenly, he smiled a gummy smile at her, a dimple appearing in each little chubby cheek.

TJ didn't think anything of it, except that the baby's smile was adorable, and tried to extricate her hair from his grasp. He held on surprisingly tight, and his eyes were still staring at her face, like he didn't have a clue that he was about to rip her hair out from the roots.

She laughed. "Let go of me, you little rascal." She wriggled her finger into his grasp, easing her hair out of his hand as she did so. She waved her finger around, but he wouldn't let go. He'd stopped smiling, but he still seemed mesmerized by her face.

TJ had been unaware of what was going on around her, enchanted by the baby, but when she looked up, the smile on her face dissolved. Everyone was staring at her as if they'd been frozen in some bizarre game of freeze tag. Her eyes traveled from one person to the next, wondering what on earth had gotten into them.

Sam's expression was unreadable, but his voice was heavy with emotion when he spoke. "That's the first time he's ever smiled."

TJ was dumbfounded and turned her attention to the infant, who still held her finger prisoner. He smiled again—his daddy's dimpled smile—and it was disconcerting and made her insides churn. She wrenched her finger out of his grip and turned abruptly away from him. He immediately started to cry.

"Shhh," comforted Aunt Joyce. "It's okay, baby boy."

"Hold him, TJ," prodded Fern. "He wants you."

TJ had the sudden urge to run. "I—I..." She couldn't think of a good excuse.

Jeremy put the box down and stepped forward, putting his arm around her. "You feelin' okay, Nelly? You're looking kindly tired."

Jeremy was coming to her rescue, and TJ was beyond grateful. "Yeah. I think I need to go inside and sit down."

Fern's mouth pursed in disapproval, but she didn't say anything. Everyone else had frowns on their faces, and the baby kept wailing inconsolably, his little face beet-red and his hands in angry fists, small legs rigid.

A muscle twitched in Sam's jaw, and his shoulders were stiff. His eyes were on TJ, but he spoke to Aunt Joyce. "I'll take him." Then he turned his attention to Aunt Joyce and lifted his arms toward the baby.

Aunt Joyce handed Sam the baby, and Sam kissed him on the cheek and then turned him on his side so that the baby's cheek rested on Sam's arm. Sam gently jostled him and shushed loudly yet soothingly in the baby's ear. It was like a magic trick. The baby settled quickly, his eyes wide and glazed as if hypnotized.

Vern whistled. "If that don't beat all. Ever' time Sam does that, I'm amazed."

Aunt Joyce put a hand on her cheek. "I'll swan. I don't believe I've ever seen that before."

Fern smiled. "It's the method from that Happiest Baby on the Block video. Sam's real good at it, but Vern and me haven't quite got it down yet. We just cave and give them babies whatever they want."

Everyone chuckled except TJ. She just wanted to get away from everything—from the babies, from sick and dying Uncle Joe, from Sam. The only thing keeping her from bolting was Jeremy's steady arm around her shoulders.

When the baby was calm, Sam rested him on his shoulder and patted his back with a large hand. The baby looked so tiny, but Sam handled him gently, his hands deft and sure.

"All righty, then," said Vern. "Let's all go in and have a glass of sweet tea."

"Sounds good to me," said Aunt Joyce. "I'm about to wilt in this heat." She looked at Sam. "You want me to take him, hon—if he'll have me—so you can wheel?"

Sam nodded and then handed the baby over to Aunt Joyce when she held out her arms. The baby made a small cry of protest, but he seemed in a daze now, on the verge of sleep, and quickly quieted once he was nestled on Aunt Joyce's shoulder.

Everyone started to head toward the house, Fern and Aunt Joyce in the lead with the twins. Vern carried TJ's suitcase and toiletry bag, but she remembered the box of get-well gifts and glanced back to the car. The box was still sitting on the ground where Jeremy had left it.

Uncle Joe Mack bent down slowly and reached out weak, shaky arms to grab the box. TJ was about to turn back and offer to get the box herself when she saw Sam place a hand on Uncle Joe Mack's arm.

"You want me to get that?" He spoke so quietly no one would have heard if they weren't paying attention.

Uncle Joe's smile was sad and a little sheepish. "Yeah. I guess you better. I ain't too steady on my feet these days."

"Yeah. Me either."

Uncle Joe Mack wheezed out a cough-laugh and clapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam gripped a wheel with one hand and then leaned over and grabbed the top edge of the box with the other. TJ wondered why he didn't just grab it with both hands, but whatever the reason, he heaved it onto his lap and started pushing himself toward the house, followed by Joe Mack.

She watched Sam push his chair on just its back wheels over the rough gravel of the driveway and then on the grass, heading toward the ramp, muscles bulging in his arms. She was impressed with his sense of balance. She never would have thought he could go so far on just his back wheels, but he did it with no problem, even with the bulky box on his lap.

"You okay?" Jeremy murmured into her ear.

"Yeah. Thanks."

He tightened his arm around her, and she soaked in the smell of him—aftershave and the scent of his freshly-laundered, plain white T-shirt. He was wearing an old, worn pair of jeans that hung low on his hips, and he looked beyond hot.

He was shorter than she was but only by an inch or so. He seemed larger than life, and she felt safe and protected with his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She loved him just as much as she always had, if not more. Her feelings were so strong that she didn't see how Jeremy couldn't feel the same way. And, so far, judging by the things he'd said and the way he was acting toward her, maybe he did. She could hope, anyway.

When Fern opened the front door, a goofy-looking dog with short floppy ears and what looked like a tan-colored beard came bounding out. Fern laughed. "Well, hello, Rocket. Did we forget about you?"

The dog, Rocket, gave everyone a sniff, tail wagging furiously, and those with free hands gave him a pat on the head. Sam was in the process of pushing himself up the ramp, and the dog waited patiently until Sam reached the front porch. Then he reared up on his hind legs, front paws on Sam's wheel, and Sam rewarded him with a rub between his ears and a scratch on his chest.

TJ couldn't believe that her dad allowed Rocket inside the house. Vern had never been one for house dogs. He thought dogs should be outside roaming free on the farm, unless they got into mischief and started killing chickens or other animals. Then they got relegated to the dog pin in the backyard. She wondered where Elliott was and hoped he hadn't met such a fate. He was such a gentle dog, a gorgeous Black and Tan Coonhound. She couldn't imagine him hurting a fly, but something wasn't right. Elliott would have come to greet her if he were able.

TJ and Jeremy were standing at the bottom of the steps. "Hey, y'all?" said TJ, talking to her parents. "Where's Elliott?"

The looks on both of her parents' faces were suddenly so sorrowful that TJ felt a sickening dread. Again, everyone just stared at her, oozing pity.

Rocket's ears pricked at the sound of TJ's voice, and he looked at her. In the next instant, he leaped over the railing and off the porch. His paws thunked TJ hard in the chest, and then he landed on the ground with surprising grace. He reared up on his hind legs, tail wagging so much it shook his whole body, ears back.

Although TJ loved dogs, she knew something was terribly wrong, and she was irritated that this interloper had all but attacked her just now. She rubbed her sternum where it still hurt from Rocket's exuberant assault and ignored the obvious fact that he was begging for her to pet him. She locked her gaze on Fern. "Where is Elliott, Mama?"

Fern shook her head, the look of sorrow still on her face.

TJ shifted her eyes to Vern, whose lips were pressed together in a grim line.

"Daddy?"

"He, uh..." His voice was weak, and he cleared his throat. "He, uh, passed away, dumplin', while you were, you know, in the coma."

Rocket chose that inopportune time to jump up to almost eye level with TJ. She might have been amazed at how high he could jump from a dead stop, but she was reeling from what her dad just told her, unable to really comprehend it. That couldn't be true. He didn't just say that Elliott was dead.

Rocket's paws were now on her leg again, and she kneed him none too gently in the chest, causing him to tumble backwards.

"Get away from me," TJ spat with venom.

Rocket recovered and sat with his head tilted like he was bewildered, while everyone, again, stared at her.

"Rocket, come," Sam commanded, his strong voice snapping in the air. Rocket did as he was told, and, incredibly, leaped up onto the ledge of the railing and then onto the porch in what appeared to be one easy, fluid motion.

Jeremy hugged her tight. "TJ..."

She shook him off, not wanting to be touched by anyone, not even him. He raised his hands in a placating gesture.

She stared at them all, filled with an abrupt rage. It was like she was in some bad movie that would never end. Her dog that had been her baby since she was fifteen had died while she was in a coma. A fucking coma. Who in real life ever ended up in comas? That was something that happened to other people or on TV. And who in real life ended up with amnesia? It was insane.

When she spoke, her voice was hard but even. "How? What happened to him?"

"He just got old, dumplin'. He went missing for a few days, and you know that wasn't like Elliott, so I went a lookin'. I found him under the barn. He just went off and died like some old dogs do."

TJ felt the breath getting sucked from her lungs, and her eyes blurred. "But he was only three years old."

Fern tilted her head to the side, a watery, sympathetic look on her features. "No, baby. He was almost ten. He had a nice, long, happy life for a hound."

TJ began to cry, the pain of it all overwhelming. "No," she said, shaking her head. Again, Jeremy tried to put a consoling arm around her shoulders, but she pushed him away. "No, no, no, no, no." She was racked with sobs.

The girl twin that Fern held made a little cry and then TJ heard Rocket, who was next to Sam, whimper. She turned to see Sam staring at her, brows drawn, concern clearly on his face.

She couldn't stand his scrutiny, couldn't stand the way they were all looking at her. "Stop it! Stop staring at me!" she screamed, and then turned and ran, feeling their eyes boring into her back.

TBC