If there was one thing that Gil would never forget, it was that hospital food had no appeal. The food he was brought was overcooked most of the time and the pudding tasted like diesel fuel. He ate at a slow pace, not only because of the horrid taste, but because his broken ribs made swallowing painful. It had been a week since he woke up to find that he had jumped forward in time and there hadn't been any improvement. Sara had made herself scarce around him, but he caught glimpses of her as she spoke to doctors and nurses. He wasn't exactly sure on how to handle his situation with her. To say he felt bad was a serious understatement, but he couldn't produce the feelings of love she expected from him.
"Eating well?" Dr. Stogner asked, entering the room with his clipboard.
Gil shook his head. "No," he said as he said the pudding bowl down. "This stuff tastes like shit."
Dr. Stogner smiled. "I'm not too fond of it myself," he said. "I bet Sara is a good cook. You'll never have to eat another spoonful of hospital macaroni again."
"So," Gil said. "I am supposed to go home with her and just…. hope I remember everything that has happened to me for the past six years."
"Basically," Dr. Stogner said. "That's all we can do. Being at home may jog your memory, or maybe it won't. What's important is that you get back into the swing of things and try to heal."
Gil nodded. "I don't know how I am going to do this," he said. "When I think of home I imagine my townhouse back in Las Vegas."
Dr. Stogner sat on the end of Gil's bed and took off his glasses. "Gil," he said. "This is hard for both you and Sara. She is going to do her best, but you're going to have to meet her half way. Now, there are techniques you can try… like hypnotism, but it isn't guaranteed."
"So," Gil said. "Has my CT scan come back yet?"
Dr. Stogner stood. "That's what I came in to show you," he pulled the X-ray out of the manila folder and held it up to the light. "Do you see this mass right here? This is the cerebral contusion on your left temporal lobe."
Gil looked on. "How long will it take to heal?" he asked.
"All contusions are different," Dr. Stogner said. "They usually heal on their own, but that still doesn't ensure your memory will come back at one hundred percent."
Gil nodded. "So this is all a waiting game," he said.
O~O
On Gil's last day in the hospital, everything seemed to be going wrong for Sara. Traffic was backed up for nearly a mile, the parking lot was full, and not to mention the fact that she had to go to four different medical supply stores before she found a pair of decent crutches. She was finally able to make it to Gil's room before they wheeled him out and left him waiting in the hallway.
"I am so sorry," she said as she walked up to Gil and the nurse. "Traffic was backed up for nearly a mile."
Gil turned his head to look at her. "I don't think I'd be able get far if I tried to escape," he said.
Sara signed all the release forms in a blur. Gil was dressed in a pair of loose sweat pants and a wind breaker. It was all Sara could find that wouldn't be too tight on him. His body had swelled and he looked bigger than he usually was.
"Now, he is going to be in quite a bit of pain so make sure to give him his pain medication as needed," the nurse instructed as they wheeled towards the outpatient loop. "There is a prescription for infection and another to help him sleep. He'll need a pair of crutches-"
"I bought them," Sara said.
The nurse nodded. "I believe he'll have some trouble doing things on his own, but I am sure you know that," she said.
Sara said that she did and hurried ahead to bring the car through the loop. With the nurse's help, they secured Gil in the front seat and Sara slid behind the wheel. The silence was deafening as she drove, but she wasn't sure what to say.
"The house has been really quiet," she finally said. "I'll be glad to have you around."
"Thanks," Gil said. "I'm glad I can help."
Sara turned on the radio and turned it to his favorite station- a station that played oldies and jazz. If there was any chance that he would recall anything, then she would have to surround him with what he was most familiar with. She wanted Emily to be at home to see Gil, but she wasn't quite sure how that would play out so she had her mother keep her until she could get everything under control. A child so young couldn't understand that her daddy couldn't remember her.
"I bet you're hungry," Sara said. "I'll make something tasty tonight. I have some pictures at home… maybe you'll remember something."
Gil nodded, but kept his eyes on his surroundings. "I hope so," he said.
"Do you feel sore?" Sara asked. "I have some water and your pills."
Gil shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm fine."
Sara pointed out the window. "There's the university you teach at," she said.
Gil looked out the window and saw UCLA form the freeway. He had seen it many times before, but no memories of teaching there flooded back. Sara frowned and continued on past the school.
"How long have I been teaching here?" Gil asked.
Sara thought back. "About two years," she said. "Maybe a little more."
Gil nodded. "So, how long have we been living here?" he asked.
"We moved here when you were offered the job," Sara explained. "I teach high school physics at a private high school. We used to eat lunch together."
Gil shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry none of these sounds familiar to me," he said. "I still look at you like you're Sara Sidle...not my wife."
Sara sighed. "But when I look at you I see my husband," she said.
O~O
Sara pulled the car into the garage of a two–story, brick house. It was grey all around with black shutters and had tan painted trim. The front porch was spacious, but the front yard was small. There was a big oak tree in the front yard and leaves were scattered everywhere. The whole property looked like it had been torn form a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.
"Do we live here alone?" Gil asked.
Sara gulped. "Not exactly," she said as she helped him out of the car and onto his crutches. "We uh… have a permanent tenant."
Gil handled the crutches clumsily. "Oh," he said. "It looks a little big for just the two of us."
Sara agreed. "It has one bathroom upstairs and two bedrooms, downstairs there are two bedrooms and two bathrooms. It is large and we thought about moving," she said as she helped him climb the porch steps. "but it's our home."
As carefully as she could Sara sat Gil down on the porch swing and keyed into the house. Gil looked around the porch nervously. He would never have dreamed that he would be living in a house this size… and with a porch swing no doubt!
"How many mortgages do we have?" Gil joked.
Sara brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Surprisingly none," she said as she helped him to stand. "Your job pays well and my job keeps me out of trouble."
Gil laughed at her joke, but the pain in his ribs made him wince. Sara sat him on the couch quickly and opened his bottle of pain medication.
"Here," she said as she offered him her bottled water.
Gil took the pills from her hand and gulped them down. Sara disappeared into one of the bedrooms and emerged with an armful of pillows.
"Do you want to change clothes?" She asked as she tried her best to arrange the pillows comfortably.
Gil thought about this. If he opted to change, then Sara would have to help him. Not only has she done enough, he didn't feel comfortable being naked around her. Then again, if he was in fact married to her, they had seen each other naked on numerous occasions. He just didn't remember.
"No," he decided. "No I'm fine."
Gil took a moment to look around the house. The floors were hard wood, but there were rugs under the coffee table and the dining room table. The couch he was sitting on was comfortable and had a matching love seat. There was a flat panel T.V across the room and two bookshelves held text books. He recognized a few of them and remembered buying them. From one of these bookshelves, Sara withdrew a thin photo album.
"I have some pictures you can look at," she said hopefully. "Maybe something will come back."
She sat down beside him and opened the album. The first picture he saw was of a little girl. She had brown hair and clear, blue eyes. She was holding a stuffed rabbit and smiling for the camera.
"Gil, this is our daughter, Emily," Sara said.
Gil felt as if his stomach had dropped out. Not only was he a husband, but he was a father too. He looked at the picture intently and then looked back at Sara; the two looked alike. Emily had Sara's oval face and nose, but she had his eyes.
Gil shook his head. "This is impossible," he said. "There's no way."
Sara bit her lip and waited for him to say something. She knew his reaction was going to be difficult, but she didn't anticipate on crying.
"We bought this house when I was six months pregnant," Sara explained. "We wanted something smaller, but you wanted to be settled before she was born."
"I just… I don't understand how I could forget I have a child," Gil said, turning the page.
The next picture was of the same little girl. He saw himself holding her and they were both waving at the camera. It was almost overwhelming to see yourself in a photo you didn't remember. The album was filled with page after page of Emily. He was in most of them, but Sara was in a few.
"Gil," Sara said. "I want you to know that I love you."
Gil quickly looked at her. Hearing her tell him that she loved him was strange and wrong. Without saying anything, he stared at her. He didn't know how to answer her. The evidence around him told that he had a life with her, but that didn't necessarily mean that he loved her.
"Sara, I don't know what to say," he said.
Sara brushed away her tears. "You don't have to say anything," she said. "I understand that it's not your fault." She paused and fingered the pages of the photo album. "When I got the phone call I was waiting on you to call. I never thought-"
Sara put her hand over her mouth to control her sobs. Quickly she stood and went into the kitchen. Gil was at a loss. He contemplated going after her, but he wasn't sure that it was the right thing to do. He wanted to tell her what she wanted to hear, but he felt odd about it. He felt like he would be lying to her.
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