“Completely?”
He shook his head. “It’s coming back. Sometimes in small bits, sometimes more. Sometimes I won’t even notice until later. When I went home, that brought a lot back. And my dreams. I don’t think it’s really amnesia. More some sort of . . . blackout. Temporary shock.”
“Shock wouldn’t last this long.”
“Well, maybe not just shock. I think it was a combination of things. Laney’s . . . Laney, then driving all the way across the country. I think I did it in one run, amped on caffeine and speed. Booze too. And then when I got there, I.” He hesitated, realizing what he was about to say, how it sounded. “I tried to kill myself.”
“Kill yourself.”
“Maybe I just wanted the pain to stop. But maybe once it came down to it, some part of me didn’t want to die. I came damn close, though. I think the memory loss was my subconscious mind’s way of protecting me. Keep me from trying again.”
Sophie picked up her mug, held it in both hands, elbows on the table. “And you don’t remember me.”
Daniel hesitated. He’d come here expecting a professional meeting at best, and wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d had to flee again. Instead he’d found someone who loved him. “I’m sorry. It’s not personal. I don’t even remember Laney well. I mean,” he said, trying a laugh that came out sick, “when I first woke up, I thought she was Emily Sweet.”
Sophie’s gaze was cool, a card player’s stare. “From a legal standpoint, you know what this looks like? A premeditated defense. The timing is too convenient.”
“Says you. From where I’m sitting, it couldn’t be less convenient.”
“What do you mean?”
Daniel stared at her. “I had to lose my wife all over again.”
Sophie paused. “I’m sorry.” She looked away, fingers tapping on the table.
“So what do you think?”
“What’s the best part about sex with twenty-seven-year-olds?” “Huh?”
“It’s a joke. What’s the best part about sex with twenty-sevenyear-olds?”
“I don’t . . . care, Sophie. I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
She stared at him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. “Your memory really is gone, isn’t it? You’re not kidding.”
“No. I’m not.”
“And you don’t remember me at all.”
“No.”
“There’s twenty of them.”
“What?”
“The best thing about sex with twenty,” a beat, “seven-yearolds. There’s twenty of them.”
To his surprise, he felt his lips curl in a smile. “That’s awful.”
“That’s what I said every time you told that joke. Which was about once a month.”
Sunlight bounced through a crystal in her window to paint the walls in dancing spectrums of color. After a long moment, Daniel said, “We were friends, weren’t we?”
“Down here on Planet Earth, we still are.”
“Yeah, I mean, of course. I just.”
“Don’t remember.”
He nodded. “It’s so strange. Without context, everything is equal. I don’t even remember who I am. Take Laney. I know I loved her. I can feel it, physically feel it. When I realized that she was gone, it just. I mean, I wanted to die all over again. And that will only get worse as I remember more. Everything that comes back will change love from a feeling to an action, a verb, something that happened. The moments when we loved each other. We were together for years, right?”
“Six or seven.”
“Seven years. Of emotions and decisions and moments. But with her dead and my memory gone, what do they mean? What is love without history? Like Alzheimer’s. A husband and wife live their whole lives together, make love, buy a house, raise kids. Then one of them gets sick and can’t remember the other. Are they still married? Are they still in love? Did the time they had mean anything on its own, or is everything just . . . temporary?”
“Life is a raindrop.”
“What?”
Sophie smiled. “Something my grandmother used to say. ‘Life is a raindrop.’ It never made sense to me when I was young, but the older I get, the more it means.”
“Life is a raindrop. Whoa.” The line was so simple, and yet so beautiful it tugged at his chest. It felt like there was a truth at the center of it, that, like a Zen koan, you could meditate on it forever and still find fresh meaning. “Life is a raindrop.”
Through the walls there was the roar of a car engine, something coming fast. Daniel stiffened. The car grew louder, then quieter as it passed. He glanced over to Sophie, ready to explain himself, and saw that she had tensed as much as he.
Why? What’s she scared of? It took a moment to click. “The sheriff told me that someone broke into your house.”
She nodded, shoulders knotted under her light top.
“Someone asking about me.”
“That’s right.” Sophie stood, took her coffee to the sink.
“I— Did he hurt you?” The heat in his belly was back.
“I’m fine.” She dumped her mug, began to scrub it.
“Can you tell me about him?”
“Why? Not like you’ll remember anyway.”
Ouch. Daniel eased out of the breakfast nook. She didn’t turn around, just kept washing dishes. “Soph.”
There was a tiny hitch in her movement. Then, over her shoulder, “Funny. That’s what you always called me. Do you remember, or is it just there?”
“Soph, I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
I’m sorry some sick fuck came into your house. I’m sorry he did it looking for me. I’m sorry that as strong as you obviously are, it shook, maybe even broke, something in you. He sighed. “Everything, I guess.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” She shut off the faucet and turned around. “He didn’t hurt me. Scared me, is all.” She picked up a towel and began to dry her hands, her voice slow. “He was so calm. Smiling, always smiling. That was the worst part. I think he could have done anything to me, and then gone on about his day. Not felt a thing about it.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. Didn’t know what to reply. Finally he said, “I hope you told him everything.”
“I didn’t know very much.”
“This guy. He must have been the one who . . .” Say it. You have to face it. “He must have killed Laney.”