Chapter 7: Chapter 7

JAMIE

Stepping into my childhood home was like stepping into a ghost town. The air was thick with the smell of neglect, a stark contrast to the warm, inviting scent of my mother’s cooking that used to fill the space. The once lively wallpaper, now faded and peeling, seemed to echo the silence that hung in the air.

My dad, a mere shadow of the man he used to be, shuffled around the kitchen. His once sharp features were now softened by age and fatigue, his movements slow and deliberate.

Seeing him in this state, surrounded by clutter and chaos, was a punch to the gut.

“I’ll take out the trash,” he muttered.

As he disappeared through the back door, a wave of sadness washed over me. The man who was once so meticulous and organized was now a shell of his former self.

A foul smell hit me, a harsh reminder of the neglect that had taken over the house. I scrunched up my nose. “What’s that smell? Hasn’t he been taking out the compost? It smells like food has been rotting.”

A wry smile tugged at Mason’s lips. “Considering the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, I doubt it.”

The reality of my father’s decline hit me like a ton of bricks. “I thought you said he was handling things. You said he was doing okay.”

Mason surveyed the mess with a look of concern and surprise. “I thought he was. It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I’m as surprised as you are,” he admitted, starting to pick up the empty wine bottles scattered across the floor.

Just as he began to clean up, his phone buzzed, breaking the somber silence.

“Do you need to take that?” I asked, noticing the tension in his face.

“It’s just Eoin,” he said, setting the bottles on the counter and pulling out his phone to silence it. “There’s a meeting at two o’clock. It’s a big account and he’s worried about it.”

I nodded, guilt washing over me. His cousin Eoin seemed to need him more than I did. “You should go. I can handle things here with my dad.”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t mind staying, Jamie. I don’t want you dealing with this alone,” Mason insisted, but his phone rang again, cutting him off.

“Go,” I urged. “Eoin needs you. And to be honest, I think I need some time alone with my dad. We have a lot to talk about,” I said, glancing around the messy kitchen. “Like this mess for starters.”

Mason hesitated, his gaze shifting between me and the cluttered room. Finally, he nodded. “You have my number. Text me when you’re ready for me to pick you up. I’ll take these on my way out,” he said, gesturing to the bottles in his arms.

With one last look at the chaotic kitchen, he turned and left.

As the door closed behind him, I felt a wave of loneliness wash over me. I knew Mason meant well, but I also knew that I needed some time to process my emotions and reconnect with my dad.

I turned to face the mess, letting out a heavy sigh.

Once the cleaning was done, my dad and I took a break in the garden. We sat side by side, the comfortable silence between us punctuated by the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.

“How’s the lemonade, sweetheart?” he asked.

I took a sip, savoring the cool, refreshing drink. “It’s good. Just what I needed,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. The taste brought back memories of my mom. “It reminds me of hers.”

“I know it’s not the same,” he admitted, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “She had a special touch. The lemon tree hasn’t been producing as much this year, either.”

“No one could make lemonade like her,” I replied, a fond smile playing on my lips. “It was her thing.”

He chuckled, a sound tinged with sadness. “Yes, it was.” His expression turned serious. “I miss her, Jamie. The house feels empty without her. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

My heart was heavy for him. The man who used to be so full of life and energy now seemed like a ship without a compass.

“I miss her too, Dad. They say time heals all wounds, but I’m not so sure about that.”

He let out a sigh. “Your mother always told me, ‘Don’t mourn for too long. A few weeks is fine, but after that, you need to get back out there. Go to work, see your friends and family, keep up with our Monday movie nights…’” His voice faded, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “She was a force to be reckoned with, your mother.”

I found myself smiling back. “And she was well aware of it.” I paused, then added, “You should keep up with the movie nights. I could join you. It’s been forever since I’ve been to a theater.”

My dad looked at me, surprised. “You wouldn’t mind going to the movies with your old man?” he asked. “I remember when teenage Jamie used to sit a few rows ahead during family movie nights.”

I smirked. “I’ve grown up a bit since then. I think. Besides, who else am I going to go with? You brought it up, and now I’ve got a craving for movie theater popcorn that the microwave stuff just won’t satisfy.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure the man you’re living with would be more than happy to go. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Mason doing anything that wasn’t work or taking care of Penelope.”

I could see where this was going. The inevitable questions about my relationship with Mason. The well-meaning advice, the gentle nudging.

“That’s not a good idea,” I said, bracing myself. “I’m not comfortable with him yet…not in that way.” I let out a sigh. “I don’t remember much about him from before. I know I’m supposed to feel something for him, but I just don’t.”

A wave of guilt washed over me. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t lie.

“I understand,” my dad said softly. “He’s five steps ahead of you, and you’re trying to catch up. Love isn’t something you can just turn on and off. But you can try to get to know him again.”

“I can try,” I whispered. “But I don’t know what will come of it.”

I looked down at the flower bed, lost in thought. “I don’t like how he treats me,” I admitted.

His eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like he doesn’t treat me like the woman he’s supposed to love,” I explained. “He treats me like I’m fragile, like I’m someone he needs to take care of. I feel like a burden when I’m with him.”

My dad clicked his tongue. “You’re not a burden, sweetheart. I can tell you now, Mason doesn’t see you that way. It’s been a long time. He probably doesn’t know how to act around you.”

“Acting normal would be a start,” I muttered. “I would give anything to have my memories back. I want to feel normal again, but I don’t feel like the person I used to be.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Honestly, I’d be worried if you were okay with everything. Your life has changed a lot. You’ve gained a daughter and lost a mother. Just take it one day at a time. Focus on your recovery, spend time with Penelope and Mason.”

I nodded, absorbing his words. It was easier said than done, but I knew he was right. I had a long journey ahead of me, filled with obstacles and unknowns. I needed to at least try to give this a chance.

Back on the couch at home, my father draped a blanket over my legs for comfort. As he prepared to leave, he looked at me, his face a mix of worry and reluctance.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked. “I could stay until Mason gets home. Maybe we should give him a call.”

I shook my head, declining his offer. “No, he’s at work. I don’t want to disturb him. I think he misses the office.”

I sighed, seeing the concern in his eyes. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind some alone time. I feel too reliant on him.”

He paused, clearly wrestling with his instinct to shield me and his respect for my autonomy. “Jamie, that’s exactly what you need right now. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Funny, I could say the same for you,” I retorted, a hint of mischief in my voice. “I’ll be okay by myself, Dad. If Mason doesn’t show up in an hour, I’ll ring him. I promise.”

With a reluctant nod, he agreed. “Okay. If you need me, call. I mean it.”

He cast a final look my way before turning and exiting. The front door closed gently behind him.

Once he was gone, a peculiar calmness settled over me. It was a peaceful solitude, a moment to ponder and just exist. I maneuvered my wheelchair toward the downstairs bathroom, the familiar hardwood and soft lighting offering a comforting sense of normalcy.

As I made my way down the hallway, my eyes were drawn to Mason’s office door, slightly ajar. Intrigued, I decided to have a look. The room was a testament to modern minimalism, a stark contrast to the more traditional decor of the rest of the house.

A large, walnut desk took center stage, its surface littered with papers and a state-of-the-art computer. I pictured Mason there, his fingers dancing over the keyboard, his mind lost in the world of commerce. But the man I envisioned was not the same man I had known before. The assertive, ambitious businessman had vanished, replaced by a tender, nurturing spirit.

A framed photo on the desk caught my attention. It was an image of Penelope, a tiny, adorable creature with a crown perched on her head. Mason was holding her, a broad smile on his face. It was a touching scene, a testament to the love and happiness that filled their lives.

Curiosity piqued, I opened a drawer. Inside, I found a framed photo, face down. I flipped it over, my heart racing as I recognized the faces. It was a picture of Mason and me. We were laughing, our eyes twinkling with joy. It was a moment that I didn’t recall.

The sudden ring of the doorbell sent a wave of panic through me. I quickly replaced the photo and shut the drawer, my heart hammering in my chest.

Navigating my wheelchair in the tight space between the console table and Mason’s desk was a challenge. With an awkward movement, I bumped the console table, causing a folder to fall to the floor.

“Damn!” I muttered, grimacing at the sound. Bending down was a struggle, my arm straining as I leaned forward. I couldn’t leave the folder there, a silent testament to my snooping. With a determined effort, I stretched further, my fingers finally grasping the edge of the folder.

As I drew it toward me, the folder opened, revealing a photograph. A man’s face looked back at me, his dark hair and rugged features shrouded in mystery. There was something familiar about his eyes, a spark of recognition flickering in the depths of his gaze.

The doorbell rang again, interrupting my thoughts. In a panic, I shoved the folder back into its hiding place, hoping it would remain undisturbed. Whatever secrets it held, they were clearly not meant for my eyes.

I wheeled myself out of the office, my heart still racing. I rushed to the front door, my breath hitching in my throat. As I unlocked the door, a tall, athletic man came into view. His clean-shaven face and piercing blue eyes were framed by a shock of blond hair. A Nike gym bag was slung casually over his shoulder.

“You must be Jamie,” he said warmly.

He extended a hand, his grip strong and assured. As our fingers intertwined, a strange sensation coursed through me. I looked up at him, our eyes meeting.

“I’m Adam, the physiotherapist,” he said.