Days Forgotten but Not Lost Ch. 08

"Thank God," he said softly.

"It won't always be enough, mind you. This is a special case. I'll be watching you like a hawk from now on."

"Don't worry. I have no more secrets," he swore, putting his arm around me. Our mugs were empty and sitting on top of the poles on either side of us. The sun was up and the day was looking beautiful. My stomach had been ruled by nervousness that morning. But that had given way to excitement as I talked with Scott. But then excitement gave way to hunger. I thought of our breakfast options, and I made some comment to that effect.

"The mosquitoes will be out soon, too," Scott added. With a quick tap of my toe on the water, I stood up and turned around. Scott picked up our mugs and joined me in heading back to the cabin. I stopped mid-way, gripping Scott's wrist and pulling him close to me. I pulled his head down for a tender kiss to start the day.

"I love you," I told him. Then I felt the need to clarify. "The new me loves you. Not because of our past, though. I fell in love with Scott, the guy I found reading in the bar in March. Our history adds another dimension to that, but I can't love you with all the memories you have when you love me. My love feels... thinner. So maybe I can't love you in the same way that the old me did, but such as I am now, I do love you. I wish there was more."

Scott moved some hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I love both of you... all of you. To me, you're one whole person."

"It doesn't feel that way to me," I lamented, gazing off past the treetops.

"I know," he said with a hint of sadness. Then smiling, he added, "But... if you let me, I can try to be a bridge between the two. And you're more like her than you realize. She'd be proud of you."

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Epilogue

As we were packing up to leave the next day, I saw a red marker in a drawer. I picked it up and smiled at Scott. "We almost forgot," I said.

"I'm glad you remembered," he said, and we both laughed.

After that afternoon, our rock bore some new initials. Among the hundreds of scrawled letters with dates going back to the 1920's, we added M&S, June 2001.

Cheryl was beaming when Scott and I left together. She didn't pry, and in return I promised to be back in a few weeks. I still had a book to finish, after all. I told her we could talk then. Especially if she would teach me how to bake. Irwin bellowed with laughter and said something about drinking from a fire hose.

During the next few weeks, with Scott's help, I pieced a few more things together. I had relied too much on Vicky after my accident. She had changed my phone number while I was in the hospital (clever girl), which explained why no one ever called me. She hadn't known my email address, so I had a few years' worth of messages to sort through. Neither had she known about my other bank account, one connected to my Ginny Bowers income. It had accumulated a healthy sum in two years' time. Nothing ridiculous, but enough to support me after I quit my job and got my next novel ready for publication. My old publishing contract had expired before my accident, so it was time to shop around again. Thankfully, I was in no hurry.

I still remember almost nothing from before the accident. I have mixed feelings about that. I wish I did remember, but I also know that there was a lot of sadness that is now out of my memory forever. Scott is my living memory. He's very good at quickly picking up on things he needs to explain. When it's just the two of us, he seldom needs to do that; he's here in the present with the new me. He'll tell stories of our past, but not in a way that makes either of us sad. Usually his stories serve to ground us and to remind us how thankful we are to have each other. And sometimes, comically, I find myself jealous of the "other woman" in Scott's past - I'm jealous of the first Millie and the joy she shared with him.

Vicky's purging of my apartment had been thorough. She destroyed everything she removed, including my address book, years of photos (everything since college), and even our wedding album. Though I have no proof, I'm sure she took my wedding ring, too. Her obsession knew no pity. I swore I'd never forget what she did, but then Scott warned me to remember what had happened the last time I said something like that. We told Vicky we wouldn't press charges (not that we had much evidence, anyway) if she suddenly decided to move away and start a new life. That was the last we heard of her.

Anyway, Scott and I mourned the loss of those things for a while, but we eventually began to consider it like a natural disaster - something that just happens, something that can't be helped. You just have to move on. We even started referring to things lost in "Hurricane Vicky." Somehow, that makes it easier. Also helping is that we are busy making new memories, including a new, simple wedding album. It has a few pictures of our first wedding - ones we scrounged from some family and friends - as well as a slew from our second wedding. It was a very small, intimate gathering, and my mother is there, seen scowling in the background of the photos.

Scott is resuming his photography, and I started planning trips that will help us fill up plenty of photo albums. The rest of that summer was like an extended honeymoon, filled with travel and sex. It was amazing that the garden survived. We started planning to retun the extra bedroom to its original status as a darkroom for Scott's photos, but by the end of the summer, it was clear we'd need to use it as a nursery instead. Neither of us had had the courage to ask Cheryl and Irwin for condoms, so those two nights reconnecting at the cabin was all it took to force our attention away from the past and onto the future.

Sometimes I jokingly introduce Scott as my ex-ex-husband. It's funny to hear him go by Reuben with other people. I usually call him Scott. Sometimes, though, like when I'm angry, or surprised, or lost in sexual pleasure, the name Ru slips out without me noticing. I like it. It's as if the old Amelia is assuring us that she's still there, and she approves. And when Ginny Bowers' next novel is published it will have a new dedication:

To Scott: Keeper of my memories and bridge between all that was and all that can be

The End

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