Last Summer Read online

  “How is Chief?” Ella asks. Their editor in chief rarely cracks a smile.

  “The same. Every deadline is too long and every article is too short. He sends his best, by the way.”

  For the next ten minutes, Ella takes Rebecca through her calendar. When they finish, Ella hangs up and dives into her laptop, clicking on documents and bookmarks, reading emails. She searches, peruses, and digs, looking for anything that can trigger her memories. There has to be something that explains why she’s blocked them out. But she finds nothing.

  Andrew arrives around one with lunch. As kind as it is of him to check on her and bring food, she wants to be left alone so that she can try to unravel this puzzle. What happened to her? She buzzes him up and unbolts the door but goes back to her office, intent on remaining focused.

  She hears him come in, and a few seconds later, he’s standing in her doorway, SF Giants cap on his head. He removes his blue-mirrored aviator sunglasses and whistles.

  “What country did you piss off? Looks like a ballistic missile blew up your office.”

  A patchwork of manila folders covers the floor. A career-length pile of papers and article clippings clutters her desk. Ella still hasn’t dressed or combed her hair.

  “I think I’m going crazy.”

  Andrew smirks. “That’s not news.” He comes into the room and flops onto the chair across from Ella. Kicking up his heels, he plants his DayGlo-green Nikes on Ella’s desk. “What’s going on?”

  “I lost a baby I can’t remember,” she clips, sarcastic.

  “Whoa! Easy on the DoorDash delivery guy.” Andrew looks around. “Anything I can do to help?”

  She shakes her head. “I was hoping to find something that would help me remember. I’m also curious if there are any assignments I’ve forgotten.” She gestures at the mess on the floor, then lets her arms flop against her sides, hopeless. “Why do you think I forgot?”

  “Uh . . . you’re in shock?” He snags a stress ball from her desk and squeezes it. “Have you called the psychiatrist yet?”

  “Therapy’s not going to bring Simon back.” She’s not antitherapy, but after her parents’ deaths and then Grace’s, everyone’s solution was “get therapy.”

  Been there, done that.

  Though she did promise Damien she’d go. In fact, they’re supposed to go together. Doctor’s orders.

  “I’ll call her later,” Ella responds. She scoops up the folders.

  “Attagirl.” He smiles at her and then his tone changes. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I know,” Ella says, then gives him a hint of a smile, whispering, “Thank you.”

  She drops the files on her desk, then bends over to retrieve more. She straightens quickly, and blood rushes from her head to her stomach. She weaves, overcome by a sinking sensation deep in her belly, and grips the desk for balance.

  Andrew’s on his feet in a flash. He grasps her arms to steady her. “Hey there, you okay?”

  Ella pushes the hair from her eyes. It takes a moment for her head to stop spinning and her stomach to settle.

  Her brother eyes her. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “Last night . . .”

  “That explains the attitude.” He grins. “Good thing I brought lunch.”

  They park themselves on the barstools at the kitchen island. Andrew passes her a white cardboard carton and paper-wrapped chopsticks, not bothering with plates and forks. “Veggie chow mein.”

  “My fave.” Ella opens the carton and digs in.

  Andrew snaps apart his chopsticks and rubs them together to remove the splinters. “Everything okay with you and Damien?”

  “Aside from my head case and losing the baby? I think so. Why?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything last night with Damien around. But you seemed agitated the last time I saw you at the hospital.”

  “How do you mean?” She eyes him curiously.

  “You were crying. Damien looked like he wanted to punch the wall. You kept going off about some sort of promise. You wanted Damien to do something for you.”

  She frowns at him. “Do you know what it was?”

  “No idea. You guys didn’t tell me.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “And give your husband something to hit, like my face?” he says, holding up his chopsticks and carton of broccoli beef in defense. “Not a chance.”

  “Damien wouldn’t hurt you.” He might be ruthless in the boardroom, but Ella has never seen him get violent.

  Andrew seems doubtful. “You don’t remember the look on his face.”

  Okay, Damien could be intimidating. She’ll give him that.

  “When was this?” she asks.

  “Wednesday night.”

  The night before her memory loss. The night of the commotion Nurse Jillian talked about. What happened that night?

  Not only that, what happened right before the accident? Where had she been driving to? Why’d she leave right after dinner? Did she even eat the pork loin she’d cooked that night?

  “Did I say anything else at the hospital?” she asks, curious.

  “Like what?”

  “I think Damien and I were arguing before my accident. I’m not positive. It’s just a feeling.”

  “You didn’t mention anything to me. Have you asked Damien?”

  Ella shakes her head. She chews a noodle, contemplating. She’ll ask him tonight.

  “So you and Damien are good?”

  “Yeah.” She hopes they are.

  That evening Ella showers, and after, as she towels off, she catches her reflection in the full-length mirror. This time, she doesn’t avoid her image. She drops the towel and takes a good, hard three-sixty-degree look, from her full breasts to her wider waistline and distended, hollow abdomen. She gingerly touches the paper sutures taped over her fresh scar. Lynn said the redness and bruising around the area is normal and that the incision line will still be purple up to six months after the C-section. Eventually it’ll start fading to a pale pink. “Hardly noticeable and below your bikini line,” she reassured.

  Turning, Ella looks at her calves and backside. She’s lost muscle tone. She probably traded laps from the Marina Green to the Golden Gate Bridge for prenatal yoga sessions. Definitely not at the intensity she’s conditioned for. Used to be, anyway, she thinks with a grimace.

  Turning back around, she cups a hand over her scar. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to the life that is no longer there.

  A fleeting memory, more of a feeling, touches her mind. The sensation of butterfly wings, the faint press of something against the inside of her abdomen wall. She starts to cry, turning away from the mirror and straight into Damien.

  “Sorry,” he says, his voice gruff.

  “How long have you been standing there?” She’d been so focused that she didn’t hear him come in. Embarrassed, Ella picks up the towel and wraps it around her torso. She doesn’t want him to see her body like this. Misshapen and unfamiliar to her own eyes. She hardly recognizes herself.

  “Ella.” Damien edges toward her, corrals her in his arms. “You don’t need to cover up. You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

  The familiar scent of him and the comfort of his arms—it’s all too much. She buries her face in his chest and falls apart. Damien, thankfully, just holds her.

  After some time, Ella lifts her head. Her husband offers her a washcloth. She wipes her face. She hasn’t cried like that since . . . Well, she can’t recall since when. Damien’s dress shirt is drenched. Tears glisten on the inside corners of his eyes. He thumbs them off.

  “It must be the hormones,” she excuses.

  “It must be a lot of things.” Damien kisses her hair, pulls her into his chest again, and holds her even tighter. Like he’s afraid to let go, afraid to lose her.

  Leaning back, he looks down at her and gently pushes damp hair away from her sticky face. “You good?”

  Ella nods. “For now.”

  “Join me for di
nner?”

  She nods again.

  He kisses her softly on the lips. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you out there.”

  Damien has set the dining table and dimmed the lights. Outside the wall of windows, the Golden Gate Bridge and, across the bay, Sausalito glitter against the darkness of night.

  Damien uncorks a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. “Wine?”

  “Small glass,” she says. She is still taking painkillers and doesn’t need to get loopy. She sits down to a plate of prime rib and blanched string beans. “Smells delicious.”

  Damien joins her, dropping his napkin on his lap.

  “How was work?” she asks. Such a normal question when everything is far from normal.

  He looks at her and his mouth parts like he wants to say something. He hesitates.

  Something’s wrong. “What is it?”

  He sets down his utensils. “I have to fly to London in a couple of days.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Then don’t.” Why would he leave now? They lost a baby. She’s losing her mind. And they haven’t discussed either.

  He loosens his tie and takes it off. Tosses it over the empty chair beside him. “We lost Royal Gateway.”

  A credit card processing company. One of PDN’s larger UK clients.

  “That’s your second client in a week,” Ella says, worried. Damien sure must be.

  He cuts into his meat with force. “I meet with the CEO in a few days. I have to try and salvage the account.”

  “You suspect something.”

  “Two clients in a week after several years of perfect retention. That’s not coincidence.”

  “You have to go,” she says, understanding. Business has called her away with little to no notice. An assignment comes in and Ella can find herself on a plane within several hours of Rebecca’s call. But she and Damien always came back to each other.

  Damien lifts her hand and kisses the inside of her good wrist. Their eyes meet. “Will you be all right without me?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She needs to be, for him. She doesn’t want to add to his worry any more than necessary.

  His eyes brighten with an idea. “Come with me.”

  She thinks of the flat in London. Walks along the Thames. Pies and mash. Exploring the shops at Camden Passage. It’s all so tempting. She shakes her head. “I’ll only be in the way. You’ll worry about me when you should be focused on your business.”

  Damien nods, looking a little relieved. Staying home is the right choice.

  “I’ll still worry about you, whether you’re with me or not.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m okay with you going. We’ll wait until you get back to see the therapist.”

  Damien’s withdrawal is immediate. He releases her hand and cuts into his steak, jabbing a bite into his mouth. She hears the fork scrape against his teeth.

  “I can tell you don’t want to go. What’s wrong?”

  His face shutters. “It’s a waste of time. Talking won’t bring Simon back.”

  His words echo the thoughts she had earlier but hearing him speak them out loud hurts. She decides to hold off asking him about that night in the hospital. There’s something about his demeanor that stops her. It’ll only push him away. Years spent interviewing reluctant politicians and tight-lipped actors who relish their privacy have taught her well. Patience. Besides, Damien prefers to mull things over, take his time to process. He’ll talk, eventually. He always does.

  Ella looks at her plate, appetite gone. She takes a steady breath.

  “Hey.” Damien reaches for her hand again. “I tried therapy once.”

  “With Anna?” she guesses.

  He solemnly nods.

  His first wife. A marriage straight out of college that ended in a divorce five years later.

  He squeezes her hand. “I love you. But this is hard for me.”

  “Losing Simon or me losing my memory of him?”

  “Both, if I’m being honest. Can you be patient with me?” His voice catches on the last word.

  She stands and Damien scoots back his chair. She crawls onto his lap. His arms snake around her. She cradles his jaw. “Yes, I can. But Davie said something last night that’s been bothering me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Is it true that my pregnancy was an accident?”

  Damien’s eyes close. He drops his forehead on Ella’s shoulder.

  Ella’s fingers sift through his hair. “Damien?”

  He nods, the movement almost imperceptible.

  Ella presses her face into Damien’s hair and lets his admission sink in. Simon was a mistake.

  “Why didn’t I get an abortion? You didn’t want children.”

  “But you did,” he says, lifting his head. His eyes meet hers. His fingertips caress her cheek. “You were scared when you first told me, but you couldn’t hide your happiness. I couldn’t take that away from you.”

  “But you didn’t want Simon.”

  “I did. I loved him. And now I’m going to miss every milestone that I’ll never get to experience with him. God, El.” He presses his lips to her forehead, keeps them there.

  “I’m so sorry to put you through this,” she says through tears.

  “No. God, no, Ella. This isn’t your fault. I’ve already told you that. We’re in this together. I’m right here with you. We’re a team.”

  A team. Then why does she feel so alone?

  It’s the memory loss, she reasons. She’s confused.

  “I love you,” she says, hugging him tighter.

  “I love you, too. So much. I don’t know what I’d have done had I lost you, too. You’re the most important person in my life. The only family I care about. You’re my world, Ella. I only want you to be happy. I’ll do anything to ensure your happiness.”

  “I know.” She kisses him softly.

  Later, Damien turns in early with her, his body curved around hers. Ella quickly falls asleep, and when she wakes, he’s already gone.

  Damn meds, she thinks, disappointed she slept through his goodbye kiss. But he left a note, as he’s been known to do. This one comes with a bakery bag from Luna’s.

  E.

  I picked up a muffin for you on my run.

  Take it easy today. Rest.

  Don’t lose faith in me.

  I love you.

  D.

  Don’t lose faith in him. Of course she won’t. What an odd thing for him to write.

  CHAPTER 7

  Four Years Ago

  Three weeks into her relationship with Damien, they went for a morning run in Golden Gate Park. It was late spring in San Francisco, when the days are shrouded in gray and the light is softer as the fog sits on the city like an unwanted houseguest. They ran past a team of middle school boys playing soccer. An errant ball cut across the field and bounced off Ella’s ankle. She stumbled, but Damien grasped her arm, preventing her fall.

  “I’ve got you.”

  “Thanks,” she panted, short of breath. “That wouldn’t have been pretty.” Ella laughed off her embarrassment.

  Damien eased their pace until she fell back into her runner’s zone. She watched two opposing players chase after the ball and smiled at the parents on the sidelines bundled up in parkas and fueling up on lattes in metal thermoses. Someday that might be her and Damien, their Saturdays filled with soccer games and family movie nights. She’d started falling for him the night they met and, even though she hadn’t told him yet, was now hopelessly in love. She could already picture a future filled with their children’s laughter, summer vacations in Hawaii, and winter breaks playing in the Tahoe snow. Damien would make a wonderful father. He’s patient and affectionate while at the same time authoritative and encouraging. Their kids would be well rounded and good natured. If they were anything like their father, they’d excel at almost everything they did.

  “Any interest in kids?” Damien asked, jogging beside her.

&n
bsp; Ella felt a certain thrill their minds were on the same track, but the sideline referee chose that moment to blow his whistle as they ran past him. The shrill noise pierced Ella’s ear and she shook her head.

  Damien smiled. “Me neither.”

  “You neither what?”

  “Kids.”

  What?

  Ella stopped abruptly. Damien looked back over his shoulder, surprised she wasn’t beside him, and jogged back to her. “You okay?”

  She squinted at him. Had she heard him correctly?

  “You don’t want kids?” she asked, incredulous.

  “No, not really.”

  “Why not?” Waiting to have kids is one thing, but to consciously decide not to have them? That’s an entirely different story with an ending Ella didn’t see coming.

  Damien shrugged. He wiped his face with his shirt, looking uneasy at the way she stared at him dumbfounded.

  “What?” he said after a moment.

  “That’s a pretty definitive decision, Damien. One you’ve obviously put some thought into. I’d really like to understand why.”

  He tapped the toe of his shoe against a park bench leg. “Anna wanted kids.”

  Damien had told Ella that he divorced Anna over irreconcilable differences. With this new tidbit of information, she’d bet their marriage ended over kids. Anna wanted them. Damien didn’t. He’d break it off with Ella if she told him the truth about what she really wanted. Their relationship would end before it truly started.

  “I don’t see kids in my future,” he said. Such a simple statement, yet so powerful. A dream killer.

  Hands on hips, Ella turned away from him and watched her plans of motherhood disappear downfield with the ball. She was in love with Damien, no doubt about it. But was she willing to give up children to be with him? She didn’t even know yet if he loved her back.

  “Ella?”

  She turned back around. Damien looked unsettled, almost heartbroken, and it made Ella nervous and a little sad. “If you really want kids, maybe it’s best that we . . .” He swallowed roughly. “I love you, Ella. I don’t want to lose you, but at the same time, I don’t want to be that guy who keeps you from getting what you want. You’d never be happy with me. You’d leave—”