Keep Me in Your Heart (24 page)

“Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll remember eventually.”

“What if he doesn’t? What if he never remembers her, or me, or anything about high school?”

“We’re not thinking that way, Trisha. And I don’t want you thinking that way either. He
will
come back to us. I know he will.”

Trisha could only stare at the floor. Her heart felt pulverized, her emotions tattered.
An already terrible day had just gotten worse—her Cody, the love of her life, didn’t even remember who she was or what they’d meant to each other. And there were no guarantees that he ever would.

Trisha slept fitfully and called Abby first thing Saturday morning.

“I’ll be right over,” Abby told her on the phone.

When Abby arrived, Trisha pulled her into her room and told her everything that had happened with Cody. She was crying by the time she finished her story.

“Low blow,” Abby said, patting Trisha on the back and handing her a wad of tissue.

“I feel like my whole life’s falling apart. Two of the most important people in my life are gone—one’s dead and the other doesn’t know me.”

“That can change,” Abby said. “Cody will get his memory back, in time. I mean, once he comes home and friends drop by to visit him, he’ll start to remember.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s logical. Right now, he’s in a strange
place, a hospital far from home. Once he gets home, in his room, around all the things he’s grown up with, it will jog his memory. Just you wait and see.”

“Do you think?” What Abby was saying made sense, and it was the first ray of hope Trisha had seen since the hospital visit.

“I’m no doctor, but I’ll bet you anything, things will come back to him when he’s in his own space.”

“I don’t know … If you could have seen the look on his face yesterday when he saw me. No recognition. None.
Nada
. Zilch. I was a total stranger.” Her hope spiraled downward as she recalled Cody’s expression of befuddlement and panic when she’d tried to hug him. “This is a nightmare, Abby—A real nightmare.”

“I know it seems that way now, but—”

“It
is
that way. I couldn’t even get through a simple memorial service for Christina, and Cody may never remember her or me. Can it get any worse?”

“Cody’s alive and he’s expected to recover. As I see it, that’s a big plus.”

Trisha wandered over to her desk and to the
bulletin board hanging above it. It was filled with snapshots of her and Cody and her and Christina from happier times. “If I take these down, the board will be blank,” she said sadly. “These two people filled up my life, but now …”

“Don’t take them down. They’re good memories. I still have pictures of Carson in my scrapbooks and on my bedside table. I’ll never remove them.”

“I feel like I should be doing more to keep Christina’s memory alive.”

Abby studied her. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That she’ll be forgotten?”

Trisha nodded.

“Get your coat. I want to take you somewhere.”

In Abby’s car, Trisha leaned her head back against the seat and shut her eyes, trying to gather her composure. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Was she going to fall apart every single day for the rest of her life?

The car slowed, pulled over, and stopped. Trisha sat up and looked out the window. She saw a field, patchy with snow. She didn’t have to ask where they were. She knew.

“Come on,” Abby said, getting out of the car. “I want you to see something.”

Trisha followed. The field was scarred by the impact of the accident that had changed so many lives so quickly. A stick held a tattered piece of material; it fluttered in the chilly breeze. Tucker’s car had been towed away, but large gouges were ripped in the earth and a few glittering pieces of glass caught the sunlight, reminding Trisha of what had happened there. She felt as desolate and windswept as the field looked. She shivered.

“This is what I brought you to see,” Abby said.

Trisha turned and her breath caught. In the ditch was a lone white cross made of sticks held together by a strip of rawhide. Hundreds of flowers adorned the area, stretching for yards up and down the ditch. “It’s for Christina,” Abby said. “Kids from school, kids from Henderson, people from all over the area have been coming here all week and leaving flowers and stuff.”

Trisha walked to the makeshift memorial, bent, and retrieved a folded scrap of paper that was tucked into a cluster of flowers tied with a ribbon. She unfolded it, read, “We miss
you,” and saw that it was signed by four girls she did not know. She refolded the paper and tucked it back into the flowers. She read another note, and another, and another, careful not to crush any of the flowers heaped on the ground. Many of the bouquets were dead or frozen, but many were fresh, as if they’d just been dropped off.

Abby put her arm around Trisha’s waist. “See? No one’s going to forget Christina. Before the spring rains come, we’re going to move the cross up to the shoulder of the road for everyone who drives past to see. The cheerleaders from her squad have already made sure flowers will be put out here once a week until school’s over for the year.

“People care, Trisha … a lot of them cared about Christina. We all lost her. In a way, we all lost part of ourselves the night she died.”

Tears had frozen on Trisha’s cheeks. She stood with Abby while five years of memories washed over her. She had thought she’d have a lifetime of friendship with Christina, but her best friend was dead. Everything was different now.

“You had breakfast?” Abby asked, her voice sounding cheerful.

“Not yet.”

“Me either. Let’s go chow down on pancakes at Millie’s.” That was a popular local restaurant. “My treat.”

Trisha returned to the car and took one long, lingering look back at the roadside memorial. It occurred to her that the town cemetery held Christina’s body, but her memory would be held here in the shape of a small, handmade white cross, planted next to a cornfield on the side of a country road in northern Indiana.

Trisha really didn’t want to go back to school on Monday, but her parents insisted. “You have to pick up the pieces and go on,” her father told her. “I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, but you still have to go on.”

“It’s your senior year,” her mother added. “You need to look ahead and think about graduation and college in the fall. Life goes on, honey.”

Trisha certainly didn’t feel like going on. She felt confused and aimless, like a swimmer treading water or a car stuck in neutral, unable
to go backward, unwilling to go forward. If it hadn’t been for Abby’s friendship and sympathetic ear, Trisha was sure she would have gone crazy.

“Is it true about Cody?” Tucker asked her when he saw her at her locker on Monday.

“It’s true.”

“I was supposed to visit him on Saturday, but when I called, his mother said not to come. She told me what had happened when you went.”

“Maybe he’ll improve when he gets home to his room and his personal stuff.” Trisha used Abby’s line of reasoning because Tucker looked pretty upset. After all, he and Cody had been friends.

“His mom told me she’s bringing him home today.”

The news jolted her. She felt her face flush because she hadn’t known, and if she really cared about him, then she
should
have known. She should have called to check on him, but hadn’t because she’d been too afraid of facing rejection again.

Tucker added, “His mom said that he’s improving and that his doctors can’t do anything
more, so they think he should come home and pick up where he left off.”

Trisha slammed her locker hard enough to make kids turn around and look her way. “That’s so stupid! How are any of us supposed to pick up where we left off? It can’t be done, Tucker.”

“Don’t I know it. I can’t tell you how much I miss Christina. Every minute I’m awake, I think of her. I mean, I talked to that girl practically every day of my life.” He shifted his weight, leaning his shoulder into the bank of lockers. “I have her voice on my answering machine at home. She called me the day of the basketball game to tell me she loved me. I’m never going to erase that tape.”

Trisha realized that as bad as things were for her, they must be worse for Tucker. She wasn’t sure whom he had to talk to about it. “She really did love you, Tucker.” It was useless to bring up the past and her list of gripes about the way he treated Christina. Those days were over for good. He could never hurt Christina’s feelings again.

“Don’t give up on Cody,” he said.

She saw moisture pooling in his eyes, and she felt ashamed of her self-pity. “I don’t want
to give up. But how can I have something special with somebody who doesn’t even remember who I am?”

A bitter smile crossed Tucker’s face. “At least he’s alive, Trisha. At least you can talk to him. Go
make
him remember you.”

Thirteen
 

T
risha gathered her courage, called Cody’s house after school on Tuesday, and talked to his mother. “He sleeps a lot,” Gwyn told her. “But he seems comfortable in his room. I know he remembers the house, but frankly he doesn’t talk that much.”

“He never was a big talker,” Trisha said, offering encouragement.

“That’s true. We’re just so glad to have him home again that I’m trying to overlook the negatives. He’ll be seeing a specialist in head trauma recovery, and we’re hoping the specialist can help bring Cody all the way back.”

“Um, I’d really like to come visit him. I don’t want to freak him out like last time, but
I thought maybe, if we can talk, it might help his memory.”

“A few of his old friends have called—Tucker Hanson for one, but I’ve not let anyone come yet. I think he needs more time.”

“Sure. I understand.” Trisha couldn’t hide her disappointment.

“Oh, what the heck,” Gwyn said quickly. “Come by tomorrow after school. That’ll give me time to prepare him for your visit. I know this is difficult for you, Trisha, because you and Cody have been so close. I’m not trying to be cruel.”

“No, it’s okay. Really. I’ll come over about four. And I won’t stay long.”

She hung up, feeling both scared and elated.

Gwyn met Trisha at the front door and gave her a warm, encouraging smile. “He’s in his room. I told him you were coming and that you were going to tell him about school. He tries hard to remember details and gets frustrated when he can’t, so if you see it starting to happen, move on to something else. Fortunately, I guess, he’s easily distracted.”

Trisha headed up the stairs, a sense of the familiar overcoming her. She and Cody had
spent so many afternoons studying in his room or downstairs in the den. It was hard to believe that he didn’t remember it as she did. She knocked on his partially open bedroom door.

He invited her in. She pasted on a smile and peeked into the space she knew so well. He was sitting in a chair at his desk, papers and photographs spread across the top. “You’re Trisha,” he said. “Mom said you’d come.”

“And here I am.” She dragged another chair to the desk and sat, careful not to infringe on his personal space. She didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry I went nutsy on you at the hospital.”

“Not a problem. I should have listened more closely to what your mother was saying about your amnesia.” She was glad to hear that his voice sounded normal again.

He stared at her with such open curiosity for such a long time that she began to squirm. She kept reminding herself that although this was Cody, it wasn’t
her
Cody. The face and body looked the same, but the mind was damaged, the memories fragmented.

“We knew each other,” he said, picking up a picture of the two of them in his living room,
hugging and mugging for the camera in front of last year’s Christmas tree. “We liked each other.” These were statements, not questions.

“You could say that. We liked each other a lot.”

He nodded. “You’re in a lot of my pictures.” He picked up several and fanned them out for her to see. They were younger in some of the photos, while others had been taken only weeks before. “Did I know you for a long time?”

“A couple of years. We started dating when we were sophomores.”

He hung his head. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s all right,” she said quickly. “The good news is that I can tell you how wonderful I am and you’ll believe me.”

The old Cody would have laughed, made some smart remark. This Cody simply stared. Finally a half-smile crept across his face. “You’re teasing me.”

“A little.” She picked up a photo of them at the Christmas dance. “We had an interesting time this night. You picked me up, and on the way we got a flat tire and—”

“Stop.” He looked upset and pressed his palms against his temples. “It hurts my head when I try to remember and can’t.”

She tossed the photo down quickly. “Sorry.” By now, she felt jumpy and nervous. She couldn’t even carry on a conversation with this Cody. He was a stranger.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, his voice halting. “I don’t mean to sound angry.”

What had Gwyn suggested?
Distract him. Change the subject
. “Why don’t you tell me what you do remember? Maybe I can fill in the blanks for you.”