Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“You’re saying I was dead. Clinically. As in, dead dead?”
“As a doornail,” Annie says.
“Then you gave me some kind of experimental medicine, and now I’m not.”
I nod again.
Luca looks down at himself as if searching for confirmation. He must find it, because with jerking, ungraceful movements that make my stomach twist anxiously, he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. This would be a lot for a person with a fully functioning memory to take in. Past experiences provide context to the world and help us make informed decisions. If what Luca is saying is true, he has no experience to draw on and no idea how he should or would react to anything.
On instinct, I reach out to comfort him. Startling, he jerks away. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, no. I’m sorry.” It stings, but it’s to be expected. Right now, I’m as much a stranger to him as Annie is.
“I knew there could be side effects to the technology, even potentially some memory loss.” I stare at the backs of his hands, his strong hands that have wrapped around my body so many times, worked on our home, cooked me incredible meals, held me in sleep. “But I didn’t expect you to forget me.”
Annie steps back, leaning against the counter and clearing her throat loudly in an overt You should have listened to me.
Ignoring her, I reach for my notebook and press on. I can’t hug him or assure him everything will be okay, but I can figure out what’s going on and how to fix it. Which means we must document everything and figure out how far-reaching the side effects are. “Do you have any memories of who you are? Such as, your parents? Your work?”
Luca closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Finally, he blows out the exhale and looks at me, admitting, “No. It’s like—everything is blank.”
Nodding, I ask, “Do you remember my name?”
“Emery.”
“And hers?” I point to Annie.
“Annie.”
I make a note that the memory loss appears to be retrograde only. He can form new memories, but if I’m right, it’s almost like the protocol wiped his hard drive.
I point to the chair beneath me. “What is this called?”
“A chair.”
“What is that called?” I point again.
“A cabinet?”
“And inside the cabinet?”
“Um… I think beakers? Flasks? Dude, I don’t know. Am I a scientist, too?”
I shake my head. “No, you’re a landscaper. Sorry, the beaker one wasn’t fair. There isn’t a lot of normal stuff to point to in here.”
“How can I know how to speak and that what you’re sitting on is called a chair, but not remember that you’re my wife?”
“Memory is complex,” Annie says, and I’m delighted when Luca gives her a yeah, no shit look. It’s a look I’ve seen him make a hundred times… usually when he’s teasing Crash or calling me out for an extra dice roll while we’re playing Yahtzee. It’s so Luca, even if he doesn’t know it.
Annie explains the different types of memory and how, neurologically speaking, memories of life experiences are different than memories of names of objects or how to use them. And both of these types of memory are distinct from motor-related ones like riding a bike or driving. So it’s common in head injuries to see one but not another affected.
“Does that make sense?” she asks when she’s finished.
Luca tilts his head from side to side. “More or less.” He frowns. “How long is this going to last?”
I glance over at Annie, wincing. I hate it when she’s right. “We don’t know. I wish I could tell you that it will resolve. I think it will. But so far, we’ve only ever used the protocol on, um, on…”
When I trail off, Luca simply stares at me, waiting. Finally, he prompts: “You’ve only ever used it on what? Volunteers?”
“In a sense, yes,” I hedge.
“She’s trying to tell you that we’ve only ever done this to save dogs and cats that have been in fatal accidents,” Annie says finally.
Luca’s expression blanks. “Dogs and cats.”
“Yup,” Annie says, clearly enjoying that I’m about to get my ass handed to me. “That’s why we said it was experimental.”
“You’ve only ever done this on dogs and cats, and then you…” He frowns, trying to find the words for something that even I can admit is a pretty rough path, logically speaking. “You gave me, your husband, an experimental compound and put me in this machine as your first human test subject?”
“We brought you here—”
“She,” Annie corrects, pointing at me. “She brought you here.”
“Because it was the only way to save you.”
Luca’s eyes narrow again. “And you’re saying you don’t know who hit me?”
“No.” My heart sinks at his confused expression, wishing I had just one good thing to tell him. But then his expression shifts… turning wary. Like he’s scared of us, and it breaks my heart to see my sunshine love looking at me with fear.