“Let’s do this.” He gave my hand a familiar squeeze.
We walked into the kitchen from the garage, closing the exterior bay door as we passed and it made a loud a noise behind us.
“Portia, is that you?” I heard my dad’s voice call out from somewhere in the house.
“Yes.”
“We’re in the family room, Pumpkin,” he replied.
Taking a deep breath, I led Vance by the hand through the kitchen and into the family room. Both of my parents, Grandma, and Krista were sitting together, quietly visiting in front of the television.
“Hi,” I said, and all of them turned to look at me.
There was a moment of shock before everyone reacted, jumping up with exclamations on their lips. Then as if they were all puppets on the same string, they started rushing toward us.
“Wait!” I called out, signaling to stop with my hand, and I was amazed they actually complied.
“Yes, Vance is alive.” I stared into their disbelieving faces—some with tears starting to stream down them. “But, he doesn’t remember any of us.”
The four of them exchanged puzzled glances amongst themselves.
“What do you mean?” Dad asked, stepping forward.
“I mean, I found him standing at the foot of his grave when I went to the cemetery. He didn’t recognize me or himself. He can’t recall anything from his previous life, though he has all of his necessary motor and verbal skills.”
I looked up at Vance and squeezed his hand.
“Portia tells me you’re part of my family,” he said politely, looking at them before glancing down at me. “We had quite the discussion about family, marriage, magic, and a few other things.” He tightened his grip on me before turning back to the others. “She’s shown me things impossible to deny. While I believe everything she’s telling me, I’m sorry, but I have no memory of anything.” He gave a heavy sigh.
“But … you’re here!” Krista said stepping with her arms stretched toward him, her face glowing.
“Vance, this is your mom, Krista,” I said, giving him a slight nudge.
Vance let go of my hand and moved forward, allowing Krista to hug him. He seemed slightly uncomfortable as he patted her, before stepping away to stand closer to me.
“Portia tells me I died while trying to save your life. I’m glad to see that was successful.” He inclined a nod, seeming a bit formal.
“Yes. Thank you,” she replied, staring at him as if she had won the lottery, her eyes never leaving his face.
There was an awkward pause while everyone tried to figure out what to say to someone they knew and loved who couldn’t remember them.
I spoke up again, filling the silence. “Just so you’re aware, Vance’s powers are at full capacity—and then some. It’s obvious he’s here directly as a result of receiving the Awakening. I’m assuming it must have kept working to complete the change, even though he didn’t survive the battle.”
“So what does that make me exactly?” Vance asked. “Resurrected … reincarnated?”
“I think you’re a little closer to resurrection,” I replied. “Though it doesn’t mean we won’t both be eligible for death again someday.”
“I can see this is going to be confusing,” he smiled, and I heard Krista gasp softly at the sight, her hand sliding up over her heart. I understood exactly how she felt.
“This is so unreal,” my dad said, ruffling his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re really here.” We stood still for several seconds as the shock for everyone continued to settle in.
“You all need to remember he’s not the Vance we’ve known. He made that very clear. I think we should try to wipe the slate clean and treat him like someone we’ve just met, if we can.” The words left a sour taste in my mouth. “Who knows if he will ever regain his memory?”
“You’re absolutely right,” Grandma said, jumping to attention. “Vance, I’m Milly Mullins. I’m Portia’s grandmother. This is my son Sean and his wife Stacey.” She extended her hand toward him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Vance replied, shaking politely. He turned and did the same with my parents.
“Welcome to our home.” Mom smiled. “Would you like to freshen up?” she asked, her eyes moving over him taking in his dirt covered tuxedo.
“Sure. That sounds great.”
“I’ll take him up to my room. I have some of his things and he can shower in my bathroom, if that’s okay with him,” I added, worried I might be making him uncomfortable.
“That’s fine with me,” he answered with a slight shrug.
“Okay then. Follow me.”
Vance gave a slight nod to the others before turning away to trail after me. I could feel their stares on our backs as they watched us walk up the stairs.
When we entered my room, I pushed the door shut behind him and turned to face him. “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, looking absently around the space. “It wasn’t too brutal.”
“You can change through that door.” I pointed him in the right direction before I reached down to pull open his old drawer. “And here are some of your clothes.”
He rummaged through it, picking out a few items before he thanked me and headed into the bathroom.
My eyes followed until he closed the door, disappearing from my view. I started shaking like a leaf, the shock and reality making its way through my system. I slid my hands up over my cheeks and I let out several long breaths, trying to comprehend everything that had happened.
He’s alive
! I thought to myself.
He doesn’t remember!
I felt totally dejected.
Turning toward the bed, I noticed all of the photographs I’d left strewn across it.
I walked over and sat down, reaching to clean them up. I found myself stopping to look at each one, while I organized them into neat piles in the order the events had occurred. I was finishing up the project, when Vance came back out, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats.
I glanced up at his slightly messy, towel dried, hair, thinking of the way he used to style it.
“Wow,” he said, spying the piles of pictures, and he walked over to pick some up. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”
“No, I wasn’t,” I replied, moving to stand next to him.
He slowly began flipping through, before he paused on an image of himself, the one I’d deemed my favorite of him.
“What am I looking at in this picture?” he asked, staring.
“Me,” I said, and the memory flooded over me. “I’d just walked into the chapel. It was the first time you’d seen me that day.”
“Oh,” was all he said, though he continued to stare at the shot for several moments. I wondered if he could connect at all with the emotion he saw. “You looked pretty,” he added, when he shuffled through a few shots of me in my wedding gown.
“Thank you,” I replied with a smile. “You were quite dashing yourself. It was a happy day for us.”
He turned to look at me, hesitating before he spoke. “I see these things and I want to remember Portia. I really do. But I don’t.” He held up the picture of himself. “There’s all this emotion on his face … my face … the face in this photo, but I can’t recall any of the feelings that go with it.”
Every word he said stabbed through me like a knife.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but these are the facts,” he spoke with a tender voice. “I don’t remember.”
“Can I be completely honest?” I replied, taking a breath trying to control my shaking insides.
“Please do.” He placed the pictures on the nightstand before turning to face me.
“You may not recall, but I do. I love you, and I married you with the intention of spending the rest of my life with you. Honestly, at this point, I’d almost be content just to sit next to you as your friend. I thought you were dead.” My lower lip started trembling against my will and I tried to get control over my wavering emotions, before I continued. “I only want you to give me a chance—us a chance. Maybe you’ll never remember, but perhaps we could build something new together. If you want to hear about the past, I’ll tell you. If you don’t, I won’t.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Forgive me if I seem desperate. I thought I’d never see you again. I didn’t think I’d ever get to hold you, kiss you, or even make love …,” I trailed off, knowing I’d gone farther than I’d intended. “I’m sorry.” I turned away. “I didn’t mean to go there.”
He placed his hand on my arm and he turned me around to face him.
“It’s okay,” he said, his eyes flickering over me. He paused before he reached to brush a strand of my hair behind my ear just like he used to do. “You have very pretty hair,” he added, out of the blue.
That was the final straw for me and the tears I’d been holding back came rushing to the surface, spilling out over my face.
“Wait. What’s wrong?” he asked confused. “What did I do?
“Nothing,” I answered, with a half laugh.
“What is it then?” he questioned, truly concerned. “Why are you crying?”
I lifted my hand, touching some of my thick locks and running my fingers through it. “You used to love my hair,” I told him and I gazed into his face. “You would spread it out with your fingers over your chest when we were in bed together, constantly toying with it.” I smiled at the memory, before I spoke again, seriously. “It’s hard for me to have you here, standing in front of me, talking to me like you used to, yet hearing you say it isn’t you. I have to pretend you aren’t who you are to me, when all I really want to do is …,” I paused. “Oh, never mind.” I moved to turn away from him.
He stopped me once again, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t turn away. Tell me what you wanted to say.”
I shook my head. “No,” I replied, feeling frustrated. “I don’t want to upset you.”
“Portia, tell me. I want to know. Really,” he said, seeming sincere.
I stared into his eyes, desperately searching for any remnant of the person I knew and loved. I read hesitation, curiosity, and compassion. Seeing the compassion began to give me some hope. I decided in that moment to answer him honestly.
“I want to kiss you,” I said, a blush creeping over my face, and I waited with baited breath for his reaction.
I wasn’t expecting the one I got, when he surprised me with his next words.
“Then do it,” he said softly.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Kiss me if you want to, but I have to warn you I might be bad at it. I don’t remember doing it before,” he said with a slight grin which brought his masculine dimples to the surface.
“Now that would be impossible,” I replied, returning his smile. “Your mind may not remember me, but I’m beginning to think your body does.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, curious.
“You keep saying and doing things like you used to do.” I gave a shrug. “Then again, it could be wishful thinking on my part.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” He took a voluntary step closer to me, so our bodies were as close as possible without actually touching one another.
“Why are you doing this, Vance?” My voice quivered in anticipation.
“I’m not sure. Maybe because you need it,” he replied honestly, staring into my eyes. “And for some reason, it seems I’m …” he paused, searching for words, “drawn to you, I guess.”
“What do you mean?” I swallowed the knot which was forming in my throat and the tiny spark of hope inside of me began to take flame.
“I don’t know,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “But even while I was in the shower, a room away, I missed you somehow. It sounds funny, but it’s almost like it hurts…in here.” He lifted his hand to tap his sculpted chest over his heart.
He could still feel the connection between us I realized. But I didn’t have time to contemplate the meaning of that because he leaned in, dipping down to kiss me on the mouth, touching me only with his lips and nothing else.
I closed my eyes and savored his soft and tender touch, not even able to breathe as an explosion of sparks rushed through my body—like they always had whenever he’d kissed me.
He pulled away from me suddenly, and I glanced up to find him staring at me with a strange emotion. I held still, not moving an inch while I waited for him to decide what he was feeling. It only took a second to make up his mind.
He reached out and grabbed me, wrapping one arm around my waist and sliding the other hand into my hair. His lips found mine again, meeting me with the same intensity of days gone by, and his tongue slipped out to tease my lips, coaxing them apart.
He kissed me long and hard, almost frantically, for several moments. Then the hand which was tangled in my hair, softly pulled my head to the side, and his lips worked their way over my cheek. He trailed down my neck to his favorite spot, licking the sensitive area once, before he closed his mouth over it to begin sucking hard. He sucked so hard I knew he’d leave a mark.
My heart was pounding, but I didn’t stop him. He was my husband. I wanted him to want me. He moved back to my mouth, and I wound my arms around his neck, running my fingers into his hair.
I found my knees backed up against the bed and he pushed me until we both fell over, bouncing onto its soft surface.
“Portia, what’s happening?” he whispered near my ear while he placed a kiss there.
“Something inside of you remembers.” I was breathless as he feathered light kisses down to my collar bone.
“Was it always like this?” he asked, moving in the direction of my lips once again.
“Yes,” I whispered and he lifted his head to stare into my eyes.
It didn’t surprise me to see the red irises were back, but the thought was lost when he returned to his fervent assault of me.
“I don’t want to stop,” he panted in between kisses.
“Don’t,” I replied. “There’s no reason for you to.”
“But I barely know you.” He paused again, searching my face for any sign of hesitation.
“You do know me … intimately. You just don’t remember.”
He continued to lavish me with his kisses, until I was completely consumed, my mind becoming hazy with passion and I reacted instinctively.
“I love you, Vance,” I whispered softly, in the heat of the moment.