“Will, go easy.”
“How hard is it to take an order efficiently?”
“Okay, never mind. What do you want to talk about today?”
“I don’t want to fucking talk about anything.”
“Oh.”
Pete was gloriously quiet. Will tried to ignore the hurt look on his face. “It’s... I feel... I…”
“Go on, Will.”
“I don’t fucking want to digest the past, avoid the fact I don’t remember what happened, or shoot the breeze with you, okay. If I was ever that guy, I’m not him now.”
“Okay.”
“You say okay, but you’re speaking to me as if I’m a weak kid who doesn’t know his own mind. I’ve let you and Bo and Aileen and every doc who ever laid eyes on me grill me for—if this is Sunday—three days. I don’t care if it’s significant I can’t remember where we lived in Tara or what I did to get here. I don’t care to discuss the issue of losing my languages and the dyslexia coming back. I don’t fucking want to talk about it.”
“We don’t have to talk. Let’s have our coffee and enjoy the sun.”
Too good to be true. But that’s what happened. They
sat in the sun and watched a game of croquet—croquet for God’s sake, what sort of a game was that—until Will couldn’t stand Pete’s patience. “I want to go home.”
“Hmm, yeah, well—”
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. I’m going back to the house in Luwan and yes, Pete, I do know the suburb got renamed.”
“You’re not ready. You only started talking three days ago.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me except a little memory loss.”
“You need to be signed out.”
“So you want me to get you a pen?”
“One more week. Convince Doc Yang you’re good and I’ll spring you.”
He stood, blocked Pete’s sun. “Three days.”
“Will.”
“I’m going for a run. You don’t need to wait for me.” Even behind his sunglasses Pete managed to look wounded. Will couldn’t stand being with him, feeling the pity and hope pour out of him. He dumped his t-shirt on a chair and took off across the lawn. By the time he’d loosened up Pete might’ve gone off to lunch.
He ran a circuit of the extensive grounds of the rich man’s crack-up centre. He had to give it to the gardeners, they did a great job keeping it manicured but not so tidy it looked fake. When he was good and wet, and the kinks were out of his neck, he turned back. Great, Pete was still there. He contemplated taking off again, but Pete got up, ready to go.
Will stood in the shadow of a stand of trees and watched as Pete greeted a sexy blonde woman and felt everything in his body tense. What was she doing here? He wasn’t ready for this. His head spun. He doubled over and dry-retched into a clump of hydrangeas. She shouldn’t be here. She could’ve died because of him. He’d almost died because of her. This idea of re-acquaintance was fatal.
Every night he’d dreamed of this woman. She was a wraith, a shadow on his consciousness he didn’t understand. Until the day he remembered who she was to him and how all the pieces fit together. That was the day he remembered everything. Being set on at the temple, being cuffed to the bed, singing till he was hoarse, then jail and steamed buns and Bruce Lee, and fear like he’d never known, fear that someone he loved might die.
And then he mourned. For the life he’d had, and might not get back, for the man he’d been, and was no longer, and for the woman he’d loved, and could not risk hurting again.
It was better not to remember how she felt in his arms, how she got in his head, how she’d screamed and screamed. Seeing her now, he understood she’d been with him when he hadn’t known himself. She’d held his hand. It’s why he’d never asked about her. Because he remembered she’d survived, but was a memory he didn’t dare open again.
He should run, back the way he came, anywhere, it hardly mattered. He did not think he could be close to her and pull off the act of not wanting to touch her, have her touch him again. But she was free and he wasn’t who he’d been, and it was wrong to want what he shouldn’t have, and worse to let her continue to hope for it.
He walked across the lawn. There was power in his anger, and he was about to use it. She stood when she saw him. She was so thin, had she been ill? She was dressed immaculately, designer stuff, gear Jiao might’ve worn. He could feel his heart trying to carve its way out of his chest, pulling other vital organs with it. He stepped up next to Pete and ignored her.