Undone (Wild Men 2)

She doesn’t scold me for my swearing. Her gaze grows distant. “Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I felt that way about your dad. Still do sometimes. I miss him so much.”

Oh shit, now I’ve made mom sad. “I’m such a fuck-up. I think…” I try to remember, but my skull feels just about ready to explode. “I think…”

She looks at me, waiting, and fuck if her eyes aren’t wet, too. “Yes?”

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. Not sure. I think I fucked up with something important, but can’t recall what it was.

“Hey mom… Did I hit my head or something?”

She snort-laughs, and it’s funny enough that I grin at her, despite feeling like shit. “Yes, you did.”

“That’s news to me.”

Her face does that guilty-blushy thing again. “Ah-huh.”

“Okay, so it’s not news. You told me before?”

She bites her lip and nods slowly, her gaze flicking to the door. What the hell?

“You told me and I forgot. I have a concussion?”

She nods again.

“And someone here told you not to tell me about it?”

She sighs and wipes at her eyes. “Yes.”

“Why the hell?”

“Language.” She sighs again. “They didn’t want us telling you what happened. Said it was better if you remembered on your own. But.” She lifts one finger when I start to protest about the stupidity of this. “We did tell you anyway. It’s hard…” She swallows. “Hard to see your child so distraught. So I replied to your question

s. But you…”

She waves a hand.

But I forgot.

And keep forgetting. Time after time.

Christ, this is so fucking not good…

I wake up some time later to find Matt’s girl, sitting in the plastic chair Mom had been in last I looked.

I think.

Argh. I rub my eyes and the painful spot between my brows, and search my memory for her name.

How can I not remember her name? Matt always talks about her. I met her before. How the fuck could I forget the name of my brother’s girl?

“It’s also the drugs, you know,” she says softly, and I find her observing me with her big blue eyes. “Pretty strong painkillers. Things will look clearer once you’re off them.”

Ugh. Now that she says it, I notice for the first time the discomfort of a needle taped to the inside of my wrist, a tube leading up to two bags of liquid. “What am I on?”

She shrugs delicately. “Not sure. You’d have to ask the nurse.”

Right. The fussing nurse, who may or may not be a different nurse and I wouldn’t know, because I can’t fucking remember.

“Hailey,” I whisper. I realize I sound desperate, or yeah okay, downright psychotic. Obsessive? Maybe. “Where is she?”