Accidental Shield

I huff out a breath of frustration. Guess I was hoping for too much.

Yep, I know the cat’s name, but nothing else.

Just how?

How is that even possible?

Eyes closed, I concentrate on thinking, on remembering. Try until my head starts to hurt. I open my eyes again a minute later, sighing, knowing it’s no use.

Sadly, it looks like Flint and Dr. Ivers are right.

I can’t force my old self back.

Savanny starts purring louder. I smile because at least I remember this old routine, and scoop her up in my arms. Hmm, she’s lighter than I expected.

She’s rather large for a house cat, but slim and spindly on tall legs, so she can’t weigh a ton more than other felines. She swats playfully at a tuft of my hair while I admire the tawny color, the leopard spots, and those bat-like ears just screaming aww-dorable.

“If I know your name, why don’t I know more?” I ask the beast. “Were you my cat or Flint’s? Or did we get you together after we got married?”

No answer, of course—I’m not that crazy yet—she just looks up at me with big gold eyes.

Curious, I check the collar danging from her neck. There’s no name to confirm my memory, and the tag hanging under its chin seems more like…a medallion? It’s heavier than a standard pet tag, I think.

In fact, it looks like an emblem of sorts. There’s a beautiful black-crowned night heron embossed on the gold disk, complete with a tiny blood-red ruby for the eye.

Strange. A bird on a cat’s tag?

Poor bird.

Wait. How do I know that’s a black-crowned night heron?

Am I a birder watcher?

No, hummingbirds and ducks don’t feel like anything special. They aren’t significant. Not like this regal heron.

Why?

I’m doing it again. Making my head hurt.

Flint’s right, I’m trying too hard. And where is Flint?

His place beside me feels cool to the touch. Empty. Same for the room. He’s been gone well before I woke up.

Savanny scrambles out of my arms and jumps on the nightstand. I reach over, grabbing the base of the lamp so the cat doesn’t knock it off and stare harder at the clock.

It’s ten fifteen. It can’t be that late. I never sleep in.

Or do I?

Shaking my head, I shove aside the covers and flip my legs over the edge of the bed. The movement reminds me how achy and sore my body still is, how stiff lying around so much has made me. I stretch my arms over my head and twist, left then right, flinching as the muscles groan.

After a few head rolls to loosen up my neck muscles, I stand. I’m cautious until I’m sure my legs will support me, and then I lean over and touch my toes, stretching the muscles in my calves, back, arms, and hands.

Everything burns, but I hold the position for a full count of ten, knowing it’ll help me regain my strength.

Savanny jumps off the table and brushes up against the side of my leg, belting out a loud mew!

Not wanting to give myself a head rush, I rise slowly until I’m standing straight again. That’s when I notice a cell phone and a single slip of paper on the nightstand.

I pick up the paper and read.

Running a couple errands. Won’t be long.

If you need anything, just call.

Flint.

Setting down the paper, I pick up the phone and hold down the button on the side until the screen lights up. It’s newer, but also looks weirdly used. Only a few apps, too, the regular ones that come pre-installed. I click on the contacts icon and see one name.

Flint.

For a second, it bothers me. Why does this phone look like it’s been wiped, and the only person I’d ever need to call is my husband? Did my phone get wrecked in the accident?

Possibly.

I can’t think of anything I need, but have a strange urge to call and ask when he’ll be back.

An inkling of fear bubbles in my stomach. Anxiety is a heck of a thing, and the worst part is, I’m not even sure if I’m more anxious over this mystery phone or being so alone.

Still, I’m an adult, and Flint’s been nothing but kind and doting. I can be alone for a few minutes and trust him…can’t I?

I carry the phone to the bathroom. Savanny trots after me on long, stilted legs, and I tell myself I’m not alone when she’s with me.

We’ll wait here with our two bad selves until Flint comes home.

After using the bathroom, I wash my face and brush my hair, all the while telling myself over and over we’re fine.

Then the doorbell chimes.

Crud. We’re so not fine!

Shaking my head, I glance at the silky set of pj’s I’m wearing. Shorts and a button-up top. Light pink. Not something most people would answer the door in.