Accidental Shield

“But you know I’m okay. Everything we looked up agrees with Cash.”

“You can’t believe everything online.” He adds a disapproving grunt at the end.

My skin pricks. I get the funny sense there’s more he’s not saying.

Surely, my husband wouldn’t lie to me…would he?

“Well, this time, it’s true, and I’d much rather be here than a hospital. I don’t like them. The noises, the loneliness, ugh, the food. That’s why you brought Cash in, isn’t it? Some weird thing I have with hospitals?”

He looks at me, confused.

Annoyed, I push off the couch, stretching on the tips of my toes. “It’s all just infuriating. Not remembering or knowing what to do about it.”

“Val, stop.” He grabs my hand. “You’re getting riled.”

I give in to his tug and plop back down on the couch. A small part of me enjoys how he anchors me.

“Why shouldn’t I be? You have no idea how awful this is, Flint. That’s the only thing wrong with me. These gaps in my mind, driving me crazy.”

“You’re right, I don’t know,” he growls. “But you’ve remembered plenty, and I’m sure there’s more on the way, all in good time.”

I huff out a breath. “Good time. That’s one phrase I’ve heard twice today, and I still don’t get what’s so good about it.”

Savanny leaps on my lap then, butting his head beneath my chin. It’s amusing how animals always pick up human negativity and jump right into the fray.

I start to push him aside, but don’t because…holy crap. Here come the memories.

Savanny, as a little kitten, fluffy and so light he’s almost yellow. Me being excited, nuzzling him against my chest, laughing as he tries to swipe playfully at my face. So freaking happy to get him.

It hurts. It’s too much, too soon. I press my hand to my temple, but it doesn’t help, I can’t stop the avalanche in my head.

“Val, you with me?” Flint asks, grabbing my shoulders, gently massaging them, trying to bring me back.

“Yeah. I’m just…yeah.” I say, drunk on the dreamlike scenes in my head. “It’s Savanny.”

I tell him what I just saw, then continue, “I got him for my sixteenth birthday. I was pumped because I’d wanted a cat like him forever. When I was little, I’d always wanted a cheetah. No joke. So my dad gave me Savanny because he was as close to a cheetah as my father could get…and probably the safest option, too.”

“So you got your Cheeto cat. That’s good news, isn’t it?” Those brilliant blue eyes of his burn big and bright, almost miniature skies of concern for me.

“Yeah, but…” Hot tears burn my face. “It’s not that. My father was alive. He’s not now. I just remembered…” A sob chokes off my lungs and I suck in a big breath. “He’s dead, Flint. My father’s dead.”

“Shhh. Come the hell here,” Flint whispers, pulling me into his arms.

I throw my face against his chest, burying it. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.

“He died. But when he was alive, he bought us these big, expensive gifts. Crazy ones.” There’s more to it, I think, but it’s not crystal clear. “How did he die, Flint? You know about it, don’t you? How did my father die?”

I just want the truth, even if it’s another guaranteed punch to the face.

He holds me tighter, his lips thinning, finding his words. “He had a heart attack, babe. Real abrupt. There was nothing you could’ve done, or the doctors.”

More pieces fall into place.

My father’s funeral. A polished, onyx-colored coffin. My mother sobbing into a silky handkerchief, her mascara smeared. A reverend dressed in black, his words just a blur, an echo of regret and longing and well wishes for his soul.

Funerals are flipping traumatic when it’s someone you love. Everything comes back in dramatic snatches and half-memories with grief, and no, that’s not just my amnesia.

It’s the human condition.

There’s an emblem on his casket. I think Ray put it there. When I pass by for the last time, watching through a humid veil of tears, I can make out the little details. It’s…

My eyes snap open, and I struggle up, staring into Flint’s deep gaze. It’s blurry, but things are coming through. “Savanny’s collar! It’s my family’s bird, our symbol. King Heron. King Heron Fishing.”

Flint nods like his head suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.

I should be happy with my little breakthrough, but I’m not. And clearly, neither is Flint.

Somehow, I’m just chilled to the bone, even in his huge, welcoming arms.

“Why does that make you angry?” I whisper.

“I’m not mad,” he says. “Not at you.”

“It’s your eyes. They’re dark, stormy. Like…like you’re hiding something. What is it, Flint? What aren’t you telling me?” I don’t have a lot to go on but this odd hunch; everything’s still so blurred, like I’m stuck recalling bits and pieces.