Accidental Shield

Everything has changed in the past twenty-four hours.

Last night, we sat here alone, watching movies through my illusion. I thought I was happily married to him then, wishing my memory would come back because I wanted to remember everything about him.

Now, I know better.

I also know I don’t ever want to forget anything about him or his son.

They’re good people, and long after this is over, I’ll remember everything about them.

It’s often said we don’t always remember the good people say and do. But there’s no forgetting how they make us feel.

Maybe it took this amnesia hell to make me understand. But I can’t imagine going through life without being more attentive, more grateful for the people willing to soothe my heart instead of stomping all over it.

Even now, most of the stuff I remember comes because I feel it. And those feelings are ugly.

I can’t imagine that’ll ever happen with my memories here. It’d take a lot to sour me on this man and his delightful little boy.

“Hey, Bryce Crispie. You’re falling asleep,” Flint says sometime later.

“Nah.” Bryce’s eyelids flutter open and he lets out a gaping yawn. “This show’s just boring.”

“Nope. You’re so tired you already missed all the sharks with laser beams and chicks in bikinis,” Flint says, turning to me. Joking, he mouths.

Bryce sits up a little straighter and grins. “Just a little tired, Dad. Maybe.”

“Why don’t you head on up to bed? It’ll help you get back in the groove with your summer swim lessons,” Flint says. “Take a minute to shower off the sea water.”

“I will.” Bryce pulls the lever on the chair and sits up.

The noise wakes up Savanny, who darts off my lap, going over to him.

Looking at me, he asks, “Mind if I leave my door open tonight? He can sleep in my room if he wants.”

Impressed that he asked, I agree, “Sure. He’s taken a shine to you, and it’s probably better he comes and goes as he pleases. Might minimize the crazy nocturnal acrobatics cats do.”

“Yeah, he’s cool. Think he likes me,” Bryce says, extending a few fingers for the cat to sniff.

“As much as you like him?” Flint asks.

Bryce’s face goes flat.

“Uh, I hope so. That’s a weird question, Dad.” Grinning, he says, “Night, guys.”

“Good night,” I call after him.

“Don’t forget to shower,” Flint reminds him again. “You’ll end up itching all day tomorrow if you don’t.”

“Okay, okay, I’m on it,” Bryce says, heading for the stairs.

“I’ll be listening,” Flint says.

I frown at him.

“I know!” Bryce answers, disappearing down the hall.

Flint shrugs. “For a kid who loves the water, he went through a stage where I damn near had to force him to get in the shower a few months ago. I don’t remember being like that. Then again, I didn’t start spending half my time in the water until I enlisted.”

I laugh, casting a skeptical look his way. “Oh, you think so, huh? Ask your mother, you were probably just like him at one time. I’m sure it’s a phase most kids go through.”

“Yeah? Did you remember you’re a child shrink, too?”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Who knows. Sounds a lot more believable than freaking turtle tours.”

He laughs so loud I can’t keep my annoyed face on. I start snickering along with him.

“I don’t see it, Val,” he snorts. “You running after kids all day? Nahhh.”

I straighten up, tossing a pillow at him. “What makes you say that? I love kids!”

He catches the pillow with zero slip. Ass.

“Just a guess,” he tells me.

I lift my chin. “Yeah, well, when I get my full memory back, you’ll be shocked to learn that’s exactly what I am. A child psychologist. That’s the proper term with all its syllables.”

He laughs harder. “You’ll be just as shocked as me. I’m thinking you were some hot little English teacher with your syllables and shit.”

Laughter bubbles out of me. He’s too good at pressing my buttons.

“You’re right about one thing: I’d be shocked.”

He clicks off the TV. I watch with a confused look as he gets up and creeps slowly across the room, then halfway down the hallway.

“I’m listening for the shower,” he whispers back.

For a second, it’s dead silent.

Then we hear the water running.

I shake my head, trying to avoid another outbreak of laughter. “Maybe you’re the child expert, Mister.”

He gives me a smug grin.

“I mean, a conceited one,” I say, laughing again.

“Nope. Just a father, babe,” he tells me.

“Of a really good kid,” I say, finally easing up on the crap I keep dishing out. “Seriously. You have a lot to be proud of with Bryce.”

“Thanks. Every day he’s happy and breathing is thanks enough. In a few more years, I’m sure he’ll go far.”

“You should be proud of yourself, too,” I say, flicking at my hair, hoping my cheeks aren’t turning into beets. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”