She picked up a picture from the bedside table and studied it. She looked young, and so did the two boys she was with. They were all sitting on bikes, and she was in the middle. One of the boys was blond. The other looked like the dark-haired guy who was in her room last night and had said his name was Dare. He looked younger in the picture, and he was wearing a cowboy hat, but there was no mistaking those eyes. They’d rattled her last night. When she’d first woken up, his eyes were the first thing she’d seen, and in the space of a second, she’d felt those intense dark eyes as if they could see into her head, into her heart, as if they were searching, exuding energy so intense, she’d felt herself spiraling into them, and she hadn’t been able to separate from that feeling. She felt like she should know who he and the other guy in the picture were, like all the information about them was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t get it to fall off. It was like looking at the world through a foggy lens that she desperately wanted to wipe clean but was unable to.
It was a little terrifying to think that other people held her secrets, while she was kept in the dark. The door to her room opened, and her mother peeked in. Relief washed over her.
“Good morning, honey. Is it okay for your father and I to come in?”
“Yes.” She put the picture facedown in her lap. She didn’t remember much about her parents, but she knew them and she felt safe around them. Her father’s warm smile hit in a way that told her they must have been close. He carried a bag in one hand, and his other hand rested on her mother’s back as they came to her bedside.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” her mother asked.
“I’m okay.” She didn’t want to worry the only people she knew in this world.
Her father tilted his head, eyes narrowing, an expression that also felt familiar. “You sure about that, sweet pea?”
The endearment brought another pang of happiness. “I’m trying to be okay,” she confessed.
“Maybe this will make you feel a little better.” He opened the bag and withdrew a can of root beer, watching her curiously as he opened it and handed it to her.
“That’s our thing, isn’t it? Drinking root beer? I remember that.”
“You do?” Her mother’s eyes were wide and hopeful.
“Yes, but I don’t know why it’s our thing.”
“I can tell you that,” her father said thoughtfully. “Your sister, Bobbie, is younger than you, and after she was born, sometimes I’d bring you to work with me at our family’s bar when I opened for lunch, and we’d have lunch together to give your mother a little break. One day you were mad about something or other, and you saw me serve a customer a beer and talk to him about a problem he was having. You asked me for a beer and got mad when I wouldn’t give you one.”
“We own a bar?”
“Yes, and you love managing it,” her mother said. “You kind of grew up there, doing homework while we worked.”
She wanted to remember everything they were telling her. It felt like she could almost remember it, but it was just out of reach. “How old was I when the root beer thing happened?”
“Almost four,” her father answered.
Almost four. “Was I a pain?”
“No,” he said with a smile. “But you’ve never liked being told you couldn’t have or do things, and you sat at the bar pouting. Only you didn’t pout like a whiny kid. You glared at me, and if looks could kill, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
She laughed softly. “I was a pain.”
“No, honey,” her mother said. “You were fierce, and we love that about you. When I came to pick you up that day and saw how mad you were, I suggested that we give you a special beer.”
“Root beer,” Billie said.
“That’s right. Only once you had it in your hands, you wanted to sit at the bar and tell your father what you were so mad about when you’d gotten there, like the customer had.”
She looked at her father. “Do you remember what it was?”
“I’ll never forget.” Amusement rose in his eyes. “Bobbie was about seven or eight months old then, and you said you’d been thinking about it, and you didn’t want a sister. You wanted us to send her back and get you a brother.”
“I hope Bobbie doesn’t know that story. What did you say?”
“I told you that we loved your sister very much, and we would no sooner give her back than we’d give you back.” Her father smiled. “You got even madder, but we talked for a while, and by the end of our conversation, you said having a sister wouldn’t be that bad and asked if we could order a boy next time.”
“I love my sister, don’t I? I feel like I do.”
“Yes, honey. You love her very much, and she adores you,” her mother said. “She’s here if you’d like to see her.”
“I would like to.”
“Okay, but first how about you take a sip of that root beer and tell us how you’re really feeling?” her father suggested.
She took a sip, and the sweetness stirred something inside her. Not specific memories, but the sense of times like the one they’d just told her about and a feeling of happiness.
“That smile is a welcome sight,” her mother said.
“The root beer makes me happy.”
“Are you in much pain?” her mother asked.
“I kind of feel like I was dropped from the roof of the hospital.”
Pain worked its way across her parents’ faces. “I’m sorry, honey,” her mother said.
“Should we ask for more painkillers?” her father asked.
“No. I’m kind of glad I can feel something other than numb from not remembering who I am or what I’ve done in my life.”
Her mother touched her hand, and that brought more happiness. “The doctor said there’s a good chance your memory will come back. You just have to give it time.”
“I hope so.”
“The doctor said you might tire easily. Why don’t we get Bobbie for you?” her mother suggested.
“We love you, sweet pea.” Her father leaned down and kissed her cheek, and then her mother kissed her, too, and they headed for the door.
“Wait,” Billie said anxiously. “Can I see you later?”
“We’d love that,” her mother said. “They’re going to move you out of the ICU today, and then you’ll be able to see all of us together, as a family.”
Billie looked forward to that after they left the room, and she studied the picture again, until her sister walked in. She was pretty, and she had their mother’s smile.
“Hi,” Bobbie said softly, her eyes tearing up.
Her tears made Billie uncomfortable. “Hi.”
“How are you feeling?”
Billie looked down at her casts. She was covered in stitches and abrasions, and she had broken ribs and a tube in her chest from a collapsed lung. The doctor said the tube would come out soon. She had the strange thought that she’d lost her breath and her memories at the same time. She looked at her sister and said, “I hope I’ve had better days.”
Bobbie laughed softly, and it made her laugh, too.