My life was a set of hours to be endured, not lived. My light low and sputtering. But I could take care of Thea Hughes. That was something I could do.
I left Laura a generous tip and rode back to my house without so much as a mild buzz. I hit the sack early and made sure my alarm was set.
I had a job to do.
In the dining hall the next morning, Thea looked up from her breakfast of eggs and toast, as I helped Mr. Webb take a seat at the table beside her.
“Good morning,” she said, squinting at my nametag. “Jim.”
“Good morning.”
“How long has it been?”
Anna Sutton, the head nurse, joined us and set a cup of orange juice in front of Thea. She was in her fifties, dark hair always tied back neat and tight.
“You can answer,” she instructed me, like a grade school teacher.
“Two years,” I said. “It’s been two years, Miss Hughes.”
“Two years,” Thea said. “God, that’s so long. But I’m back now and the doctors are going to tell me what’s wrong with me.”
“They will,” Anna said with a prim, reassuring smile.
“I’m Thea,” she said, offering her hand and introducing herself to me for the fifth time.
Stop counting.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, the words sounding so fucking wrong in my ears.
Thea glanced down at her food. “I’ve never eaten scrambled eggs before. Have I?”
“Yes, Miss Hughes,” Anna said. “You love them.”
Thea made a face, contemplating the truth of this statement before shrugging. She shot me a grin. “You’re hovering, Jim. Come sit and eat scrambled eggs with us.”
Anna arched one eyebrow at me, silently conveying that only one response was correct here.
“I gotta get back to work,” I said.
“Bummer,” Thea said. “Where do you work?”
I glanced at Anna. She shook her head. The word “here” was forbidden.
“I’m an orderly.”
If God were merciful, Thea would wrinkle her nose in distaste or snobbery and I’d be able to stop liking her so damn much. But no, she flashed that smile of hers.
“Groovy. Will I see you again?”
“Y-Yeah. Sure.”
Again and for the first time.
Again turned out to be later in the afternoon, in the rec room. She was bent over a drawing, markers spread all over the table and a ballpoint in her hand. No doubt making her word chains. I swept the floor and kept my eyes on my work.
“Damn.” Thea shook her pen hard, put it back to the paper, then frowned. She gave it another shake then abruptly froze. Her reset hit. Her hand trembled and she glanced around, confused.
We were short-handed as usual. Only the duty nurse was at the station. I had to do something before her panic took hold. I put down the broom and strode over. I nearly asked if she was all right before catching myself.
“Hi,” popped out instead.
“Hi,” she said, looking relieved. “How long has it been?”
“Two years, Miss Hughes.”
She took a steadying breath and a faltering smile touched her lips. “That’s a long time to be away, but the doctors are going to tell me what’s wrong with me.” Her eyes found my nametag. “Jim? I’m Thea Hughes.”
That’s six, I thought. Cut it out.
“Is your pen out of ink?” I asked, redirecting like Alonzo instructed.
Thea frowned and put her pen to paper. It scratched alongside the pyramid constructed out of words, but nothing came out. “How did you know?”
“I’ll get you a new one.”
I went to the storage supply closet and unlocked the door. Inside, I yanked the chain and the light bulb came on, illuminating racks of jigsaw puzzles, board games, magazines, and old books. I found reams of paper, boxes of ballpoint pens and Magic Markers. All the art supplies Thea had.
“That’s it? Pens and paper?”
I jumped back as a rat scuttled across the closet’s rear wall. Crouching on my heels, I found a crack in the drywall, revealing a sliver of daylight. I made a mental note to tell Alonzo about it, then shook a ballpoint pen from a box and hurried back to Thea. She was still trying her empty pen on her paper.
“Here you go,” I said.
“Thanks, Jim,” she said, taking the new pen. “You’re a pal.”
Amnesia or not, Thea was inherently friendly and cheerful to everyone she met. Buoyant. I’d bet good money she was effortlessly popular in school. The kind of beautiful, talented girl you wanted to hate but never could.
“Jim?”
“Y-Yes?”
“You’re staring.” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. “What are you thinking about?”
“You.” Something about her directness demanded the truth in return. “I was wondering if you were as good of an artist in high school.”
“I was an Egyptologist,” she said with a nod at her drawing.
“An Egyptologist?” I said. “Not an etymologist?”
Her face scrunched up. “A what?”
“Oh. N-N-Nothing. Rita said…”
“Who’s Rita?”
Shit. Fuck. Redirect.
“You studied Egypt?” I said and gestured at her drawing.
“I think that’s what this must be. My old work.” Thea’s smile widened as she craned back to look up at me. “Sit down, will ya? You’re hovering.”
Now I’m on her loop.
“I love all things Egyptian,” Thea said. “Their history is so rich with the rituals and gods, the monuments and the romance. All good stories have a romance. Love. Without love, what’s the point?”
“Not my area of expertise,” I said slowly.
“No?” Her grin widened. “Not a romantic? Are you sure? You look like Marc Antony to me. Lots of armor on the outside, but on the inside…” She made a face. “Yikes. There I go again. I have zero filter, if you haven’t noticed. My sister is always telling me to tone it down, but I call it like I see it. Life is short, no?”
So short, Thea. Five minutes.
“You don’t say much do you, Jim?”
“Not much.”
“Am I talking your ear off?”
“No, it’s fine.”
It’s fine. Jesus.
“Jim, Jim, Jim.” Thea cocked her head. “Short for James, right? But you look more like a Jimmy to me. Jimmy with the kind eyes. Do you mind if I call you Jimmy?”
Why the hell that simple request sent my heart crashing, I didn’t know, but it felt as if she drew us together across years instead of minutes.
Be professional. Tell her to use Jim.
“N-N-No,” I said. “I d-don’t mind.”
Thea leaned over the table, compassion softening her features. “Do you have a stutter, Jimmy?”
I almost told her it only showed up when I was nervous or pissed off. Then she could ask if she made me nervous. She’d give that flirtatious laugh of hers, then tell me she didn’t mind that I stuttered, but to keep talking to her, and that my stutter wasn’t the most interesting thing about me…
God, this is fucked up.