A Husband She Couldn't Forget

His heart in his throat and his gut twisted into a double knot, Connor stepped back and gestured his ex-best friend inside.

Dante refused Connor’s stilted offer of coffee. In the living room, Aly’s brother stood by the slate fireplace and flatly recited the scary facts. “Four days ago, driving home from Portland International, reportedly in an effort to avoid an oncoming car, Aly swerved and ran into a tree. She wasn’t speeding, but she was going fast enough that her rental car was totaled.”

Connor’s heart, still stuck in his throat, seemed to have turned to a block of solid ice. “What are you telling me? My God, is she...?”

“She’s alive, but she’s pretty banged up. And she had a concussion. She was knocked unconscious, though not for that long.”

Connor’s heart slid down into his chest again and recommenced beating—too fast. “So then, you’re saying she’s okay?”

“Not exactly...”

Connor shoved his hands in his own pockets to keep from grabbing Dante and shaking more information from him—or worse, punching him a few times until he finally explained what had happened to Aly. “Is she okay or not?”

“At first, we thought she was going to be fine.”

“But...?”

“She woke up before dawn the morning after the wreck, and asked for you.”

For a split second, he was the happiest man on the planet—until reality hit him. “She hates me. Why would she ask for me?”

Dante looked at him kind of warily. “Look, man. Maybe you ought to sit down, you know?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Suit yourself. It’s, well, it’s some kind of weird amnesia.”

“What? Wait. Amnesia? What are you telling me? You’re making no sense.”

Dante glared. “I’m trying. But you need to shut up long enough for me to explain.”

Connor winced. “Sorry.” He forked his fingers back through his hair. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. Go on.”

Dante eyed him with skepticism, but then laid it right out there. “My sister is firmly convinced that the two of you are still married.”

Still married. Him and Aly? “That’s crazy.”

“Now you’re getting the picture.” Dante’s expression was bleak. “We’ve tried everything—arguing, reasoning, begging, pacifying. Nothing seems to get her past it. She will not accept that you two have been divorced for years.”

“But...her doctors, they must have some idea of what to do, how to handle this.”

“They’ve tried. There have been CT scans and MRIs, long visits with a therapist—and with Father Francis, too.”

Father Francis. The name brought back memories. Of the little Catholic church on Ocean Road where all the Santangelos had been baptized. Of Aly, a vision in white, coming down the aisle to him. Their wedding had been small, just the families, and put together quickly because they wanted to be married more than they’d wanted all the trappings of a big ceremony and a fancy reception. Father Francis had led them through their wedding vows.

Dante continued, “The brain imaging tests revealed nothing out of the normal range. Father Francis keeps reminding us that God will find a way. The doctors predict that over time she will remember she’s not married anymore and hasn’t been for years. Her real life will come back to her.”

“But...what about right now? How is she now?”

“She’s suffering.” Dante’s dark eyes accused him. “She keeps demanding to see you. At first, she cried and carried on, refusing to listen when we told her that you’d divorced her years ago. Now, she just quietly insists that she doesn’t believe us and she needs to talk to you. We’re kind of out of options at this point. And she’s only getting calmer—and at the same time, more scarily insistent. She says that if you won’t come to her, she’ll hunt you down and demand to know what’s going on, why you’ve suddenly deserted her.”

Connor swore low and sank to the fireplace seat.

Dante went on, “It got worse this morning. She’s started to think that something bad must have happened to you. She’s staying at my folks’ house. Mom called me a half an hour ago to tell me that at breakfast Aly called Dad a liar right to his face. About broke the old man’s heart. I mean, she is his favorite. She told Dad she needed him to tell her why we were all keeping the awful truth from her. My mother’s pregnant, on bed rest. She doesn’t need the extra stress of worrying that Aly’s going to climb out a window and run off in search of you.”

“Of course not.” Connor had always liked Aly’s mom. “Cat’s having another baby?” She had to be almost fifty.

Dante sneered at him. “Didn’t I just say that?”

Connor put up a hand. “Can you dial back the hostility a notch or two, maybe? It’s not helping.”

“Yeah, well. Let’s just be honest here. I don’t trust you. You bring out the worst in me.”

“What do you want me to do, Dante?”

Aly’s brother shook his head. “I hate it. I don’t want you anywhere near her. But she really needs to see you. She needs to hear the truth from you.”

“No problem.” He’d deserted her once. This time, he would be there when she needed him. “I’ll go to her. You said she’s at your parents’ house?”

“Yeah. They discharged her from Memorial day before yesterday.”

“I’ll go over to your folks’ house right now.” He stood.

“You’ll talk to her new shrink first,” growled Dante. “And you’ll do what the doctor tells you to do.”

Connor put up both hands in complete surrender. “However it has to be, I’m in. Where do I go to see the psychiatrist?”

“You don’t go anywhere. I’ll drive you there.”

“Why?”

“The family won’t have you taking this over, trying to run this show. You’re not her husband anymore. You’ve got no claim on her and if you want to help, you’ll do it our way.”

A spike of adrenaline had Connor on the verge of saying something he would almost certainly regret. But he wasn’t the same hotheaded, self-centered kid he’d been when he’d ruined his marriage to Aly. This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about Dante. It wasn’t about their lifelong friendship that had been tested more than once and ended up turning into something hard and dark and ready to explode.

This was about Aly. Connor would remember that. “Fine. I’ll ride with you.” He took his cell from his pocket. “Let me just call Daniel.” The oldest of Connor’s siblings, Daniel ran the family company, Valentine Logging. Connor was CFO.

Dante eyed him with furious suspicion. “We don’t need the family business on the street. What’s your brother got to do with this?”

“For God’s sake, chill. I need to let Daniel know I won’t be in today.”

Dr. Serena Warbury had her office in Valentine Bay’s downtown historic district. She’d taken a room on the second floor of a rambling two-story Craftsman-style house repurposed for professional use. Connor and Dante sat in the downstairs waiting room until Dr. Warbury was ready for them.

Dante didn’t even try to make conversation. He sat with his elbows on the chair arms, fingers laced together between them, and never once even glanced in Connor’s direction.

Connor thumbed through a dog-eared Sports Illustrated. When that got old, he stared out the window and tried not to worry too much about Aly. Eventually, the therapist came down the stairs and led them up to the second floor.

Right off, Connor liked Dr. Warbury. She was smart and direct. It took her no time at all to figure out that Dante’s hostility toward his ex-brother-in-law wouldn’t help the situation. She sent Dante back downstairs to wait. He wasn’t happy about it, but he went.