“This is Ian. He works at the squad with you. He was injured at the attack, too” I explain, pushing the wheelchair over to the side of the bed. “Ian’s your best friend.”

David searches Ian’s face for something, anything that will help him put that day back together. “Your legs.”

“Gone.” Ian runs his hands over his thighs, stopping right at the knee, only a few inches above where both of his legs have been amputated. “It was a backpack bomb.” Maybe it’s something about the straight forward manner in which he speaks, but Ian’s words affect David in a way mine don’t. He seems more at ease, less tense somehow, letting Ian’s words sink in for truth, where he evaluates mine, searching for their truth. “They put it next to a garbage pail and then set the trash on fire. You saw the fire first.”

Feeling my legs give out below me, I sink down into the chair. Even though I’m not entirely sure if I want to hear this story, I know I need to be here for David. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet.

Giving no credence to the worry and anger etched on David’s serious face, Ian carries on. Being conscious for most of the two weeks since the attack has probably given Ian more time with his memories than David obviously had. And all that horror has to go somewhere. “You cleared away the civilians. And then you called 911. You were on your cellphone when the bomb went off. I saw it blaze a second before you did and I turned toward you, jumped on top of you.”

“That’s how . . .” He’s piecing it together now.

Ian nods, somber and solemn. “Yeah. That’s how I lost them.”

“It’s my fault.” David tips a chin at what remains of Ian’s legs. “I’m to blame for you losing your legs.”

With a flippantly sarcastic laugh, Ian says, “Like hell it is. It was an attack. An act of terror. Some coward who wanted to harm innocent people. That’s whose fault it is. Don’t try to make sense of it, because you never will.”

“Then how is this fucking fair?” David snaps. “You lose your legs and I lose my memory. What a fucking pair.”

“You lost your memory because you landed on that thick skull of yours. The heat and the pressure of the explosion made your phone burst against your head. And I lost my legs because I chose to protect my friend. Given the chance, you would have done the same.”

Just then, a nurse walks in, introducing herself as if she hadn’t heard a word of what was just said. “I just need to check some vitals,” she explains.

“I’m gonna go, man.” Ian lifts his chin to me, silently asking me to wheel him back to his room. “I’ll be back soon though.”

The few minutes it takes us to get back to Ian’s room pass in silence. I tell him, “Thank you,” as I wheel him into his room, making sure to lock the wheels. Glancing up at me, a look of understanding passes between us. “For saving him. For visiting him. For telling him the things I couldn’t.”

“He’s going to be okay, Grace. I can tell.” Ian reaches up and grabs my hand.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s alive. And that’s all that matters right now. The rest will fall into place.”

We talk for a few more minutes. He tells me about how he’s going to be discharged to a rehab center in a day or two. I tell him Jade is worried about him and he lets me know he’s worried about her, too. Without getting into too much detail, I can tell there’s something special there. Neither of them want to admit anything about it, but it’s there, lingering under the surface. Kissing his cheek, I thank him again. He shoos me away when a nurse enters, telling him it’s time for his sponge bath.

Pitching his voice low so only I can hear him, he says, “This is the part I’m going to miss the most.”

And with those words and the sly smile on his face, more of my hope is restored. Hope that even though it isn’t right now, soon enough, everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.

I walk back into David’s room as the nurse is exiting. Resuming my place at his side, I’m surprised when he admits, “I remember parts of it.”

Moved to the edge of my seat, my hand hovers above his. But fear of reminding him what he’s forgotten about me keeps me from actually taking it in mine. “The attack,” he continues, unprompted. “It was loud and bright. Chaotic.” Turning his head back to the window, he says, “Maybe it was hearing it from his mouth, or seeing his face, but I remember Ian jumping on top of me. Then it went black.”

“David . . .” Talking only makes me want to cry for him, so I keep it to only his name.

“The next thing I remember is waking up here. And your voice. Your singing. That was the only thing that cut through the black.”

His eyes begin to close, heavy with sleep. “You should rest for a little bit. You need it.”

In seconds, he’s asleep, his breathing deep and even. Giving him the only piece of me he remembers, I sing to him in his sleep, offering him the hope of more memories to come.

“You can’t do that.” Frustrated, Mom turns to Dad, begging him to make me understand. “Talk to your son, please. I need to go get some coffee.” Breezing past him as she walks out of my hospital room, Dad cups his face in his hands.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to–”

“I’m not moving in with my parents.” Standing at the window, I look out at the scene that once brought me some solace. Now, it just annoys the shit out of me. It turns out that one week is all it takes for cabin fever to set in. Well, that and the two weeks and two days I spent in here unconscious. Dr. Thompson informed me this morning that I would be discharged today. My recovery is nowhere near over—and I’m not even talking about the memory part. That’s still more than fuzzy.

Having suffered nerve damage on my right side, I’ll need weeks of physical and occupational therapy to regain full motion in my right arm. And my leg, well it’s broken pretty badly. Which in turn means that I need to use crutches to help me hobble around.

And that’s where the argument with Mom comes in. Despite Dr. Thompson reassuring her that I’m strong enough to live on my own, she won’t hear of it. It doesn’t help that my apartment is up a flight of stairs, either.

“You know she isn’t going to let up on it.” Dad joins me at the window, dropping a hand to my shoulder. “Just for a few weeks. Do a little rehab and heal a little more. Prove to her that you’re doing better and then she’ll ease up.”

“No.” I stand to my conviction. “I’ve felt like enough of an invalid these last few weeks. I’m going home and that’s–”

“You’re going home?” Grace’s shocked voice calls out from the door. Her face lights up, bringing to life the hundreds of freckles dotting the creamy skin of her nose and cheeks. “Oh my goodness. That’s fantastic news. I’m so happy,” she rambles on. Fuck if I’ve tried my hardest, but I still can’t remember who she is, what part she played in my life. But in the week since I’ve been awake, she hasn’t missed a day of visiting me.

That tells me something no memory can offer.

I nod, walking over to my bed. “Yes, I can go home. And that’s exactly where I’m going.”

“So you’re still stuck on that?” Mom stands at the door, Dr. Thompson at her side. “Please tell the doctor what you think you’re going to do.” Grace watches on as if she’s a spectator at a ping pong match.

“Oh, great,” I huff, settling down onto the hospital bed.

“David. I think it’s in your best interest to stay with your parents for a while.” The doctor looks down at my mother, her face splitting into a huge ‘I told you so’ smile.

“No way,” I challenge him.

“Look.” His face softens as he approaches me. Sitting in the seat usually reserved for visitors, he addresses all of us. “You’re young and strong and those things have helped you tremendously in your rather quick recovery. But your leg and arm, those are damaged enough that you’ll need someone there to help you. I’m not saying you need around the clock help, but you shouldn’t live on your own at first. Besides, you can’t drive. So you’ll need the help. And,” he adds as he stands from the chair, “being somewhere familiar might bring back some of your memory. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your discharge papers and the contact information for the rehabilitation center. I believe it’s the same one where your friend is staying.”