Tapping away at the steering wheel, it’s clear that I’m anything but fine with . . . well, with everything. It’s been about a week since David moved in with me. His memories are still lost somewhere in that vast abyss of nowhere. All he’s been able to grab ahold of is that one memory of us camping out at the beach.

Grasping to the idea that he remembered something when he was given a reminder of the event, he wanted to get our families and friends together with the hope that the rest of his memories would come flooding back.

Driving from my place to his parents’ house, I can honestly say, I haven’t paid attention to the road one bit. My mind is focused solely on the notion that this is a horrible idea. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but something about this day doesn’t sit well with me.

The only thing pushing me forward is David’s insistence on it.

As we pull up to his parent’s house, I wonder if anything looks familiar to him. If he remembers climbing the tree in the front yard with me all those years ago. When I ease the car into the empty spot in the driveway, I notice him scanning the property and I can tell he doesn’t remember anything.

My heart aches for him. He’s so strong and determined, but so broken and alone at the same time.

Covering his hand with mine, I lace our fingers together. He startles at the contact. He usually does—add that to the list of reasons my heart hurts.

“You okay?” I ask, trying my best to keep the pity I feel out of my voice.

“I don’t remember anything. Nothing looks familiar.” Looking past his house, his eyes land on the house that used to be mine. Hope rises in my chest, but it’s gone the moment he turns to me with sadness in his eyes. “Tell me something, please.”

It’s not his reliance on me to spark his memories that makes me smile. The softness in his voice, the calm strength he possesses as he tries to heal—those are the qualities that are making me fall in love with him all over again.

Pointing to the tree in the center of his front lawn, I smile, recalling an early childhood memory. “That tree out there. You bet me that I couldn’t climb to the top. I was only six at the time and we’d only just met.”

“Wait,” he gasps, twisting in his seat. “We knew each other as kids?”

The deafening sound of my heart breaking in half is one that only I can hear. Nodding, I keep my voice low, afraid if I say more than a quick, “Yes,” the emotion clogging my throat will give way to a river of tears. I don’t have it in my heart to tell him more at this point. Maybe another time.

“Did you do it?” His question cuts through my sadness.

“Of course,” I dismiss. “Are you kidding? The cute, older boy next door challenged me to a tree climbing contest. I had to say yes.”

His smile, so big and bright, is like a Band Aid across my heart. “I feel like there’s going to be a big but in there somewhere.”

“No childhood story is complete without one.” Twisting in my seat, I angle my head so I can almost see the top branch. “I made it to the top in no time, but once I got there. Well, let’s just say getting back down was a little bit of a problem.”

“Afraid of heights, huh?” he jokes, squeezing my hand in his.

“No way,” I defend adamantly. “I’m fine with heights, but falling—yeah, that’s high on my list of fears.”

“So what happened?” he asks. His genuine interest in the story is both endearing and difficult to bear. On the one hand, he’s still very much the same David—kind, loving, caring, compassionate. But on the other, he doesn’t remember something that’s imprinted in my mind so vividly.

That was the day I knew David Andrews would always be there to keep me safe. Long before he rescued me from the wreckage of my destroyed home, he plucked me from the top of a tree and soothed away my tears.

And now, he remembers none of it.

Charged with the task of helping him remember who he is and what he means to me is something I’m determined not to mess up. “Well, I was stuck. And it didn’t take long for panic to set in. You said you were going to go get my dad, but I wouldn’t let you leave. When I told you my legs were starting to shake, you climbed up and helped me get down safely.”

“But.” He drags out the word, knowing that there’s more to the story.

Pulling my hand from his, I trace the thin white line on the side of his knee. The contact startles him again, but much less than when I held his hand minutes ago. His skin, warm under my fingers, reminds me of when they touched more than just a scar on his leg. “You cut your leg on a branch. Brushed it off as nothing big, but you needed five stitches. Your parents were pretty angry at you, too. Thought you put me in danger so they grounded you for a week.”

“I’m sure you were pretty angry at me, too.” Looking out the window, I can tell he’s trying his best to recreate the memory in his head, to find a piece of it that’s his own and not from my words. But the tone of his voice suggests that’s not happening.

“I was in awe. I still am.”

And before I can say anything else, his mom steps out onto the porch, waving us to come around back. “Ready?” I ask as I turn off the car. The final words of Keane’s “Somewhere Only We Know” fade away as the engine silences itself.

“As I’ll ever be.”

After unloading his crutches from the back seat, I help him out of the car. I’m far too short to unlatch the gate at the side of his house, but luckily, his father is there waiting for us. “Hey, you two,” he greets us happily, a beer in his hand.

David takes a deep breath as he hobbles into the backyard. John pulls me into a warm hug. Keeping his voice low, he tells me, “Thank you again for helping us take care of him.”

Nodding, I kiss him on the cheek and let out a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

David scans the yard, surely trying to pair up the location with what should be in his brain. His shoulders sag, and I know he’s struggling. Thankfully, his mom cuts in, wrapping her arms around him as if she hasn’t seen him in years. She escorts us over to a table which is already set up with some bottles of water and chips.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, a hopeful lilt in her question.

“Fine,” he deflects. When he sees that he’s going to need to give his mother more than a one word answer, he explains, “I have another therapy session on Tuesday. It went well last week so hopefully this week will go better.” Penny eats up the little tidbits he’s offering her as if it’s her last meal.

“That’s fantastic. You’ll be out of that cast before you know it.” She smiles, and for the first time since his attack, her smile is lighter, less forced. “I’ll let you two get settled.”

“Can I help you with anything in the kitchen?” I ask, moving to stand from my seat. Penny simply drops a hand to my shoulder, gently pushing me back into my chair.

“No, dear. I’m just fine.”

“Okay,” David huffs. “Let’s get the awkward part over with.” Eyeing him carefully, I’m not exactly sure what he’s getting at. “What do I need to know about everyone coming today?”

There’s no sadness or pity in his voice, only the sheer determination to be a part of the life he used to live. Before I have to start the uneasy process of telling him about my own family members, we’re interrupted.

“What, you don’t remember me?” Ian chimes in. Jade pushes him up to us through the freshly cut grass.

“Hey, man,” David greets him, twisting in his chair. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Wheeling himself right next to David, Ian situates himself at the table. “We weren’t sure we’d be able to get the van from the rehab facility. And I sure as hell couldn’t drive myself. You kinda need feet for that,” he jokes. “Didn’t want to let you down if I couldn’t make it, so I didn’t say anything in the first place.”

“Luckily for him, I was free to drive that Scooby-Doo van.” Jade pulls a chair up next to Ian and he smiles at her, proud and warm. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek. David’s eyes fall to their joined together hands on the table and I would pay money to know what’s going through his head.