We Are Us

Chapter 42 Florida

Five months later, present day

I wake to the sound of silence. Well, almost. Hospitals are never quiet, but the low hum of activity beyond my door is infinitely preferable to the riot of beeping and buzzing from earlier. Cautiously, I open my eyes. The room is less bright than before, just a hazy glimmer of late afternoon sunlight filtering through the window. Sadie is curled up in a chair tucked into the corner. For a brief moment, the sight of my sister cheers me. But it also makes me realize who isn’t here. Tucker.

Where is my husband?

I open my mouth to call out to Sadie but stop short. I don’t want to wake her.

Tucker is probably working. Like always.

The blood in my veins is thick with irritation. Things haven’t been good between us since the last time I was admitted to a hospital—the day we lost the lives we’d created together. And every breath of ammonia-scented air, every crackling page of the intercom, every check of my vitals and beep of a health monitor makes me ache for the perfectly formed babies I’d held for mere moments. Babies that didn’t cry or fuss. Babies that didn’t breathe.

Tucker and I are still married though. Not in any real sense, but legally. The least he could do is make an appearance at my bedside.

Releasing a quiet sigh, I attempt to crawl back into an unconscious cocoon for another few hours. But it’s no use. My head is pounding, half the skin on my body feels as if it’s been flayed open, and closing my eyes only makes it worse. And there’s something else gnawing at me. Something Sadie said, just before the drugs injected into my IV took effect.

Something about…

The thought disappears before it’s fully formed, like fog evaporating inside my fist. I swallow a howl of frustration, resenting both my injuries and the treatment necessary to heal them. If I can’t rely on my own mind, what else is there?

I reach for the television remote control on top of the chest beside my bed. If I was in an accident, maybe there will be a report of it on the local news.

I hold my breath as the screen comes to life, quickly muting the volume before scrolling through cha

Wait—what?

I jab at the down arrow of the remote.

Suddenly my husband’s face fills the screen. Coolly appraising stare, strong nose, perpetually boyish grin. Not a hair out of place.

Really? Tucker’s pandering to the media while I’m in a hospital bed?

But… that doesn’t make sense. Although he’s given the occasional interview to a financial news network, Tucker has never exploited his personal life to get on TV. Since his parent’s death especially, he’s preferred to keep a low profile and focus solely on work.

And then I notice the word beneath his face, covering the knot of his tie. Bright red letters, all caps.

MISSING

My chest squeezes as I immediately turn on the volume, needing to know more. Roused from sleep, Sadie pops her head up. “You okay?” she asks, clutching the arm of her chair for support and pulling herself upright.

I point a finger at the screen but I’m too late. Tucker’s face has been replaced with a commercial for constipation laxatives. A sense of foreboding leaches into my bloodstream as I turn toward my sister. “What happened to Tucker?”

“I’ll bet you’re thirsty,” she says, bouncing over to the table holding stacked plastic cups and a pitcher of water. “Let me pour you a drink first.”

I gratefully suck it down before wrapping my fingers around Sadie’s bird-like wrist. “For God’s sake, stop protecting me. I need to know. What is going on?”

“You really don’t remember?”

My head hurts too much to try. “No, I don’t.”

“Really?” Her lips purse. “Nothing?”

I thrust the remote control at Sadie. “Turn it off, please.” The volume is on and the flickering screen over her shoulder is making me nauseous.

She does and I take a moment to appreciate the sudden, blissful quiet before refocusing my attention on my sister. “Nothing that explains why I’m in a hospital, or how I got hurt. If I did, I would tell you.”

There is a hint of doubt in her familiar eyes, shadows that make me wonder whether the secrets I’ve kept from her over the years are really so secret after all.

Eventually, she blinks. “He’s gone.”

“Gone,” I repeat, choking on a gasp. “What do you mean, gone? Where did he go? Was there an accident? Is he—” I swallow the word on the tip of my tongue just as the one Sadie used just after I first woke up pushes its way back to the forefront of my mind. Murder.

Oh my God. Is Tucker dead?

But, like a balloon popping, I recall not just the word she used, but the context in which she’d used it. No one is going to accuse my sister of murder until…

I turn a horrified gaze on Sadie. My sister has been my rock for months, rarely leaving my side since the last time I’d been admitted to a hospital. She knows, more than anyone, how bad things have gotten between Tucker and me. How angry I’ve been. “Were you— Did I— I couldn’t…”

I don’t even bother finishing my third attempt at a sentence, because the truth is, I could.

Since the day I gave birth—or death, as I often think of it—I’ve fantasized about killing Tucker a million times, in a million ways.

But now, facing it as an actual possibility, I feel only horror and sadness. Horror that I may have taken a life when I know exactly how precious each breath is. And sadness that Tucker might really be gone. For all his faults, and there are many, I loved him once. Deeply.

“Don’t, Poppy.” Sadie is pale, her voice high-pitched with strain. “The doctor says you hit your head, badly. And that you may never recover your memory of the actual incident. If you push yourself, you’ll only get another headache.”

I grab at the hand resting on her hip. “I need to remember what happened.” She tries pulling away but I hold firm. “Please, help me.”

My sister flicks a tongue over her lips, and I catch a slight tremble in her chin. Even after all these years, we still could pass for twins. Her hair is slightly lighter than mine, and her eyes more hazel than green. Beyond our looks though, we are a study in opposites.

And we’re at opposite sides of this argument now. “Poppy, I don’t think you should try to remember. Can’t you just leave it?”

“Leave it—are you kidding me? How can I?”

I loosen my grip and Sadie takes advantage, stepping back. She gnaws at her lower lip, deciding how to handle my questions.

I hate waiting, hate being dependent on my younger sister for information, but I keep myself in check. If I push, Sadie will clam up and I’ll get nothing at all.

In the end though, that’s exactly what she gives me. “Can’t you see? If you don’t remember anything, then the burden of proof is on the police. The less you remember, the better.”