Remember Me (2 page)

He said his goodbyes, gave his parents a hug, and let Eamon bully him into his car. As his brother put his case and Brandon onto the back seat, Sarah bent to give Hamish a kiss through the window. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us?”

“He’s fine, Mum.” Eamon slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “He just needs some peace and quiet.”

Robert and Sarah waved them goodbye, and Eamon drove off, taking the road through town to the coast.

Hamish let his head fall back onto the headrest. “Jeez.”

“I said you should have gone straight to the beach house.” Eamon slid his sunglasses on. “Have a doze. It’ll take us about an hour to get there.”

So Hamish closed his eyes and fell quickly into a dreamless sleep, waking only when Eamon pulled up in front of the house at Ahipara on the west coast of the Northland. “I went out like a light,” Hamish said as Eamon switched off the engine.

“You obviously needed it. And you still snore like a drain.” Eamon grabbed their bags while Hamish got his crutches and let Brandon out, and the two men walked across the grass to the house, the boxer bounding in front of them.

Hamish fell in love with the place instantly. Built above the sand on a grassy bank, the house’s large windows faced the glittering Tasman sea. Inside, white-painted walls and sparse furniture gave a sense of light and air and let him breathe properly for the first time since he’d returned home.

“What do you think?” Eamon had taken their bags through to the bedrooms and now reappeared, joining his brother by the windows.

“It’s perfect.” Hamish turned and walked slowly around the large living room, examining the driftwood and shell mobiles, the black and white photos of their family on the walls. “How long have mum and dad had it?”

“Five years or so. You stayed here whenever you came home on leave.”

“I don’t remember it at all.” Disappointment threaded through him. He’d hoped visiting familiar places would start the process of renewal for his memory, but it didn’t seem to be happening that way.

Eamon opened the fridge and took out two beers, then motioned with his head to the deck. Hamish followed him out and lowered himself onto one of the loungers. He accepted the beer and took a long draught. Brandon came over and sat beside him, resting his head on Hamish’s right thigh, just above the stump. The dog’s eyebrows twitched as he looked up, and Hamish swallowed down the lump in his throat at the sympathy he thought he could see in Brandon’s large brown eyes. “Do you think he understands? About the leg, I mean.”

Eamon stretched out beside him and tipped his face up to the evening sunlight. “Yeah. Dogs know when another animal’s been injured. They’re pretty smart.”

Brandon shifted on the decking and almost fell off the edge. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Hamish said.

Eamon gave a short laugh and shaded his eyes as he turned his head to look at his brother. “So what did the doctor say about your memory? Is it likely to return?”

“Usually it comes back in days or weeks. It’s been nearly two months for me. Apparently it’s ‘never say never’, but it becomes less likely the longer it goes on.”

The golden sand of the dunes across the Hokianga harbor reminded him of the Afghanistan desert, and he shivered in spite of the hot sun.

They sat in silence for a while and sipped their beer. The waves lapped at the shore, and seagulls cried overhead. Brandon sneezed, and Hamish ruffled his ears. Even though he couldn’t remember getting him, he already loved the dog, whose complete adoration—regardless of Hamish’s damaged physique—comforted him no end.

He leaned his head back and looked up at the orange-tinted clouds. “Tell me about Rose.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What does she look like?”

“Tall. Slim. Brunette. She’s a secondary school teacher.”

“Of what?”

“English. Shakespeare and all that crap.”

Hamish grinned. “Philistine.”

“Yeah, well, literature’s not my strong point. But you two seemed to have fun discussing it. Metaphors and stanzas and shit.”

“So what happened?”

Eamon shrugged and took a long swallow of his beer. “Don’t know—you never told me. You met her the day you came home on leave, at a party. Her folks have a beach house somewhere nearby. You brought her back here for a drink. After the party, I went back to Kerikeri, so I only met her briefly. Far as I know, she stayed the night—and every night after that for three weeks. Mum and Dad loved her. So did Brandon.” He patted the boxer’s rump. “But then you had to return to Afghanistan. I don’t know what happened. You told me you didn’t want to talk about it.”

Hamish frowned. “And I didn’t tell Mum and Dad?”

“Apparently not.”

Brandon licked Hamish’s fingers, and he rubbed the dog’s nose. “Were there many other women?”

“A fair few before Rose. None after, far as I’m aware.”

How strange that he couldn’t remember a single one. “Anyone special?”

“A couple lasted a year or so. But there was nobody you connected with like Rose, even though you were only with her for a few weeks. I’ve never seen you so happy.”

A wave of sadness swept over Hamish. What a shame they hadn’t been able to make it work.

He finished off his beer. “I think I’ll take Brandon for a walk along the beach.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Hamish would have argued, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to cope on the soft sand. “Okay.”

In the end, as long as he took it slowly, the going was relatively easy. They walked to the shoreline, and he let the waves wash over his good leg, smiling as Brandon leapt in and out and growled at the water as if it were a live thing. Eamon skimmed stones, and Hamish filled his lungs with sea air, the breeze cleansing him inside and out. His father had been right. He needed time and peace. Maybe then he’d be able to come to terms with what had happened to him.

He followed the shoreline to the north, and his gaze halted as it fell on a figure a couple hundred yards away. The woman’s long brown hair lifted in the wind, and she raised a hand to brush it out of her eyes. She wore a light blue T-shirt and denim shorts. She began to walk toward them, and his heart gave a strange thump, even though he didn’t recognize her.

As she neared, Brandon noticed her and went bounding up the sand. Hamish called out, but the boxer ignored him. Eamon turned, and the two of them watched as the dog reached her and covered her in wet kisses, making her laugh.

“I’ll be damned.” Eamon put his hands on his hips.

The speech center of Hamish’s brain refused to work, and he could only watch as she pushed the boxer away and came closer.

She walked straight up to him. Without saying anything, she slipped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his chest.

A warm glow spread through him, and he lifted one hand and rested it on her back. “You must be Rose.”

Chapter Two

Rose tightened her grip around Hamish’s waist and buried her face in his shirt. His heart thudded reassuringly beneath her cheek, and he stroked her back gently.

It’s really him.
She bit her lip, hard. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

He dropped his hand and swayed, a little off-balance. She stepped back as he steadied himself on the crutches.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” she said.

“It’s okay.” He gave the smile she’d seen in her dreams, the left side of his mouth lifting slightly more than the right, his brown eyes crinkling at the edges. It remained the same, when so much else had changed.

His hair fell across his forehead and curled around his ears—no longer a regulation Army buzz cut. His tall, broad-shouldered frame still towered over her, but his cheeks had hollowed, and he’d clearly lost weight.

Along with the lower half of his right leg.

“Wow.” She gestured to it. “Kinda lost your leg there, mate.”

He followed her gaze down and then raised his eyes to hers. Amusement flickered in them. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“You’re welcome. Thought I’d better point it out and get the awkward moment out of the way.”

Next to him, Eamon laughed. “Hey, Rose. I’ve missed you.” He stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”

She couldn’t lie. Her gaze slid back to Hamish’s. “I heard you were back. I had to come and see you.”

Sarah McIntyre had relayed the news about his leg. She’d also mentioned his head injury but hadn’t known the extent of his amnesia at the time. Rose held her breath as he ran his gaze down her. Did he remember what had transpired between them? She’d half expected him to turn away or to speak to her in anger when she approached him. But he’d done neither, and now his curious expression suggested he didn’t remember her at all.

Eamon cleared his throat. “We were just having a beer on the deck. Want to join us?”

Rose looked at him, then back to Hamish, not sure what to say. She’d needed to see him with her own eyes, but she’d planned no further than that.

“I’d like to talk to you.” Hamish’s calm voice held no sign of an ulterior motive. “But I’ll understand if you’re busy.”

“No. I’m not busy. I’d love to join you, although I can’t promise I won’t put my foot in it again.” She winced. “See? I’m doing it already.”

To her relief, he laughed. Her heart raced as he turned carefully with the crutches to follow Eamon back to the beach house, Brandon capering around them. What was she doing? Was this wise? She’d fallen to pieces when he left and had only just begun to rebuild herself, a tiny piece at a time. She didn’t want to make it more difficult for herself. And yet...she couldn’t walk away. Nausea rose inside her at the thought of what he’d gone through. She had to talk to him, to make sure he was all right. For her own peace of mind.

They reached the deck, and Hamish mounted the steps with relative ease. He lowered himself onto the lounger, and she perched on the deckchair across from him, smiling as Brandon sat beside her and nuzzled her hand.

Hamish glared at the boxer. “Traitor. I’ve only just arrived and he’s already more interested in the ladies.”

Rose grinned. “Of course—he’s a true McIntyre.”

Eamon laughed and walked inside. Hamish’s lips curved. “I see you hold a high opinion of us.”

“No higher than you deserve,” she said lightly, although his wary expression told her the joke had fallen flat. She softened the words with a smile. “I used to tease you a lot. Don’t you remember?”

He met her gaze and then looked away. “No. I had a head injury, and it gave me amnesia. I can’t remember anything from the last ten to fifteen years of my life.”

She blinked, shocked. “Nothing?”

He shook his head. “Nothing—not the Army, not Afghanistan.” His eyes came back to hers. “Not you. I’m sorry, Rose.”

Brandon got up then and walked over to him as if he could sense that the man needed comfort. Hamish stroked the dog’s ears.

She thought about his words. “But you said my name when I put my arms around you.”

“I remembered your name. It kept flitting around in my head. But I couldn’t remember who it belonged to. Eamon told me who you were.”

“Oh.” She found that hard to take in. He didn’t remember her. He didn’t remember the weeks they’d had together, how they’d felt about each other. He didn’t remember loving her, or what had happened at the end.

Eamon came back out, handed them both a beer, and sat on the lounger beside them. “It’s good to see you. What have you been up to?”

She twisted the top off the bottle and took a swallow. “The usual. Grading papers, preparing lesson plans, writing reports. Dull stuff.” She didn’t mention the depression, about how she’d hardly been able to get out of bed after Hamish left. “I’m on holiday now though, until February, anyway.”

For the first time, she let her gaze rest on Hamish’s leg. He wore cotton cutoffs, the right leg of which he’d folded neatly and pinned over the stump. The limb had been amputated above the knee. “How’s it healing?”

“Not bad. The bomb contained ball bearings that tore through my knee and damaged all the blood vessels below it. But the blood flow looks good now. The surgeon did a great job.”

She nodded, refusing to show the emotion that roiled inside her at the horrific injury. “What happens now? Do you get a false leg?”

“Yes. When it’s fully healed. There’s something called a C-Leg knee prosthesis. It should mean I’ll be able to walk almost normally. I won’t be running marathons any time soon though.” He looked amused.

She sipped her beer. The Hamish she’d known had adored the Army. Losing his career  would have devastated him. Even if he took a desk job, it wouldn’t match being on the front line. And yet he seemed calm, resigned to his fate.

“So, about your memory,” she said curiously. “You really don’t remember a thing from the last ten years?”

“Nope. It’s called retrograde amnesia. It means an inability to remember events that occurred before the trauma that caused the amnesia.”

Eamon stretched out on the lounger. “I keep telling him I loaned him a hundred bucks before he left, but he doesn’t believe me.”

Hamish gave him a wry look. “Hey, if I can’t use the unable-to-remember-birthdays excuse, I don’t see why you should get away with that.”

Rose laughed. Hamish smiled, his eyes warm. He’d smiled at her like that after they’d made love, and the memory sent a frisson of desire up her spine, as well as a twinge of sadness. “So you really don’t remember me?”

He said nothing, just looked deeply into her eyes. Their gazes met, locked. How many times had she lain there at night, picturing him looking at her like this? Aching as she replayed their final argument in her head, unable to rid herself of the agony of those last words? But he couldn’t remember them. Was she relieved or sad about that?

Eamon cleared his throat and put his bottle by his chair. “I’m going to walk to Rock Salt.” He referred to the bar a few hundred yards along the road.

“Oh Christ, don’t go.” Rose stood. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Eamon held up a hand. “Hamish would much rather talk to you than me, I’m sure.”