Smoked

tongue running from below my ear down my neck and to my shoulders, left me bereft of thought. When he brought both hands up to cover my breasts, my body writhed of its own accord.
“Touch me,” I said, moving one of his hands between my legs.
Smoke cupped my mound, but I wanted so much more. “Please,” I begged.
His touch was gentle but nonetheless arousing. His powerful arm kept me still while his fingers pleasured me. Instead of satisfying my craving to feel Smoke inside of me, it made the yearning worse.
“I want more,” I whined.
“Soon,” he whispered.
“You’re playing with me.”
“There’s no toy I like more.”
“Is that all I am? A plaything?” I teased. “Smoke?” I said before he could respond. “Were we happy?”
“It was complicated.”
I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Did I really need to know? Couldn’t I be happy that I was in Smoke’s arms and he loved me? Did he love me?
I was about to ask, when I felt his arms tighten around me. “There’s no future in our past, Siren.”
“But there is a future?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“But?”
“I’m a lot older than you are.”
“Thirteen years,” I murmured, remembering that he’d told me I was twenty-six and he was about to turn thirty-nine.
“That’s a big gap.”
With so many uncertainties, our age difference was the least of my worries.
This time, Smoke said he’d stay at the hospital with me until they took me in for the scan and then leave once they took me into the room where the test would be conducted. “I’ll try to be back before you’re finished, but if I’m not, Maureen will wait with you and call me.”
I’d ask what he was doing, where he was going, but with despair weighing me down, I didn’t really care.
When I was finished and exited into the waiting area, I didn’t see Smoke. However, Dr. Mansfield was there, talking to my nurse.
“Hello,” I said.
“Siobhan, I was hoping we could take some time to talk.” Since Smoke wasn’t back anyway, I didn’t see why not.
“Sure,” I said and then turned to Maureen. “You’ll let Smoke know I’ll be another hour or so?”
“I will.”
I followed the doctor down the corridor and outside to the other building where his office was located.
“I want you to know that Smoke came over and talked to me while you were in radiology. He’s concerned about your state of mind.”
“Meaning?”
“It would be natural for anyone with retrograde amnesia to be depressed.”
I waited until we were inside his office before saying anything else. “I’m remembering things,” I began.
“That is very good news.”
“Snippets really. Less than that.”
“What about that concerns you the most?”
“That what I’m remembering is…troubling.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“It doesn’t seem that Smoke and I were happy together.”
“What is your relationship like now?”
I shook my head and looked out the window. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“If you had to characterize it in any way, what words would you use?”
“That isn’t easy.”
“What comes to mind?”
“He cares about me.”
“I would agree. Very much so.”
“He seems conflicted.”
“That doesn’t describe your relationship.”
“Tentative.”
He nodded. “What else?”
“Tenuous.”
“Logical that it would be.”
The phone on his desk rang, startling me.
“Excuse me. I’ve been expecting a call from Dr. Taylor.”
I cocked my head.
“The specialist you met with yesterday,” he said before lifting the phone’s receiver. “Arthur. Have you received any results?”
I watched as he listened, murmuring and nodding his head periodically.
“I’m meeting with Ms. Gallagher presently. May I share these results?” He waited a few seconds and then set the receiver back in its cradle. When he walked back over to me, he pulled his chair slightly closer before making notes on the pad he held in his hand.
He cleared his throat. “There is good news I can share with you.”
“Go on.”
“The MRI and CT scan indicate your brain is healing rapidly. Better than might have been expected.”
“But?”
He shook his head. “The other good news is that nothing showed up to suggest there is a medical reason for your amnesia to continue.”
“That doesn’t sound like good news.”
“It is. It means the ‘snippets,’ as you called them, will likely increase in regularity and, as your brain continues to heal, the details of your memories should become more and more clear.”
I wished I felt as happy as the smile on his face suggested he was. Instead, I was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding.

13
Smoke
I loaded several bags of women’s clothing into the back of the SUV and read the text I received from Siren’s nurse stating she was currently meeting with Dr. Mansfield.
With each day that passed, I watched Siren become increasingly sullen. While it was to be expected, what I didn’t want was for her to sink into a bottomless depression. Whether her memory returned or not, or how quickly it happened if it did, she’d have to find a way to manage her emotions.
Before starting the engine, I called Hammer.
“How’s Siren?” he asked.
I filled him in on the tests the doctor had ordered for her. “I called to thank you for making the connection with the psychiatrist.”
“I’m glad that’s working out.”
“She’s with him now.”
“What about you?”
“I’m headed back there shortly.”
“That isn’t what I meant. Are you talking to Mansfield too?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Smoke. This wouldn’t be easy for anyone to navigate.”
“I’m managing.”
“Keep me posted.” Hammer ended the call, leaving me sitting in the SUV, vacillating between thinking my friend was a pansy-assed pain in my neck or one of the best friends I had. I appreciated that he didn’t press me further; if I chose to talk to the psychiatrist, that would be my business.
I drove up in front of the medical complex and saw Siren and Maureen waiting at a table in a courtyard. When I got out, they stood and walked toward me. The look on Siren’s face troubled me.
I looked at her nurse, who shook her head.
“Dr. Taylor asked us to come in at one,” said Siren.
I looked at my watch. We had a