A few days later, once Dr. Halim had reassured me that I could safely take care of myself, Marissa drove me home.
I stood in the hallway for a while, absorbed in details I had forgotten existed.
“The curtains are blue,” I whispered. “I thought they were green. Brian always said they were green.”
“They stayed blue the whole time,” Marissa said cautiously.
I visited each room like a stranger being shown around someone else’s house.
Photographs on the mantelpiece.
The splinter in the coffee table.
My own reflection in the bathroom mirror, older than I remembered, but unmistakably mine.
“I don’t want to tell him yet,” I said. “I want him to come in and see me looking at him.”
Marissa smiled, but cautiously.
“Anything you want, Gina.”
He left that afternoon after promising to come and see how I was doing.
Alone in the silent house, I suddenly remembered the boxes of Christmas lights that Brian had said were stored in the garage.
