She told herself this technique was normal—not crazy.

No matter how much she tried to focus on other issues, Meredith kept coming to Claire’s thoughts. What if she stayed away or didn’t know what Claire had done? What if she didn’t come back?

Unfortunately, Claire knew the answer to her own questions—that knowledge propelled her steps—if Meredith didn’t return—there’d be no one to help Claire remember the man she loved—no one to help her remember the man who would never return. Meredith was the only person willing to break the rules—four, five, six—turn—one—Oh, Claire knew rules—but this rule couldn’t be maintained—as much as she wanted to show everyone that she could behave, obeying this rule wasn’t an option.

Claire knew her memories weren’t right. There were gaps the size of craters! When Claire tried to remember Tony—real memories mixed with illusions. Meredith’s stories helped her remember—they helped to bring color back to the dimming scenes from her past. As Claire tried to recall specific times from her past, panic bubbled up from her chest—three, four, five, six—turn—one, two—Sometimes she’d be able to picture a place, but not the faces. Other times she’d imagine the faces, but the scents were gone. Her pacing quickened as she feared her sacrifice—telling everyone she was getting better—was all for not.

Concentrating on his face, the color of his eyes, and the scent of his cologne, the sound of the opening door or moving cart didn’t register. Perhaps ignoring the worker was a conscious decision. Claire was tired of talking—turn—one, two, three—The day had been so full! There’d been so many different people asking so many questions. She wanted time to process—time to sort things out—time to spend alone with Tony. Yes, she knew that wouldn’t truly happen; nevertheless, memories were better than nothing.

Claire didn’t notice the woman beside her until she felt the hand on her arm. Turning toward the touch, her friend’s voice quieted the numbers and slowed the torrent of thoughts. Although she hadn’t heard what Meredith was saying, Claire bowed her head and whispered, “Oh, thank God.”—“I was worried about you.”

“About me?” Meredith lifted Claire’s chin. “What about you? Are you all right?” Hugging her friend, she added, “Thank you!”

Walking toward the table where Meredith had placed Claire’s food, Claire replied, “I’m tired”—“That’s normal though”—“isn’t it?”

Smiling, Meredith nodded. “Yes, Claire, it is, but what you did, oh my God, it was beyond normal. It was amazing!”

“I can’t lose you”—“Please don’t follow the rules”—Claire spoke in quiet short bursts—“I need you to help me remember”—“You’re my only connection to him.”

“What you did was a big risk. You told me you weren’t ready. Thank you.” Reaching for Claire’s hand, Meredith squeezed and said, “I’m not your only connection. Did you talk to Emily about Nichol?”

Claire’s relieved smile disappeared. “I did”—“She doesn’t want me to see her”—“Not yet”—“Until they’re sure”—“I’m better.”

Meredith’s heart broke. “What do you want?”

“She showed me pictures”—Claire’s voice lightened—“She’s beautiful!” Lifting her moist green eyes toward Meredith, Claire added, “I want to hold her”—“in my arms.” When she closed her eyes, a renegade tear slid down her cheek. “I’ve missed so much.”

“But there’s so much more to experience. We’ll get you better. You’ll be holding Nichol in your arms soon.” Meredith questioned, “How did your family reunion go?”

Claire sighed and shrugged her shoulders. She lifted her fork and began to eat. After a few bites, she offered, “There were a lot of questions.” “I’m tired of talking.”

“It’s all right. You don’t need to tell me anything.”

Hurriedly, Claire offered, “I didn’t tell them your last name.” “I just said”—“Meredith”—“That won’t get you in trouble?”—“Will it?”

“No, I’m using Jerry’s last name—Russel.”

Claire exhaled. “Good”—“can you keep visiting?”—“Will you?”—“Please?”