1.

There’s a moment, a second in time, when something happens that we can’t turn back. It’s the accident where we’re not there but at home unaware of what’s coming. 

The instance that changed my life, our lives, happened on an uneventful Friday night. The boys were in bed, or at least pretending to be. More than once, I caught them with screens on under tented sheets. I glimpsed the silhouette of Alex’s curly hair as he bent over his phone. Via a small opening at the top of the sheet, I observed his gaze fixed on what he watched. One arm was draped over his younger brother, Vinny. I wasn’t angry; I had done the same thing at their age, except with flashlights and library books. Alex was on the cusp of turning nine, and Vinny was all of four years. Seeing them bonding together, I hoped they would always be the best of friends.

After my goodnight check, I flopped onto the couch next to my husband, Jordan.

“Are the boys okay?” he asked.

I nodded. He put his arm around me, and I swiped the remote from him.

“Thief!” he said and attempted to wrestle it back from my hands.

“We watched explosions and car chases last week. It’s my turn to choose,” I said. He dropped his head in defeat.

“You’re right, but, I’m going to need backup.” He stood up and ran a hand through a thick crop of brown hair. Wearing his joggers and a long-sleeve shirt, he grabbed his jacket from the hook by the doorway. “Start the movie. I’ll be back before it gets interesting. I’m aware of the movies you pick. Think I’ve known you long enough.” He made goose lips and puckered as he fished his keys from the basket by the front door.

“It has been snowing for a while, and we don’t need the sugar,” I said. We were close to town, but not that close. “You sure it’s not a nicotine fix?” Jordan smoked on and off, though he claimed he was mostly done with it. 

“Relax, it’s just up the hill,” he slid into his jacket.

“Which is an S-curve with snow right now.” I flipped around on the sofa and tugged on his sleeve.

Jordan pried my fingers off. “I’ll be back from the Jiffy Mart in a jiff!” He leaned over and tilted my head to kiss me.  

“Fine. You win,” I said.

I scrolled on the phone until well past what I thought was a normal amount of time. Our Friday night had waned, and my two texts to him remained unanswered. The convenience store was only a few miles away, though. It was up a desolate, snaking hill from our small subdivision to the dollop of a town that contained the essentials for modern life. 

A display of month-old Christmas lights blinked through our dark living room. The sporadic decorations made me think someone continued celebrating, hanging on to a bright spot as a long winter settled in.

I jumped up when the headlights from his car shone through the window. When he entered the house, I was there with crossed arms. Jordan laughed when he saw me, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong and was embarrassed. I opened my mouth to ask the expected question. He put up a hand to stop me.

“I got distracted,” Jordan said with another chuckle, as if to build on a tale. He rubbed his forehead. My texts, the lights, a cemented mailbox, his head smacking the steering wheel. “Out cold.” He wasn’t aware of how long. “But I bought the treats.” He held up the bag, swinging with the loot, and tossed it to me. I felt the carton of cigarettes. Through the plastic sack, I saw a package of Sour Patch Kids and M&M’s. “The car’s a different story.” He fell into the sofa seat at the other end from where I sat. I scooted over to inspect his brow. He winced and smacked my hand from him without an apology.

“You should get this looked at,” I said. “It’s possible it may be a concussion.”

“And leave again for an even farther drive? I’m not going back out.”

“Who would have thought cigarettes could kill you in more than one way?” I said.

He shook his head as if in disbelief.

2.

I woke up to Jordan flailing his arms and legs, fighting an invisible attacker. A heavy hand smacked me, then another. I flew out of bed. His fight stopped soon after, and he was awake but dazed. Without asking him permission, I called an ambulance and had a neighbor stay with the boys. When I got to the hospital, he was in surgery, and my chest was as tight as a stretched hide. The surgeon reported he bored holes in his brain to reduce inflammation.

“What?” I said, more out of incredulity than lack of understanding. The doctor repeated himself. What else could he do? I told him about the fender bender Jordan had prior to bed that evening.

“It might have worsened a pre-existing injury. We’ll know more as time passes,” he responded. I waited by Jordan’s bedside, adrenaline coursing through me, replaying the night. With each occurrence, I recorded a new detail about something I had missed. I examined the minutes I’d had hours ago. I had already had an uneasy concern about his outing. He should have been to the hospital sooner. I held his hand. There was no response, no assurance. My heart thumped, and I had the urge to sprint the twenty miles back home. My brain stopped its instant replay, and I recalled a Superman sequel where he flew fast enough around the Earth to reverse the clock and save Lois Lane. Me thinking I could have changed anything was next to impossible.

3.

Jordan recovered from the procedure a few days later, making a complete recovery for someone who had undergone surgery after a concussion caused his brain to swell. He wasn’t himself, but that was to be expected, given what had happened. My husband slept during the day and played video games most nights. 

“Let us play, Dad!” Alex cried in his pajamas. He jumped beside Jordan, who sat on the floor. Vinny mimicked his brother but was out of sync and slower. “Let us play,” he repeated softly.

“Not now,” Jordan exclaimed, elbowing Alex out of the way.

“Who are you? Their mean older sibling?” I whispered and nudged his shoulder. “You could be a little nicer to your son.” Jordan repositioned himself intent on the game, a cross-country racing venture. When he didn’t look at us, I told the boys to pick out a book for bedtime and that I would read to them.

“But it’s dad’s turn to read!” Alex said.

Jordan shook his head at the large screen in front of him.

“He’ll do it another night,” I said.

I reached over to Jordan to rub his shoulder, but he cringed. 

“What’s the matter?” I questioned, but the video game won his attention.

“I’m tired. Sort of exhausted of everything,” he remarked and tossed the controller. He still hadn’t looked at me, and the words stung. I left him alone.

Later, in the darkness of our bedroom, I asked him what was really wrong. I touched his arm, but he moved it away.

“My sense is I am an unwelcome visitor,” he stated. I felt the hand closest to me move up, maybe in exasperation. “You and the boys have this routine—this rhythm—I’m not a part of.”

“Of course you are. They adore you. They always have—and me too,” I said, a pit of nausea formed within me. “You don’t remember?”

“I do, in the same way when I dream,” he said. “There are bits and pieces, but I’m watching things unfold. And they never finish; there’s no ending.”

“We could start over, get to know each other again.”

“I have no recollection of experiencing any emotions, not even now,” Jordan said, removing my hand from his arm.

He’s been through a lot, I reminded myself, but my thoughts turned dark. The issue may lie not in his memories. It’s that he misled himself a decade ago, and his mind is telling the truth now.

4.

His days became nights. The light bothered him, so he stopped playing the games or attempting to work. Instead, he rose when I drifted to sleep. He was the ghost who paced the floorboards below me, the apparition who startled me in the early morning, staring at our children sleeping. He appeared confused in his own home and studied the portraits on the mantel as if he were a guest. The moment he looked at me, his gaze went straight through, empty of recognition.

Ten weeks have passed since he headed out for cigarettes and a Monster, and something stole the person I knew. Nature, fate, a countdown ticking red numbers inside him that imploded on impact on the way to the Jiffy Mart. He spoke in jumbled phrases like a drunk Yoda, but he’s not joking. He tripped over nothing. Forgot how to drive to the school. Medical coats with sympathetic smiles declared a window had closed. Despite their attempts, they said only time held the answer to his memory. How long until then? I asked. There was never a response. 

At night, he walked the halls, the stairs, and sometimes even outside in the snow. I often awoke to him ransacking a closet or the garage. In the mornings, I saw photo albums open in the blanching sunrise, erasing who we once were. Ten weeks since we last acted like a couple, brushed arm to shoulder, embraced, held hands, or swung little Vinny between the two of us. 

In the darkness, I remembered instincts, forces that drew us together called love, yet Jordan retrieved as if stricken. In the light, he shied away. If my eyes met his, he headed into the nearest room farthest from where I stood. He was the ghost of someone I knew, and time was telling me what I didn’t want to hear. 

Editor: Lucy Cafiero