Read Online The Memory Jar by Elissa Janine Hoole - Free Book Online Page B

his straight white teeth, and I breathe in, breathe out. I will not have a panic attack on television. Tom speaks, or at least his smile moves into the shape of words, but my brain snags on the sound and doesn’t quite translate until a half-second later. Everything is jumbled. I look up into Tom’s eyes, and he nods encouragingly at me to answer the question.
    â€œI’m sorry, what?” I turn back to look at Scott, and Tom scoops up the camera and tripod and moves around toward the foot of the bed.
    â€œThat’s great, I can get Scott in the frame and then I’ll pan off of you,” he says. “I was asking about how long you’ve known each other, maybe get you to describe Scott, the way he was before the accident, maybe what the two of you were doing on the lake, if you can talk about it.” Tom gives me a small nod, lets me know he understands this is personal and a bad time and all that, but, you know, it’s his job. The camera looks like something you’d see at the back of a high school play.
    â€œWe’ve been together for two years,” I say, and then I pause. My left hand moves up on its own volition to rest on the lacerations on my face. “Scott is … he’s a wonderful guy. He loves the outdoors, especially that island on Grave Lake. In the summer he fishes from his kayak or takes me out to the island in his canoe. In the winter we take the snowmobile, and he’s always careful, he always drives so safely.”
    â€œYou have no memory of the crash?” asks Tom.
    I shake my head. “It’s all dark. I lost consciousness for a while.”
    â€œSpeaking of consciousness, Scott’s sister said that he’s progressing as the doctors work on bringing him out of the coma.” Tom leans forward. “Do you think he can feel you here? Can he hear what you say?”
    â€œI don’t know. The nurse said he can maybe smell things. I put some of his favorite candies under his nose to help him remember.” I shrug and sit down on the wheeled chair, scooting Scott’s bedside table out of the way so I can lean in closer to take his hand. “I’ve been telling him stories.”
    â€œWould you tell him one right now?”
    â€œOn camera?” My breathing has settled, my heart still fast but steady, and at least it doesn’t seem like he’s accusing me of anything. In fact, I might cooperate just so I can continue to look at him, to see him looking at me through a stranger’s eyes. Beautiful eyes.
    â€œYeah, maybe you could tell a story about something hopeful, something that could help us understand what kind of person Scott is, what he hopes for and dreams about.” Tom’s grinning now, little scrunchy spots on the outside corners of his eyes. He’s a good guy, just out of college probably. It might not hurt to tell a little story, only one. And what if I could wake him up right now, say the magic words?

Then
(To Tom, Plus Camera)
    So I’ll tell about how Scott taught me how to swim. The first skill I mastered was floating. I could lie on my back in the sun and drift in the shallow water, and we both relaxed. I would float and bob in the water until I got cold and then sprawl across my Hogwarts towel on the warm sand. Scott fished the weeds along the shore for bass, which he caught and then released in a quick silver shimmer.
    Casting was an act of meditation, and so was floating, and our conversation drifted in that pleasant place where both participants are truly at ease. The island was our sanctuary.
    â€œI tried fly fishing in Idaho,” he said, and I shaded my eyes, tried to read his face but it was inscrutable. “Fishing and baseball and setting up Joey with a string of grandmas to babysit him all day long so I didn’t have to keep him out of the way.”
    I turned in a slow mermaid roll that I was beginning to perfect. “This was when you stayed with your aunt and