With my coat on my lap, I sit idly, watching my mother watch television.

It feels odd to be here, but Samantha told me I'd gotten to the point where I was here every day with her. She told me we'd managed to heal a lot that was broken. Watching her like this, so distant, so far away, seems like a cruel joke.

Because last I remember, the dementia was barely affecting her. She could live on her own. She could cook her meals. She was sharp as a whistle. Now, I'm here and she's aged considerably.

She's hardly here, and I missed it all. The old me found closure. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

We're both sitting here, without a damn clue.

I'm more frightened, more confused than I've ever been in my life. Everyone is on the outside. Everyone is moving consistently all around me and I can't keep up, because every time I think I'm gaining hold on something, rugs are ripped out from under me-another confession, another event I've lost-brought to my attention.

My last memory is in a restaurant with a man I can't even remember the name of. He found me at the bar while I waited for Samantha. It was nearly Valentine's Day. He offered me a rose he'd bought on the corner of the street and I saw the impending hope of what he thought he'd gain from speaking to me-which I knew would never come to fruition-and I pointed out a girl who'd been alone in a booth the entire night, telling him he'd make more progress there than with me.

They left together. I remember it clearly.

I'd just taken off my engagement ring, free of its binds. Free to do what I want, act how I want. It was a process still, of course, remembering how to adapt to life on my own again, life without Bradley. He was the first man I lived with, the first man I allowed close enough that breaking his heart was inevitable.

Now, he's here, one of the only things that I'm sure of. I've lost sense of who I am, tortured by the person people had begun to see me as-someone so different than the solid foundations I'd entrusted myself to.

Aidan Hughes knows me. I have no clue what prompted me to disclose so much to him, what made me desire him more than my life here.

He's striking. He's so striking to look at, and I'm sure that was one of the factors. I can picture him in the diner, or in the moment he walked into the hospital room when I reemerged, and marvel at the way his face is shaped, the way his smile can touch and transform every angle on it, washing the lasting sadness from them so long as his mouth is curved.

He's clearly brilliant. In the hospital, he'd read, nearly every time he wasn't focused on me. I'm pretty sure it was to get away from me, from that room. He did it to escape.

I don't know how to understand his love. I don't know how to get back what I lost, or even if I want to.

Was I happy? Truly?

Samantha says I was. She says I was bright, that you could catch my glow from a mile away. She said she was jealous of what being with him did for me, how fast he changed the very fabric of who I was. She said I was more alive than I'd ever been.

And just that-just that makes me more frightened than I can even fathom.

What if I go to him, try to force that kind of perfection upon us, only to come out disappointed? There's no way it'll work. There's so much to love about him, but I banished love from my life a very long time ago.

And sitting here, with my mother, studying her frailty and her rapid decline, brings forth a weight to my chest, crushing like an elephant. To love is to hurt.

My mother hurt her whole life for love, and look where she is...sitting with a daughter who spent most of her life pushing away her devotion, resenting her for her mistakes, mistakes that she insisted were memories of a life that took another route.

We spent all the time we had together fighting. And the only portion of my life that we hadn't been I can't fucking remember.

Ruth walks by the doorway, and I whisper her name. My mother doesn't flinch at the sound.

"What time is it?"

"Eight."

"Eight?"

She nods, carrying the basket of linens to the laundry room. I've been here four hours and I hardly noticed. I set down my things to get my mother ready for sleep, sparing Ruth the effort. I comb her hair after she's gotten on her nightgown and lead her into the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she's in bed, her eyes close without so much as a smile, as if I weren't even standing in front of her.

"I'll be back tomorrow, mama," I whisper, clasping her hand.

Grabbing my things, leaving the room with a forced gracefulness, I close my eyes and pray that I remember, that somehow I remember the lost time...if only to regain the time I've lost with her.

***

Samantha sits on the couch, forking through a package of beef and broccoli that Bradley brought over on his lunch break. My own dish of honey chicken remains hardly touched as I try to absorb the words of Rory's article, which she dropped off at my desk begrudgingly, a sign that she's not taken to my promotion well at all.

Bradley re-enters the room with Matthew, bringing him up to date on one of his cases. Matthew of course begins to probe him for more information, insisting he allow one of our journalists conjure up a piece on it. Their voices irritate me, considering my focus has been shot all day.

All week actually.

I've never been like this. I've never not wanted to work.

"I'll have to ask my boss, but I'm sure he'll be fine with it," Bradley says, patting Matthew's back. Matthew smiles, tapping on my doorframe with a jump to his step.

"Good. By the way, Josephine, the new furniture will be in at the end of the week."

"That was fast."

"You should like this office. You deserve it," he replies, leaving us on a mission. My face contorts into a grimace of confusion.

"Why does he keep saying that?"

Bradley comes by the desk, removing his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the seat in front of my desk. He smiles, encouragingly. "Because you do."

"I know I do. I mean, I have deserved it for a long time," I say confidently, shrugging my shoulders. "But why does he say it? I know he offered me this when he wanted Aidan's story, but you said I turned him down. Matthew would only give me this if he had to. He's not the giving type, and all he's done since I've gotten back has been showered gifts, kind emails, zero abruptness."

"Maybe he's come to senses," Bradley says.

"Or maybe he's guilty," Samantha interjects, flashing a look of disdain Bradley's way. We both look at her, blinking at the hostility vibrating around her.

"Guilty?"

"Yes. He insisted he wanted you in Virginia. He allowed you to cut corners and enter the Pentagon with Aidan, knowing how dangerous it was. He's the reason you don't remember your life."

"She lost a year, Sam. Not twenty."

"She lost the year that mattered, Bradley!" she shouts, her face coloring the shade of a beet. My brows shoot up in surprise as she sets down her meal, heaving herself off the ugly couch. "Stop pretending!"

"Whoa, whoa," he says, standing up as well, holding his arms out defensively. "Pretending? Okay, stop. Jo and I never stopped being friends. I've always been there for her!"

"It's the perfect opportunity, isn't it? To get what you want?" she mutters, shaking her head. She points at him, accusingly. "You're taking advantage of the situation, of her."

"I'm sitting right here, guys," I utter resentfully, pushing my hands through my hair.

"No, I'm not, Samantha," he continues as if he hadn't heard me. "And besides, when did you suddenly jump on board the Hughes train? There's always been something off about that guy. From the moment she met him, she was overcome with emotions. One minute, she was heartbroken, the next blind with happiness. It wasn't healthy."

"I bet if it were you she'd fallen and acted like that for, you wouldn't be spouting this bullshit-"

"Stop!" I snap, slamming my hands on the table. "Just...stop."

My head could explode. Samantha glares at Bradley, reaching down to grab the food. She discards it by the door, huffing.

"Thanks for lunch, Brad."

Bradley scowls at me from where he stands, hands on his hips. "What the hell was that?"

"You're asking the wrong person. She knows we're broken up. She knows it's over."

"She wants you with him."

"Yeah, I know," I murmur, looking down at my work to avoid confronting this topic with him.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. He's wrong for you."

"Bradley."

He comes up to the desk, sighing. "I mean it. He and I, we didn't get along. I confronted him, told him I didn't appreciate his secrecy, wanted to know what he was doing with you...he began telling me that you were his...that you were the only thing he needed in his world. You were never working anymore. It was borderline obsessive, Jo."

I meet his gaze, swallowing my unease at those words. "What are you doing?"

His features soften, with regret. "Jo, I'm telling the truth."

"No, you're telling me this to keep me from him, to make me think you're the better man."

"I am the better man. I've been here the longest. I'm steadfast. I'm loyal and I want you. I never wanted to see you hurt. I never would have let you go there while there was a lockdown. No damn way."

Slowly, I begin to take in Samantha's words.

Aidan's words at the diner...

You ran from Bradley to escape the fairytale. I know you were with me because you knew you wouldn't have that with me.

A flash of defiance moves through me like a storm, sending discomfort to every corner of my body.

"No..." I whisper, mostly to myself. "You wouldn't have."

"Because you know I'd do-"

I hold up my hand to stop him, seeing a lot of things in clear light. "You wouldn't have...and I would have hated you for it." He noticeably falters, realizing his stumble, realizing who he's trying to manage. I stare at him intensely, so stunned I can hardly move. "He went with me. He let me do it."

"And because of that, you almost died! You had to be induced. You sat in a hospital room for weeks after you came out of the coma!"

I rise from my chair. "Pick a fight, Brad. He's too dominating, he's too lenient? You're see-sawing here."

He gapes, so overwhelmed he can't find words. "He's not good for you! It's as plain as that! He kept you back when you should have been soaring! And when you needed protection, he failed to see it through! You almost died, you know that right? You almost died in rubble and fire and ash. He did that!"

"No, I'm sure I did that!" I growl, oddly defensive of the man who isn't here to defend himself. "I know it because know myself, and if anything, I probably asked him to go. I don't know. I haven't asked him what happened yet. I'm not ready to. But, what I do know, is that he's told me things about myself that I've never even uttered out loud before...and he knew them. I told him. I don't know what that means but-"

He tugs at his hair. "Jo, he had you under a damn spell! You're falling into it again!"

"No, I'm not. But I'm not writing him off either. Now, you can sit here and try to pin me against him all you want. I may be confused, I may be unsure of myself and my surroundings, but what hasn't changed is my judgment. And I'll make it for my own damn self, all right? I don't need you and Samantha throwing insults and jabs every time you see one another. I don't need your precautions. I'm a big girl, and I can make decisions for myself."

"I don't know how I became the bad guy here!" he snaps, grabbing his jacket off the seat. "I was there when you were in the hospital. I was there even when you were with this guy. And I'm here now. I'm always fucking here, waiting, and I'm the bad guy."

"You can be there for me without pushing an agenda, Bradley. I get that you and I were friends when all of this was happening, and that you want to be here, and if you'd like to remain friends, then we can do that. But, I'm not looking to jump into anything right now, especially not something that in my mind feels like yesterday, okay?"

He shakes his head. "How did we get here? How did all this shit happen?"

I shrug, lacking an answer to magically make him feel better. "I don't know."

"It fucking sucks," he jabs, furiously. He leaves the room with inward rage, leaving me to watch the doorway blankly, unable to feel a damn thing.

"Yes," I whisper out loud, void from attachments. "It does."

***

Perched on the steps of my mother's porch, I stare out over the lawn. It's misshapen and a dull green color in normal daylight. Under the moonlight illuminating the sky above me, I notice patches of dirt where the harsh winter elements left their permanent mark.

It's still cold enough at night that the plants cannot thrive. Still, I've asked the landscaper to come by.

She's still alive. Her house should look like it always has.

The next door neighbor's kids have left their bikes on our side, toppled over onto the ground.

Rubbing my hands together, I gaze at the sky to try an achieve a pulse, something to make me feel less empty, less hollow. There are endless stars visible in the clear atmosphere, dancing and flickering their light over the world.

Bradley's words have replayed over and over in my mind consistently. So have Samantha's.

There are many unknowns, but I won't rely on them to make my decisions.

I still have control over that. I'm not losing my mind.

I'm adjusting. I'm calculating. I'm studying and learning.

Maybe I'm doing it all wrong. Maybe I'm making mistakes, pushing away the wrong people.

Maybe I'm not asking the right questions.

My eyes move slowly from the speckles of burning light to the swing set on the left side of the house, by the gate. Every hair on my body stands on edge, my heartbeat picking up in uneven droves of pace as I watch the swings move on a windless night.

Suddenly, it stops, but the odd feeling hasn't left my body. I continue to stare.

It seems so far away at first, the sound of laughter. It's a baby, or maybe a toddler. It's sweet, and playful. I begin to look around, trying to find where it's coming from, unable to find movement. I begin to tell myself that it must have been inside one of the homes. It isn't until I hear it, as if the child were beside me, and feel a brush to my side that I jump off the steps in one leap, landing on my feet with a painful grunt.

The pain radiates through my leg, and I bend down just to ensure I won't collapse. Gasping to hold back the discomfort, I look at the place I had been sitting, waiting to hear more, feel more, in shock.

I straighten when nothing comes, gathering myself, wondering if I've gone insane.

I wouldn't be surprised. I'm hearing ghosts now.

Swallowing my damaged pride, I walk back to the steps, taking a set in defiance, but as time passes with no sounds, I find I'm unable to shake off the moment.

My chest is full of air that I feel unable to release.

My pulse is still quick.

My mind...my mind is oddly on Aidan.

I run my hands through my hair, trying to contemplate why, trying to dismiss it as a gust of wind that wasn't there, a brush of leaves that aren't hanging in trees. Before I allow myself to think of him, I even contemplate the fact that my mind may just be damaged enough that I'm hallucinating.

I'm reaching for my phone before I even know it. I find his number, the one he inputted before I left the hospital. My finger hovers over the name with hesitance, my exhale only releasing when I've gone and pressed down.

It rings for a few seconds, and I gape to myself, not even sure why I'm calling him.

I pull the phone from my ear and hang up, abruptly, cursing myself.

"Oh fucking hell," I whisper, biting down on my lip. "Get it together, Jo. Come on."

His name lights up my screen in his returning call. I stare at it, and swallow, knowing I need to pick up. I lift it to my ear, grimacing.

"Hi."

"Hi," he says, definitely surprised. "Are you okay?"

"Um, yeah, yes. I'm...I'm totally okay. I just..."

I just heard a ghost and thought of you. Yeah, no. Josephine Taylor, keep your mouth shut.

"Josephine?"

"No, I'm here." I sound like a lunatic. "I'm sorry. It's late."

"That's all right...You sure you're okay?"

"Yes." I press my lips together. Shit. I don't even know what I'm doing. Words are just coming out now. "Are you here? In Seattle, I mean?"

What am I doing?

"I, um, yes," he says, and chuckles uncomfortably. "Yes, I am."

"Okay." I can sense his smile through the phone, and it makes a flush creep through my cheeks. I glance around me at the emptiness, the absolute stillness of the night and exhale harshly, feeling a pull, a pull toward the impossible...the unreachable. "You want some company?"