Remember Me by Serenity Woods Page A

Afghanistan?”
    “Nope.”
    “Perhaps that’s a mercy,” Sarah said hopefully. “At least you don’t remember being blown up.”
    “Yeah,” Hamish said, although he didn’t agree. How could losing half his life possibly be a mercy? Everything he’d done since he was in his mid-teens had vanished—all the people he’d met, the places he’d been, the skills he’d learned. The fact that he couldn’t remember the blast from the suicide bomber throwing him halfway across the country didn’t make up for that.
    To a certain extent, he could hide his amnesia, but he didn’t have the benefit of being able to disguise his other disability. It only took a glance to see he was damaged.
    He rested his hand on his right thigh, his fingers curving over the end, above where his knee should be. It ached, as it always did, mirroring the ache inside him that no amount of medication could take away.
    “We’re glad you’re home, son,” Robert said.
    Hamish looked out at the palms and green fields of the Northland, lush and verdant in the hot summer sun. “So am I.”
    Robert rested his hand on top of Hamish’s, large and warm. “It won’t get better overnight. What you need now is time.”
    Hamish glanced at his father, surprised. Robert McIntyre spoke little and was rarely openly affectionate. Hamish sighed. All his family and friends would be touched and changed in some way by his injury. He wasn’t sure if that comforted or disturbed him.
    “Do you remember this road?” Eamon asked. “We’re not far from Kerikeri.”
    “Yes. I could tell you how to get to town. But it looks different.” Buildings he didn’t recall lined the street, along with trees and landmarks he had no recollection of.
    “It’s changed a lot over the last ten years,” Sarah said. “It’s not surprising it doesn’t look the same.”
    Something flitted through Hamish’s memory like a bird in a loft. It happened all the time—brief glimpses of his life he couldn’t hang onto long enough to make sense of. But one name wouldn’t let him rest. “I keep meaning to ask you...who’s Rose?”
    Again, everyone fell quiet, and he glanced around. His father had been watching him, but he turned back to the road as their eyes met. Sarah appeared startled. Eamon looked interested and said, “Do you remember her?”
    “No.” Hamish frowned. “Only the name. I got the feeling...” He was about to say We were close , but he didn’t want to make a fool of himself when they revealed she was his old kindergarten teacher or something.
    Sarah gave a ghost of a smile. “You met her last time you were home on leave.”
    “When was that?”
    “Back in June, at a midwinter party.”
    Hamish looked from her to Eamon and back again. “And...”
    Eamon grinned. “Let’s just say I don’t think the two of you got out of bed for three weeks.”
    “Oh.” Hamish was pretty sure he wasn’t a virgin, but he couldn’t honestly remember a single woman he’d been with. His heart raced at the thought that there had been a girl so close to his accident. “So what happened? Is she waiting for me?”
    Eamon glanced at Sarah, whose expression softened. “I don’t think so, love,” she said. “You ended it. You didn’t tell us why, though.”
    “Hmm.” The stab of disappointment surprised him. He turned back to the view. He’d known that no wife anticipated his return, but he’d hoped there might be someone pleased to see him come home. A girl to put her arms around him and keep him warm at night.
    Then again, maybe it was for the best. He massaged his aching leg. What woman would be satisfied with half a man? He’d been active, fit, and healthy. His records stated he’d loved practically every sport under the sun—he’d played rugby, surfed, been a damn good athlete, a fast sprinter. He’d undergone rigorous training—none of which he could remember. This Rose, whoever she was, would have fallen for the soldier. She’d have no time for the