Free His Saving Grace by Sharon Cullen Page A

searched for a word, knowing it was on the tip of your tongue?”
    She nodded, her eyes wide, searching his.
    “When I search for the word, it’s like it was never in my brain to begin with, as if I’ve never spoken it before. Like the color of your hair.” He raised his fist and spread his fingers wide. “The word has simply disappeared.” His hand dropped to his side and he replaced the digging implement on the workbench. “Multiple conversations are difficult. If there are too many, my mind shuts down. And if you tell me something, don’t expect me to remember it.”
    The implications were far-reaching. How was he to run the earldom if he couldn’t remember the simplest things? How was he to attend social occasions if he couldn’t follow conversations? All of this was expected of an earl, and he didn’t know if he could do any of it.
    Grace turned her back to him, put her hands on the workbench, and leaned forward, taking deep breaths. “Tarik said you’ve been to doctors.”
    “Remember when I said that I came here via Italy and France? We were visiting different doctors, but none of them knew what to do with me. They all treated me as some sort of freak. They either wanted to bleed me or lock me up for fear that I would become a drooling idiot.”
    Her head whipped around to look at him. “You let them
bleed
you? You hate the sight of your own blood.”
    He smiled. The first time in a long time that he could remember spontaneously smiling, and not because it was expected of him. “When one goes to war, one becomes accustomed to the sight of blood.” His smile faded. “At the beginning, the headaches were unbearable, endless and excruciating. I was willing to do whatever it took to get rid of them, but even opium didn’t relieve them.” It was a new low, admitting to his wife that he’d tried such drastic measures. “Slowly, they’ve lessened, but I still get them. A dark room and no noise help.”
    “Have you tried doctors in London?”
    “I’m finished with doctors. Tarik has done more for me than any doctor has, and I will have to be content with that.”
    She straightened to face him. “What do you need me to do?”
    He wanted to hug her. Just hug her. Take her in his arms and feel her body next to his. They used to hug all the time. It had been one of the greatest joys of his life to hold his wife. He refrained. The old Michael would have done that, but the new Michael was still feeling his way and unsure of everything around him. “There is nothing you can do. My memory has not improved much, and I fear it won’t get any better than this. I return to you a broken man.”
    “No.” She shook her head. “Not broken. Just different.”
    “Different and broken. Do not believe that you can fix me, because you can’t. Doctors weren’t able to, and neither can you.”
    “You are not broken, Michael. You simply have a harder time remembering than others do. We can overcome that.”
    He was becoming frustrated, and when he became frustrated, he could not control his emotions as well. She was not understanding, or she was refusing to understand. He’d been like that, too, but time had been his teacher and now he knew that things would always be this way.
    “It’s more than not remembering.” He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “Inside, I’m different. I can’t explain how, but I don’t recognize myself anymore. It’s like I’m living with a stranger.”
    Her brows furrowed in confusion, and he knew he wasn’t explaining himself well enough.
    “Do you remember our first dance?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Do you remember our conversation after?”
    She smiled. “Yes. We laughed a lot.”
    “Exactly. The man from back then is not the same man standing before you today. I can’t laugh anymore. There is no laughter inside me.”
    “Perhaps because you’ve had little to laugh about.”
    “You are being obtuse.”
    “I’m being stubborn, because I refuse to give up on