Solving Sienne’s problem required creativity, which is how he ended up at her front door one spring afternoon when he was seventeen.
He knocked, expecting her parents but still hoping she might be the one to open the door. That she might invite him in for a normal afternoon of tea. But her father’s large frame filled the doorway instead, his eyes holding a quiet and familiar kindness.
Roman recognized him as Laban, a man his father had insisted was quite religious when they’d caught him leaving the churchyard early one morning. Apparently, Laban prayed with the priest every day.
“Good afternoon, sir.” Roman took off his hat and gave the older man a quick bow.
Laban’s lips parted slightly, the only sign that he acknowledged the greeting.
“I’ve come asking for permission to call on your daughter.” Roman twisted his hat in his hands, waiting to see if the man would rail at him like his wife or if he would miraculously say yes.
Instead, the older man’s eyes took on a sadness that struck deep in Roman’s core. “You don’t even know my daughter.”
Roman stood straighter. “I know Sienne. She loves spring flowers and summer fireflies. She’s excellent at riddles but terrible at catch. She tries to act serious, but she gets excited about the smallest things and can’t contain herself.” His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he kept on like a fool. “I find her beautiful, but she’s also my friend. I don’t think she’ll believe my interest. Not unless I ask properly to court her.” His smile faded a bit. It was more complicated than that, but how else could he explain his need to be with her? The afternoon games and teasing could never be enough.
Her father sighed heavily but didn’t budge. It was becoming awkward how long he was letting Roman stand out on their front porch. “If you know her as well as you say, then you know about her sickness.”
Roman’s hands stilled, and he dropped his hat. “So it’s a sickness?”
He’d wondered how they could explain the memory loss. He’d thought it had to be something else after years of Sienne’s repetitive conversations and unchanging looks. But a sickness made far more sense than Lenora’s talk of curses or Anna’s obsession with keeping Sienne’s pendant buried. Sienne wasn’t actually eighteen; she just thought she was.
“I won’t say anything more,” Laban said. “If she hasn’t explained it to you, she doesn’t want you to know.”
Roman could sense the conversation coming to a close, so he rushed on. “I don’t see why that should stop me from calling on her. Maybe if I come each day, she’ll trust me enough to tell me.”
Her father stared at him for a while, considering.
Roman did his best to look worthy of Sienne, but if her father loved her half as much as he did, that wasn’t possible.
“I think it’s best if you go home,” Laban said softly, but the words still stung. “Saying yes would only end in heartache for everyone involved. My wife and I will take care of her. It’s our duty and our privilege.”
Roman opened his mouth to argue, but Laban shut the door in his face.
The next afternoon, Roman asked his teacher for every resource he had on brain development and memory. The professor’s eyes brightened. He likely expected Roman to become a star pupil as he handed over several tomes that Roman lugged home.
He took one with him to the edge of the woods and laid out a blanket to read while waiting for Sienne.
“Hello,” she called.
He rolled from his stomach to his side and gave her a wave, but his greeting caught in his throat. He’d known for years that she wouldn’t remember him the next day, but something about hearing her father confirm it as a sickness made it more real, more painful. Roman wanted her to remember him the same way he remembered her. He wanted her to love him the same way he loved her.
“What are you reading?” She leaned over the fence.
“I’ll show you.” He stood and gathered up the blanket.
She backed away, eyes wide. Roman opened the gate and spread the blanket on her property. Then he lay back down and opened his book once more, leaving room for her to lie beside him and study its pages.
She hesitated for a moment, like she always did, but her curiosity got the best of her, and soon she was nestled beside him, peering at the diagrams.
At first, she maintained a respectable distance, and they studied together. But the more she got lost in learning the information, the sooner their shoulders touched and their now stockinged feet bumped into each other.
“Why are you studying this?” Sienne turned toward Roman, brow furrowed, the motion placing their faces far too close.
The heat of her arm against his and the scent of honey coming from her hair left him intoxicated. “I’m curious,” he mumbled. “About how our memories work.”
She smiled, and his gaze dropped to her lips.
“Are you studying to be a physician?”
The question startled him out of his haze of desire, and he barked out a laugh. “No, never.”
But then her words sank in. If she was truly sick with a memory disorder, he would never get answers here in this small town. He needed to expand his search. He needed to train under a physician.
The idea should have given him hope. There were answers out there if he was willing to look for them. But the thought of leaving her here was too painful.
“I’d rather stay here and farm my father’s land.” He said the words slowly, as if testing the truth of them. He’d always envisioned life as a farmer, but lately those visions had included her by his side. And her father had made that part of his dream impossible.
“I’m glad.” Sienne nudged her shoulder against his. “I would hate to meet my new neighbor just to have you leave.”
Half of Roman wanted to shift to his side and pull her into his arms, but the other half of him internally cringed at the reminder of her memory loss. She didn’t remember growing up with him the way he remembered growing up with her. She never would.
It didn’t matter if he left. In fact, leaving might be the kindest thing he could do for her.
He spent that last summer finding ways to say goodbye, ways to leave reminders. He planted a dozen different flower bushes along the fence line, knowing she would appreciate the variety in her bouquet. He carved their initials on the fence post, even though she wouldn’t recognize his.
One night, Roman grew especially melancholy.
“Are you all right?” Sienne asked when he lost his place in their book while reading out loud.
“I’m just thinking about tomorrow.”
Her eyes lit up, just like he knew they would. “Me too. Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday!”
Roman feigned surprise, but his face probably held more of a grimace. “Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday.” It hurt to say the words out loud. To acknowledge that he was passing her by. Which was ridiculous. She was aging like him, only she didn’t know it.
“My parents were going to take me to town tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll try to convince them to stay. Maybe we can bake a cake together.”
He smiled, wishing that were true.
“If they say no, I’ll at least bring back a big fat piece from the bakery for you.”
He dared to hug her goodbye that night, to linger with his kiss on her hand.
But he couldn’t bear to see her the next day or the day after. And then he boarded a train for the city to begin training as a physician.