by Nicole Snow
Seriously.
Just imagine being married to a woman who might never remember the day you married her. I sit up and look him straight in the face. Eye to eye.
“You know I’m just kidding, right?” Like earlier today, the pull is too strong to resist, and I lean closer so our lips can touch. Heat flares inside me as our lips clash together in this red-hot collision.
Then comes disappointment.
He cuts our kiss short and jerks up.
I hear something echoing in the house, a bird call? It’s the doorbell. I realize it a second later.
“There’s Cash,” Flint says. “Be right back.”
Great. Perfect timing. Leaning back against the couch, I ask, “How does he get through the gate, anyway?”
“He has an opener. One of a very short list of people I trust.”
So we can be interrupted at any time, day or night? It just keeps getting better.
Okay, so I’m just being bitchy. You’d be too if your chance to suck face with a man as handsome as Flint Calum was rudely ripped away.
Cash is the only doctor I’ve ever heard of who makes house calls.
He strolls through the front door Flint holds open.
“Hello, hello,” Cash says, walking toward me. “How’re we feeling today? Any more dizzy spells?”
“Nope,” I say, “but I’ve been remembering a lot about sea turtles.”
He looks up from his bag on the coffee table. “Turtles?”
“Turtles. You know, because I own a turtle tour company.” Not sure about that, I look at Flint. “I do own it, right?”
“Yeah, honey. All yours,” Flint says.
“Ah, yes, I do recall hearing about your escapades with the local marine life. Very lucrative, I’m sure.” Cash snorts back a chuckle as he wanders over, then shines a mini flashlight at my eyes.
“Jeez!” I throw my hand up, trying to adjust to the brightness. “A little warning first, maybe?”
“My apologies, Valerie. Just figured you’d be as anxious as I am to get this over with. Look straight ahead, please, and no blinking.”
Sighing, I listen, and then sit through another ten or fifteen minutes of mind-numbing questions and annoying tests. At least he doesn’t want to draw blood. I hate needles.
“We Googled amnesia but didn’t find anything too helpful,” I say, just as he finishes listening to my lungs.
“No surprise. It’s standard with your condition. Time and rest are really the only medicine,” he says.
“It did say forgetting who you are is pretty rare,” I tell him, my cheeks heating.
“Correct. Cases of true long-term personal dissociation are quite rare with amnesia and fugue states. Permanent damage to a person’s identity usually comes with more serious traumatic brain injuries.”
His dark-green eyes cut through me. For a second, I hesitate, unsure whether he’ll laugh at me if I say what I want to. Whatever, here goes.
“I’m not pretending, you know,” I say quietly. I don’t even know when that worry hits me, but it does. “I’m not faking amnesia. For attention or something. I don’t know, if there was ever any—”
“Doubt? Perish the thought, lovely lady,” Cash says. “You’re a happily married woman. Perfectly well adjusted. If I had any concerns about other motives for your behavior, you wouldn’t be dealing with me right now. Your husband would’ve brought you a shrink.”
I look over. Flint daggers him with this weird, angry look.
“Okay. I guess I’m being silly. It’s just...from what we read, people lose their memory, short-term or long-term, but usually they still know who they are, deep down. Just not always where they are.” I look down, fidgeting with the chair.
Why am I babbling like this? It’s almost like I’m trying to make myself believe it more than Dr. Ivers, and I don’t know why.
“Precisely. And this is why doctors often suggest patients refrain from visits to Dr. Google. They just love to self-diagnose themselves into a panic, always assuming the worst. You’d be stunned at how many people come to me convinced they have a terminal condition, only to find out it’s a stomach bug or a fractured toe.”
I nod. I’ve heard of that somewhere.
“Memory issues are unpredictable, damnably hard to pin down, you understand?” Cash asks, looking me over one more time before tucking his instruments back into his bag. “Every case is a little different, but don’t let that worry you. I’ll give Flint some pointers on what he can do to help.”
“All right,” I answer. “Thanks.”
He aims a brief smile at Flint. “So, besides turtles, is there anything else you remember?”
“I wish. The turtle stuff just came flooding back while we were on the beach. It helped seeing a huge group of them lounging around nesting. Sort of like the cheesecake dessert from the shrimp truck...it’s just something I know.”
“Shrimp truck?” He looks at Flint again.
“We took a drive to the North Shore,” Flint says, scratching the back of his head. “You said not to keep her cooped up all day. So we did something that’d get her mind off of remembering. She was with me the whole time.”
Dang. If a man’s gaze could chuck a spear, that’d be exactly how Cash looks at Flint.
There’s serious tension between them.
I don’t get it.
Did Cash tell him to keep me under lock and key? I wonder if he’s afraid I’ll wander off or collapse where nobody can get to me or something. But the way he talks...it’s like I’m not in any danger, and all I need to do is sit and twiddle my thumbs until the light bulb flicks back on in my head.
But I hate thinking this angry thing between friends is due to me.
“It wasn’t his fault,” I say, straightening my shoulders.
Cash looks at me. So does Flint, who clears his throat.
Whoa.
I feel like a balloon that everybody in the room wants to squeeze the air out of.
Still. I can’t have either of them thinking badly about Flint taking me out or fighting over this.
“He was just trying to make me feel better, Doctor. I got dizzy this morning when I woke up, remembering my maiden name. It’s Gerard.”
I’m not sure what’s worse. This tension, or that name. I force myself not to shiver as another wave of icy darkness washes over me.
“Gerard? Interesting,” Cash says coldly, adjusting his collar. The man looks like he’s very interested, actually, but doesn’t want to show it. “You remembered without any prodding?”
“She did,” Flint snaps.
Hello, weirdness. I open my mouth, but the guys are too fast.
“What else do you recall, Valerie?” Cash’s eyes soften as he looks my way again. “Anything else about your family?”
“Nothing much.” I bite my lip, that weird dream with my brother on the tip of my tongue. But somehow, I get the feeling it’ll only make things worse if I drag it out in the open. “That’s not Flint’s fault either.”
“No, certainly not. I didn’t mean to imply...never mind.” Cash nods briskly, checks the instruments inside his bag one more time, then picks it up. “Good news is you checked out healthy, otherwise. The butterfly stitches are coming mildly loose, but you can just let them fall off on their own. I doubt you’ll even have a scar there when all’s said and done.”
“Great,” I say.
“I’ll be back later this week to check on you again. I think you’re doing well enough to decrease the frequency of these weekly visits,” Cash says, lifting his eyebrows.
I smile and turn. Flint keeps glaring. I’m not surprised when he follows Cash out the door.
Oh, boy.
Watching from a distance, the air sticks in my lungs, wondering what this is really all about.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m certain they’re arguing. I consider walking closer so I can make out their conversation, but I really don’t want to hear them bickering over me.
I
don’t like confrontations, yelling, bad vibes. I feel like I’ve already seen too much of that ugliness.
Something brushes my foot. Savanny stretches next to me, he’s been near ever since we sat down to search for amnesia tips.
I shift so I can reach him across the sofa, running a hand over his silky fur, admiring his spots. It’s familiar, petting him like this. I kinda like it. Even in this crazy, mixed-up mind, there’s still the cat.
Flint remains outside talking to Cash for a while. I can see them through the window every time I look up.
It’s exasperating, knowing I’m the cause of this...whatever it is.
So I lean back and close my eyes, stroking Savanny’s back, trying to focus on the soft, rhythm of his purr. Yep, this is too familiar.
Sitting alone, irritated, frustrated. Quietly venting in gentle scritch-scratch motions across this beast’s back.
“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” I talk to him softly.
Savanny looks up, slurring his purr into a low grunting sound as he sniffs my fingers. It’s like he’s agreeing.
He’s always been my confidant. My friend, a big furry rock whenever I need grounding.
I don’t know how I’m sure, but I am.
The tag he’d been wearing, the gold pendant, flashes in my mind. I see it hanging in front of me, swinging, catching the sunlight, nearly blinding.
It hurts.
Flashbacks aren’t supposed to be freaking literal.
I’m not even sure what Flint did with Savanny’s collar, but I don’t want to see it again.
“Val?”
My eyes snap open at the booming cadence of Flint’s voice.
The nausea dissipates, leaving guilt in its wake. “I’m sorry.”
He frowns. “For what?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. That’s as bad as lying, and I know you’d never do that to me.” I let my hand fall to the sofa. “You and Cash were arguing over me.”
“You’re right, we had words.” He sits down next to me, this roughness in his expression.
“Why, though? What’s wrong?” I lay a hand on his shoulder, turning to granite under my fingers.
“Just wanted him to take you to the damn hospital, but he insists there’s nothing they can do for you there. That and...fuck, I don’t know. I wish I could get you checked out by somebody who isn’t such a raging smart-ass sometimes.”
“But you know I’m okay. Everything we looked up agrees with Cash.”
“You can’t believe everything online.” He adds a disapproving grunt at the end.
My skin pricks. I get the funny sense there’s more he’s not saying.
Surely, my husband wouldn’t lie to me...would he?
“Well, this time, it’s true, and I’d much rather be here than a hospital. I don’t like them. The noises, the loneliness, ugh, the food. That’s why you brought Cash in, isn’t it? Some weird thing I have with hospitals?”
He looks at me, confused.
Annoyed, I push off the couch, stretching on the tips of my toes. “It’s all just infuriating. Not remembering or knowing what to do about it.”
“Val, stop.” He grabs my hand. “You’re getting riled.”
I give in to his tug and plop back down on the couch. A small part of me enjoys how he anchors me.
“Why shouldn’t I be? You have no idea how awful this is, Flint. That’s the only thing wrong with me. These gaps in my mind, driving me crazy.”
“You’re right, I don’t know,” he growls. “But you’ve remembered plenty, and I’m sure there’s more on the way, all in good time.”
I huff out a breath. “Good time. That’s one phrase I’ve heard twice today, and I still don’t get what’s so good about it.”
Savanny leaps on my lap then, butting his head beneath my chin. It’s amusing how animals always pick up human negativity and jump right into the fray.
I start to push him aside, but don’t because...holy crap. Here come the memories.
Savanny, as a little kitten, fluffy and so light he’s almost yellow. Me being excited, nuzzling him against my chest, laughing as he tries to swipe playfully at my face. So freaking happy to get him.
It hurts. It’s too much, too soon. I press my hand to my temple, but it doesn’t help, I can’t stop the avalanche in my head.
“Val, you with me?” Flint asks, grabbing my shoulders, gently massaging them, trying to bring me back.
“Yeah. I’m just...yeah.” I say, drunk on the dreamlike scenes in my head. “It’s Savanny.”
I tell him what I just saw, then continue, “I got him for my sixteenth birthday. I was pumped because I’d wanted a cat like him forever. When I was little, I’d always wanted a cheetah. No joke. So my dad gave me Savanny because he was as close to a cheetah as my father could get...and probably the safest option, too.”
“So you got your Cheeto cat. That’s good news, isn’t it?” Those brilliant blue eyes of his burn big and bright, almost miniature skies of concern for me.
“Yeah, but...” Hot tears burn my face. “It’s not that. My father was alive. He’s not now. I just remembered...” A sob chokes off my lungs and I suck in a big breath. “He’s dead, Flint. My father’s dead.”
“Shhh. Come the hell here,” Flint whispers, pulling me into his arms.
I throw my face against his chest, burying it. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.
“He died. But when he was alive, he bought us these big, expensive gifts. Crazy ones.” There’s more to it, I think, but it’s not crystal clear. “How did he die, Flint? You know about it, don’t you? How did my father die?”
I just want the truth, even if it’s another guaranteed punch to the face.
He holds me tighter, his lips thinning, finding his words. “He had a heart attack, babe. Real abrupt. There was nothing you could’ve done, or the doctors.”
More pieces fall into place.
My father’s funeral. A polished, onyx-colored coffin. My mother sobbing into a silky handkerchief, her mascara smeared. A reverend dressed in black, his words just a blur, an echo of regret and longing and well wishes for his soul.
Funerals are flipping traumatic when it’s someone you love. Everything comes back in dramatic snatches and half-memories with grief, and no, that’s not just my amnesia.
It’s the human condition.
There’s an emblem on his casket. I think Ray put it there. When I pass by for the last time, watching through a humid veil of tears, I can make out the little details. It’s...
My eyes snap open, and I struggle up, staring into Flint’s deep gaze. It’s blurry, but things are coming through. “Savanny’s collar! It’s my family’s bird, our symbol. King Heron. King Heron Fishing.”
Flint nods like his head suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.
I should be happy with my little breakthrough, but I’m not. And clearly, neither is Flint.
Somehow, I’m just chilled to the bone, even in his huge, welcoming arms.
“Why does that make you angry?” I whisper.
“I’m not mad,” he says. “Not at you.”
“It’s your eyes. They’re dark, stormy. Like...like you’re hiding something. What is it, Flint? What aren’t you telling me?” I don’t have a lot to go on but this odd hunch; everything’s still so blurred, like I’m stuck recalling bits and pieces.
Flint opens his mouth, but then closes it again.
“Savanny.” I twist to look at the cat who’s moved to the floor, licking one paw and brushing it over his ears. “I named him Savanny because he’s a Savannah cat. Half wild serval, half domestic breed, and...pretty illegal.”
“Yeah,” Flint says. “Your little boy’s an outlaw. He’s an exotic class that’s been totally illegal to own on the islands for years. It’s a wonder how he ever got imported here.”
My breath stalls in my lungs, and I look at Flint again. “My family. They’re into illegal stuff, aren’t they?”
“That what you
remember?”
“Not really, I just...it makes sense. Dad gave me a cat he knew I shouldn’t have.” I swallow the lump in my throat at how dark his eyes have turned, how sad. “That’s what you’re keeping from me, isn’t it? What you’re hoping won’t come back?”
He cups my face with one hand, and I grasp his hand, keeping it there, needing to feel him, to know I’m safe.
“I don’t know all the details, but I’m working on it.”
Fear bubbles up inside me. “Working on it? No, you can’t. You’ll get hurt.”
It just flies out of my mouth. I know that’s a real possibility. People getting hurt. My hands start shaking.
Flint notices. He releases my cheek and takes my hands, squeezing them so tight it breaks my heart.
Holding on firmly, he says, “Hurt? No damned way. Same for you, Val. Cash and I worked security and rescue for years, high capacity. Kicking ass was all we knew before I sold my patent and he started up his practice. We might bicker like hell, but we’re tight as brothers. We know what we’re doing, and we’ll keep you safe.”
Safe. That’s exactly what I’ve felt with him near, but now, I’m wondering if it’ll truly be enough.
I shake my head.
“Look at me, honey. You’ve got to do me one thing.” He waits for my eyes, pressing his forehead against mine, those bright, beaming eyes waiting for my full attention. It’s like they already see through me.
“What?” I whimper.
“Trust me, Val. Give me that, and I’ll deal with all the rest.”
My heart nosedives. I do trust him. It’s what I can’t remember that I don’t trust.
Maybe that’s why I can’t remember more.
I don’t want to know about my family, the dirty stuff they’re involved in. There has to be more, a clear and present threat. Not just my dead father walking on the wrong side of grey lines.
My skin feels like it’s full of roaming spiders. I look at Flint, staring into his eyes, another uncomfortable question forming like a thunderhead.
If my family does bad things, illegal things, then...how on earth did I wind up married to him?
6
A Rare Bird (Flint)
