by Nia Arthurs
If I knew then what I know now about Kent’s stab wound and amnesia, I don’t think I would have taken him home. It was a selfish choice to begin with, but now I’m even more ashamed.
If I could go back, I’d call an ambulance. Follow it to the hospital. Stay with him until he woke up and wait to see if he was okay.
But I didn’t and there’s really no sense wishing for things I can’t change.
I look around some more before giving up. Kent’s wallet isn’t here. Now I’m just wasting my time.
I drive back home, deep in thought. When I slow down in front of my place, I’m stunned to see Tyron leaning against the gate.
I hop out of the vehicle and run to him. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in school?”
Tyron turns to me, eyes squinting against the harsh sunshine. The sweat gathering on his neck and staining his white uniform shirt says he’s been here a while. “I couldn’t wait.”
“To do what?” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. Get in the car. I’m driving you back to school.”
“How is he? The guy we robbed last night.”
I arch an eyebrow, wishing he’d shown this much concern yesterday when Julius was beating Kent hard enough to break open an old wound. “He’s alive. He’s fine.”
Technically, he’s alive but ‘fine’ is subjective.
“Here.” Tyron shoves an object into my hands.
I stare at my palm and realize it’s a wallet. “Is this…?”
“Yeah. It’s his.”
My head whips up. “Did you lie to me? Did you have it all along?”
“No.” Tyron swallows. “I went back out to get it last night.”
“Ty!”
“I know. I know. You told me to stay put, but if I had, someone would have picked it up and taken it. I only went back to the alley and then headed home. I swear.”
I stare into his brown eyes and sense that he’s telling the truth. At least I hope he is. My brother’s pulled the wool over my eyes before.
“Amaya, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Is he… going to press charges?”
“Don’t worry. He doesn’t remember anything.”
Tyron tilts his head. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I grab his elbow, “you need to go to school.”
“But—”
“No more questions.”
Tyron climbs into my car and stays silent the entire ride.
Chapter Seven
Kent
I find a couple US dollar bills on my dresser and head out in search of something to eat. Uniqua isn’t at the desk when I walk off the elevator and into the lobby, but I nod at the new concierge anyway.
She smiles back.
There’s a public park on the other side of the hotel and I stroll toward it, certain that I’ll be able to find a meal for less than ten Belize dollars.
After talking to Wilson, I made a list of all the things I needed to do while I was here. ‘Go to the hospital’ and ‘Report my theft to the police’ were priorities, but I figured I should fuel up before I tackled either of those things.
The sunshine splays over the sparkling expanse of the Caribbean Sea. A soothing breeze blows my way.
Children in school uniforms laugh on the playground and parents hang around colorfully painted picnic benches, chatting with their friends or staring at their cell phones.
The more I look around, the more I understand why I chose Belize instead of vacationing somewhere else. The air is balmy and light. A sense of peace that seems almost supernatural lingers in the draining sunlight.
Maybe it’s the calming scenery. The way nature threads so harmoniously with life here. Maybe it’s the spirit of the people, cheerful and open in spite of their circumstances. Whatever it is, I feel lighter just walking around.
My nose picks up the scent of frying beef and twitches. I haven’t eaten all day, but my stomach isn’t devouring itself. Instead, I’m more curious to taste the local food than anything else.
I stop at the nearest hut and order a serving of fried tacos. Instead of eating back in the lonely hotel room, I park myself in front of the sea.
It might not be a world class dining area, but it is a world-class view. The sunset is brilliant.
I have to force my gaze away so I can eat, but the moment I do my taste buds burst to life. Man, this flavor is intense.
I dip my taco into the red sauce and feel my stomach awaken. The food disappears in minutes, and I toss the empty container in the trash.
My steps are ten times lighter as I head back to my hotel room. I’m refreshed, rejuvenated and ready to tackle my to-do list before I go to sleep and lose all memories of this day.
I stroll into the hotel and take the elevator, but the moment I approach my door, I freeze. It’s slightly ajar.
Did I forget to lock it? I wrack my brain, afraid the memory has disappeared like all the others, but it comes to me.
I definitely locked the door before I left.
My hand instinctively moves to my side, right above my gauze. What if the person who stabbed me snuck into my hotel room? What if he’s still in there, waiting to finish the job?
The smart thing to do would be to call hotel security, but I decide to ignore my common sense. The need for answers presses more firmly than the need to be safe. What if I leave and the guy escapes? I’d have squandered an opportunity to catch him.
My shoes brush the carpet as I ease the door further and slip inside. The lights are off—just like I left it—but the television is on. Someone is watching the game show channel.
The audacity…
Irritated, I abandon all attempts at stealth and burst into the room. My eyes slam into Amaya’s and confusion descends, drowning out the roar of my adrenaline.
“Amaya?” I ask, head tilted.
“Hey.” She grins and clicks off the television, rising from the office chair where she’d been lounging. She stretches, taking her time to work the kinks out of her back like an honored guest instead of an intruder.
I wave uneasily. “Hey.”
“I was wondering when you’d get back.”
I stare at her, at a loss for what to say. It’s possible we made plans to meet up again, but I don’t remember it. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?”
“This.” She slips a black key card between her fingers.
I blink, recognizing my room key. “Where’d you find that?”
“Someone found it and returned it to me.” She tosses my wallet over. “You’re welcome.”
I catch it between the crook of my elbow and smile. “That’s awesome.”
“Right?” She offers me a cheeky grin.
“But…”
“What?” She stalks closer, craning her neck to stare at my wallet. “Is something missing?”
I tuck the wallet back into my pocket since that’s the least of my concerns right now. “Why didn’t you just mail it instead of sneaking into my hotel room?”
“You almost died on my living room floor. I have your blood on my blankets. It’s not like we’re strangers.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And,” her bravado slips, “I was worried about you.”
Silence blares between us. I clear my throat and glance away. “Like I told you this morning, I’ve been handling this for a while. I don’t need your pity.”
“I don’t pity you,” she says, following me to my bed.
I narrow my eyes at her brazenness. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?”
“You broke into the room of some guy you barely know. I could be dangerous.”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘breaking into your room’ since, technically, I had a key.” She tosses her short, curly hair. “And please. I can handle you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“The point is you have amnesia and a stab wound. For all you know, I’m the one who stabbed you. Who should be more
afraid right now?”
I narrow my eyes. “Did you stab me?”
Amaya throws her hands up and groans. “Really?”
“You brought it up first.”
“No, I didn’t. My turn. Are you dangerous?”
“I…” My mind goes blank. Is there really any way I can know for sure if I can’t remember what I did or who I was last week? “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t sound like you believe that.”
I turn away because her bluntness makes me slightly uncomfortable. “Well, thanks for checking in on me and for the wallet. See ya.”
“Not so fast.” She plants her feet on the ground. “Do you still not remember anything that happened last night?”
“Or the night before that. Or last week. Or last year.”
“That’s incredible,” she says with an excited gasp. When she sees me staring at her, she wipes the smile off her face. “I mean, that must be hard for you.”
I sigh. “It’s not so bad right now.”
What scares me is enduring the panic and uncertainty afresh tomorrow morning, but I don’t know Amaya enough to tell her that.
“Have you eaten?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Good. I was scared you’d have to starve because you didn’t have any money so I brought a few of my mom’s lemon tarts.” She jerks her chin toward the refrigerator. “Well, it’s actually made with lime not lemon, but whatever.”
“Uh… okay.”
“Oh.” Amaya digs into her back pockets and hands me a phone.
“What is this?”
“A smartphone.”
I cut her a look. “I meant, why are you giving it to me?”
“Because yours was stolen and I happen to have another one lying around. It’s a Belize number, so you might not be able to make international calls without Wi-Fi but, it’s better than nothing. I put credit on it before I came here.”
I study the smooth face of the phone and then glance at her. “Why are you doing all this? You don’t know me.”
“Your blood is in my sheets, remember? I’m sure that counts for something.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” She shrugs. “You could have died in front of me. I still feel responsible for you so just… take it. Okay?” She closes my fingers over the phone.
I watch her brown hands resting against mine. Her kindness is overwhelming, which makes me skeptical. What does Amaya expect to get out of this?
“Nothing,” she says as if reading my mind. Her smirk warns that she might have. “Consider it a national apology for all the crap you’ve been through. That isn’t the Belize I know and love. If you give me a chance, I’d like to make it up to you.”
“How?”
“Are you free tomorrow?”
“I just need to visit the police station and the hospital.”
Amaya’s smile seems strained. “I’ll take you.”
“There’s no need.”
“I want to. After, we can go sightseeing. My treat.”
I study her from the top of her curly head to her sparkly toe polish. “Don’t you have a job?”
“I’m a singer.”
My eyebrows shoot straight up. “You?”
She laughs at my expression. “I’m not a star or anything, but I’ve had two big hits. Have you heard of ‘Belize, come thru’?”
I stare at her blankly.
“How about ‘Love remains’. It’s a reggae… okay, you don’t know that.”
“I’m sorry. Reggae isn’t really my thing.”
“It’s fine.” She waves away my concern. “I also work at the Cultural Institute. We organize plays and talent shows to get the youths involved with the arts and keep them off the streets.”
“Wow.” I blink, still soaking in the fact that Amaya is an artist. “That’s great.”
“At least try to hide your shock. I’m getting a little offended.”
“Sorry.” I run a hand over my jaw.
She laughs again. Her eyes shine when she does. I stare at her and then look away before I’m caught admiring her face. It would be easy to misinterpret her interest as romantic, but I didn’t come to Belize looking for a hook-up.
At least… I don’t think I did.
“I took a few weeks off to work on a new song so I’m free all day everyday. You in?”
I nod. Amaya might be brusque, impulsive, and slightly insane, but she has a point. I owe my life to her. Besides, it wouldn’t be so bad to have company while I’m here. Especially one that understands my memory problems.
“Why not?”
“Great.” This time, when she smiles both eyes crinkle into tiny slits. Amaya has the body of a woman and the enthusiasm of a child.
It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone so open, so warm… and I shouldn’t be admiring her. Remember?
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She moves toward the door, still making eye contact. “Write it down. Don’t forget me.”
“Got it.” I crack a smile because her excitement is so damn contagious. “I’ll do that. See you tomorrow.”
“It’s a date.” She winks and whirls around, sashaying down the hallway.
I watch her go and close the door behind me. A hand to my chest says my heart is beating faster than normal.
Which could mean my stab wound got infected and I’m going to die. Or that all attempts to stop myself from crushing on Amaya failed. Big time.
I barely know her.
I barely know myself.
What is wrong with me?
The phone in my pocket vibrates. I instinctively dig around for it and answer before I realize that no one should be calling this number.
“Hello?” Amaya’s voice filters through the speakers, “Kent?”
I clear my throat. “I’m here. Did you forget something?”
The question feels ironic coming from my lips.
“I forgot to give you my number so… here it is.”
My heart starts throwing itself against my ribcage like it’s dying to escape.
Man, I hope my wound is infected. I have no business falling in love with a strange local.
“Kent?”
“Your number. Got it.”
“Cool. Tomorrow then.” She hangs up before I can answer.
I walk over to my bed and sit on the edge. My fingers brush the numbers on the screen. Amaya instructed me to save her phone number, but there’s a good chance I won’t know who she is tomorrow.
Instead of writing ‘AMAYA’ in the box, I type ‘STRANGE WOMAN WHO MAKES MY HEART RACE’.
It’s long, but I’ll know exactly what our relationship is by the sight of it. With a sigh, I set the phone on the nightstand and fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
Amaya
“Are you crazy?” Diandra hisses. Early morning sunlight filters through my living room window and gives her dark weave a golden crown. She’s wearing a skirt and a blouse with her insurance company’s logo on the pocket.
“Have I told you look pretty today, Dee?” I spread jelly on a slice of bread and offer it. “Toast?”
“I don’t want your compliment or your stupid toast.” Diandra bats the bread away. It lands upside down on the counter.
I grimace. “Hey!”
“What is wrong with you? We should be running as far away from that man as possible. And you’re taking him on a tour of Belize?”
“You really shouldn’t get this worked up so early in the morning.” I scold her while I pick up the squashed toast with the tip of my fingers. “It’s not good for your health.”
Diandra stabs a finger in my chest. “You! You’re the one that’s not good for my health. Do you know how much trouble we’ll all be in if Kent learns the truth of what happened that night?”
“He’s not going to find out.”
“How are you so sure?” Diandra shrieks.
“I just… am.
”
Her eyes narrow and she slaps her palms against the counter. “Call it off. Now.”
“I’m not going to do that.” I bite off a piece of the bread and speak while chewing. “Kent is alone in Belize. He’s injured and, um, disoriented.” That’s as close as I’ll get to the truth. “He needs someone to help him out.”
“Why does that person have to be you?” Diandra whines.
“Don’t you feel responsible? After everything we’ve done, all the things that could have gone wrong, don’t you want to make sure he’s okay? Like really okay?”
“No!” Diandra digs her fingers into the rim of the counter. “No, I don’t feel that way at all. It’s dangerous enough if he finds out about your brother on his own. What if you keep hanging around and he sees Tyron and he puts two and two together? You and Tyron could go to jail.”
“Nobody’s going to jail.”
“But your brother—”
“I’m doing this for Tyron, alright? Everything I do is for my family.”
“Don’t lie to me, Amaya. If you were doing this for Tyron, you’d run like hell from that guy. The fact that you’re not makes me think…” Diandra pales a full shade. She leans closer and hisses, “Girl, do you like him?”
I almost spit out my toast. “What?”
“Is that it? That’s why you’re being reckless?”
“I met him two days ago. We spoke for five minutes. All I feel for Kent Barton is responsibility.”
“I don’t believe you.” Diandra folds her arms over her chest.
“Look, if it bothers you so much, take your lemon tarts and go. I have an appointment at nine.”
“I won’t.”
“So I’ll just take this back then…” I reach for the lemon tarts bound in a plastic bag.
Diandra snatches it before I can. “We were in way over our heads from the moment we dragged Kent Barton into the backseat of your car.”
“I did.”
“What?”
“From this point on, I’m the only one who dragged him into my car. If anything happens, that’s all that matters.”
“Amaya,” Diandra hisses.
“Go.” I put my hands on her shoulders, turn her around and nudge her toward the door. “You’ll be late for work.”
