by Nia Arthurs
“Really?”
“We’ve always,” Violet flips her hair over her shoulder, “had a special connection.”
Amaya frowns. “I see.”
“People gossip all the time,” I clarify. “Violet was dating Wilson for years, so whatever ‘connection’ we had was imagined.”
Amaya’s frown deepens. She stares suspiciously at Violet. “You and Wilson dated?”
“A long time ago. We broke up senior year and haven’t really kept in touch.”
My phone call with Aunt Katrina flashes in my mind. Violet broke up with Wilson because of me. Maybe he’s resented me for years because of it. He must have been waiting for a chance to get revenge.
It’s yet another piece of evidence pointing to him as the culprit.
My distress must have shown on my face because Amaya casually drapes her hand on my thigh and leans over. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I stare into her beautiful brown eyes and, like always, my world shifts back into place.
“Ehem.” Violet seizes on our moment like a hawk. Her eyes narrow. “Wilson and I are history, but I never forgot my friendship with Kent. We’ve been really close lately. If not for me, he wouldn’t have a social life.”
Shut it, Violet. You’re laying it on too thick and I can’t even tell if you’re lying or not.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I say.
Violet’s only mission tonight is to throw me under the bus and, with my amnesia, she could poke holes into any objections.
“Relax, Kent.” Violet laughs. “I’m just kidding.”
“Well, this was great.” I shoot to my feet. I’ve had enough. I need to get Violet away from Amaya before she makes any more ‘jokes’ about how close we supposedly are.
Violet clamors for my hand and drags me back down. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Use it at the hotel.”
“I need to go now.”
I send Amaya an apologetic look. “Can she?”
“It’s right that way.”
Violet jumps to her feet and prances around the corner. The moment she’s gone, I scoot to the edge of my seat. “She’s just a friend. I swear.”
“Then why do you look so guilty?”
“Because…”
Amaya wiggles her finger. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Barton.”
“I’ve always seen Violet as Wilson’s girlfriend. There’s no way I would make a move on her, even if we did hang out a lot.”
Amaya tilts her head. “But?”
“But I wrote a lot about her in my journals. Not that it means anything. I don’t think. I don’t remember.”
“Great.” Amaya flops back into the couch. “This is just what we need on top of everything else we’re dealing with. A clingy ex-girlfriend.”
“She’s not my ex-girlfriend.”
“Are you kidding me?” Amaya scoffs.
“Violet’s not going to be a problem. I promise. I’ll take her back to the hotel and you’ll never see her again—”
“She’s staying at your hotel?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t believe this.” Amaya launches to her feet.
“She’s got her own room. It’s not like we’re together.”
“I bet she’ll conveniently ‘get lost’ and stay in your room. Or she’ll call you to come and keep her company for some stupid, girly reason or—.”
“Hey,” I take Amaya’s shoulders and steer her toward me, “there’s no way anything will happen between me and Violet. You know why?”
“Why?” Amaya mumbles.
“Because when I wake up in the morning and the entire world feels foreign and frightening, the only person I remember is you. The only woman I want to be with is you.”
She glances up, her eyes softening. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m a dying man. We have a tendency to speak the truth when we have nothing to lose.”
“Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m being completely serious.” I press a hard kiss on her forehead like I’m stamping my feelings there.
“I’m not usually this fazed by an ex, but… Violet has the advantage. She’s known you longer. You remember her from before the accident. I can’t compete with that.”
“There is no competition.” I brush my thumb against her cheek. “So would you stop worrying?”
She nods.
At that moment, Violet emerges from the corridor. She’s wearing a big grin that remains on her face as we leave Amaya’s house, as we drive to the hotel and even when I walk her to her room.
“You alright, Violet? You haven’t said much on the ride here.”
“I’m fine,” she says loudly, smile still in place. If her lips widen any further, she just might explode.
“Okay.” I slip my hands into my pockets and walk away. When I get inside, I jot down everything I’ve learned about Wilson, Violet and Amaya in my journal.
Since Wilson isn’t here to snoop through my things, I’m not afraid of discovery.
Still, there’s a part of me that would prefer if he read my findings. If he saw it, he could defend himself. Maybe there’s a perfectly good explanation for all of this.
Probably not.
I go to sleep with a heavy heart and wake up with another headache. I crawl to the dresser, searching for pills and almost fainting with relief when I find them. I pop two and remain on the floor. I’m too weak to get up.
Did I eat yesterday?
I don’t remember.
A book sits on the dresser. I reach for it and flip it open, surprised when I find a journal written in my handwriting. By the time I’ve read everything, the pills are kicking in and I can stand without the room spinning.
That’s when the door opens. I whirl around. “Violet?”
Footsteps thud through the room and Wilson springs around the bend, his expression animated and his arms thrown up. “Cuz!”
“Hey,” I answer faintly. My mind jumps to the warnings I wrote in my journal.
“Did you get my message?”
“What message?”
“I left a note at the concierge… you know what? Doesn’t matter.” Wilson shoves something at my stomach.
I throw my hands up. “Hey, calm down.”
Wilson barks out a laugh. “Kent, what are you talking about?” He raises a box high. “I bought this.”
“What is it?”
“Take it.” He wiggles it in front of me. “It’s a smart watch. Ten hours of battery. Touch screen capability. It’s the real deal.”
I open the lid and find a sleek watch sitting on a soft, black cushion. “Why did you buy it?”
“Because I wanted to.” Wilson grins. “It’s got the B-Jogger app installed already. Now, you just press one button to make a voice memo or go through previous entries. No need to take out your phone. Here, let me put it on.”
I step back as a keening wail erupts in my brain. I flinch. “No thanks.”
“You okay, Kent?”
“Stay back!” I hold my hand out. “Don’t come any closer.”
Wilson blinks. “Kent…”
Wilson tried to kill me. He might be looking for another opportunity. Is this watch just another way to control me? To manipulate me?
The noise in my head intensifies. I have to get out. Get to Amaya.
Wilson follows me. “Kent?”
I speed up, running away from him. His footsteps thud behind me, chasing me down. I push myself faster and sprint into the street. Cars glint in the sunlight. Someone honks his horn. The sound mingles with the chaos in my head.
I move on instinct and take off. Straight into the street. A car blares. Skids to a stop, narrowly avoiding me. The driver winds his window down and curses me out. He could have plowed me over. Am I stupid?
I scamper away from the car’s bumper and sprint across the street. Wilson stands on the other side. His beard trembles in the wind. His hands are on top of his head. He looks anxious. Uns
ettled.
I don’t care. It’s not safe. Being with him. I need Amaya.
I run. Till my feet ache. Till the world blurs together.
Then the screaming in my head stops.
I straighten. Look around. Everything is unfamiliar.
Where am I? Who am I? And who the hell is Amaya?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Amaya
“Where are you?” I slam my car door and look both ways before crossing the street.
“Rosa’s Café. Where are you? My guest needs to get back to work.”
“I’m almost there. I can see Rosa’s now.” A black, iron-wrought gate and thick hedges border the charming café on the corner of a busy boulevard. “What’s the emergency?”
“You’ll find out when you get here. Are you inside?”
I adjust the phone to my other ear and step into the café. My eyes skim the patrons crowded into wide booths. The tables are wooden and varnished to a shine. The scent of conch fritters and fried coconut shrimp fills the air.
I finally spot Mom sitting in the back. Her hair boasts a thick, curly bun and her eyelashes flutter with excitement. She’s wearing a relatively casual outfit—a pair of paisley-print pants and a red blouse.
Mom waves as I walk over. Across from her is a thick man with sagging golden-brown cheeks and brown eyes that are going blue from age. His grey T-shirt and khakis are cool and perfectly suited for the hot day.
“Hey.” I take a seat, scrambling to figure out what I’m doing here.
Then it hits me.
I turn to my mother and hiss, “You’re not getting married again, are you?”
“Is that what this is?” The man laughs.
Mom swats my arm. “Amaya, don’t be rude. This is Fenny Bean. He’s an old friend of mine and a taxi driver stationed at the stand on Daly Street.”
“Oh.” I dip my head. “My bad.”
“I called him because of this…” Mom shoves one of my flyers under my nose. Kent’s handsome face looks back at me.
My eyes widen. “How did you get a flyer?”
“You posted these up all over my neighborhood and thought I wouldn’t see it?” Mom’s an expert eye-roller and she lets a perfect one loose. “I’m hurt you kept something so important from me.”
I slink into my chair. “I didn’t think you could help.”
“Well, you’ve been wrong before and you’re definitely wrong this time. Tyron told me everything. The moment I learned Kent was in trouble, I couldn’t help but do all I could to find a witness.” She sweeps her hand forward. “And here he is.”
I turn to Mr. Bean. “Thank you so much for coming forward. I’ve been waiting for someone to call, but… I was starting to lose hope.”
“Most people don’t pay no attention to flyers.” He consoles me with a smile. “But when your mama reached out to check if I’d seen anything, I couldn’t say no.”
I lean forward. “What exactly did you see that night?”
“Well,” he runs a hand over his grey goatee, “it was my last run. I was supposed to be finished before then, but I saw a white guy walking down the road looking for a taxi. I stopped immediately. Tourists always tip, you know.”
I nod.
“I asked him where he was going and he said ‘somewhere memorable’. So I figured he meant somewhere with liquor and um,” Bean slants me a look, “female entertainment. I drove him to the Parrot House, but when I stopped he didn’t want to get out.”
“So what did you do?” Mom asks, looking more engrossed in the story than she has a right to be.
“I asked him what he wanted to do because I was ready to sign off. He offered me more money if I’d just drive. So I did for about an hour. After that, I wanted him to go, but it was so strange.”
“What?” I ask.
“On my way, this delivery truck—you know the kind the furniture store uses to take sofas to houses—it almost knocked into us. I swerved and got out of the way because I’m an incredible driver, but as I looked into the back seat I noticed the guy was losing his mind.”
My heart plummets. “What does that mean?”
“He was freaking out. Asking me who I was and what he was doing in my car. He didn’t know who he was and pretty much acted like a lunatic. I got scared, pulled over and dumped him on the street.”
Mom gasps. “Why would you do that?”
“It was almost midnight and I was alone in a car with a crazy man. I’d rather get out with my life than with money.”
“Mr. Bean, you said this happened after the near-accident.”
“Yes. He was acting all depressed and quiet before but that’s nothing I’m unacquainted with. It’s when he started gasping and grabbing the car handles yelling about not knowing who I was that I got the sense.”
My thoughts race. So… Kent suffered short-term memory loss directly after the near-accident.
From Mr. Bean’s account, he hadn’t specifically asked to visit the neighborhood where we met. Which means Kent’s reasons for being in the alley were innocent.
More than that. It was tragic. He must have felt so lost and alone.
“Is that the end of the story?” Mom asks.
Mr. Bean shakes his head. “I felt sorry for what I did. Also, I didn’t want to get sued in case something happened to him so I went back to where I’d kicked him out. He wasn’t there. I drove around a bit and found him stumbling into an alley. Acting like he was drunk.”
“You mean because of the way he was walking?” I clarify.
“And the way he was holding onto the walls and mumbling to himself. I figured he was high on something and drove out of there.”
That must have been when Julius spotted him. Tyron was right. He did see Kent stumbling around. He was lost and struggling to make sense of a world he’d forgotten. No wonder Julius sensed he could take advantage.
“Thank you so much for your time.” I grab my purse and drop a fifty on the table. “Lunch is on me. Mom, I have to go.”
“Where are you going?” Mom yells at my back.
I ignore her and fly out of the café. My fingers dive for my phone and, as I slip into my car, a man picks up. But it doesn’t sound like Kent.
“Who is this?” I yell.
“Amaya? Is Kent with you?”
“Wilson?” Horror floods my heart. I throw my car into drive and speed toward the hotel. “I swear, Wilson, you better hand the phone to Kent this second or I’ll—”
“Kent’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“Sounds like he’s not with you either. I’ll call you back.” Wilson hangs up.
I know he did not just hang up on me. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I want to urge my car faster, but traffic slows to a crawl. I find out why a few minutes later when I spot an ambulance stopping on the sidewalk.
A crowd of Belizeans hover around something. It must be an accident.
Accident?
“Kent!” I slam my foot against the brakes and scramble out of my car. The closer I get, the more people seem to step in my way. I ram my elbows through the throng until I’m at the front.
A gasp tears my throat. I slap a hand to my mouth as I watch a pair of paramedics thrust an oxygen mask on Kent’s face and lift him into a cot. He’s pale. Still.
“No!” I scream and rush after him.
The paramedic blocks me with a bulky arm. “Ma’am, you can’t—”
“I’m his fiancée,” I shriek. I’m lying through my teeth, but things like honesty and truth don’t matter in the moment. “What happened?”
“We need to get him to the hospital.” The paramedic turns his arm and offers his palm. “Come in.”
I join the paramedics in the back of the truck. My composure falters with every second that passes. Kent’s not responding. To anything. I squeeze his hand the entire ride, calling him back to me.
Nothing. Not even a blink.
The paramedics force me back as the ambula
nce parks in front of the hospital and a flood of nurses and doctors sweep Kent away. I tumble out of the truck and follow them, but it’s hard to see anything through my tears.
“Amaya?” Zora steps in front of me. “Are you okay?”
I point to where the nurses are turning a corner. “Kent… he…”
Zora gets a determined look and grabs my elbow. “Take a seat. I’ll see what I can find out.”
My body goes numb with fear. A part of me registers when Zora lowers me into a chair and when she takes off after the entourage of nurses, but it’s all happening in slow-motion. Like a dream.
All I can think about is Kent, lying on the street. Terror seizes my throat. What if he’s dead? What if I never get to see him again?
What feels like days later, Zora returns. The moment our eyes meet, I shoot to my feet. “How is he?”
“He’s alive.”
I let out a sigh that could unearth a coconut tree from the roots. “When can I see him?”
“They’re doing some scans now, but… I’m sorry, Amaya. It doesn’t look good.”
Before I can ask any more questions, there’s a commotion in the distance.
“Kent!” I recognize Wilson’s voice thundering through the corridor. He skates into view.
Violet is behind him. She skids to a stop when she sees me. “Amaya?”
“You!” I glare at Wilson. “How dare you show up here?”
His chest heaves and his dark hair has been wrecked by the wind. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m here. He’s my family.”
“Family?” I scoff.
Violet steps forward. “What’s your deal, Amaya?”
“Do you even know who he is?” I turn to Wilson, my anger unleashing like a storm. “Was it worth it? The money? The company? Was it worth Kent’s life?”
“Huh?” Wilson cocks his head to the side.
“I know you stabbed him.”
Shock parades over Wilson’s face. “What?”
“Amaya, you have it all wrong,” Violet stammers.
“Do I?”
“Yes.” Violet stops in front of me. “Wilson didn’t stab Kent. He… he stabbed himself.”
I wield back. “Do I look like a fool? I don’t believe you.”
