by Jess Petosa
Copyright –2013 by Jess Petosa
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, people, or places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are simply products of the author’s imagination, and any similarity to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any way whatsoever without written consent from the author.
Cover photo courtesy of Jessica Lynn Photography.
For Brooke and Molly, so I can give you all you deserve
OTHER BOOKS BY JESS PETOSA
Exceptional Series
Exceptional
Rogue
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE 5
CHAPTER TWO 14
CHAPTER THREE 19
CHAPTER FOUR 24
CHAPTER FIVE 29
CHAPTER SIX 37
CHAPTER SEVEN 42
CHAPTER EIGHT 50
CHAPTER NINE 56
CHAPTER TEN 62
CHAPTER ELEVEN 69
CHAPTER TWELVE 78
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 86
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 94
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 99
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 111
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 117
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 124
CHAPTER NINETEEN 130
CHAPTER TWENTY 136
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 143
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 149
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 156
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 164
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 173
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 179
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 193
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 202
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 208
CHAPTER THIRTY 214
OCTOBER 219
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 226
ABOUT THE AUTHOR 227
CHAPTER ONE
My first conscious thought is I'm thirsty.
My eyes open slowly, and I'm greeted with more darkness. I blink several times and my sight adjusts. I'm in a dark room, and a pale white light filters in through the window to my left. I sit up slowly, propping myself up on my elbows to start. The room is a fair size, with several pieces of furniture and a large picture window. I don't recognize this place, but as my mind grows clearer, I realize that I can't think of a room I do recognize.
Memories allude me quickly as I try to reach out and grab them. I know that the large cabinet across from the bed is called an armoire, I know that the pale light is coming from the moon, and I know that the doors probably lead to the closet and the hallway. What I don't know is where I am, or more importantly, who I am.
What is my name? Surely I have one. Everyone has a name.
My stomach flips and my chest tightens. I throw the heavy quilt off of my legs and reach for the side table, which happens to have a lamp. I turn it on and take inventory of my body; two long legs, tanned skin, manicured yet unpolished nails. I don't understand how I know about tans and nail polish, yet I can't seem to place myself anywhere else before this moment. My hand travels up to my neck and I grab onto a strand of hair, pulling it forward. It is thick, brown, and hangs just below my chest. I reach up to touch my face but that tells me nothing. There is a mirror attached to the dresser to my right, directly between the two doors, and I kick my legs over the side of the bed.
Standing comes easily but my head throbs wildly as I walk. Just enough light filters from the small lamp that I can make out several features. The girl in the mirror has hair that is parted to the side and hangs in waves over her shoulders. She has a heart shaped face with a small nose set between two large, dark blue eyes. The girl is me, but I don't recognize her. Not one bit.
I bite back a scream as my chest starts to tighten. I watch as the girl in the mirror brings her hand up to her heart, mimicking me, and for a moment I think to blame her. She has a wrench and she is turning it slowly, bringing fresh waves of pain with each rotation.
"Stop it!" I scream, dropping to my knees.
I hear footsteps in the hall and the door flies open and a warm, golden light creates a distorted rectangle across the floor. An older man runs into the room and kneels by my side, placing his own hand over mine. A woman, his same age, rushes into the room behind him. She kneels in front of me and by the pained expression on her face, I can tell the motion takes effort.
"It's okay, you’re safe here. We aren't going to hurt you." Her voice is soothing.
"What happened to me?" I ask. My voice is high-pitched and I'm not sure if that is out of fear, or if I always speak this way.
"You fell and hit your head, down at the docks. Do you remember?" the man asks.
I shake my head no.
I don't remember anything.
"I'm a doctor," the man says. "We brought you back to my house to make sure you were all right. You woke up for a little bit, and told us how tired you were, so we gave you a place to spend the night."
His words come out calmly and evenly, and the wrench in my chest loosens its hold.
I realize how I must look, with wild eyes and my hands gripping my shirt. I take a deep breath and sit back. "Sorry."
The woman smiles and the corners of her eyes crinkle. "No need to apologize. You were having a panic attack, dear."
Her statement makes sense and somehow I understand. I know what a panic attack is, and I recall that chest tightening is a symptom. My mind grabs onto the information and stores it, hungry for any details it can get.
The man stands, and then helps the woman up, before helping me get to my feet. I use my hands to straighten the shirt I am wearing and then I drop them to my side, swinging them back and forth nervously.
The woman touches my arm gently. "Do you mind telling us your name?"
It seems like an odd question for the middle of the night, and I take a moment to think.
Do I admit that I don't know who I am?
Deep down inside, someone screams No! at me so I grab onto those words and hold onto them. My eyes dance back to the dresser, which has a small stack of books. There are names of the authors on the bindings.
Emily Dickinson.
Mark Twain.
Jane Austen.
I grab a name and let it sit on my tongue.
"Jane," I respond.
The couple shares a look.
"Well Jane, you have a safe place to stay until you’re feeling better," the woman tells me.
"You should get some rest," the man places a firm hand on my shoulder. "It's three in the morning."
I just nod and then watch as the couple leaves the room. The door clicks shut behind them, and the light in the room greatly diminishes. I crawl back into the large bed, since I cannot think of anything else to do. I could open the door and run, but I'm more afraid of what I might encounter than what I already have. I turn off the bedside lamp, settle back into the sheets, and will my mind to rest.
This time when I wake up, sunlight covers the bed like a warm blanket. I remember the events that transpired in the early morning; waking up, having a panic attack, meeting the man and woman. I still do not remember myself, or my past. It is an unsettling feeling, and it creeps deep into my body and takes root in my nerves. I don't know how to feel okay.
I climb out of bed and stretch, feeling rested. I'm wearing a large t-shirt and black stretch pants, and I’m not sure if they are mine or if someone lent them to me. My eyes wander the room and I find a small, black bag thrown into the corner. It looks out of place, so I grab it from the floor and place it on the bed, pulling the zipper open. There are a few more outfits; jeans, shirts, a bathing suit, sweatpants... and I think they may be mine.
There is a sof
t knock on the door and it creaks open slowly. The old woman pokes her head into the space. "Good, you're up! Breakfast is almost ready."
She slips into the room with a cup of something warm. Wisps of steam rise from her cup and disappear into the air as she approaches me. "I see you found your bag."
"Yes," I say quickly. "Thank you."
If I want to hide my memory loss, I need to remember to be vague.
"You had a purse too, but it fell off the dock when you slipped. The current was strong last night, and it is most likely long gone by now. I hope there was nothing valuable in it," she says with a small frown.
Only my identity, I think.
The woman is staring at me, and I drop my eyes.
"I'm Marie, by the way," she holds her hand out in front of her.
I shake it out of instinct and offer her a small smile.
"My husband is Charles," she adds at the end. "Come down when you're ready."
She disappears back into the hall and I open my bag again, pulling out the pieces of clothing one by one. Is this all I own, or is there more in a larger bag somewhere? Do I have a home, with a room like this, full of my own belongings?
I settle on a loose pair of jeans and a fitted black tee shirt. I can't bring myself to look in the mirror so I use my fingers to comb through any knots in my hair. I zip the bag closed and shove it under the bed, feeling protective of it all of the sudden. It may be all I have left. I take a deep breath and cross the room, finally venturing out into the hall.
The hall is long, with large windows on each end. I count six doors, and there are openings for a staircase on both the right and the left ends of the hall. My body decides right and I amble across the dark, wooden floor with bare feet, pausing at the top of the stairs. I look out the window and keep myself from gasping. Not out of fear, but out of delight. There is an awning below the window so most of the yard is hidden, but I can see lush green grass stretching out to meet a stone wall, and against the stone wall splashes blue waves. The water stretches out further than I can see, and the land curves to the left.
A glass clinks downstairs and my attention is drawn away from the window. I move down the stairs slowly, and the last stair leaves me in the kitchen. The space is large, and painted a sunny yellow, just like the room I'm staying in upstairs. The cabinets are white, as well as the appliances, and pots and pans of all sizes hang above an island in the center of the room. Marie is setting dishes out on an old wooden table, and when she steps away I count three place settings. Charles is at the stove, and his back is turned to me but I gather that he is cooking.
Marie looks up at me and motions to one of the chairs. "Come sit. Breakfast is just about done."
I do as I'm told, sitting down in the same chair she pointed to. I have a view out the window here, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the water. I draw them back across the lawn to see what I couldn't see from above. There is a stone patio that stretches into the yard, with some sort of pit in the center. Half of the patio is hidden under the awning, and it stops at the double doors that are attached to the kitchen.
"I hope eggs and bacon are okay," Marie says as she takes a seat next to me. She pushes a glass of water and a small dixie cup toward me. “Tylenol. Just in case your head still hurts from last night.”
I take the medicine willingly, noticing a slight throb in the back of my head. I reach up and feel a bump there. I wince and decide it’s best not to touch it at all.
The food smells delicious, and sounds good, so I assume that it is something I like. Whoever I am. Charles brings a bowl of eggs to the table, along with a plate of bacon. There is toast and sliced apples as well. Marie pours me a glass of orange juice and I take a generous sip.
The food tastes familiar, and I know that I’ve had it before. If my mind can pull out this sort of recognition, why doesn’t it tell me to recognize my own face? Charles reads a newspaper while he eats, and Marie browses through a magazine labeled By The Bay. I appreciate the comfortable silence, and completely clear my plate while I look out over the water. Seagulls soar overhead, and pelicans dip down and into the water.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Marie asks when her own plate is clear.
"I'm mesmerized," I answer, turning my head toward her.
"It's the main reason we bought this place," Marie looks at Charles and smiles. "Forty years ago."
"I know this is going to sound like a strange question." I play with the napkin that is spread across my lap. "Everything from last night is still fuzzy. Where exactly is here?"
"Hampton Harbor, Maine," Charles says. "Do you remember anything from last night?"
I shake my head no.
Charles sets down his newspaper. "You got off a bus last night, right in downtown. I only know because I was driving behind the bus at the time and when you got off, you stopped to help an elderly woman who had dropped her change purse."
He smiles and I try to recall that moment, but come up empty.
Charles continues. "Then later you came down to the cafe and walked out onto the small dock, and ended up tripping over some rope laying loose."
"It was so scary," Marie says and she sits back down. "One moment you were walking down the dock and the next moment you were falling."
"And I hit my head?" I ask.
They both nod at the same time.
"When we got to you, you were as still as night, but then your eyes fluttered open," Marie says, her own eyes growing misty. "I felt protective of you in that moment. We had a friend of ours carry you to our car and then we drove you here, to our home. Charles made sure you were okay. He’s a doctor, just so you know."
"Retired," he adds at the end.
“Well thanks for helping me,” I say. “Especially since you don’t know me.”
Marie looks out the window. “Of course. We are happy to help.”
"Hampton Harbor, Maine," I repeat. “What day is it?”
“Monday,” Marie answers.
Of what month? I think. To ask the question would give too much away.
"Are you here on a vacation?" Charles asks.
"An extended stay," I respond, and the words leave my mouth with out my permission. I take it as a sign that this is what is meant to be.
Charles and Marie share a look.
"We have a cafe, down on the boardwalk," Marie says. "We could use some extra help serving customers, if that is something you'd be interested in. Now that we’re a couple of weeks into June, the tourists are really pouring into town."
June.
I perk up.
"That would be great," I say.
"You start tomorrow," Marie pats my hand and then clears my plate from in front of me.
I’m not sure why Charles and Marie are being so kind to me, or so helpful, but I am definitely thankful. I can only hope that my memories will start to return soon so I can have some answers. Until then, it looks like Hampton Harbor is going to be my new home.
CHAPTER TWO
It’s six-thirty in the morning and I'm sitting on the back patio, sipping coffee and trying to wake up. There are solar lanterns lit all around me, but they are beginning to dim as the horizon changes from a light purple to a dim, orange.
Yesterday Marie took me on a tour of their house, inside and out. After struggling to reach full consciousness by mid-morning, I learned that I like coffee. I also learned that I know my way around a kitchen, and was able to successfully help Marie prepare both lunch and dinner. Now I am sitting in their perfect backyard, with the sea breeze sweeping across my face.
Hampton Harbor is a tourist town, Marie explains, butting up against Acadia National Park and boasting itself as a large boating and fishing town. The wealthy dock their yachts in the southern portion of the harbor, and even cruise ships find their way into port at certain times of the year. I can place mental images with each of these objects. I know about yachts, cruises, and even fishing. It makes me wonder if just by picking up books in a library, I might be able to help r
estore my memory bit by bit. I didn't have a reason to think of these things since waking up, but now that I have, my mind puts them under lock and key.
"Ready Jane?" Charles calls out the back door.
I take one last sip of my coffee and stand, carrying the cup inside and to the sink. Yesterday Marie conjured up a work outfit for me. Nice jean shorts and a white shirt. My hair needs to be pulled up into a ponytail, and at the café I’ll receive a cropped apron to tie around my waist. I follow Charles out the front door, to his silver sedan. This will be my first time leaving their property, and I wonder what other memories will come back to me as we draw closer to the site of my accident.
We have to travel down a long drive through thick trees, and eventually come to a two-lane road. Here the neighbors are few and far between, and I can only spot a new property when we come upon a mailbox settled next to another long gravel drive. We travel for ten minutes before we start to reach neighborhoods, and in five minutes we are in town. I immediately fall in love with Hampton Harbor. The buildings are all unique and full of character, and the streets are well maintained. There are tall lampposts every ten feet along the street, and colorful banners hang from each one. There are large planters as well, which are full of multicolored flowers. As we drive I can see slivers of the bay peeking through the buildings. Charles turns left down a small side street and parks behind a quaint, white building.
