The Ocean City Boardwalk Series, Books 1-3

by Donna Fasano

“In fact,” he continued, “I woke up feeling happy.”

  The paper napkin felt especially dry when she rubbed it between her fingers. “Okay.” She drew out the word a little. “So what’s the problem?”

  He seemed to study the cuffs of his sleeves, and rather than answer her question, he said, “I was swimming in the ocean. With you. I was under the water, and I could clearly see your legs, your ankles, your feet.” His voice faded as he added, “Your toenails were painted bright red.”

  Then he lifted his gaze to hers. “I pinched you. Like a crab might. I made you jump and scream. I enjoyed myself immensely.”

  She rested her elbow on the table. “Sounds like fun.”

  “It was. The sun was hot and water was refreshing. I felt the air bubbles rushing across my skin when I dove into the wave. The fine-grained sand on the sea bottom was soft and cool against the bottoms of my feet.”

  The waitress brought his beer, and after thanking her, he took a long swig.

  The thought entered Sara’s head to warn him to slow down. Three beers on an empty stomach would impair his ability to drive. But in the end, she decided to keep mum. She would take his keys, drive him home.

  Landon set the bottle down onto the table with a thump. “I don’t have to tell you that you and I have never been swimming in the ocean together.”

  She smiled and tilted her head, her shoulders rounding. “We’ll remedy that this summer.”

  Suddenly, she stopped and straightened her spine. The fact that she was willing to think in future terms where they were concerned said a lot. And the way the words had come out so freely, so easily. She hadn’t given the idea a thought; she’d only voiced it as it had come to her. She’d have liked to explore this change in her thinking, but right now she felt the need to focus on Landon.

  “Dreams come from your imagination, Landon. Just because you haven’t done a thing doesn’t mean you can’t dream about it.”

  “But I don’t think this is my imagination.”

  “What? Not your imagination? I don’t understand.”

  Again, he stared at his entwined fingers and she could see the muscles in his jaw tightening and relaxing and tightening again. Whatever was on his mind disturbed him greatly.

  “Not my imagination,” he repeated.

  His response only confused her further.

  “I dreamed about coral. But not just any coral. Gorgonian.”

  “A sea fan.”

  He nodded. She almost teased him about the fact that everyone knew coral grew in the ocean, but his expression was so serious she feared he wouldn’t appreciate it.

  “I’d never heard of a Gorgonian in my life,” he told her. “Why would I dream that word? And the coral wasn’t even in the dream. I thought that word in my dream.”

  She reached out again, touched his forearm. “That does sound a little odd. But maybe you saw a National Geographic special or something?”

  “Maybe,” he muttered. Then he took another sip from his bottle. “I looked up some other stuff on the internet too. I went to Google, trying to find some information on organ transplant patients who have strange experiences.”

  The lemonade she sipped was sweet and delicious, but Sara barely noticed its taste when she swallowed a mouthful.

  “One of the first terms I hit on,” he told her, “was something called a chimera. That’s a mythological creature that has the head of lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a snake.”

  What did a mythological creature have to do with his strange dreams of the ocean?

  “Chimerism is also a genetic term.” Landon’s fingers were still laced together, and now he pressed together the pads of his thumbs until his nails were bloodless. “Let me see if I can get this exactly right.” He closed his eyes and slowly explained, “It’s an organism that’s composed of two or more genetically distinct tissues.”

  He went quiet, as if to give her time to absorb the information.

  “Ah,” she said, “so you being one, and the heart that was transplanted in you being another.”

  Landon’s dark gaze met hers. “Exactly. Two genetically distinct tissues form something new. Something… different.”

  Sara squared her shoulders. “You think that chi-whatever-it-was has something to do with you?” She shook her head. “But you’re not different. You’re still you.”

  He didn’t speak for several moments. She hoped like hell he intended to do more explaining.

  “I found some other terms,” he said. “Cellular memory and inherited recollection.”

  She frowned. “Cellular memory.” She let the two words roll off her tongue slowly, hoping like hell she could work out what he was getting at. “Inherited recollection.” Finally she shook her head. “Inherited from whom?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced across the room toward the front door, looking like he wanted to escape. Then he returned his gaze to hers.

  “From the previous owner of my heart.”

  She studied his face. He was dead serious; she saw it in his eyes.

  “Landon.” Sara went silent. Then she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

  His gaze never wavered from hers. “I do. Believe me. I know it sounds insane.”

  To keep from saying any more, Sara pressed the knuckle of her index finger against her lips and waited.

  “I found all sorts of stories to confirm my beliefs,” he told her. “There was a woman who had a kidney transplant who started craving Mexican food after her surgery. And not just any Mexican food. Enchiladas. She’d never eaten Mexican food in her life.”

  Sara gently raked her bottom teeth against her knuckle.

  “The woman contacted the family of her donor,” Landon said, “and learned that the young man whose kidney had been donated to her… well, he loved enchiladas. Ate them every chance he could get. Begged his mother to make them for him.”

  This sounded so outlandishly impossible. Sara wanted to laugh, but the fact that he was so resolute about what he was telling her made her feel jittery.

  “There was another case I read about—“

  “Okay, okay.” She cut him off with a small swipe of her hand through the air. “I got it. I understand what you mean. But you want me to believe that the person who donated your heart lived near the seashore. Or loved the ocean. Or… or… was a fisherman.” Her words came quicker and louder. “Or was a sailor in the Navy. Or an oceanographer.”

  Her skin felt flushed and her breath was coming in pants. She pressed her palm to the base of her throat. “Why am I so upset by this? I feel… angry. No,” she quickly corrected, “not angry. Scared.” She leaned toward Landon. “This sounds like it’s straight out of science fiction and it’s frightening.”

  She sat back, her chest heaving.

  “There’s scientific documentation,” he told her quietly. “I can show it to you.”

  “No, thank you.” With all this crazy talk, it was all she could do not to gather up her purse and jacket, scoot out of the booth, and head for home.

  “Try to calm down, Sara,” he said. “Because it’s about to get worse.”

  The warning had her arching her brows.

  Landon sighed and slowly rubbed his palms together. “You donated your husband’s organs.”

  Sara was more than slightly taken aback. “How do you know that?”

  “Please don’t be angry with Heather for telling me,” he said. “It’s my fault. I was asking her some questions. About you. And it all just sort of came out. About the arguing. Between you and your in-laws.”

  Sara was back to feeling more than a little discombobulated. The mere mention of that awful time had black storm clouds stewing above her, threatening to drench her in dark memories. She shook her head in an effort to force the past from her mind.

  “So how does Greg—” Finally, the picture came into sharp focus. “No.” She said the tiny word emphatically. “What you’re insinuating can�
�t be. It’s just not possible.”

  “I told you it wasn’t just dreams,” he reminded her. “I experienced this terrible longing to see the ocean.” He reached up and raked his fingers through the hair on the back of his scalp, then scrubbed the same hand across the back of his neck. He took a deep breath before continuing.

  “And I’ve had strong feelings of déjà vu.” When he noticed how Sara was looking at him, he said, “I know this makes me sound like I’ve lost my mind. But I can’t find an explanation that’s more plausible. When I drove into this town, it felt like home. Really and truly.” He swallowed and licked his lips nervously. “And that first day I met you, I felt it again.”

  His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked like he had something else to say but seemed reluctant to say it.

  “Then you fed me that cookie,” he blurted. “And I knew that I knew you. That I had met you before. Somehow. Somewhere. That I had tasted something sweet—a cookie, a cupcake, something—from your fingers before.”

  He curled his fingers into fists and rested them on the table, his thumbs rubbing back and forth against the sides of his index fingers. “But I also know I hadn’t. I hadn’t met you before that day. I hadn’t eaten anything with you either. I know I sound like a lunatic, Sara. But I also know how I felt at that moment. How sure I was that I knew you as I gazed up into your face and swallowed that cookie. And it scared the hell out of me, I don’t mind saying. So if I hadn’t really met you before… then someone else had. And that someone led me here.”

  Landon just sat across from her, staring steadily.

  The implications of what he was saying swirled around her and sent a creepy shiver coursing up her spine.

  “But what you’re expecting me to believe…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s impossible. Absolutely impossible.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “That sounds so—” Heather squinched her nose at the same time she reached for her second cupcake “—strange.”

  Food was a comfort to Heather. Always had been. And this weird conversation was enough to upset anyone. So Sara slid the plate within easy reach.

  “Yeah,” Cathy agreed. “And it’s not a good strange, either. This is something straight out of a Dr. Who episode.”

  Sara was still grappling with everything Landon had told her last night. As always in times of upheaval and turmoil, Sara had headed straight for the comfort and commiseration of her friends.

  “I’d be more inclined to believe,” Cathy said, “that Greg’s spirit led Landon here.”

  Both Sara and Heather looked at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted a furry tail.

  “Well, come on!” Cathy sat a little straighter in her chair, absently brushing crumbs from her fingertips. “Landon is trying to convince you that Greg’s… what did you call it? Cellular thoughts.”

  “Memory. Cellular memory,” Sara supplied.

  “Landon is saying that Greg’s heart tissue contains memories?” she asked. “And that those memories brought him here? All the way from Kansas?” She shook her head, her red curls bobbing. “That’s just…”

  Cathy searched for a word that fit and floundered.

  “Ridiculous,” Sara said quietly.

  “Um-hm. That’s exactly what it is.” Cathy picked up her bottle of spring water, twisted off the top, and took a long swallow.

  Sara swiped her finger through an errant dab of chocolate frosting on the plate and then licked her finger clean.

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” Cathy proclaimed. “He knew. Somehow, he learned about Greg’s accident. He found out about the organ donation.”

  “But that’s impossible.” Sara absently wiped her damp finger on the thigh of her jeans. “I asked that Greg’s personal information remain sealed. You know I wasn’t able to deal with that.”

  “Besides,” Heather said, “Landon isn’t that kind of guy.”

  “And, you, missy—” Cathy jabbed her finger toward Heather. “—are too gullible where men are concerned.”

  Heather actually laughed, but there was an edge to it. “Yeah, right, Cath. I’m gullible about aaalllllll the many men in my life.”

  “You know what I mean.” Defensiveness laced Cathy’s tone.

  “No,” Heather pressed, “I don’t.”

  “Look,” Sara said, wanting to avoid a quarrel between the two, “there is no way he could have known.”

  “Why?” Cathy asked. “Because you told the doctors to keep it secret? Too many people can’t keep a secret, Sara. Not even to save their lives.”

  “But to what end? Why would Landon do something like that, Cath?” Heather lifted both hands, palms facing the ceiling. “It makes absolutely no sense.”

  “She has a point,” Sara said.

  Heather and Sara continued to look at Cathy. Finally, Cathy shrugged, “How am I supposed to know why? It’s easier for me to believe he’s up to no good than it is to swallow his explanation.”

  Picking up the knife, Heather cut one of the cupcakes in half. Smooth, creamy filling oozed out the side. “Landon wouldn’t lie to you,” she told Sara. “He loves you. He told me so.”

  “All the more reason for him to lie,” Cathy muttered. “Don’t get me wrong. I like Landon. He’s a great guy. But he’s either completely off his rocker, or he has one hell of an imagination.”

  Heather bit into the rich moist cake and chewed. “What you need to do, Sara, is request a list of Greg’s organ recipients. That’s the place to start.”

  Cathy nodded. “That’s a great idea. Heather’s right.”

  “Well, hot damn.” Heather grinned. “Cath said I was right about something. I should get up and dance.”

  “But it’s been two years,” Sara said. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Heather swiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Surely, the hospital gave you paperwork back then.”

  “Call the hospital administrator,” Cathy suggested.

  “Or Dr. Ablang. Wasn’t he Greg’s PCP too?” Heather popped the last bit of cupcake into her mouth.

  Sara nodded, her mind whirling. “I do remember that the organ donor program is run by a national network. Surely, it won’t be too difficult for me to find it.”

  With a plan firmly in her grasp, Sara felt a little better. But it still didn’t make Landon’s story any easier for her to accept. Maybe, once she had proof that he wasn’t on Greg’s recipient list, she and Landon could begin to put this nonsense behind them.

  But she had no idea what she would do if she learned that Greg’s heart was beating in Landon’s chest.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sara parked her car at the curb and cut the engine, and although she pulled the key from the ignition, she didn’t open her door. The peaceful scene beyond the windshield opposed the tension coiling inside her. It was that time of day when the sun had dipped below the horizon, yet the sky wasn’t quite dark. The street looked deserted; the clouds to the west had turned a deep purple-gray. The phragmites growing at the end of the street swayed with the light bay breeze.

  The sealed envelope sat on the dashboard. She still marveled that she’d had the willpower not to open it. The mail carrier delivered it earlier that afternoon, and she’d spent an hour or more vacillating between wanting to get the task over with and avoiding it altogether. But then her curiosity began to blaze like an oven set to broil and all she wanted to do was tear open the envelope and finally learn the truth.

  But in the end, she decided it would be best if she opened it with Landon. He had just as much at stake in this as she. However, now that she’d arrived at his apartment, dread became as paralyzing as steel shackles.

  She hadn’t seen Landon for ten long days. She’d called to let him know she intended to request the names of the transplant recipients, a conversation that had been extremely short. After that, they hadn’t talked on the phone. They hadn’t exchanged texts. It was clear that both of them needed some space.

  It had
taken all this time for her to finally receive the information she was after. She’d started by searching the medical bills for the name of the doctor who had been in charge of Greg’s care in the ICU. The physician had put her in touch with someone from the hospital administration office who had promised to contact the United Network of Organ Sharing on Sara’s behalf. After forms had been signed and calls had been made, Sara had waited. And waited.

  One thing she could say for certain… she had missed Landon. Fiercely. She couldn’t even count the times she’d reached for her phone, a smile on her face and butterflies in her chest, intending to text him about something funny that had happened. At least twice, she’d had the entire message typed on the screen, her thumb hovering over the send button before she remembered the terrible mess they were in. And late at night. God, how she’d longed to call him to ask about his day and tell him about hers, or ask him some inane question just so she could hear the sound of his voice.

  With her mom and Heather and Cathy around her, she could never really describe herself as being alone. But without Landon, these past ten days had seemed to drag by, minute by drawn out minute, and there had been times she’d ached with loneliness.

  She hoped he wasn’t on that list.

  But what were they going to do if his name was there among the other recipients? Uneasiness crept over her skin.

  Immediately, she told herself for what felt like the thousandth time how absurd this was. Of course, his name wouldn’t be on that list.

  Then she frowned. If she was so certain of the outcome, why had she stayed away from him? Her stomach went queasy.

  Damn it! Just get it over with already!

  She reached toward the envelope, but before she touched it a gentle knock on her driver-side window gave her a start. She looked to her left and saw Landon standing by the car. The engine was off, so she fumbled with her key ring for several seconds before she was able to ram the key into the ignition and turn the power to auxiliary. The window slid down.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Her expression must have been strained, because he said, “Did something happen to your mom? Are you all right?”