“I recognize his face, but not as my husband. I feel nothing but fear or dread when I look at that photo.”
She turns and stares out of the window. I know a battered wife when I see one. I hate that domestic violence laws make it hard to protect them because they either don’t report or recant.
“What do you remember when you see the picture?”
“Yelling and screaming.”
I bluff by reaching for my phone. “Let’s call.”
Panic. I see pure panic in her eyes. “That man is not my husband. Please don’t call him about anything pertaining to me.”
Her fear of Weston is the most genuine thing she’s displayed since she arrived. She’s telling me partial truths for a reason. I know the Chesterfields are pretty powerful.
“It could be a distorted memory or bad dream. I feel like him smiling at me was the last thing I saw before being enveloped by the ocean.”
Every hair on my body tingles and stands at attention. She’s telling me without telling me that he tried to kill her that night.
“Are you saying you think he had something to do with your accident?”
“No. I’m saying my memory is fuzzy in places and gone in others. I need time for my mind to start working again.”
One of the perks of being in a small town is that we get to be unorthodox in our methods. Now that I understand the reason for her deceit. I’m more than happy to allow her to fake her memory loss until she is ready to deal with reality.
“Fair enough. I need you to be evaluated and under constant care. I want you close by in case you remember something important. Grab your bag, you’re coming with me.”
* * *
Celeste
Ernest’s home is just as welcoming as he; it has the well-decorated touch of a woman. The four-bedroom beach bungalow style house has sand and a peach theme with seashell art throughout the home. I smell cookies baking; I follow the smell into the updated, white-colored kitchen. It boasts a distressed look with stainless steel appliances. The abundance of windows bring in the natural light, but the white shutters can close it out at any moment. Simple. Wonderful.
A petite, older woman with kind, light brown eyes smiles at me. Her slightly puzzled eyes bounce between Ernest and me. She pushes the bang, almost completely gray, hair out of her eyes as she waits for an introduction.
“Gertrude, this is Celeste.”
I see recognition flash in her eyes.
“The girl who went missing.”
“I’m here,” I say self-consciously.
“It appears Celeste’s memory is a little spotty right now.” Ernest tilts his head toward one of the rooms. “Honey, can I see you in the other room for a moment.”
Gertrude nods and grabs Ernest’s hand. He stops to look at me. “Make yourself comfortable, Celeste. We’ll be right back.”
I give him a two-finger salute and settle into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Apparently, I’m his new charge. I was surprised when he told me to grab my stuff. I didn’t think he believed the story I gave him. I’d been a little scared when I followed him. I didn’t know if he was going to lock me up or worse—take me to Weston. He explained that I would stay with him and his wife, who is a retired doctor until I get my memory back. My anxiety is high. He may have believed me, but it didn’t mean she would. I fidget with the strap of my tote as my mind floats back to Beau.
I miss him so much, and it’s only been less than two hours. My cheeks flush when my mind recalls our morning. I’d awakened to him inside of me. I’d felt the pleasure before I opened my eyes. Once I did, I saw his beautiful eyes boring into mine. His delicious, taut body hovered over mine as he thrust into me like a man on a mission. He was on a mission. I could see it in his eyes. Beau didn’t verbalize it, but everything in his gaze, touch, and body language silently begged me to stay. I was halfway to my peak by the time I was fully awake. My body loved what he did to it, especially in that moment.
It wasn’t rushed and wild like usual; it was slow, sensual, yet full of passion. Beau cherished and caressed my body like he was trying to remember and savor every little detail. I wanted to stay more than anything, but I can’t afford to fall for Beau. Weston would damage that somehow. I was not in the position to pretend with Beau when a real devil was breathing down my neck.
Ernest and Gertrude break my thoughts when they reenter the kitchen. Gertrude’s warm eyes study me as if she’s seeing me in a new light. I see a tinge of sympathy staining her irises. I instantly feel bad. I didn’t lose my memory. I remember every terrible thing that’s happened to me.
I’m about to break down and tell them it’s all a lie when she places a chicken salad sandwich, chips, and a cup of lemonade in front of me. My stomach growls at the sight. I’ll come clean after I eat for sure. They laugh when I take a hearty bite and moan at the deliciousness. I didn’t get a chance to eat this morning. I was too sad.
I watch as Ernest smiles sweetly at his wife as he kisses her goodbye. My chest aches. Not enough to stop eating, but it hurts all the same. That's all I wanted, a loving relationship with my husband. It didn’t think it was too much to ask, but apparently, it was since I’m hiding from said person. Wes wasn’t a perfect guy who turned into a nightmare. The warning signs were there; I just ignored them. Now, I wish that I hadn’t.
Gertrude must have noticed the faraway look in my eyes. Everything in her expression said, “poor thing” when she sat across from me. I take a sip of the liquid heaven Gertrude calls “lemonade” as I watch her watch me. She puts a placating hand on mine.
