“What type of boat do I have?”
“You have two,” Felix replied. “A speedboat. And the one you took on your trip, which is a thirty-five-foot Commander by Chris-Craft. It was built in 1953 and you’d had it restored. You named it theCamdenballafter the nickname the F1 commentators gave you.”
Jeremiah punched a button to bring his torso more upright on the motorized bed. “Have I taken the boat on trips like this before? Alone and unreachable?”
“Yes. Without incident.”
“Where’s the boat now?”
“We don’t know,” Felix answered. “When you didn’t return, that’s one of the things we were trying to determine. So far, there’s been no sign of it.”
“Perhaps it sank?” Fiona suggested.
“If that’s the case,” Jeremiah said, “it seems like I would’ve had time to send an SOS message on the radio or put on a life vest at least.”
“He wasn’t wearing a life vest when you found him?” Fiona asked Remy.
“No. Nor was he in a wetsuit. He was swimming in his clothing. My guess is that he went overboard for some reason.”
“Does anyone want me dead?” Jeremiah asked his parents.
Immediately, the silence turned explosive.
“No,” his mother said, eyes flashing with protective anger at the very idea.
“Like any famous person,” Felix said more diplomatically, “you have your . . . detractors. But you never gave me reason to think that any of them might be dangerous.”
“Maybe we underestimated my detractors.”
“Angel of God,” Fiona breathed. Then, louder, “You’re very popular. I don’t think anyone wants you dead.”
Jeremiah lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
Felix turned to his ex-wife. “I’m inclined to think private care for Jeremiah might be superior to this—”
“No,” Jeremiah said flatly. “I’m satisfied with the level of care I’m receiving here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Amusement crinkled Felix’s eyes. “You might’ve lost your memory, but it seems your personality is very much intact.”
“It’s important to us that you receive exemplary care,” Fiona said to Jeremiah. “Also, we don’t want your story leaked to the media and we can’t be assured of your privacy here.”
“I don’t care about the media.”
“When your memories return, you might care,” Felix commented drolly.
“I might. But I’m not making decisions based on what my former or future self might want.”
“There are a number of laws surrounding the confidentiality of medical information,” Felix said to Fiona. “We might be fine on the privacy front. Or we might not. I’ll have my lawyers look into it.”
Fiona gave a refined nod. She was definitely the composed queen to Felix’s bold king.
“Have the doctors said when you’ll be able to go home?” Felix asked Jeremiah.
“Tomorrow, I hope. If so, I’ll need someone to tell me where I live and how to get inside.”
“I have a key to your house,” Fiona said, “and so does Jude. I just talked to him. He works for the FBI in Bangor but he’s planning to drive here tomorrow, to be with you over the weekend. He’s already said he wants to take you home whenever you’re able to leave. But, of course, both your father and I would also love to do so.”
“I’m going to speak with the top experts in the field of amnesia,” Felix announced, “and gather information about the most effective treatments.”
