Page 112 of The Image of You

Had Adam and I been secret lovers? Is that why he told me not to tell anyone I had seen him?

I stopped short, realizing if we had, then I had been cheating on Bradley.

But that made no sense to me. If we were in love the way Bradley and my mother kept telling me we were, and as happy as they said, why would I be cheating on him? Why would I marry him?

I rubbed my throbbing temples. I was missing something. Someone was lying to me—they had to be.

I grabbed my phone to call Emma. She was my best friend, and if anyone would know, it was her. She appeared to know Adam. I must have confided in her. The call went straight to voice mail, and when I glanced at the clock, I saw it was past two o’clock. She would be asleep, and I knew she turned her cell phone off overnight. I hung up, not wanting to leave a voice mail about this subject. I lay down again, trying to calm my mind and body, but neither could relax. I closed my eyes and took in some deep breaths.

Images—the edges of dreams, perhaps—flickered in my mind.

I was in a bed…a comfortable bed, surrounded by soft sheets and strong arms. The room was dark, lightning and thunder raging outside. Tender lips lingered on my head. Quiet whispers were dropped in my ear. Comforting, calming words of love were spoken. Promises of being safe and never alone. Of love so deep it would never end.

I saw a blanket on the floor of a large open space with huge windows all around me, a picnic spread out in front of me. Long fingers touched a strawberry to my lips.

I felt the curve of a deep chair, the warmth of a blanket draped around my knees. Warm lips grazed my head as a cup of coffee was set beside me.

A steamy room, a hard body unyielding against mine, hot, sexy curses filling the air as my back pressed into cold tile and I screamed my release into a strong, thick neck.

I opened my eyes, and the images were gone. I had no idea if they were real, but my eyes stung with unshed tears, and I felt as if I’d lost something precious.

Were they dreams? Something I had experienced? The windows reminded me of the ones that lined the walls of Adam’s loft… Had I been there with him?

I shivered, my entire body feeling cold. I needed to warm up. Getting out of bed, I pulled open my dresser drawer, searching for some thick socks to put on my feet. I only found some cotton ones, which offered no comfort.

My glance fell on the box sitting on the floor. My mother had brought my things to Calgary but had missed this one, and I planned to take it with me when I left. It was labeled clothes, and I wondered if perhaps there was a pair of thicker socks inside. Deciding it was worth a shot, I sat down on the floor and pulled it close, opening the lid and looking inside. I was rewarded instantly when I saw small piles of brightly colored wool. I slipped a pair on my feet, wiggling my toes in gratitude at the immediate warmth. Wanting to occupy my mind and hands, I decided to go through the contents. I dug through the rest of the box, creating piles around me. More socks, some pajamas, a couple of sweaters, a few trinkets, and books were wrapped in paper. I pulled out two T-shirts, holding them up and frowning. They were huge. Maybe they were Bradley’s. He probably stayed the night, so it would make sense. I rubbed the material of the gray one between my fingers. It was soft from being laundered so often, the seams showing wear and the material pulling away around the neckline.

The ghost of a loving, playful voice resonated in my brain.

“You ever gonna give me back that shirt, Ally? I might want to wear it myself one day.”

I shook my head. Bradley never called me Ally.

The only person who ever called me that was Adam.

I must be getting things mixed up in my head again. That had been happening a lot lately. The neurologist I had been seeing in Calgary told me it was normal to be confused at times. Bits and pieces of memories sometimes blended together. I had to work at separating them. The doctor had been kind when he informed me I needed to keep trying to recover the missing months, but there was a chance I never would.

“Nothing is for certain,” he told me with a small smile. “The brain is a mystery we have not yet solved.”

I lifted the shirt to my nose and inhaled. It was faint, but I could smell something familiar—a scent that wrapped around my heart and made my eyes sting. I inhaled again. It smelled like home.

It didn’t smell like Bradley. His cologne was strong and musky. I never told him, but at times, it made my nose tingle and I had to repress a sneeze or two when he was too close.

I frowned, feeling a strong headache coming on.

Maybe Bradley had changed cologne. I was missing months of my memory. Perhaps at some point he had changed the brand he wore.

I pulled out another worn shirt, one I recognized as my favorite shirt to sleep in. It had been my dad’s, and I’d kept it all these years. I lifted it up, startled when a small box fell out of the rolled material.

I picked up the wooden box, turning it over in my hands. It well-made, and as I rotated it, I heard small thumps as the contents moved inside. Reaching behind me, I turned on another light and studied the box. A beautiful bird was carved on the lid, sitting on the branch of a tree, the image familiar. My heart started pounding as I realized it was the same image as Adam wore on his chest. The one he said was for me. I looked down at the box again, my hands shaking as I stared. The wood gleamed in the light, the hinges glinting on the back. I lifted the lid and pulled out a necklace. On the end of a set of heavy silver links hung another bird, its wings spread out, a small jewel embedded on its breast. My hand shook as I held it up to the light, the feeling it evoked in me overwhelming. A sapphire glittered in the light—vibrant blue—and again, I heard the ghost of a whisper.

“Your eyes fascinate me, Ally. So blue and deep. I love how they look at me.”

I looked inside the box, seeing another smaller case was tucked in the corner, the dull gold and lacquer gleaming. I ran my finger over the painting on the lid. It was the same bird as the larger wooden box. Opening the lid, I found another necklace. This one was a flat disk, the bird motif etched out of the silver. I laid the necklaces out on the floor. They were beautiful and unique and, like the boxes, the craftsmanship undeniable.

Why did I have them rolled up in my dad’s old T-shirt?

There was one last item in the box, and I lifted it out, opening the small velvet pouch and spilling it into my palm—another necklace, this time gold. A small bird set in a tree branch, tiny gemstones surrounding it. It glinted and shone in the light, the artistry exquisite.