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Chapter Eleven
Memory
NoteverydreamI had when I was a little girl made sense. Sometimes it would be years before I could piece together the images that had permeated my mind. There were so many misunderstood stories in my head that I would forget about the forewarning until it happened in front of me.
Not that I could do anything about it.
Not that my remembering changed anything.
What was going to happen was already in play. Nothing I ever did ceased it from coming to pass.
Once in a dream, my cousin stumbled from a car with his face covered in blood. His eyes were blank and lifeless as he staggered towards me. It haunted me for countless nights. I awoke with the taste of copper in my mouth, and a sense of death filled my bedroom. When I confided in my sister, she insisted we take action.
I forbade him from driving his entire sixteenth year. He, as expected, continued driving, so my sister and I pleaded with our mother and his, quoting deadly statistics about inexperienced drivers. Our attempts to scare them worked. They forced my cousin to walk everywhere, but I still dreamed of his face and the blood.
One summer night, he was walking in town when a school friend ran her car into a metal barrier. He ran to the scene, climbed into her car, and tried to un-wedge her from the collapsed steering column. She died in her seat, bleeding out. The local newspaper printed a picture of him exiting the car, covered in her blood. That look from my dreams, of his emptiness and dread, filled his eyes in the black and white shot. My attempts did nothing to stop the unavoidable.
The night I gave birth to Sam, he was almost out before I remembered the dream from my childhood. The pain and exhaustion I had felt during his delivery morphed into intense fear. I turned to my sister in terror and told her what I recalled. The broken cuckoo clock that went off every ten minutes and drove me insane for the whole delivery. The three feet of snow that had come out of nowhere in March. Our neighbor who had dropped the teapot and burned her right foot.
She gave me a solemn nod as tears steadily fell down her cheeks. She had known the entire time.
She remembered.
Samuel Riggs was born at five in the morning. Seven pounds and four ounces, with charcoal hair like his father. He came out without a sound and despite everything we did, I never heard him cry. When the paramedics came, they wrapped him in a red blanket, just as I had dreamed. I held him until mid-day when Dean pried him from my hands while I screamed and clawed to get him back.
That was the first and last time I saw Dean Riggs cry.
As I told the story in our cabin, it was also the first time I saw Sam Rivera cry. His sympathy was tangible when I told him of what I’d lost, of what Dean and I had grieved. There was no jealousy or judgment – only sadness from Sam and his efforts to comfort me as the story fell from my lips.
I loved my son every second of every day, from the moment I found out about the pregnancy to the moment I spoke the words to Sam about his death. When the men at the dock asked me for my husband’s name, I gave Sam because memories of him always hovered near the surface. Sam Riggs occupied every thought.
I believed I wouldn’t survive anything like that again, and I promised myself I would never have any more children. A heart can only break so many times before it can no longer heal and love again. I saved my love for BeLew, and I hoped there was enough left for Sam.
I got ready for work in silence. Sam didn’t have words of comfort, but he reached for my hand anytime it was free. I kissed him before I left and reassured him we were fine and we would get through this. I just needed him to know, especially because I suspected it gave Dean an aversion to him.
“Rowan,” he stammered as I walked towards the door. “It’s Nico. Nico Rivera.”
“Thank you,” I mouthed to him. He looked to be in agony when he said it, like it physically hurt him to admit his true identity. No one knew him on this boat that I could tell. He trusted me with the information, and that was all I needed for now.
“I need to be Sam, okay. I’m your Sam. You’re my Rowan.”
“In this together,” I said, and I turned and left the cabin.
I knew better than most that not much happened by chance. The universe had a plan, and — fortunately — sometimes I saw that plan before it happened. And yes, sometimes that plan tore me into a million pieces and broke me, but, no, not everything was by chance. Nico was sent to me — he was here for me. I left the cabin fully aware that it wasn’t a coincidence or my fear of loneliness that drew me to him. My faith in that bound me to him, always.
The agriculture unit was as foreboding on the inside as it was on the outside. Wire fences topped with barbs sectioned off several greenhouses and planting sites. Men with automatic rifles paced the makeshift hallways, and they dressed us in prison uniforms. Well, they look and feel like prison uniforms.
During orientation, we were all given jumpsuits to wear over our clothes. Except many of us desperately needed fresh clothing, so we opted for the jumpsuit only. I could take two suits for Sam back with me as long as I signed for them.
I found out laundry started next week. This week’s focus for the garment area was making work attire and school uniforms. Another win because BeLew needed something not washed in a sink.
Changed and crammed in between gates, unsure of where to go, I heard a voice from the front of the crowd speak. “We want to stress the importance of your being here and being successful. It’s a fact that we will run out of food if we cannot farm on the boat.” The voice was Captain Matthews speaking again. It sent a shiver down my spine.
I sifted my way through the crowd. My jumpsuit boasted the insignia of leadership, so most obliged and stepped aside. I saw Dean first. He had already spotted me. I smiled at him and immediately recalled Sam entering me hours before. Guilt made my cheeks flame, and I moved to my right to avoid his stare.
Matthews was a daunting man, dressed again in full uniform. He took command of the room with his voice only, but seeing him up close sealed the deal. His presence would strike fear in anyone, even without knowing the events of yesterday. This unit was definitely in the higher-ups’ pockets, but why? For fuck’s sake, this can’t all be about lettuce.
“We won’t be screwing around, and I don’t give a shit what anyone likes to eat. If it’s fast and easy, we will grow it.” A few heckles comparing vegetables to women came out from the crowd. Matthews stepped forward with two huge strides. He grabbed a man by the throat and yanked him nose to nose. A few of us stumbled away, slack-jawed.
