AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He’s inside now, mugs and dishes clinking in the sink as he washes up our lunch things. He fed me a baked potato with tuna salad and cheese—said I need to get my strength up—and hey, maybe if I focus on these details, living minute to minute, I never have to face the disaster of forgetting my own name.
“Cocoa.” I try out my new identity, drawing the name out, my lips rounding. It’s kind of funny. Old fashioned but pretty. And the fact that Mac chose it for me makes my tummy warm.
Clink. Clink.
Is he nearly done in there? I shift in the garden chair, metal squeaking, and peer into the kitchen. I offered to help clean up after lunch but he waved me off, and now I’ve got no company except the low-grade panic buzzing around my skull. With Mac gone, my irrational sense of peace ebbs away too.
Because… what if I never remember who I am?
What if I never find out what happened to me?
Or what if Idoremember, and wish I hadn’t?
What if Mac gets sick of me, and I lose the only person keeping me sane right now? What if I’m cast out on these strange streets, completely helpless?
What if, what if, what if…
A fat bumble bee drifts over one of Mac’s flowerbeds. I focus on that instead, on its furry little body with black and yellow stripes, though it takes every ounce of my concentration to block out all those other thoughts. So much easier to stay calm when the harbor master is nearby.
“Clues,” I mutter once the panic has subsided again. It’s still there, still sloshing around my insides like battery acid, but it’s less urgent. Muted again. “Look for clues.”
The only starting points I have are my dress and my own body, so I shrug off the bundle of blankets Mac wrapped me in and stand up. I’m moving stiffly, muscles aching like crazy, and I guess that’s a clue.
Waking up soaked in a rowboat after a storm… signs point to a dramatic swim, right? Especially with all this salt greasing up my hair. I blow out a harsh breath and examine my dress.
Itwaswhite, once upon a time. But it’s a casual design, thank god—falling to mid-thigh, and made of cotton. Not a wedding dress. Whew.
There are stains and tears, but nothing obvious. No bloody hand prints or whatever, nothing that a TV detective might zoom in on. Just the ordinary wear and tear of nearly drowning in a storm. Fine.
“Clues,” I say again, repeating it like my new mantra. Why don’t I want the actual police to do this? I’m not sure, exactly—I only know that when Mac wanted to call them, the wordnoclanged through me, my panic suddenly fierce. I may not know much, but I don’t want the cops anywhere near me. I do know that.
And he listened to me. I love him for that.
Propping a heel on the chair, I inspect one leg then the other—then check out the rest of my body, spinning in a slow circle, noting every faded bruise and scar. Most marks look old, apart from a few fresher bumps and grazes.
Hmm.
I have an athletic build, with strong thighs and a tight waist. Rounded hips and small boobs—so small I didn’t bother with a bra.
Does Mac like pear-shaped women? Let’s hope so.
With a glance over my shoulder, I raise my dress and peer at my underwear. More faded cotton—pale green, I think, before our dunking in the ocean—and threadbare as hell, with a snapped elastic on one leg. I’m like a ripped orphan Annie. WhoamI?
Whoever I am, I clearly had no plans to show those panties to another person. So last night probably wasn’t a date gone wrong, right?
Maybe I’m grasping at straws. Gah.
A throat clears behind me, and I let my dress drop, cheeks flushing bright red. When I spin around, Mac’s hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks wary. Tall, dark and bearded, with a weather-beaten face and strong shoulders, but wary. Of me.
Because I’m lifting my dress in his garden like a psychopath.
“I just wanted to see,” I blurt. “I thought my panties could be a clue.”
If anything, he looks more bemused. “Sure.”
“I checked other things too. My body. My dress.”
“Right.” The harbormaster scratches his chin. His short beard makes a crackly noise, and for some reason that sends a dart of heat through my belly. “Any luck?”
