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My cheeks warmed from the compliment. With one word, he was able to break the proverbial ice. Freckles.
"Talk to you later, Freckles." His crooked half-smile put me at ease as he closed the door. Then, suddenly, he opened it, causing me to jump. He peeked his head back inside and tossed me the keys. "You might need those. Oh, and my neighbor likes to use the trailhead out back, so don't be surprised if you see someone back there. He's harmless." He flashed another smile and closed the door.
I waited to see if he was going to pop in again, but the sound of a car engine solidified his departure, which was a relief, but I was surprised a little layer of disappointment hung over me, too.
I was alone.
For the first time since I woke up in my hospital room, I was in pure silence. No monitors or distant voices or footsteps echoing in the hallway.
Unadulterated silence.
Did my former self like solitude? Right now, I felt anxious, so I walked around the house, giving myself a tour. Right off the front door was a guest bathroom. It was cute with a pedestal sink, and it had a shower strategically placed behind the bathroom door. The room was simple. It lacked…what was the word? Character? It lacked character. It was plain. It reminded me of the first time I took a shower in the hospital after waking up.
I followed the dark chocolate hardwood floors to the first bedroom. It was a good size and had a beautiful reading alcove and large window on the focus wall. It had a partial view of the ocean and a partial view of the untouched acres of land I assumed Grady owned. Other than the bed and a dresser, it was plain, too. Nothing adorned the walls. Out of curiosity…I stepped in and peeked into the closet. It was completely empty. It made me wonder if this was a vacation home. It would make sense why Grady wasn’t living here.
The last door was to the master suite, and it was anything but quaint. The room was massive, complete with a bay window overlooking the ocean. This room was more inviting than the others with a floral duvet and antique furniture, and the master bathroom was impressive, but it still lacked a personal signature. I opened the master closet and wasn’t surprised it was barren, too.
I ventured back to the kitchen. The house was uniform with the hardwood floors, beige color on the walls, and the lack of décor. It was almost as if this house was made for me. Nothing attached to a person or memory. Just rooms waiting to be filled, like my mind.
And then I felt it. The rise of nothingness climbing over each rib and digging its way up my throat. My hands trembled and I felt as if I might be sick. I fell into a chair at the kitchen table and focused on the crushed seashells that made up the top. The swirl of pinks and blues and the glow of iridescence reminded me of an ocean and the ache it would cause throughout the bones of my feet when it would come ashore and swallow them before quickly retreating again. Over and over until my feet finally numbed. That was what made up my memories now. Small pockets of time that seemed to have no real importance. They were there, though, and so intense that even now, sitting in this house, I could feel the ache in my feet and smell the saltwater as it splashed my face. I squeezed my fists together, my nails digging into my skin from the pressure, and I sucked in a deeply painful breath.
Please, stop, I begged myself.
I sat there among the seashells and salty air until my senses finally released the memory. Released me. The trembling ceased and my legs regained some strength, so I ventured through the sitting area out to the back patio for some fresh air.
I propped open the French doors and walked onto the covered patio that was furnished with white wicker. Farther out was a stone fire pit with chairs encircling it.
This place was magnificent. The sounds of the waves breaking on the cliff below echoed up to the house, and the breeze whipped misty, crisp air onto my face, the salty taste lingering on my lips. I closed my eyes and took it all in.
The back of the house faced west, giving me an unobstructed view of the setting sun overflowing with shades of pink. I remembered sunsets. Not the place or time, but the feeling of unequivocal beauty, and today was as if I was seeing one for the first time and rather than feel alone, I felt content for just a fleeting moment.
"Hi."
My body jolted at the sudden intrusion, and then my muscles froze when I realized it wasn't Grady's voice. I turned slowly to face a man with short brown hair, kind eyes, and an apologetic smile. He was dressed casually in dark jeans, and I caught a glimpse of his chiseled arms hidden beneath a tight-fitting, plain grey cotton shirt. We both stood silently. While I was taking inventory, he seemed to be studying me. Watching me.
He took a step forward, but then stopped. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I knocked a few times before coming back here."
I wanted to speak. I wanted words to flow effortlessly from my lips, but I couldn’t. Instead, I stood there unmoving and silent, completely embarrassed.
"I'm Brandt. I live down the road."
My mouth finally started to gurgle something, but it was unintelligible. I was literally tongue-tied. I was flustered by Grady's presence, but Brandt had me speechless and my stomach doing flips.
"I just wanted to introduce myself. If you need anything, follow the path past your driveway along the cliff. It's a shortcut to my house."
He paused for a moment and then flashed a dazzling smile that indented dimples on either side. "It was nice meeting you,” he said as he walked away.
His voice sang like an old country song, sweet and alluring. I was disappointed when the corner of the house stole him from me. I wanted to say something. To introduce myself, but I understood why I couldn’t find the words. Because I didn’t have a name, but then Grady’s nickname popped in my head.
“Freckles. They call me Freckles,” I whispered. It was my shame and fear that kept me from speaking louder. How could I get to know someone else when I didn't even know myself? It would be wrong. I would be deceiving him, but I wanted to talk to him even if it was just to feel less alone.
I dropped in one of the chairs and recounted the hopelessness that encased me from this morning when the hospital finally released me. I knew my strength would waver at some point, and the protective layer would fall apart piece by piece, and the truth would assume control. For now, though, I just wanted to watch the sun disappear into the horizon and to remember what that was like. Remember one thing at a time. Or was I creating one memory at a time? Building a new memory bank to pull from so, if Brandt came back, I could say something that didn't feel like a lie. I could talk about this sunset, the house, and the stars. I could talk about anything but me.
