Every Tomorrow

by Nia Arthurs

  The clatter of my footsteps on the wooden stairs sounds like thunder, but I don’t slow down. I burst into the lobby and spot Wilson hooked between two burly security guards. He’s talking and smiling so I can tell he’s not concerned, but I move urgently anyway.

  “Stop!” I yell, holding out a hand.

  The few tourists milling in the lobby freeze and stare at me. I don’t pay them any mind and stride toward Wilson. The security guards let him go when it’s obvious that we’re acquainted.

  Wilson stumbles out of their grasp. He’s as tall as I am, but twice as stocky. His shoulders are broad and fit, his legs as thick as tree trunks. The bushy beard on his face trembles with the wind.

  If not for those eyes, ones I’ve known since I was a child, I would call him a stranger.

  Wilson grins and swaggers toward me. “Hey.”

  “You just had to make a scene, didn’t you?”

  “You know how it is.” Wilson slaps my back. “It’s good to see you, cuz.”

  “You too.” I nod to the security guards. “He’s with me.”

  “Yes, sir.” The burly men trot back to their stations while I lead Wilson through the room. On our way, we pass the concierge desk.

  A thick woman with dark skin and a nametag identifying her as ‘UNIQUA’ calls for me. “Mr. Barton!”

  I shift directions and walk toward her instead of the elevator, dragging Wilson along with me. “Hey, Uniqua.” My eyes dip to her tag again because I’m not sure I pronounced that right. “I apologize for my cousin’s behavior.”

  “It’s okay.” She smiles. It’s a warm, open grin. An expectant one. As if we should know each other. But I don’t know her. I’ve never seen her before in my life.

  No, you idiot. You probably met when you checked into the hotel.

  Oh.

  “Is there something wrong?” I ask.

  “No, but if you don’t mind, would you sign in your guest? It’s hotel policy.”

  I glance at Wilson.

  He looks back at me and then rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “And apologize,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “No thanks,” Wilson grumbles.

  I open my mouth to scold him again, but Uniqua giggles and waves her hand. “It’s alright. Things have been boring around here, so it was fun.”

  Wilson sends her a charming smile. “Now this is a woman with good taste.”

  Uniqua’s skin is dark, but she still manages to redden. Her voice climbs to a feverish level when she talks to me. “Mr. Barton, have the police made any progress on your mugging case?”

  I stiffen. “How do you know about that?”

  Uniqua shirks back. Her eyelashes flutter as if she’s not sure where she offended me. “You told me. A few days ago, you couldn’t enter your room because your key card was stolen along with your wallet.”

  “Right.” I smack my hand against the counter, embarrassed for snapping at her. I read about that in my journal. “Someone—Amaya returned it to me.”

  “Yes.” Uniqua nods.

  I lean over the counter. “This Amaya girl. Do you know where I can find her?”

  “Who’s Amaya?” Wilson whispers, sticking his head out toward me.

  I shove him back. “None of your business.”

  Uniqua frowns. “She didn’t leave an address or anything. Don’t you know where she is? You two seemed close.”

  “How close?” Mischief dances in Wilson’s smile. “Did she stay overnight?”

  I grab the clipboard from his hands and shove it at Uniqua. “We’ll be upstairs if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks, honey!” Wilson twists around and winks at Uniqua, making her blush one last time before he follows me to my room. As we board the elevator, he grins. “I can’t say anything else, but the women in Belize are stunning.”

  “They’re alright.”

  “Don’t play innocent. Something happened between you and that Amaya person, didn’t it?” He wiggles a finger in my face.

  I say nothing.

  Wilson takes that as a sign to keep kidding around. “Man, if I were in your shoes, I’d milk my condition like crazy.” He holds his hand out, pretending to cup a woman’s head. “Baby,” he speaks to the air, “I won’t remember you tomorrow, so let’s make tonight count.”

  “Shut up.”

  Wilson brushes his shoulder off, sensing my bad mood. “It was just a joke.”

  The doors open, and I stalk into the corridor.

  Wilson is right on my tail. “Why are you so upset?”

  “Why are you here?”

  He spreads his arms wide. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “Nope.” I slide my keycard over the door and listen to it click. As it swings open, I gesture inside. “After you.”

  Wilson strolls forward. His head of thick black hair moves up and down as he surveys the place. “This is nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wilson jumps on the bed, spreading his arms over the sheets. He speaks, but I don’t hear his voice. I don’t hear anything. A vision pops into my head, a girl—brown skin, short curly hair, big, sparkling brown eyes.

  She was in my bed, smiling at me. Talking to me.

  It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. A crackling sound explodes in my head. I gasp and stumble back.

  Wilson leaps off the bed and wraps an arm around my shoulder. There’s no playfulness in his grip or voice when he says, “Kent, are you alright?”

  “I…”

  “Sit down.” Wilson leads me to the office chair and pushes me into it. Next, he flies to the fridge and offers a bottle of water. “Drink this.”

  I uncap the bottle and down the cool liquid with a swig. A trickle falls down my jaw and drops on my shirt. My shaking hands refuse to quiet.

  “Kent,” Wilson says worriedly, “you’re scaring me.”

  “It was so clear.”

  “What was?”

  “I… had a memory.”

  His brown eyes double. “What?”

  “There was a woman. Right there.” I point to the pillows. “I saw her. She was here.”

  “Wait. Did you actually hook up with a local?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Wilson cups his chin and stares at the window. “You’re regaining your memories.”

  “It’s just one picture.”

  “It’s better than nothing.” He slaps my shoulder. “Good for you, Kent. I really mean that.”

  There’s a crack in his voice that makes me study him. “You alright?”

  “I’m fine.” He sniffs. “You know what? I take that back. I’ve been trying to reach you for two days. Why weren’t you answering me?”

  “My cellphone was stolen”

  “When we talked a few days ago, I told you to download the B-Jogger app and keep in touch everyday. You didn’t. Do you know how worried I was? My beard started falling out.”

  “Thanks for your concern, but as you can see, I’m perfectly okay.”

  “Are you? Because getting robbed and stabbed isn’t my idea of a good time.”

  “Stabbed?”

  Wilson’s face pales. “D-don’t you remember?”

  I jump out of the chair and swipe my journal, pulling back the pages until I read the line detailing my injury. Shock washes over me. “Why would anyone want to hurt me?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Which is why I’ve decided to stay here in Belize until you’re ready to come home.”

  I freeze. “Don’t you have work?”

  “I’ll work from here and fly back when I need to. I’ve already talked to Milton—he’s the financial officer. He’ll handle day-to-day management and leave everything else to me.”

  “Won’t that be too inconvenient for you?” I set the journal back on the bed.

  “ I don’t… think we’ll be in Belize much longer.”

  “Why is that?”

  Wilson avoids my eyes. “What have you be
en up to since you got here? Mom wants to know if you’re eating on time.”

  “I eat when I’m hungry.”

  Eyes blazing, Wilson charges toward me. “You can’t do that. You have to eat three meals, every day. Whether you want to or not.”

  “Okay.” Taken aback, I stare at him. “What’s going on, Will?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Maybe you didn’t know, but my amnesia gave me a superpower.” I tap my temple. “I can read body language like a book. It’s how I relate to the friends and family I don’t remember.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.” I step closer to him. “What?”

  His eyes dart from one side of the room to the other as I advance. When I’m right in front of him, Wilson blurts—“You’re dying.”

  I freeze. “What?”

  His gaze lands on the floor and stays there. “Loss of appetite. Frequent headaches. Short-term memory loss. You’ve experienced all that, haven’t you?”

  “How did you…?”

  “I lied to you, Kent. You didn’t come to Belize on vacation. You came here to die.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Amaya

  “What the heck is Cinderella Amnesia?” Zora makes a face and slides her manicured hands on her hips. “Amaya, I’m a busy woman. Just because I helped you that one time doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

  “I’m not asking for your friendship, Zora. I’m asking for answers. I’ve researched till my eyeballs dry up, but there’s very little information on the web. You’re the only person that can help.”

  “What if I said I’m not interested in helping you again?”

  “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  She scowls. “I can’t believe my only night off is getting ruined. Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She narrows her eyes but turns to the side and jerks her chin. “Come in.”

  I walk into her cramped apartment. Zora obviously loves earthy colors. She’s got cream walls, a brown rug and white chairs. The sofas are bare, a sight that would drive my mother nuts. She wraps anything of value in plastic, especially if it’s white and dirties easily.

  Zora frowns at me. “Why are you just staring at the couch? Sit.”

  “I’ll stand. This won’t take long.”

  “Suit yourself.” She lounges in the chair, folding one trim, brown leg over the other. Zora’s dressed for a night in with ratty shorts and a see-through tank top. Her weave is carefully bound beneath a bright blue bandana.

  “Nice place.”

  “Thanks, but I’m sure you didn’t come to admire my decorating skills. What do you need help with?”

  “Cinderella Amnesia. You ever heard of it?”

  “No. Never.”

  Hope rises in my chest. “So it might not exist?”

  “Not exactly.” Despite her earlier annoyance, Zora brightens when she talks. “I’m just a nurse, but I love studying the brain. There’s so much we still don’t understand. Anything is possible.”

  “Even a rare form of amnesia?”

  “Even that.” She gestures as she explains, “There are two main types of amnesia—one where you lose memories of the past and one where you’re unable to store new memories. Which is your friend suffering from?”

  “It’s a mixture of both. He can’t remember the accident that caused his head trauma, but he can remember recent events as long as they happen in the same day.”

  “What does that mean? The same day?”

  “I don’t know. He goes to sleep and the next morning… all his memories are gone. Like it never happened. He doesn’t remember yesterday or the day before that or the month before that.”

  “Is that why it’s called ‘Cinderella Amnesia’? He loses his memories when the clock strikes midnight?” She chuckles. “Is it some kind of curse?”

  “No.”

  Zora clears her throat. “Are there any other symptoms?”

  A memory of Kent doubled over in the hospital hallway a few days ago comes to mind. “I think he has headaches. Severe ones. I don’t know much more than that.”

  “I’d need to see the patient for myself to be sure…” Zora tosses me a hopeful look.

  I shake my head. “Not gonna happen.”

  “Based off the information you’ve given, I’m just shooting in the dark. There’s no way I can offer more details unless I see for myself.”

  “That’s not possible,” I snap. “Can’t you take an educated guess? I mean, there has to be a cure, right? I’ve heard of amnesia patients regaining their memories. Is there any therapy he could do or…?”

  Zora swings her legs around and plants them on the floor. Her expression is as serious as her voice when she says, “I interned at a nursing home and cared for tons of dementia patients. I can understand your desperation, but there is no cure.”

  I refuse to believe it. “You said dementia. He doesn’t have that.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “He’s been experiencing memory loss on a consistent basis for three years?”

  “Yes,” I say hesitantly.

  “He has severe headaches?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about a loss in appetite?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She nods sagely. “Mm.”

  “Mm? What does that mean?”

  “Worse case scenario, I’d say your friend’s memory gets progressively worse. He’ll probably lose his ability to perform normal functions like speaking, moving and even breathing. Eventually, he might die.”

  My heart plummets. “You’re wrong.”

  She nods. “It’s possible he can live another thirty years without progression, but… he may not.”

  “How do I help him?”

  “Amaya,” Zora tilts her head, “this guy you’re so concerned about… is it Kent?”

  I freeze.

  She reads my expression and sighs. “That’s why the police never came for Tyron, why you were so comfortable going out with Kent after everything that happened. He doesn’t even know the truth. Because he can’t remember it.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” She stands. “Look, I get it. You think you’re responsible for him. You feel like a bad person because you lied to someone who’s sick. What Kent is going through is awful, but it has nothing to do with you.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I’m just… curious, alright?”

  “Come on, Amaya. That B.S. might have worked on my brother, but try again. I’m not saying this because I could get in trouble. I’m genuinely concerned about you. You’re better off alone than running after that guy. Especially now.”

  “I—”

  “Zo!” Someone knocks on the door. “It’s me!”

  Zora’s face darkens. “What is this? Am I hosting a party or something?”

  “That sounds like Thomas,” I mumble. When Zora opens the door and my ex steps inside, I realize that I’m right.

  Thomas King frowns when he sees me. He’s six feet of pure chocolate muscle and brown eyes that can drill a hole into a wall. We met two years ago. I spent several months dodging his advances until I finally gave in and went on a date.

  We spent a year together, until we decided to break up. It was a mutual decision.

  “What is she doing here?” Thomas says darkly.

  “Hey, Thomas.”

  “She was just leaving.” Zora leaves the door open.

  I’d check her tone, but it is her house and I’m as eager to leave as she is to see me go. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Remember what I said.” She hikes both eyebrows. “Don’t get caught up in someone else’s drama. You have too much of your own.” Her eyes make a pointed journey to her brother before they bounce back to me. “Later.”

  I gallop do
wn the stairs and flee outside. Footsteps thud behind me. A glance over my shoulder reveals Thomas, his focus on my face.

  I gasp. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Since when have you and Zora been friends?”

  “We’re not.” I glance behind him to where Zora is standing on the second floor balcony, bracketed by the overhead lights. I purse my lips. “You better have a good reason for running after me or she’ll be pissed.”

  Thomas sticks his hands into his pockets, looking oddly vulnerable. “How have you been, Amaya?”

  “Good.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Yeah.” I rock back on my heels.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About you. About us. Don’t you… isn’t there a part of you that regrets the way we ended things?”

  I step back. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I don’t. We both agreed that we were better off without each other.”

  “No, you said that. I agreed because, once again, you’d gone out on a limb for your brother and I felt like you were prioritizing someone else. But now I can see that I was being selfish. I should have been more understanding—”

  “Thomas, stop.” I shuffle my feet. “That’s not true. You were a great boyfriend. Nothing that happened was your fault. When Tyron got arrested, I couldn’t think of anything but him. It was difficult for me, and I took it out on you.”

  “But I never offered to help,” Thomas says. “If I could start over, I would do things differently. I would be there for you instead of demanding something you couldn’t give.”

  My smile is gentle. “But we can’t start over.”

  “Are you seeing anyone else?”

  I think of Kent. “Uh, no.”

  “Then—”

  “But I don’t want to get back with you.” I realize how cold that sounds and try to soften the statement by adding, “You deserve to be with someone who’ll love you like crazy. I want that for you, Thomas.”

  He ducks his head, a strained smile on his handsome face. “I should have known you’d close the door if I tried to wiggle in.”

  “It was a nice attempt.”

  We share a laugh. The breeze picks up, carrying the scent of hibiscus from the bushes lining the driveway. The moonlight bathes our path in a silvery glow. Somewhere a dog howls out a mournful song.