by Nia Arthurs
“Maybe I do. I… don’t remember.”
She frowns. “Do I look like a joke to you?”
“No, ma’am. Not at all.” I wave my hands.
“What about your parents?”
“They died when I was nine.”
“You have other family?”
“Yes. I stayed with my aunt and uncle.”
“Where did you meet my daughter?”
I pause and strain to come up with an honest answer, but it eludes me. “I don’t remember.”
“Do you remember sleeping with her? Did you use protection?”
I squirm. “We’re not in that type of relationship, ma’am.”
“Really?” She huffs. “Then what kind of relationship do you have with her?”
I have a feeling that, even if my memories were restored, I wouldn’t have a clear-cut answer to her question. “I’m not sure.”
She glares at me. “I see.”
I wince and try to redirect the conversation. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Mai. You and Amaya look alike.”
“No we don’t. She took after her father, my first husband. If I didn’t give birth to her, I wouldn’t think she was mine.”
Okay, that didn’t work.
I clear my throat. “What brings you by today? Amaya wasn’t expecting you.”
“I can stop by my daughter’s house anytime I want. Do you have a problem with that?”
I gawk. “I didn’t mean to offend—”
“Ma, stop being rude.” Amaya fast-walks out of the kitchen with a glass of freshly squeezed lime juice.
“I can do what I want.”
“But not to him,” Amaya insists. “You have no idea what Kent has done for our family.”
“What are you talking about?”
Amaya sits closely beside me and drapes one hand on my thigh. “Remember the robbery I told you about? The one Tyron was apart of? Well, this was the target.”
Mrs. Mai and I react in the same way. “What?”
Amaya rubs her temple and mumbles, “Shoot. That’s news to you, isn’t it?”
“You think?” I turn to her. “Someone robbed me?”
“My son robbed him?”
“Why don’t we all take a breath…?” Amaya begins.
Mrs. Mai cuts her off. “If that’s true, then… wait… why would you sleep with him?”
“Mom, we didn’t.”
“When were you going to tell me about this?” I yell.
Amaya glances at me, her eyebrows slanted over narrowed eyes. “You knew already.”
“I did?”
“That’s why you rushed over. Last night, Julius stormed the house and made a big mess. The cops were called. Julius admitted to robbing Kent and tried to bring Ty down with him, but Kent dropped the charges. Tyron’s safe.”
Mrs. Mai digs her fingernails into the sofa. “I-I can’t believe this.”
Neither can I. “Are you sure I did that?”
Amaya nods. The sparkle in her eyes says I won her over because of that decision, but I feel like someone else lived that life, someone else deserves her admiration. Not me.
Mrs. Mai scoots to the edge of her seat. “No wonder Tyron came home looking like a truck ran him over yesterday. That’s why I wanted to speak to you. I was afraid you were right and he had gotten involved with that crew again.”
“He’s not.” Amaya’s voice is hopeful. “Last night, Tyron returned the money he’d stolen. He did that, ma. All on his own.”
“Thank God!” The older woman lunges for my hands and grasps it tight. Tears sparkle in her eyes. “And thank you. Thank you so much. If you want my daughter, you can have her.”
“Mom,” Amaya frowns, “I’m not some trophy you can give away.”
“I didn’t call you a trophy,” she snaps and then turns to me. “Did I ever use the word trophy?”
“No, ma’am.”
“All I’m saying is, I approve.”
Amaya laughs. “Well, I appreciate that. Thanks for stopping by, Mom.”
Mrs. Mai stands and I do too. She reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. It’s clear why Amaya is so affectionate since her mother hasn’t stopped touching me yet.
“It’s okay that you don’t have a job. We all go through those hard times. I’ll call around and see if there are any vacancies available.”
I grin. “I appreciate that, ma’am.”
She pats my cheek like my grandmother used to and waddles out. Amaya locks the deadbolt and wilts against the surface of the door. Her relief is palpable. “Whew. I thought she’d never leave.”
“Your mother’s nice.”
“Nice?” She snorts. “You don’t have to lie to me. I already like you.”
I smirk. “I mean that.”
“She’s… my mother.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she barged in here assuming we were hooking up and gave you the third degree. I’m a grown woman.”
“Your mother loves you. It’s clear as day. And at least you have a mother to hate. Some people don’t.”
Amaya softens. “I don’t hate her. I just don’t understand her.”
“Why?”
Instead of answering my question, Amaya takes my hand. “Know what I’m in the mood for?”
I try to be a gentleman, but my mind immediately skips to a vision of her with that smirk on and nothing else. I hoarsely reply, “What?”
“Ice cream.”
“Ice cream?”
She laughs. “Yeah.”
Ten minutes later, Amaya drags me to an ice cream parlor.
As I lick my cone, I study the planes of her beautiful face and the rich brown skin that she shares with her mother. Her hair is still in a bun, but it’s been brushed and gelled so the curls are under order.
I rub my thumb against her wrist, marveling at the differences in our skin tone. She’s so vibrant, not just in her personality but in appearance. I gravitate to her. Like the sun.
She sees me watching her and strikes a pose. “You can take a picture if you want. It’ll last longer.”
I pull out my phone to do just that when I notice a bunch of messages from Wilson. They’re from last night.
WILSON: So you need me to pick you up?
WILSON: I’m assuming this means you’re good. ;)
WILSON: Wait, I’m getting worried. When you’re done, text me so I know you’re not roaming the city barefoot and clueless.
WILSON: Should I call?
I snort at the obvious desperation in his messages.
Amaya notices and smiles along. “What’s so funny?”
I show her the texts but her reaction is the opposite of mine. As she reads, her grin disappears.
I straighten, confused by her obvious distress. “What’s wrong?”
She plops her spoon back into the plastic cup. “Is that the next stage?”
“Next stage?”
“Of your condition,” she whispers. “Are you going to be out one day and forget where you are and how to get back home?” Her eyes dart from side to side. “What if you get into an accident? Or get robbed again?”
“Amaya, relax. That’s not going to happen.”
It’s a bald-faced lie and we both know it.
She leans back. “I still don’t get it. Why were you in that neighborhood in the first place? It’s not somewhere a tourist would go.”
“I’m sure I had a good reason.”
Amaya’s question lingers even after she gives me a ride back to the hotel.
Why did I visit that neighborhood? Who did I meet? And are they the ones responsible for my stab wound?
Wilson isn’t in the hotel room when I enter. I’m relieved, but I don’t celebrate long. I spot the journals on the bed and fly through them, searching for an answer.
There are none.
I open my phone to log into my B-Jogger app, but change my mind at the last minute and use the app on my laptop instead.
When I shake the mouse, the scree
n comes to life. But it doesn’t ask me for my password.
I’m already logged in.
The B-Jogger app opens before me, displaying its colorful interface. I stare at the screen, struggling to find a reason why—not only my laptop, but my private B-Jogger account would be on. Something about this doesn’t feel right.
My mind races. The only person who would have access to this room is Wilson. Did he log onto my laptop?
It makes sense that he would need the laptop to do his work, but why sneak into my B-Jogger app?
Unless…
My fingers move on instinct as I click on the ‘alpha’ setting and peek at the code. Shock winds through me when I scroll through the system.
Someone changed several of my entries and deleted voice recordings. Unfortunately, the app didn’t save any information before it was deleted. All those memories are gone. Forever.
I lean back in my chair, the wind seeping out of me. With a condition like mine, all I have to rely on is trust.
What if Wilson used that to his advantage? What if my cousin hired someone to stab me? Since he failed, what will he do to me next?
Chapter Eighteen
Amaya
“Thanks for coming.” I glance over my shoulder at Diandra who shucks out of her black jacket and drapes it over the arm of my couch. She drags her clip off and her weave spills like silk over her back.
“No problem. I feel like it’s been ages since we had a Girl’s Night anyway.”
“I have so much to tell you. I don’t know where to start.” I point to the wine glasses I’ve prepared. The table is set with a platter of cheese, candies, chocolates and enough corn chips to feed a daycare. “Hungry?”
“I’ll start with wine and work my way up.”
I pour the first glass when there’s a knock on the door. This is the second time I’ve had an unexpected visitor today.
In the morning, it was my mother. Who’s next? Tyron? Wilson? Thomas? The Prime Minister?
I yank the door open and almost slam it shut again. “Zora?”
“I’m here.” She storms in and turns to me, dark hands on her hips. Her blue scrubs are stained with a yellowish liquid and the bun on top of her head looks like she threw it and let it flop where it may.
“You’re… here…” I say hesitantly.
“What’s the emergency?”
I tap my foot on the floor. “Who invited you?”
“I did,” Diandra says from behind me.
“Dee?” I hiss.
“You said you had something important to tell me about Kent. Since Zora was Kent’s physician, I figured she had a right to know what was going on with him.”
“Why didn’t you discuss it with me first?” I grumble.
Zora snarls at me. “I can just go. I have plenty of things I’d rather be doing.”
Then why don’t you go and do them?
“Here.” Diandra shoves her glass of wine at Zora and pulls her to the living room. “Have a seat.”
I glare at my best friend but decide not to put up a fuss. Zora’s already here and Dee has a point. Zora showed up last week ready to help, no questions asked. She’s earned her right to stay even if I’d prefer if she didn’t.
When Dee settles in the couch, she stares expectantly at me. “Well, what’s the update?”
“Kent and I…” I wring my hands together. The dynamic has shifted now that Zora’s here. “We’re involved.”
Diandra’s jaw drops. “Involved? Like in charity work?”
“No, like involved with each other.” I draw my two pointer fingers together. “Like romantically.”
“What?” Diandra shoots to her feet. “Are you crazy?”
I wince. “There’s more. You should probably sit down.”
Diandra sits gingerly at the edge of the cushions.
I dive into the details of everything that happened yesterday, including the cuts and bruises caused by Julius’s rough handling. Diandra looks sickened while Zora looks mildly bored.
I skip the details of my night with Kent and summarize in a simple—“We had a conversation and we’ve decided to be together.”
Or more accurately, I bamboozled him and now he has no choice but to get used to me hanging around.
“How are you going to deal with his amnesia?” Zora asks bluntly.
I glare at her but not before Diandra catches my expression. “Amnesia?”
“Didn’t she tell you?” Zora blows on her fingernails. “Kent Barton has Cinderella Amnesia. It’s a condition that prevents a patient from retrieving their memories. When they wake up in the morning, it’s like the day before never happened.”
“That’s impossible.” Diandra chokes out a laugh, but sobers when no one joins her. “Is that true?”
I nod.
Diandra’s face reddens. “And you told Zora of all people, instead of me—” she smacks her chest— “your best friend?”
“It’s not like that, Dee.”
Zora shrugs. “Amaya didn’t tell me. I put two and two together. If it was up to her, she would have left me in the dark too.”
“Why would you get involved with someone like that?” Diandra cries.
“Kent is an amazing guy. I like him. His condition is not a deal breaker.”
“What about the fact that he’ll die?” Zora challenges.
I grit my teeth.
“What does that mean? He’ll die?” Diandra looks truly distressed. “It’s not because of us, is it?”
Zora gestures as she explains. “Normally, a patient wouldn’t die from amnesia itself but, in Kent’s case, his memory loss was caused by a traumatic injury to the brain. The brain has the ability to repair itself—which is the most incredible thing ever and—”
“Could you get to the point? Please?” Diandra frowns.
“Kent’s brain isn’t getting better. It’s getting worse.”
Diandra covers her mouth. “That’s horrible.”
“We’re not giving up.” I insist. “There’s got to be a way to keep his brain from regressing.”
My best friend turns to me, tears in her eyes. “You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak. You know that, right? It’s one thing if he’s American and you’re Belizean. Maybe you can work through the fact that you’re black and he’s white. But if you’re alive and he’s dead, where does that leave you?”
“Dee…” I swallow my own fears and put on a brave face. “He’s going to be fine. You know I don’t give up when I want something.”
“Even you can’t stop nature.”
I send Zora a dark look that forces her to shut her mouth. “However long I have him, I want to be with Kent. That’s not going to change whether we find a way to help or not.”
“Fine. He’s got amnesia, but what do you really know about him?” Diandra lists off on her fingers. “What was he doing in the ghetto that late at night? Who stabbed him? Are you in danger just by being close to him?”
“I’m… not sure.”
“Amaya, you know I love you, but there are too many unknown variables here. I don’t think you should do this.”
“I want to meet him.” Zora raises her hand. “Then I’ll make my decision.”
Like you’re decision matters. I bite my tongue and snap instead, “You’re not meeting Kent!”
She frowns. “Look, I don’t care whether you’re dating him or not. It’s a free country. You can screw whoever you want. But there’s something that’s been niggling at the back of my mind since that night.”
“What is it?” I demand.
She flashes her dark eyes. “It’s about that stab wound, but I need to check in person to be sure.”
“I’ll think about it.” My gaze slides to my best friend who is wilted on the sofa like an inflatable doll without air. “Dee, you okay?”
“I always thought you’d meet someone with a safe job—like an accountant or something. You’d live a long, boring life with a bunch of kids and Tyron popping in every now and
then to help. That’s what I wanted for you.”
“I can still have that.”
“With a man who’s going to die soon?” Diandra runs a hand down her face. “Your step-dad was a jerk, your mom isn’t fully there, and your brother’s a wanna-be thug. You couldn’t control any of that drama. But this… this is your choice?”
I raise my chin. “Yes.”
“Great.” Diandra moans.
“I don’t know about you…” Zora drains the wine in her glass. “But I could use another refill.”
Diandra raises a hand. “I’ll have a mug.”
“A mug? Of wine?”
“Please and thank you.”
I shake my head and follow Zora to the kitchen. As I pull out the wine bottle and two more glasses, I turn to her. “You know, for someone who hates my guts, you consistently show up when asked.”
“It’s because I’m too kind for my own good.”
I smirk. “Thank you, Zora. You’re like… the annoying little sister I never wanted.”
“Wow. Now my life is complete.” She eyes me over the rim of her glass. “What did you and Thomas talk about that night at my place?”
“Nothing much.”
“That’s what he said.” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Now that you’re with Kent, I can expect that you won’t rekindle anything with my brother?”
I laugh. “Zora?”
“What?”
“Never change.”
I leave her looking confused in the kitchen and return to Diandra. She accepts the glass with a frown. “Where’s my mug?”
“I pretended you were joking and ignored that request.” I take the seat next to her. A moment later, Zora pads into the room with a bowl of chips in her lap.
Diandra reaches over and grabs a handful. Before shoving a bunch into her mouth, she says—“You know, I’ve been curious about something.”
“Is this about Kent?”
“No.” Diandra pokes Zora in the side with her finger. “That threat Amaya used to get you to help us out that night. She said something about a Keanu guy. What was that about?”
Zora goes very still.
We’re diving into sensitive territory so I try to draw Diandra back. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about—”
“I had an abortion,” Zora blurts.
The room goes so silent I can hear the refrigerator buzzing like a mosquito in my ear. Zora’s face is a mask of indifference, but the rigidness of her shoulders and tenseness around her eyebrows says she’s not as unaffected as she’d like us to believe.