by Loretta Lost
However, after at least ten hours of sitting on a hard chair and typing feverishly, my hands feel like they’re going to fall off. My eyes are also failing me. “I give up,” I say finally, leaning back in my chair and reaching up to rub my sore shoulders. My back and neck hurt, and I feel like I can’t sit in this position for a second longer. I press my palms into my eyes and sigh.
“It looks like there’s half a bottle of Pinot Noir left,” Liam points out. “Want to join me for a drink on the patio?”
“Sure,” I say with a smile. “Let me just try to look over what I’ve written real fast.”
Liam moves to the kitchen to get the wine and the glasses before heading to the backyard. I skim through my document, trying to read the words on the paper, but they begin blurring together into little splotches of pixelated ink. Frowning, I rub my temples. Liam has been insisting that I keep him updated about the situation with my eyes, but I am too embarrassed to tell him. I am worried that if he knows that my vision is failing, he’ll feel the need to perform another surgery.
I have spent enough time in hospitals lately, and I am not keen on going back.
Rising to my feet, I use the desk to help me stand. Moving toward the patio dizzily, I grasp pieces of furniture along the way. I really should get more exercise. Just standing up after sitting so long is causing my head to ache, and reminding me that I’m not fully recovered.
When I get to the doors and step outside. I see that Liam is sitting in a lawn chair and staring through a strangely slender apparatus. After a moment of curiously considering his actions, it occurs to me that he might be looking at the stars through a telescope. It is early evening, and the sky is not fully dark yet. I am a bit puzzled, for when I look up, I see nothing at all. I wonder what he can see. I have never peered through a telescope, and I can’t help wondering what the stars would look like up close and personal. Unfortunately, I doubt whether I could see them at all with my substandard vision.
“Helen!” Liam says when he sees me approaching. “Come here. You’ve got to look at this. I can see Jupiter’s Great Red Spot!”
While I have heard of this infamous red spot, I have never dreamed that I could actually see it. Which one is red again? The color of anger. An angry storm. The idea seems so mystical and alluring in my head that I’m sure it will be a brilliant sight to behold.
Moving to sit close to Liam on the lawn chair, I send him a shy smile before reaching for my glass of wine and taking a large drink. “Okay, Boyfriend. Show me the stars.”
Liam places his hand on my back tenderly as he guides me toward the telescope. Peering inside, I see a small glowing ball of light that looks similar to the moon, but with some pale tan stripes. I think I can see a tiny speckle on its surface that is possibly the Great Red Spot, but it doesn’t look nearly as red and angry as I had imagined. I blink rapidly to clear my vision and reach up to rub my eyes, trying to see better. The picture is not quite as vivid as I had hoped, and I am a little disappointed.
“Can you see it?” Liam asks. “How does it look?”
“Small,” I respond softly. “Faint. I don’t know. I can’t see it that well. Maybe it’s just my eyes failing me.”
“Look a little closer,” Liam says softly.
Ignoring the pain and discomfort in my eyes from writing all day, I try to follow his instructions. The spot on the planet does become a little clearer for a moment, but then I am startled to see an odd item enter the path of the telescope. It looks like—a gemstone?
Pulling away from the keyhole, I look at Liam in puzzlement. Oh, no. Not this again. He is holding a small metal object in front of the telescope, and upon more careful inspection, I can see that it is his engagement ring with the blood-red ruby stone in the center. I sigh in exasperation.
“Boyfriend,” I begin in an annoyed voice.
“Helen,” he says softly, slipping his arm around my waist. “It’s not as big as the storm on Jupiter, but would you consider wearing this ring and marrying me?”
“We’ve been through this a few times now,” I tell him, placing my hand on his leg. “I barely know you. Maybe you should wait until I get my memories back...”
“You’re not going to get your memories back,” Liam says bluntly.
My eyes widen in surprise. “What?”
“I’m not a specialist, but when it comes to the human brain, specialists aren’t always specialists. I feel like if you were ever going to remember, you would have by now. But sometimes, brain damage is simply permanent.”
“Permanent?” I ask in horror.
“But it’s not a death sentence,” Liam says softly. “We can make new memories.” He takes my hand and slips the ring on my finger. “As long as you don’t forsake the relationship we already built, I promise to help you make new memories that are even better than the old ones.”
Breathing deeply, I stare down at the ring in discomfort. At the same time, it does feel perfect on my hand. “I don’t know...”
“I want you to wear this ring,” Liam tells me firmly. “It was my grandmother’s. You can consider it a promise ring if you prefer. Just promise that you’ll try a little harder to get to know me.”
“Okay,” I tell him softly, giving him a little smile. “That I can do.”
Liam lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss against my fingers. “I know that I’m not the easiest guy to get to know, but just keep an open heart. I’m trying my best, and I just need to know that you’re going to try, too. We’re really good together, Helen. I think you can see that already. But we could be a lot better.”
“I’m not ready to get married,” I tell him, fingering the gemstone in the center of the ring. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he tells me. “How about this: I’ll stop asking you to marry me if you wear the ring, and promise to let me know as soon as you think it’s a good idea? Or as soon as you’re thinking of thinking that it’s a good idea? No time pressure.”
My lips curl up into a smile. “Alright then, Fiancé,” I say coyly, leaning close for a kiss. “I’ll let you know when. But I definitely want to finish writing this book before I can even start thinking about marriage.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re going to call it?” Liam asks.
I look up at the sky thoughtfully for a moment. “Yes,” I say quietly. “What do you think of Clarity?”
Chapter Seventeen
I am jolted awake by the first beams of the sunrise. I realize that Liam and I ended up opening another bottle of wine last night, and staying out on the patio for hours, drinking and talking until we both fell asleep. Sighing with satisfaction, I lift his arm off my body so that I can be free to stand up and stretch. I notice the little ruby ring on my finger, and I gaze at it curiously. I am seized by the strange urge to show or tell someone that I’m sort-of engaged, but there isn’t anyone around. The first person that comes to mind is my sister, but it’s too early in the morning for high pitched squeals. The next best candidate is my dog.
It suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t seen Snowball for hours. She usually sleeps close to us, or on top of us, but she isn’t anywhere on the patio. I don’t recall her being in the house either, at least not when I was writing in the living room yesterday. Moving toward the cabin, I slide open the door and poke my head in.
“Snowball?” I call out softly. “Are you here?”
When there is no pitter-patter of excited little feet rushing to greet me, I frown in disappointment. Where could she be? Is she lost somewhere in the forest? There isn’t anyone—oh! She could be with David.
I’m a little embarrassed at the idea of going back to the painter’s house after bolting out of there like lightning the last time I visited, but I suppose I might as well apologize for being rude. I lift my discarded sweater from one of the lawn chairs, and pull it on over my shoulders. I quickly grab a bottle of water and guzzle down half of it. Finally, after hunting for a bit of station
ary, I scrawl a note for Liam. My handwriting is a mess, but I hope that he will be able to read it:
My lips quirk upward at the amusing note, which I fold up and tuck into Liam’s sleeping hand. He looks so adorable sprawled out on the lawn chair like that. I am a bit surprised at the signature I wrote: I was intending on signing my name as Helen, but I suppose that my hands have some kind of muscle memory after signing dozens or perhaps hundreds of books as Winter Rose. I am starting to enjoy it when these little memories come bubbling up to the surface in strange ways.
Speaking of which, I forgot to ask Liam about the martial arts I used to pin David to the ground. I will have to mention it later. Sliding on a pair of shoes and moving off the patio, I begin walking in the direction of David’s house. I remember that Snowball seemed to like him, and David did mention having recently lost his dog. It only stands to reason that Snowball decided to visit our poor brokenhearted neighbor to give him some company.
Tucking my hands into the pockets of my sweater, I hold on to my cell phone and keys as I begin to jog briskly along the wooded path. I am feeling a little healthier and stronger every day. I am able to run at a brisk but sustainable pace until I see the little clearing of David’s property just beyond the trees. Climbing uphill to get to his house, I see that there is a little bowl of dog food on his porch. This makes me smile. I suppose he wanted Snowball to feel welcome if she ever came exploring this way.
As I approach, I notice an easel set up near his door. I can’t help peeking, and I am immediately stunned by the emotion captured on the canvas. It is a woman standing on a beach in the middle of a storm. The ocean waters are swelling to a tsunami that looks like it’s about to knock her off her feet. But still, the woman stands calmly on the beach, waiting for the impact.
It gives me chills.
“Do you like it?” a masculine voice asks.
I turn around in surprise, and David puts both of his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“Please have mercy!” he jokes. “I come in peace. You can break anything but the arms. I need them to paint.”
I give him a small smile. “It’s hauntingly beautiful.”
“It’s what I saw the other night when I looked into your eyes.”
My smile disappears as I look back to the painting, searching the emotions from a different perspective. “Well, I think you captured it,” I tell him softly. “I had no idea that I was so transparent.”
“You’re not,” he tells me, leaning against his house in a cocky way. “I have a rare gift for seeing people.”
I find myself rolling my eyes at this cheesy and arrogant line, but my gaze keeps getting drawn back to the painting. “Am I just really stupid when it comes to art, or are you really good at this?”
“I’m really fucking good at this,” David says with a grin. “By the way, thanks for sending your dog over to keep me company. A bitter old divorcee needs all the lovin’ he can get.”
“I wish I could take credit for that, but Snowball came over to visit you all on her own. I guess she has a thing for bitter old divorcees.” A glance into his cabin reveals dozens of empty liquor bottles scattered across several tables that seem to be newly accumulated since I last visited. “Wow. It seems like you’re a messy, drunken, miserable, and bitter divorcee. My dog’s taste in men is worse than my sister’s.”
“I know why you’re here,” David tells me as he moves to collect the newest painting off the easel. “And I’d like to inform you that I’ve picked the perfect tree for you to get naked on.”
I consider protesting, but the truth is that I am really excited about the opportunity to be in one of his paintings. “Okay,” I tell him, “but I have some rules. First of all, I need to get a copy of some sort. I want to be able to look at it and remember the time I let that crazy guy from the forest paint my boobs.”
“Your wish is my command,” he tells me. “I can have prints made for you.”
“Second of all,” I say softly. “Don’t touch me or say anything creepy. I am cool with dirty jokes as long as they’re innocent, but I think that if you get serious, I might freak out and run away like I did the other night.”
“While I’m sure that you have a very fine ass, Helen Winters, I do not think that a painting of it jiggling as you run into the woods would make a show-stopping gallery piece.”
My face wrinkles up into a scowl. “I do not jiggle!”
“Sure,” David says with a wink. “Let me show you to the tree so you can begin undressing. It’s a weeping willow. Can you look really, really sad?”
“Sad is my middle name,” I tell him proudly, cracking my fingers in preparation. “Let’s make some art!”
Chapter Eighteen
I am sitting at the bottom of the willow tree and looking up into the branches with a forlorn expression. The sun has been slightly burning my eyes, and my bare bottom is sore from being on the rough ground for hours, but I have enjoyed the experience thus far. I’ve been capitalizing on the time to reflect on my situation, my life, and the story I’m writing. All of these things have been helping me look extra sad.
“Were you wearing an engagement ring the last time I saw you?” David calls out from behind his easel, dozens of feet away.
“No,” I say loudly. “I just agreed to marry my boyfriend last night. Well, sort of. I agreed to think about thinking about marrying him. Someday.”
“Don’t do it!” David calls out. “Marriage makes you hate each other and hate the whole damn world. It will suck the life right out of you. Trust me, I know. He’ll break your heart and steal your dog!”
“I’m more worried about you stealing my dog,” I mutter under my breath, glancing over at where Snowball is curled up at David’s feet.
“Hey! Keep your head tilted at the angle I mentioned before,” David instructs. “No looking at me.”
I stick my tongue out and make a face before returning to my position.
I think I hear David chuckling before he returns to the painting. “It’s coming along really great, Helen. Just hold still.”
The wind rustles the branches of the weeping willow, and also sweeps my hair off my back and tosses it into the air. I try to avoid smiling as I imagine David painting the movement of my hair in quick, confident brush strokes. The sunlight has been beating down on me harshly, even though it is filtered through the thick layers of leaves. My vision is often going weak and fuzzy, and I’m trying to avoid blinking rapidly to express my discomfort. This is resulting in some tears gathering in the corner of my eyes, and David has complimented me several times on really getting into character.
I try to sit still and ignore the pain in my retinas for a bit longer so that David can finish his painting. It’s kind of peaceful to be out in nature in the nude, once you get the hang of it.
“What the hell are you doing to my girlfriend?” says a harsh voice from a few feet away.
I turn to glance toward the sound, expecting to see Liam, but I only see a faded dark shape. I blink several times and rub my eyes, trying to coax them to see.
“I’m trying to immortalize her beauty, man. Come check it out and tell me what you think!” David says cheerfully. “Why don’t you have a beer while you wait? I’m almost done.”
“Wow,” Liam says in wonder. “That’s actually pretty impressive. I’m Dr. Liam Larson,” he says, and I assume he’s extending his arm to shake David’s hand in greeting. I am squinting hard, but I can’t see if this is actually happening.
“David Duncan. You’ve got a real treasure here, Liam. Congratulations for putting a ring on it.”
“Aren’t you objectifying me enough already, Dave?” I say in annoyance.
“Helen, once you come over here and see my painting, you’re going to let me call you anything I want,” David assures me. “I really nailed this.”
“God-complex much?” I mutter, but I am massively curious and excited. “Can I get up now?”
“Sure!” he says. “I’ve been finish
ed with your body for a while. I’ve been working with the landscape around you for the past hour or so. But I liked the way you looked sitting there, so I didn’t want you to move just yet.”
I groan as I pick myself off the ground. My legs have fallen asleep, and they are both numb and tingling. “No wonder your wife left you,” I say to David with frustration as I slap the life back into my thighs.
“This really is a stunning piece of work,” Liam says. “It looks like a scene from a fantasy novel. She blends in with the colors of the landscape in such a subtle way—like she could be a fairy or a wood nymph.”
“That’s exactly what I was going for!” David exclaims in excitement. “Woops. Sorry, man, I splashed some paint on you there.”
“Not a problem. I suppose it’s an occupational hazard,” Liam says with a chuckle. “Thanks for the beer, man. I really can’t get over this painting. There’s so much emotion in the color. You really captured her essence.”
“It’s a gift,” David says smugly.
He reminds me a little of Owen. “Hey, Fiancé,” I say lightly. “Now you have something to brag about to your friends. You can tell them that I did porn!”
“My work is not porn!” David says sharply, causing both me and Liam to laugh riotously.
“She’s just busting your balls,” Liam informs him. “I doubt Helen would have taken her clothes off for you if she didn’t think you had real talent.”
“I actually have no clue whether or not he has talent,” I tell Liam with a smile as I walk forward to view the easel. “I haven’t seen any paintings other than his. Also—how did you find us?”