by Liz Crowe
“Do you know what happened, Allison?” Vincent turned to look at me. I darted my eyes away from his rear view. The corners of his mouth turned up. I was busted.
“They say I was in an accident,” I responded, shrugging my shoulders. “I don’t know where I was or what I was doing. Apparently the road was wet, I hit my brakes and here I am missing part of my memory.”
“The doctor said your memory would come back.” He sounded so sure of it that he almost convinced me.
“Yeah…” I drifted off, staring at the flickering fire.
“What is it?” Vincent asked and sat next to me on the couch. “Do you not feel well?”
“It’s not that. I feel fine. Too fine maybe. Not a bump, scrape, bruise or sore muscle here.”
“Yes, it is a miracle you weren’t seriously hurt. Physically, that is.”
“Yeah, miracle,” I muttered.
“Then what is it? I can tell something is disturbing you.”
“I don’t want to upset you. It’s silly. It’s just my memory or something.”
“It’s not silly, Allison. You can tell me anything.”
I gazed into Vincent’s beautiful blue eyes. I love you, flashed across my mind again. I inhaled and his scent filled my nostrils. It was refreshing like a spring day, but warm like autumn and all around scrumptious. I resisted the urge to get lost in his eyes or his presence.
I took a deep breath before I began. “When I woke up in the hospital, I um, was looking for Matt. I didn’t remember you. I didn’t ask for you. I swore that I was driving and Matt was in the car with me when the accident happened. Silly, huh?” I cringed in anticipation of Vincent’s response.
“You thought you were with Matt the night of your accident?”
Vincent sounded surprised, but that wasn’t the part of my confession I had expected him to react to. I thought he would have been upset that I didn’t remember him.
“Yeah, but Doctor Frid said it was just my mind recalling a past memory, some other time when Matt was with me. The doc figured I was going to have some memory loss but wasn’t sure how much.” I paused and stared at my hands, feeling foolish for not remembering my boyfriend. “I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I didn’t remember you. I don’t remember you.” Tears swelled behind my beleaguered eyes. “I mean, it’s strange, Vincent. I have no memory of you and yet I feel like I have known you my entire life. I feel comfortable with you, like I know you and you know me. I just don’t have any of the memories to back these feelings.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Vincent said as he wiped my tears with his thumbs. His flesh was exceptionally hot.
“You’re so warm,” I said. A gentle smile spread across his lips.
“Well if you can’t remember, Allison,” Vincent said, ignoring my observation, “I’m just going to have to help you remember.”
“Right,” I mumbled and rolled my eyes. “Good luck.” If my best friend from kindergarten couldn’t jog my memory, I doubted my boyfriend of only a year would get me to remember anything.
“Do you remember how we first met?”
“Come on Vincent.” I didn’t want to play this game. I just wanted to relax.
Vincent placed his index finger to my lips, hushing me. “Humor me,” he requested. I stared into his eyes, which gave my stomach the butterflies, and resigned.
“No,” I replied. “I don’t remember how we met.”
“Think back to about a year ago.”
I shook my head, already giving up.
“Allison, clear your mind and concentrate. Think back to last fall. You drove into town and stopped at a café. Do you remember the café? You frequented the place.”
Vincent placed his hands on my leg and a jolt of energy ran through me. I shivered but he didn’t seem to notice. My attraction to him, everything I felt when I looked at him or inhaled his scent, came to life with his touch.
“Do you remember the couch you usually sat on? The one next to the bookshelves?”
I stared harder at the fire and a vision began to flicker in my mind, just like the flames in the fireplace. It was like watching a television show with bad reception. Visions and blackness intermingled. The visions became slightly longer until I could finally make out a scene. It was a charming little place with weathered wood floors and heavy curtains that made the space feel more like a parlor than a coffee shop. Coffee machines were stationed near the front door next to a glass counter filled with gourmet sandwiches and sweets. Mismatched tables and chairs filled most of the dining area and a handful of people were sipping their caffeinated beverages. The air was saturated with a heavy coffee aroma and the sound of an acoustic guitar. A plush couch faced the fireplace and a wall of bookshelves. And there I was, sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and a book. But I wasn’t reading the book; I was captivated by the music flowing from a dark corner in the back of the room. I strained to see who was there but couldn’t make much of the shadowy silhouette. The music faded and the figure emerged, his head hung low. The man went to the counter, retrieved a cup of coffee and turned to face me.
“Oh my gosh,” I gasped. I whipped my head around to look at Vincent. The man in my vision was him. “We met at the Buzzards Brew coffee shop?” I asked in disbelief.
“That’s right,” Vincent responded, pleasure evident in his tone.
“You were playing the guitar and I was reading by the fire,” I stated, still not believing my mind was able to recall a memory.
“Yes, you used to say you sat there pretending to read but you were actually watching me play.” Vincent smiled again. “I thought that was sweet.”
“Huh,” was all I could muster.
I was flabbergasted. Not only was I able to remember something that had happened in the last three years, but the memory was of Vincent. This man was incredibly handsome, but he apparently was also a musician. I’d always had a thing for musicians but had never dated one. He also rode a motorcycle, which meant that he had some sense of adventure, both of which were incredibly sexy to me. And on top of all that, in the few hours he’d been with me, he’d been very attentive to my needs. If it hadn’t been for his hand on my leg, I would have thought that I was dreaming.
“Come on, Allison,” Vincent whispered. “See if you can remember something else.”
I closed my eyes again and strained my mind. I was willing to play along now since I was getting results. If I could recall one memory tonight, maybe I could recall another. I concentrated so hard that I barely noticed Vincent’s hand on my leg; the heat of his skin seeped through the blanket and my sweatpants and flowed over my skin. The flickering resumed. My mind ran through the coffee shop scene again as if in fast forward, and then everything went blank. I frantically rolled my eyes behind my eyelids searching for something, anything, but it was all gone.
“I…I can’t. I don’t see anything,” I said, frustrated. I opened my eyes and looked at Vincent. In that moment, I was consumed with fear that I couldn’t remember anything else and my memory would never fully return.
“Concentrate,” Vincent instructed. “Let it come to you.”
Vincent’s calm demeanor was enough to calm me, for the moment at least. I shut my eyes and after a few seconds the blankness turned into static and more broken visions.
“Wait a minute,” I whispered.
“Shhhh, just concentrate.”
I saw a snippet of a beach but it wasn’t the ocean. It was Lake Erie, maybe an island rather than the coastline. It was night and the moonlight casted its hue on a small cottage. My memory skipped forward; there was a fire in the fireplace and a table set for two. My vision skipped again; Vincent and I were outside in a hot tub sharing a bottle of red wine. The bottle markedly jumped out of the scene like it was glowing. It was a green bottle with a black label and crimson monogram of some sort. Then my mind flicked through the entire scene again.
I jumped off the couch.
>
“What did you see?” Vincent asked, springing to his feet with excitement.
“You, me, some cottage at night and a hot tub.” I ran my fingers through my hair, not believing what I just saw. I wanted my memory to return, but this was almost too much. I was confused why certain memories were returning before others and why I couldn’t recall losing my husband or the grieving process I must have gone through to get to the point where I felt comfortable going on a vacation with another man. I guessed I had really moved on – life goes on. If these memories were filling in, it must be only a matter of time before I remembered everything else, including Matt’s accident.
“Do you know where we were?”
I stared at the floor as more broken pictures flickered through my head at a frantic pace; I couldn’t keep up. There was kissing – and more – and other scenes; the two of us at the zoo, us grocery shopping, Vincent cooking dinner for me and another vacation but I couldn’t place the locale. I shook my head hoping to make the images stop, but it didn’t work.
“Allison?”
The pictures flashed through my mind like the sun through the trees on the drive to my house this afternoon. It was making me dizzy. How could I go from having no memory of the past three years to this? I finally understood that Vincent and I were dating. I’d moved on. Got it. But it still didn’t feel right. Everything felt odd because I still couldn’t remember Matt’s passing. I felt like I wasn’t honoring Matt’s memory because while I couldn’t remember his last years, I was remembering all of these fun times with my new boyfriend.
“Allison?” Vincent called out again. He stepped towards me and I stepped back.
“No,” I shouted at him.
“Allison, what’s wrong?”
“Everything’s wrong!” I yelled. “All of this! I wake up with no memory, thinking I’m still married and that my husband is alive only to discover that he’s been dead for three years. My best friend tells me I shut out all of my friends, quit my job and moved to this place.” I waved my hand around with dramatic flair. “This isn’t my home. This isn’t me! Why would I move to the middle of nowhere? Why would I move away from anybody that could help me?”
“You said…” Vincent started.
“Stop,” I commanded, holding my hand up. “I don’t feel like I belong here. That’s the truth. Then there’s you.” I paused; Vincent didn’t say anything. I calmed down a bit and softened my tone. “You appear in my life in what seems like out of nowhere. I’m having memories of you, but I don’t remember you. Vincent, I don’t think I could dream of someone more perfect than you. It’s like my fairy godmother granted me my every wish in a man…you are irresistibly handsome, ride a motorcycle, you’re attentive, you play the guitar. I mean come on! And all of a sudden all of these memories flood my mind at once. It’s a little overwhelming.” I broke down in tears, my shoulders trembling. Vincent wrapped his arms around me.
“It’s okay Allison. It’s okay,” Vincent purred as he rubbed my back, trying to calm me down.
“Is it?” I asked as I pulled away from Vincent’s burning embrace. “Because it doesn’t feel okay. I don’t know who I am or whose life I’m living. Something’s just not right here.”
Vincent rubbed my arms and stared at the floor, as if he were contemplating something. “Well maybe you need a change of scenery,” he suggested.
“Come again?” I was baffled by his suggestion.
“You said this doesn’t feel like home to you, right?”
I nodded my head in affirmation.
“Well, maybe you need to go someplace else, a place you really enjoy. Maybe that will make you feel more comfortable and help your memory.”
It was an interesting thought. Some place that felt more homey, maybe a place where we had created a lot of memories. “Feel free to share any ideas about where that might be, because I can’t seem to think of any,” I said sarcastically.
“I know just the place,” Vincent smirked.
“Okay, where?”
“Oh no! I want this to be a surprise.”
“Great,” I sighed. “Another surprise. Feels like I’ve had quite a few of those over the past few days.”
“I promise you Allison, you will know this place when you see it.”
“Fine,” I resigned. “How are we getting there?”
Vincent’s brow creased. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you showed up on your motorcycle, and I probably shouldn’t ride on the back of it with a head injury. My Jeep is totaled. So how are we getting to this mystery place?”
“Look in your garage,” Vincent said with a smile. I studied his expression for a moment, hoping he would just tell me what I was going to find, but he offered up no clues. “Go on,” he said with a wink.
I walked through the kitchen over to the door leading to the garage. When I opened the door and turned on the light, my jaw dropped in shock.
“You have got to be kidding me!” I exclaimed.
Sitting in the middle of my garage was my dream car, a canary yellow Corvette. Not only was it a Vette, but it was the ZR1 model, an extremely rare car capable of going over 200 miles per hour.
“This is a ZR1,” I gasped.
“Yes it is,” Vincent whispered in my ear as he snuck up behind me. “It’s one of a kind, just like you.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and the heat radiating from his body was very noticeable. I broke from his embrace.
“But how did I get my hands on this?” I asked, circling the car.
“Let’s just say I have a few connections.”
“You didn’t buy this for me, did you?” This was way too generous of a present. I could never accept it, despite the fact that this was a car I had always dreamed of owning.
“No,” Vincent chuckled. “You bought it. I just helped you find one. But I did convince you to upgrade to this model.”
“Wait,” I gasped. “I bought this?” I walked around the car again, staring at it in amazement. I was afraid that if I touched it, it might disappear.
Vincent nodded.
“But this car costs over $100,000!”
Vincent raised his eyebrows. He didn’t have to say anything because his expression said it all. Of course I bought the car and of course he knew how much it cost. I apparently had enough money from Matt’s settlement to not have to work and to buy a car that cost more than what most people make in a year. But I didn’t really want to think or talk about all that now. I wanted to know what Vincent had in store for me. My newfound excitement over my car had me looking forward to a little adventure.
“So where are we going? What do I need to pack?”
“Grab some warm clothes,” he responded with a sly grin. “And a bathing suit.”
I packed my bags in five minutes flat. I had seriously upgraded my wardrobe in the past three years. I felt like I was going through a stranger’s closet stocked with name brand and custom made clothing. I couldn’t help but slip into a pair of tight black jeans, a red sweater and tall black boots. I felt like a rock star. Vincent packed some things from a drawer in my dresser. According to him, we didn’t live together but he did spend some nights at my place.
I rushed downstairs and into the garage. “You drive,” I said, and Vincent jumped behind the wheel. I had no idea where we were going and the idea of driving didn’t really appeal to me, even if it was a ZR1. The anticipation of what was to come was more than I could take; I was never one who liked to be in suspense for too long. Though only a few memories popped back in my mind, they were enough to let me know that Vincent and I were together, and when we hung out, it was always an adventure.
“So what kind of motorcycle do you have? I didn’t recognize it.”
Vincent grinned. He was casually in control of my Corvette with one hand draped over the steering wheel and the other on the shifter.
“It’s an Agusta. It’s a special production model.”
“Hmmm,” I mulled. “I’ve never heard of an Agusta and I
thought I knew a thing or two about bikes. What makes it a special production model?”
Vincent’s grin got larger. “It’s a fairly rare bike, limited in production.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“It is.”
“I bet it didn’t cost as much as my car,” I laughed.
Vincent chuckled as well. “Actually, more.”
I stopped laughing and stared at Vincent’s profile. Are you kidding me, I thought. I had never known anyone who could afford a motorcycle that expensive.
“Um, what is it again that you do for a living?” I asked. “I can’t quite remember.”
Vincent glanced at me, humor awash on his face. He seemed to enjoy the fact that I was learning all of this for the first time, even though it was technically the second time.
“I own my own medical supply company,” he said.
“Oh,” I responded.
We drove for a bit in silence. My car easily hugged every curve of the road as we eventually found the highway and headed north. Vincent sure had a lead foot. I looked over to see the speedometer somewhere over 100 miles per hour.
“Um,” I cleared my throat. “I think you’d better watch your speed. You know…cops?”
Vincent let out a laugh. “They couldn’t catch us in this car,” he responded cockily.
“Okay, then can you slow down for me?” I asked more seriously. “I was just in a car accident.”
Vincent turned his head towards me and studied my face. His eyes were so bright in the darkness and the gold flecks seemed to circle his pupils. I could have melted there, just staring into his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was inconsiderate of me.” He returned his eyes to road and reduced his speed.
We traveled to a two lane highway that ran up the coastline, passing highway signs with the names of the many islands that dotted the lake.
“I’m guessing we’re going to an island?” I asked, breaking the silence.