Page 68

“No, I’m telling you it seemed like he knows me.” Rain stays quiet for a second.
“What did he look like?” she finally says.
“Why?” Is this guy someone I know?”
“I’m just curious.” Rain won’t budge, but I’m tired of playing by the rules and doing everything the doctors say.
“Rain, tell me. Did I know this guy?“
“If you don’t tell me what he looks like, how am I supposed to know?” My heart races at the possibility of him being someone I know.
“So, if I tell you, would you let me know if he’s someone I know?” I ask, desperate to get answers.
“Ruin, you know I can’t do that,” she says, frustration evident in her tone.
I release a deep breath. “It’s okay. It’s not like I would remember who he is if you told me anyway,” I say as I make my way inside, my eyes full of unshed tears.
“Ruin, wait.” Rain holds me by my shoulder, and I turn to face her as I wipe my tears away.
“You know what the doctor said—we can’t tell you anything about your past.” Rain repeats what I’ve heard from every single member of my family for the past six months, every time I ask about my time in Raleigh or what life was like after Daddy passed. And I understand they think they’re helping me, but I’m going crazy not knowing who I am or what I did for the past four years of my life. I’ve had enough.
“It’s okay, Rain. We need to head back anyway. There are customers to attend to,” I say, stepping inside and taking a few deep breaths before returning to the diner.
I’ve been so focused on regaining my mobility that I’ve neglected my memories. Once I get home and take a shower, I power up my laptop. It’s new, since my old one, along with my phone and apparently most of my belongings, were lost in the accident.
I didn’t have many social media accounts, and every time I search my name, not much comes up. It tracks with who I am—a quiet person who mostly keeps to herself. How I wish I was different and had lots of social media posts to look at and try to remember. I wish I had a picture of the handsome guy I saw today, or at least his name so that I could look him up. I wonder if he’s staying in town or if he was just a passerby.
Thinking back to my conversation with Rain, I go to the university’s website. Maybe there’s a picture of him? I check theentire environmental science department page but had no luck. There are only pictures of the faculty, and he’s not one of them. Maybe he was a student, and we were friends?
I’ll have to wait and see if he comes back like he said he would so I can ask him.
“Can I come in?” Rain asks as she opens my bedroom door. I smile at her, and she takes a seat next to me. “I’m sorry about earlier today,” she says as she rests her head on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, too. It’s just been six months, and I still don’t remember anything. I want to feel like I’m myself, you know?”
“I know. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” We stay quiet for a while, then she takes my computer from my lap.
“Here, let’s see what Dr. Google says about tips to get your memories back.” I chuckle at her because I’ve done that same search many times before.
“Wow, this is so helpful,” Rain says with a snort. “Not.”
“Read an old diary, look at old pictures, listen to music.” Yup, I’ve tried all those. I heave a sigh.
“Well, I don’t think your taste in music has changed much. What do you want to put on?” she asks as she places my laptop on my desk and takes her phone out of her pocket.
“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ve listened to Turner Scott in a while.” Rain freezes for a moment, then she nods and looks up his music on the app. The first notes of my favorite song fill the room, and I grab Cobalt, settling into my bed. For some reason, hugging Cobalt while asleep brings me comfort. I wish I knew how I got him. I inhale a deep breath as I fall asleep, and a vision of me dancing on the beach to this tune comes to mind.
What a beautiful dream.
Chapter 31
Gio Bianchi
There’s a ring in my bedroom, but I have no clue where it’s coming from. I’ve looked everywhere, but it just won’t stop. It stops, then starts again.Is there a landline around here?When I open the bottom drawer on the nightstand, I see it—an old-school phone.
“Hello?” I say, grateful the intrusive noise is gone.
“Mr. Bianchi, good morning. You have a guest in the lobby.”