Chapter Eight

Maddie

The beach was beautiful and serene, but even so, it left me feeling empty and alone. The waves washed over my toes, burying my feet in the sand as they pulled back into the ocean, and I struggled to remember something, anything.

I closed my eyes and relaxed in my beach chair, letting the tide wash up around my hips and splash to my belly. The water felt cool and refreshing against the hot Miami sun.

The image of the man who hit me strolled back into my mind, but this time he was kissing me, holding me, telling me he was sorry. Who was this man? I still couldn’t see his face, only a dark shadow of where one should be. His voice was strangely familiar, but I knew it wasn’t Isaac’s. Had I cheated on Isaac with this man?

“Excuse me, miss,” a male voice shook me from my daydream. My eyes opened to a tall elderly man leaning over me, his eyes filled with concern. “The tide is coming up. I was afraid you’d fallen asleep,” he explained his intrusion on my peacefulness.

I quickly got up, pulling my chair from the surf where it was nearly buried. My cheeks burnt with embarrassment at the realization that I’d almost drowned. “Thank you,” I gushed, walking back towards the dry sand.

“I haven’t seen you out here before; you live around here?” he asked.

I pointed to Isaac’s house with a smile. “Isaac Lewis’s place?” he asked, almost untrusting.

“Yes. He’s my fiancé,” I stated firmly, even though I wasn’t sure that I believed it quite yet.

“I wasn’t aware he was engaged,” he said apologetically. “I’m David Martin, your neighbor,” he pointed to the blue house next to Isaac’s and extended his hand to mine for an introduction. The name felt familiar. Rob, Rob; did I know a Rob?

“Maddie Grubbs,” I said, still feeling an odd disconnection with that name. Maddie sounded right, but not Grubbs. “It was nice to meet you. Thanks again,” I said, folding my chair and heading towards the house.

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked through the hot sand. The grains burnt my toes, but I didn’t want to stop to put on my sandals. Why didn’t this man know me if he lived next to us, and why did the name Rob give me butterflies when I heard it?

I stepped up onto the large deck leading to Isaac’s house and turned to see the man watching. I waved and went inside. He obviously didn’t believe that I belonged here. That didn’t feel right. He should’ve seen me around a lot if I visited as much as Isaac said.

I stepped inside, the cool air immediately sending goosebumps to my sun-scorched skin. I started looking around the place, noticing there weren’t any pictures of me and Isaac together, nothing that showed us as a couple, and nothing that seemed familiar to me at all.

I changed into dry clothes and hung my bathing suit over the shower rod to dry. I snuck into Isaac’s room and studied the area, trying desperately to remember something. My mind was blank, the room as strange as the first day I saw it, and no signs of a woman living here, or even staying on a frequent basis.

The plainly decorated large room had gray pillows on a sofa, a leather chair near a mahogany desk, and little else to decorate it. This felt like a cold room, one that didn’t feel familiar to me, or like one that should.

You're being paranoid, Maddie.

I grabbed the remote to the TV, hoping the noise from a show would drown out all the doubts and paranoid ideas streaming through my mind. Dr. Phil was on, talking to a mother of a heroin-addicted teenager. I clicked to a sitcom, then to the news, and then finally landed on a cooking channel. I didn’t know what I liked to watch, and nothing seemed interesting to me.

The woman on the screen rubbed olive oil over the carcass of a chicken and then stuffed cloves of garlic, twigs of thyme, and nearly an entire stick of butter in the opening where it’s guts had been removed. What is that called? Should I know? Did I cook? Do I even know how?

Tears began rolling down my cheeks as I struggled with all my lost memories. I didn’t know who I was anymore, and I feared I’d never find out.

The door opened, and Isaac walked in, immediately rushing to my side. He knelt on his knees in front of me while I worked on trying to calm my sobs. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know who I am,” I sobbed.

His arms wrapped around me, holding me securely until my crying calmed to a sniffle. I leaned back, pulling from his embrace and stared into his green eyes. They looked honest, trusting, but what did I know? I knew nothing.

“Why doesn’t the neighbor know me?” I asked, feeling a little stronger, and determined to get the answers I needed. “And why is there nothing in this house that looks like I’ve ever been here before: pictures, plants, anything?” I added.

Isaac pulled back, leaving his hands on my knees. His eyes stared into mine, a strong sense of fear oozing from them. My guts twisted in anguish as I waited for his answers.

“I don’t even talk to the neighbors,” he said softly.

“He knew your name,” I spouted.

“Which neighbor?” he asked.

I pointed to the house on the left where David Martin said he lived, and where he said he’d never seen me before. “That’s David Martin. He’s only here in the winter, and I barely speak to the man,” he explained.

I sniffled again, wiping the last tear from my cheek. That made sense, at least to a certain degree. “But, what about the house looking like I had not decorated anything?” I pushed.

Isaac smiled, the corner of his lips curling with a sweetness that made my nipples tingle. “You never asked to decorate before, and all the pictures I have of us are from when we were kids,” he laughed. “You’re a very private person. You never wanted to flaunt our relationship before,” he added.

It didn’t make sense. No one was so private that they didn’t take a picture with their fiancé. “Please tell me about myself,” I pleaded, hoping maybe something he said would trigger a memory.

“Hold on,” he said, getting up and leaving the room.

I sat there, still filled with confusion, and waited until he returned. He held a leather photo album in his hands and then sat down beside me on the couch. “See if any of this jogs a memory,” he offered, handing me the album.

I opened it up, noticing the first picture that he’d shown me when I first got to his house. “You showed me this,” I sniffled.

“Keep looking,” he insisted.

I pushed to the next page and stared at the pictures. “Is that Portland?” I asked, feeling a strange connection to the background. “That school, is that me?”

“Yes. And that’s me,” he smiled, pointing to a cute little blond boy.

My hair was longer, and my face sunburnt across the nose. I giggled at the resemblance after spending the morning on the beach. “Wow,” I gasped, feeling a little better about all my doubts.

There were over a dozen photos of Isaac and myself, but the last one was from our senior year, nothing more recent. He was tall, handsome, and held his arm around me closely. My smile was wide and bright, and it was obvious we were close. “Is this when we started dating?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’d fallen in love with you long before that, but you had big plans, and I needed you to fulfill them without me weighing you down,” he replied.

My heart swelled at his selflessness. “So, when did we start dating?” I asked.

Isaac told me how he followed me around the playground at school, how he paid a kid a nickel every day to give up his seat on the bus so he could be close to me. It was sweet, but still childish. I was interested in the details that brought us together as a couple, the reason we ended up engaged.

“You finished college and came back to Portland. Your grandmother had raised you, and she was gone. You stayed, but wasn’t happy, so you started coming to visit me. The first trip, we were just friends, and I showed you around town, and the third, I kissed you, telling you how I truly felt,” he said.

“So, how long have we dated?” I asked.

“Not long,” he smiled without giving me any real time frame.

I snuggled into his arms, feeling the comfort and the warmth of his embrace. At that moment I needed to believe every word he said, to not question anything, to just be.

“So, I was a yoga instructor back home; was there anything else I enjoyed?” I asked.

“You liked anything athletic,” he informed me.

I knew from the tone of my body that was true. When I wandered to the gym, the smell, the weights, and environment made me dizzy with excitement. “Did I have any other hobbies? Did I cook?” I asked, wondering about the woman on the cooking show and why I’d stopped the channel there.

“You were never interested in cooking as far as I knew. You did like volleyball though,” he said with a smile.

I remembered a volleyball game going on at the beach when I first went down. Before my paranoia and doubts consumed me, I’d watched them with a strange pleasure. “Okay,” I exclaimed, feeling a rush of excitement roll through me. “So, when can we visit my place in Portland?” I asked eagerly.

“I’ll look into it. I have to hustle this week to make up for the last two, so maybe in a week or two,” he assured me.

I wanted to go now. I felt like being in my own apartment would jar a memory from me. Maybe it was the key I needed to unlock all that was hidden in my mind. “I can go alone,” I offered.

His face turned a strange pale color, and his lips tightened. It was obvious he wasn’t a fan of that idea. “I’m not sure that’s safe,” he insisted.

“I can handle myself,” I protested, but quickly realized I’d nearly drowned because I forgot when high tide was. Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t safe for me to go alone.