Freckles

GRADY HAD DRIVEN me out of downtown San Diego up into the mountains that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. All around me were drought-resistant trees and dandelions. It was rustic and breathtaking. Peaceful. It was a perfect summer day and the skies were clear, the sun warm on my bare shoulders, the light breeze sweeping up my loose strands of blonde hair that had fallen out of my knot.

The house was more like a quaint cabin and it lent itself perfectly to the setting. The exterior was rich, purposely-weathered cherry wood beams with a simple architectural design that was reminiscent of a Cape Cod-style, and lots of windows.

I looked back at the little white Dodge parked in the driveway and watched as Grady pulled out several shopping bags from the back seat. I blushed when the sun glistened on his biceps as he slung the bags around his forearms. He towered over me by several inches, had sandy blond, tousled hair, and cobalt blue eyes. While we were in the car, I would catch a scent of seawater every so often, which made me wonder if he was a surfer.

As he carried the bags up the driveway, I couldn't help but feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. He had literally picked up a stray, fed it, bought it clothes, and was now opening his home to it.

He smiled hesitantly as he neared my side. "Will this be okay for you?"

I scoffed. No, literally, I laughed out loud. Was he kidding? His eyebrows scrunched as he stared at me oddly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…what I meant…ugh. I don't know what I meant." I sighed loudly.

He dropped the bags onto the ground and reached out to touch me. I flinched and immediately felt worse, because he recoiled.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries," he said.

"No, no. I'm sorry. I'm just…well, I'm a mess. I don't know why I reacted that way. That was weird and rude and…" I grabbed a chunk of my blonde locks and started to twist them rapidly around my finger. I was so nervous.

"Don't be sorry. Please, you've been through a lot, and given the circumstances, you should be apprehensive." He gathered the pile of bags. "Let me get you settled, and then I'll go. I'm sure you have a lot to sort out."

Did I? Did I have a lot to sort out? I had runny hospital eggs and yogurt for breakfast, but aside from that I couldn't remember anything before I woke up in the hospital last week. Nothing. I was a blank slate. Grady was already stepping into the house, so I quickly hopped up the porch steps to join him, holding on to the railing because I was still a little wobbly on my feet.

I was awestruck by the view again. The back of the house was wall-to-wall windows, and I was met with a beautiful blue sky meeting the ocean in the distance.

"Beautiful, huh?"

Grady had put the bags down onto the floor and was watching me, making me feel suddenly self-conscience.

"Uh, yeah, I've never seen anything like it. At least, I don't think I have.” I pointed to my broken head. “Maybe I have…" Just stop talking. The frustration had been building slowly since I woke from the coma. It was like a silent killer, creeping slowly through my mind, and I felt it getting stronger each day. I just wanted to make it through this moment. I wanted to be alone when the breakdown hit me.

He started to put the groceries inside the fridge. "So, if you need anything, just call me."

He was evading the awkwardness, which was either really sweet or a sign he was regretting taking in the crazy stray.

"Okay," I answered, pulling a piece of paper out of my jeans pocket with his name on it. He had nice handwriting. It was neat and in block lettering. Did I have nice writing?

I waved the paper to show him I had it.

He finished putting food into the pantry and then turned to me. "It's not much, but when you think of things you want…" He trailed off. He stopped talking, making the situation more uncomfortable.

"It's fine. I'm fine. This was really generous of you. I'll call if I need anything." I was feeling anxious to be alone. My stomach was tightening, and my heart was pounding.

Please, just go.

He brushed past me, careful not to touch me, and stopped at the front door. "What should I call you?"

It was such a simple question. One people answered daily. Hi, I'm so and so. What's your name? And then you answered to be polite. Only, I didn't know my name, so I couldn't. I couldn't reply politely.

"I…I don't know," I mumbled softly and apologetically.

He took a step toward me, a gesture to show comfort, but then stopped. My flinch earlier had left its mark.

"It's okay. I'll just call you Freckles." He winked.

I smiled weakly. "Really? Freckles? Is that the best you could come up with on the fly?" I teased.

"Yes, and because your light dusting of freckles is very endearing."

My cheeks warmed from the compliment. With one word, he was able to break the proverbial ice. Freckles.

"Talk to you later, Freckles." His crooked half-smile put me at ease as he closed the door. Then, suddenly, he opened it, causing me to jump. He peeked his head back inside and tossed me the keys. "You might need those. Oh, and my neighbor likes to use the trailhead out back, so don't be surprised if you see someone back there. He's harmless." He flashed another smile and closed the door.

I waited to see if he was going to pop in again, but the sound of a car engine solidified his departure, which was a relief, but I was surprised a little layer of disappointment hung over me, too.

I was alone.

For the first time since I woke up in my hospital room, I was in pure silence. No monitors or distant voices or footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Unadulterated silence.

Did my former self like solitude? Right now, I felt anxious, so I walked around the house, giving myself a tour. Right off the front door was a guest bathroom. It was cute with a pedestal sink, and it had a shower strategically placed behind the bathroom door. The room was simple. It lacked…what was the word? Character? It lacked character. It was plain. It reminded me of the first time I took a shower in the hospital after waking up.

I followed the dark chocolate hardwood floors to the first bedroom. It was a good size and had a beautiful reading alcove and large window on the focus wall. It had a partial view of the ocean and a partial view of the untouched acres of land I assumed Grady owned. Other than the bed and a dresser, it was plain, too. Nothing adorned the walls. Out of curiosity…I stepped in and peeked into the closet. It was completely empty. It made me wonder if this was a vacation home. It would make sense why Grady wasn’t living here.

The last door was to the master suite, and it was anything but quaint. The room was massive, complete with a bay window overlooking the ocean. This room was more inviting than the others with a floral duvet and antique furniture, and the master bathroom was impressive, but it still lacked a personal signature. I opened the master closet and wasn’t surprised it was barren, too.

I ventured back to the kitchen. The house was uniform with the hardwood floors, beige color on the walls, and the lack of décor. It was almost as if this house was made for me. Nothing attached to a person or memory. Just rooms waiting to be filled, like my mind.

And then I felt it. The rise of nothingness climbing over each rib and digging its way up my throat. My hands trembled and I felt as if I might be sick. I fell into a chair at the kitchen table and focused on the crushed seashells that made up the top. The swirl of pinks and blues and the glow of iridescence reminded me of an ocean and the ache it would cause throughout the bones of my feet when it would come ashore and swallow them before quickly retreating again. Over and over until my feet finally numbed. That was what made up my memories now. Small pockets of time that seemed to have no real importance. They were there, though, and so intense that even now, sitting in this house, I could feel the ache in my feet and smell the saltwater as it splashed my face. I squeezed my fists together, my nails digging into my skin from the pressure, and I sucked in a deeply painful breath.

Please, stop, I begged myself.

I sat there among the seashells and salty air until my senses finally released the memory. Released me. The trembling ceased and my legs regained some strength, so I ventured through the sitting area out to the back patio for some fresh air.

I propped open the French doors and walked onto the covered patio that was furnished with white wicker. Farther out was a stone fire pit with chairs encircling it.

This place was magnificent. The sounds of the waves breaking on the cliff below echoed up to the house, and the breeze whipped misty, crisp air onto my face, the salty taste lingering on my lips. I closed my eyes and took it all in.

The back of the house faced west, giving me an unobstructed view of the setting sun overflowing with shades of pink. I remembered sunsets. Not the place or time, but the feeling of unequivocal beauty, and today was as if I was seeing one for the first time and rather than feel alone, I felt content for just a fleeting moment.

"Hi."

My body jolted at the sudden intrusion, and then my muscles froze when I realized it wasn't Grady's voice. I turned slowly to face a man with short brown hair, kind eyes, and an apologetic smile. He was dressed casually in dark jeans, and I caught a glimpse of his chiseled arms hidden beneath a tight-fitting, plain grey cotton shirt. We both stood silently. While I was taking inventory, he seemed to be studying me. Watching me.

He took a step forward, but then stopped. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I knocked a few times before coming back here."

I wanted to speak. I wanted words to flow effortlessly from my lips, but I couldn’t. Instead, I stood there unmoving and silent, completely embarrassed.

"I'm Brandt. I live down the road."

My mouth finally started to gurgle something, but it was unintelligible. I was literally tongue-tied. I was flustered by Grady's presence, but Brandt had me speechless and my stomach doing flips.

"I just wanted to introduce myself. If you need anything, follow the path past your driveway along the cliff. It's a shortcut to my house."

He paused for a moment and then flashed a dazzling smile that indented dimples on either side. "It was nice meeting you,” he said as he walked away.

His voice sang like an old country song, sweet and alluring. I was disappointed when the corner of the house stole him from me. I wanted to say something. To introduce myself, but I understood why I couldn’t find the words. Because I didn’t have a name, but then Grady’s nickname popped in my head.

“Freckles. They call me Freckles,” I whispered. It was my shame and fear that kept me from speaking louder. How could I get to know someone else when I didn't even know myself? It would be wrong. I would be deceiving him, but I wanted to talk to him even if it was just to feel less alone.

I dropped in one of the chairs and recounted the hopelessness that encased me from this morning when the hospital finally released me. I knew my strength would waver at some point, and the protective layer would fall apart piece by piece, and the truth would assume control. For now, though, I just wanted to watch the sun disappear into the horizon and to remember what that was like. Remember one thing at a time. Or was I creating one memory at a time? Building a new memory bank to pull from so, if Brandt came back, I could say something that didn't feel like a lie. I could talk about this sunset, the house, and the stars. I could talk about anything but me.