Another explosion down the street rocks the car again with its shockwave, this time more intense. Michel wraps his arms around me, covering me with his body. Over his shoulder I see a huge black cloud of smoke and fire coming towards us.
And then, darkness.
Chapter 26
“The first magic of love is our ignorance that it can ever end.”
Disraeli
Ipswich Medical Clinic, Two Months Later
I BLINK WHEN THE LIGHTS FLICK BACK ON, my head throbbing as if someone hit it with a rubber mallet. I'm sitting in an examination room, dressed in a paper robe, paper slippers on my feet.
"Do the bright lights still bother you?"
I nod.
"You need to wear sunglasses whenever the sun's shining. The headaches will go away soon. The explosion caused quite a concussion."
"Will my memories ever come back?"
The doctor shakes his head.
"Some will never come back. The brain swelling caused some permanent damage. Others will return. Give yourself time. You're lucky to be alive."
The doctor leads me back to his office in a corner of the clinic. He has a television on, tuned to one of the local news channels.
As he writes in my file, I watch the news. It's been two months since the bombing in downtown Boston and the investigation's still ongoing. I just get so upset by it all, I can't watch. It's just too depressing.
"The case is still open," he says, glancing up at the television from his files.
I nod, feeling a catch in my throat.Mycase.
"Well, Eve, I've written you another prescription. You're getting your supply of tonic all right?"
"Yes," I say, remembering the thick black syrup I drink every day to help build up my blood.
"Good," he says. "Don't miss a dose or you'll feel really sick. If you have any problems, any new symptoms, just give my office a call."
“Thank you."
I take the prescription and go back to the dressing room and change back into my clothes. I step outside into the late afternoon sun and squint, slipping on my sunglasses. The fall has been unusually wet, with fewer days of sun than normal – right up until I needed it. With my extreme sensitivity to light, I hope the cloud cover will soon return.
My foster dad and mom are having a few friends over, trying to introduce me back into polite society, but I've got an excuse to avoid them. I'm setting up a camera down on the beach to take time-lapse photographs of the rise of the Milky Way and so after introductions, I escape. I can't stand the way they look at me as if I'm some kind of mental patient just because I have amnesia from the bombing.
I go to the beach below the cottage, carting my load of equipment. There's a shirtless man in the surf, a hand shading his eyes, looking out to the glittering ocean. I almost don't go down to the water because I don't want to intrude, but I brought my equipment and want to set up so I can do the shoot. This section of beach is the best because it's sheltered, with cliffs and dunes breaking the wind. I take a narrow passageway through the rocks that litter the coastline, descending on a path that's been worn down from years of use.
I walk along the beach, looking for a good spot to set up my tripod, keeping as far from him as possible. I stop near a flat rock where I put down my camera case and equipment. I stand gazing out across Ipswich Bay and then take out the tripod, struggling to get it set up in the sand. When I'm busy fighting the bolt to lock the tripod into place, the man I saw in the surf comes to my side, his pale skin glistening wet in the last rays of sun.
The first thing I notice, other than he's completely gorgeous with black hair and incredible blue eyes, is that he's so pale. Unnaturally pale, and I think he must be ill. Maybe terminal.
"Hello," he says. "Can I help you with that? You look like you're having trouble." He has this soft French accent that sounds more continental than Cajun.
I smile, and step back from the tripod, my cheeks burning.
"I didn't realize my mechanical ineptitude was so obvious. I think the bolt was screwed on a bit too tight and now I can't unlock it."
"I've seen you here before," he says as he bends down to examine the tripod. "You come to this beach a lot. I'm Michel," he says and then holds out a hand. He pronounces it Mee-shelllike a proper Frenchman. "I'm staying just up the coast a bit."