8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I wish I could say that spending all this time with Bea, in Palisade Shores, and supposedly reliving some crucial moments during the missing scenes of my life, helps me recover the lost memories, but it doesn't.

However, it has given me plenty of time to rethink my father's approach to business. He presents himself as a kindly oligarch, ruling over his empire. In reviewing previous real estate transactions, in reality, he uses the slash-and-burn technique.

Like a creeping mold, he moves into an area, never mind whether it has a thriving community, and takes over. He destroys whatever was there and replaces it with what he thinks is best, not giving a second thought to what it might mean for part of a town's main street to be replaced by an exclusive resort. Or the outcome of moving the library from its central location to the outskirts that's only accessible by car.

Even though I can't remember the time Bea and I originally spent in the library, it has historical importance and lots of people use the resources because of its central location.

I'm on my way to pick up Bea and nearly swerve because I just had an arresting thought. My father treats all of his children the same way. We each serve a purpose in his empire rather than making our own contributions to each other's lives.

Personal assistant: Fiona

Chief Financial Officer: Frances

Fired for being lazy: Frank

Franny is too young to do anything but entertain, but I'm sure he'll find a place for her eventually and if not, she'll still be kept on a tether like Frank.

Then there's me. The future head of operations. I'd like to say I feel like the chosen one, but for what? To be lord of the land, ruining people's towns and livelihoods?

He'd argue that the resort will provide jobs, but last I checked, those people already have jobs, and not a single Imperial Paradise property has a candy shop, a bridal boutique, or Cousins' Collectables Antiques & More.

My father would say he's keeping it all in the family, but after going through five wives with a sixth on the way, we don't share the same definition of family.

Frank and Fiona said I forgot how to have fun. I can't exactly be sure who I was before the accident, but I am certain who I do not want to be.

However, I know who I want to be with.

I park in front of Bea's house but sit for a moment as these thoughts wash over me like an incoming wave. It feels like there's another rock to turn over in the tidepool, but I can't be sure where it is. I think some more, but before I find the elusive little crab or treasure from the sea, Bea comes out, wearing a loose pair of linen shorts and a tank top that showcases her freckled shoulders. Her hair is in a low, side ponytail and little pearl earrings pop on her ears.

She gets in and we exchange a greeting. Her smile wavers, but then she goes on an adorably long ramble about how the nearby drive-in theater is the same as it ever was, complete with retro candy and concessions options.

When we pull up to the little hut to pay for entry, I hold up my wallet and freeze like a computer screen. My wires cross and my tangled thoughts prevent me from taking out the requested payment.

The teenager's brow furrows and he retracts his hand, repeating, "That'll be twelve dollars, sir."

My wallet is full but something inside feels empty. It's not just because of my missing memories. I realize this isn't a lapse from the accident or a glitch in my internal software. But my brain circles the missing file, of that much I'm sure, leaving me preoccupied.

Bea clears her throat. "Um, I have cash."

Giving my head a shake, I say, "Sorry. I was preoccupied. I've got it."

We're both quiet as we park. Bea tunes the radio dial to the correct station, breaking the silence with an oldies song that she sings along to softly.

As the sun fades, leaving the sky a dimly lit deep blue, the big screen illuminates with a countdown to the start of the double feature.

Bea says, "We don't have to stay for both. We didn't last time."

I ask the obvious questions about what we watched, but my head is still elsewhere.

"I'm going to grab some snacks. Want to come?" she asks.

Ordinarily, I'd go. I've been soaking up every second with this woman, but I feel heavy, pensive. "I'll hold down the fort. Make sure no one steals our spot." I mean it as a joke because obviously, no one is going to move the car, but it falls flat.

Bea asks what I'd like and I tell her to surprise me.

She already has in so many ways. The fact that she's taking time to show me the past when it's clear that whatever our story was stopped after graduation. I have most of my college memories and she's not part of that period of my life or the years since.

But she does feel important. I'm missing a set of keys to a door I can't find and it's driving me crazy.

During the movie, I do my best to be present. Even though I laugh at the right moments, it's canned. We're viewing the film through the windshield and that's what my life feels like lately. Something separates me from seeing, touching, smelling, and tasting it.

The doctors would probably say it's a result of the memory loss, but what if this has been the problem all along—I'd been living my life with someone else in control, directing me where to go and what to do, so I was seeing it all through their frame and lens.

What if the accident and subsequent memory loss allow me to see this defect clearly now, whereas before I'd settled for someone else's perfectly polished glass? What if I want my own window even if there are a few smudges on it?

Even though we're watching a romcom, I feel like a Kung Fu master who just smashed through an important obstacle. No, that's not quite right, but now I know I can if necessary. Even though I'm missing some pieces of the past, I can live my life. Whatever the future looks like, that's mine too and it doesn't belong to Imperial Enterprises.

Turning to Bea, I ask, "Want to go?"

She pauses, a Milk Dud partway to her mouth. "Yeah, sure."

I start the car and exit the drive-in, hoping no one throws rotten fruit at me for being rude with my headlights while they're still enjoying the movie. I already have a posse of library lovers after me, I don't need to make more enemies in Palisade Shores.

Once more, Bea is quiet. I want to break the silence, the one she's been slowly easing me away from by showing me the past I can't remember. But I'm not sure how.

When I pass the turnoff for her street, she asks, "Where are we going?"

I'm hoping the destination will appear as it does for people who have a history somewhere that they can readily recall. I ask, "Where would the Finn you knew have gone on a weekend night?"

"Probably hang out with friends, barbecue, play ping pong or corn hole, and plan world domination, one Kung Fu move and robot Godzilla at a time."

I chuckle because from what I've gathered, that sounds relatively accurate. It's an answer, but doesn't feel like the one I want.

"Okay, where would the Finn you knew not have gone?"

Bea smiles which makes me smile. "Head up that way toward the bluff."

She directs me toward a headlands area where people can take a short hike during the day with a magnificent view of the water. There's a wrought-iron fence barring entry after hours. I give the gate a little shake.

"They lock it at dusk," Bea says.

I survey how easily we could scale it and then clasp my hands, providing Bea with a foothold.

"You have a gleam in your eye. Do you mean—?" She wags her hand at herself and then at the closed entrance.

Wearing a half smile, I nod.

As she boosts herself over, she says, "I feel like this is something Katy and Rocco would've done."

"Who are they?"

She tells me about two of our classmates whom she classifies as reformed versions of Rizzo and Kenickie from Grease. As we walk along the path, I ask about other people, friends, and enemies, but then I go quiet when we reach the overlook. The moon sparkles on the ocean which stretches into the vast darkness.

The view—or absence of a view—sends me into awed silence until I realize why. "If I could describe what it feels like to have amnesia, this would be it."

"Are you saying memory loss is beautiful or a void?"

"Both. At first, I was confused for obvious reasons. Then I was angry that it happened to me. I alternated between that and sadness, like why me? Then I shifted into acceptance."

"Is that where you are now?"

"No. I think I've started to see it as a gift. An asset in a way. Because I don't remember a big chunk of my life, I get to see things new. For the first time, without the stain of who I thought I was supposed to be or what I was expected to do."

Bea shrinks as excitement builds inside me. I want her to see and feel what I'm experiencing.

I pump my fists in the air, and shout into the night, "I'm free!" Turning to Bea, I boost her in my arms and spin her around like we're in a scene straight out of Grease. I could sing at the top of my voice but hold back because I can't carry a tune.

She wears a shaky smile, but I don't think it's because she's afraid I'll drop her.

Setting Bea down, I say, "Don't you see? I can be and do and live however I want now."

She nods, but the liquid glimmering in her eyes suggests she doesn't fully get it. Or that could be from the wind that's picked up at this elevation.

Turning back to the expanse of ocean and sky and darkness, I say, "My father would snatch up this spot for a resort if it wasn't protected land. He'd insist that I take over the company. Iver Barton would warn me away from anyone with the last name Fletcher."

"Yeah. There's that."

"It's not just your family specifically. He doesn't want me to date, meanwhile, he's marrying Fifi, wife number six. Instead of helping me wade through memory loss, he instructed me to put up walls and said that I'm the kind of man who crushes it in business because I'm calculating, clever, ruthless...cold like him. But I don't think that's true."

"That doesn't sound like the Finn I knew."

"But I'm free, Bea. Unbound by the tethers of memories holding me to things out of a sense of obligation, of not wanting to disappoint because that was built into me during crucial developmental years. It's like I'm a rebellious fourteen-year-old, only I'm a grown man and can do what I want to do."

As if she's not sure whether it's me who's rambling or if my proclamation is close to a revelation, she takes my hand. "Tell me whether this is a good thing."

"It's a very, very good thing. Trust me. It means Imperial Enterprises will not be buying the properties on the Promenade. It means the bridal boutique and the library and everything else will remain as is. It means someday I might remember..." Sadness pinches my voice.

Bea squeezes my hand. "Even if you don't remember, it's okay. I do and I'll try to help fill in the blanks."

"Thank you. But this isn't a pop quiz or a bubble test where I have to mark the correct answer. I found it."

I search her face, but the space between her brows bunches together with uncertainty.

"I found you. We're the answer," I say nearly out of breath.

Her eyes flicker as they land on mine.

I lean forward, inclining my head, and hug the nape of Bea's neck in my hand.

Her breath is soft and sweet as the space closes between us.

When our lips meet, I realize this is my first kiss. At least that I remember.

Her mouth is petal soft and gentle. I breathe a mixture of her floral scent along with sea salt air, but I'm not so sure I need it anymore. Something else powers me at this moment. The kiss blazes something through me, blinding me with white lightning.

A flaming ball of energy surges inside, barreling toward the darkness.

Then time crashes to a standstill, but nothing explodes. No, everything falls into place.

Only my slow pulse reminds me that I'm still alive because my thoughts race, filled with images and sounds, scent memories, and flavors, emotions big and small.

There's a trellis woven with a tapestry of spring blooms. The fading light catches a much younger Bea's profile. My heart trips. She's at the homecoming dance, dressed in snug shorts and a shirt bedazzled in our school's blue, gray, and white. She's all smiles and laughter. There's the quiet of a classroom with her hair cascading toward her pencil as it scratches away on the paper.

There are years, months, and days, all leading to graduation.

To the first and last time we kissed.

I remember it all vividly, including seeing my father marching toward me through the crowd in a sea of black graduation robes. Anger seared in his eyes, battling with the defiance in my heart.

I loved her then and wasn't going to let his stupid feud with her father interfere. But I wasn't as brave as I wanted to be because he held my exit plan over my head by paying for cars, college, and everything that gave me the prestige I thought I needed.

But I was wrong. All I need is right here, in my arms. Right now.

My Bea. My beautiful Bea.

"Don't let this be the end," she whispers as her fingers trail the space behind my ear, dropping along my neck to my shoulder, where she braces me.

Our noses brush as we switch positions. The kiss intensifies as I fully return to the present.

But I keep my memories to myself because I don't want to spend another second thinking about the past when I have this woman's lips on mine right now.