Chapter 12
The Widow
I force my eyes open.
Ouch. It feels like I’ve run a thousand miles, and my head is killing me. My tongue is thick, my throat dry. Slowly, I turn toward the nightstand. A white ceramic lamp sits there, casting soft light across the dark room. Beside it, a long-stemmed pink rose. I can smell its faint sweetness.
Where am I? I recognize this room, but it isn’t my bed. Or is it? Then I remember.
This is Nathan’s cottage.
All these dreams about Nathan are making me go crazy. He’s occupying my thoughts as if I’d just lost him yesterday.
Someone’s holding my hand.
I flick my gaze to the person who’s sitting beside the bed.
My breath freezes in my throat, and my heart slams against my ribs once, then stops.
Nathan?
I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the sudden tilt of the room as my vision blurs. My stomach rolls, and I force myself to inhale slowly through my nose, trying to fight down the wave of nausea flooding over me.
He can’t be real.
But I can still feel his hand.
Afraid I’m seeing things, I force my eyes open. He’s staring down at me, his grip on my hand tightening.
Wake up, Crystal. Please wake up. I plead with myself.
“There you are,” he says.
It’s his voice. I haven’t heard it with this clarity in so long.
“I’m dreaming.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw tight.
“Crystal, you’re not dreaming. I’m here.” He lets go of my hand and cups my face.
His palms are warm and familiar.
A wall inside me crumbles. A dam that has held back the worst of it. The worst of the sadness. The fear. It’s kept me alive for more than six years, but it’s also been slowly killing me. I used it to turn all my colors to black and white. And I used it to hide from hope as much as from sadness.
Everything inside me stills.
Then I shake. A few silent tears run down my face and gather where his fingers hold me. I feel the sting of the air against my skin where they fall.
“Steady there. Stay with me.” He slides his hands down my neck to my shoulders. “You’re okay.”
Now I remember Scott telling me something on the porch. He’d warned me that what he was going to say would be shocking. But before he could get the words out, my heart knew. I knew it was Nathan. When I saw the car in the drive, I ran to him.
It’s been over six years. Where could he possibly have been for so long? How can this be real? Am I alive or dead?
“Where were you?” I ask, my voice scraped raw. I’m weirdly detached from my emotions and overwhelmed by them at the same time.
“Miami.” His gaze is intense, like he’s memorizing me.
For years, I thought if I ever saw him again, it would only be remains. A corpse. Fragments of the man I once held and loved.
But fate has given him back to me. Or I’m still dreaming. Or dead.
“How?” I ask.
He shakes his head, frustrated. “I have no memories…”
I take his hand and pull it to my chest. “Just talk to me. Tell me anything. I just want to hear your voice.”
He takes a deep breath. “I woke up in Miami…”
“Wait.” I’m afraid to ask him this, but I need to. I sit up against the headboard and rest my palm on the sheet beside me. “Can you hold me?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Fear crosses his face, but he pushes it away and picks up the glass of water, handing it to me. “Here,” he whispers.
Grateful, I take it and sip—the cool water soothing my dry throat. He moves to the other side of the bed and eases in beside me. When he slides an arm around my shoulders and pulls me back into his chest, I let out a small sound and finally let myself really cry. Gut cry.
He soothes me with low murmurs. He’s crying too.
I clutch his arms, which are wrapped around me tightly, and we sit like that for a while, sharing little things that don’t make that much sense.
Then he explains his amnesia and how he restarted his life in Miami.
He doesn’t know that’s where we met. Suddenly, I’m filled with an urge to share everything with him. To fix him.
But for now, I listen, desperate for answers, but he has none. He was stolen away from us, and now he’s back with no explanation. He tells me as much as he can about Miami, then asks me about our lives and the people here in the Key.
I don’t care that this doesn’t make sense. He’s here. That’s the only thing that matters. His body, his warmth, his smell. This is really him.
Continuing, he gets to a story he’s reluctant to share.
“What?”
He blushes. “There was one dream I had every night. I really want to know…” He stops and swallows the lump in his throat. “I need to know if it was a memory.” He can’t look at my eyes as he describes our first kiss. His innocence and the loneliness in his voice break my heart.
“Was it real?” he asks.
I nod. “It was our first kiss. There was no going back after that.”
His gaze lingers on my lips, then he refocuses.
I reach out and trace my fingers along his jawline.
My quirky genius. At thirty-five, there are the faintest lines on his forehead and at the edges of his eyes.
His face is slightly more lived-in. And if it’s possible, he’s grown even more handsome.
Self-consciously, I put my other hand against my stomach.
I’ve never completely gotten my pre-pregnancy figure back, and I have the same lines he does. I’m only a couple of years younger.
What does he think of me?
I’m still waiting to be ripped out of this fantasy.
Unconsciously he kisses, then holds my hand closer to his jaw, closing his eyes. Then he shifts. “Do you feel like you can get up?” he asks. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”
With his help, I pull myself out of bed, and I’m not sure if it’s the bump on the head or the shock, but my body is numb and I struggle to find my balance. Slipping his arm around my waist, he helps me get up and walk.
Outside, I point to the gated fence. “The garden’s that way.”
He nods and guides me in that direction.
It’s dark, and the path lights illuminate the garden steps. We sit on the bench swing, quiet. Smiling. Swinging. Holding hands. His hands are warm and strong. No one’s hands feel like his.
My gaze drifts to the Mutabilis shrubs we planted together years ago. Covered in blooms of pale sulfur, apricot, pink, and dark crimson. Their soft petals, still moist from the afternoon rain, release a delicate scent that drifts through the garden. Butterfly roses—whose colors deepen as they age.
Another swell of tears coats my eyes. I blink to get rid of them, and they spill over, streaming down my face.
“Crystal,” he mouths, his voice a whisper. Tentatively, he reaches for me, his fingers brushing my cheek. “Please don’t cry. I don’t want you to be sad.”
His touch steadies me, and I try to stop crying.
“Is someone going to tell me I’m dreaming?” I ask with a sniff.
“I don’t know.” He lets out a little laugh—one I recognize. This is as crazy for him as it is for me. Not true. This has to be a million times crazier for him.
He closes his fingers around mine more tightly. “I’m not sure what else to say… forgive me.”
I squeeze his hand and pull him a little closer to me. “I know you can’t remember me yet, but you’re home. You’ll get everything back with time.”
A flash of hope crosses his face before he pushes away a frown. He’s silent. I know his doctors must have told him there are no guarantees, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’ll help him get his memories back.
“We have a daughter,” he says, forcing the words out as he stares at the palms across from us. His unfocused gaze meets my eyes. He’s lost.
I want to comfort him, to reassure him he’s going to be okay. “Her name is Natalie. She looks so much like you.”
“She was the girl on the beach today.” His eyelashes flutter. “I saw you both.” His jaw works as if he’s going to say more.
“And we saw you. I knew it was you. I felt it in my gut… but it seemed so impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible.” This gives him confidence, and he rises to his feet to face me, his eyes shining. “Can I see her?”
I hesitate. I want to introduce them immediately, but then I think of Natalie. We need to do this carefully, in a way that won’t scare her. It’s late. She’ll already be in bed when I get home.
He’s staring at me, waiting for my answer, the corners of his eyes squeezing the longer I take.
“Soon. I’ll talk to her—”
A tear slides down his cheek.
Nathan, I’m so sorry.
I stand up from the swing and wrap my arms around him. He holds me, his embrace firm and desperate. I can feel his heart racing beneath my cheek.
But then he pulls away. It’s jarring. Like he’s just realized I’m a stranger.
I need to be careful with him.
“We’ll get through this.” I clear my throat. “You don’t have to say this yet, but I want to… I love you.”
He looks at me with uncertain eyes. “I love you, too.” His voice is weak and a little pained, like he’s upset that he can’t really feel it. “I do, believe me, I just need… time to…”
Remember? But he can’t say it because he thinks that may never happen. It’s already been so long.
“You’re sleeping here?” I ask.
He nods. “I’m the housekeeper—for now.”
The housekeeper? I hold in my laughter. It’s his inn!
“Where do you and Natalie live?” he asks, leaning forward.
Getting nearer. Wanting to hold me again.
It’s in this moment that I know this isn’t a dream and that I really have him back.
I know him. He doesn’t want to wait weeks to get his life back.
He wants it now. He may not know who he is, but I do, and I see him.
“Just a few blocks from the inn. It’s a nice, quiet neighborhood.”
He shifts on his feet. “After tonight, when can I see you again?” He’s acting like he’s asking a pretty girl on a date for the first time.
“I have to work tomorrow, but I’ll be back Tuesday morning. Scott usually holds the dive meetings here at the inn on Mondays, but he’s moved it a day since Maddie and Christopher go home tomorrow morning.”
His eyes light up.
“Do you remember anything about diving?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah.” He perks up. “I learned to dive—again, I guess—in Miami. I’m trying to get on Sid’s crew and film the Drop.”
What?
“Okay,” I say carefully. On one hand, wow. He’s jumping right back into his life. On the other… cave diving? No way will Scott say okay to that. But I don’t want to shatter his confidence.
“It sounds like you’ve been busy,” I say softly. “And we have a lot to catch up on.” I glance at my watch. I really need to get back to Natalie. I press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’ve got to get back home. Tuesday morning? We’ll figure out the best way to introduce you to Natalie then.”
His face softens.
“Crystal.” Still holding my hand, he draws me closer, his other hand settling on my waist. He hesitates. “I… can I kiss you?”
I nod. “Please.”
He cups my face and leans down, brushing his lips over mine, the softest, shy wisp of his tongue against my lips. Like he needs to taste me to be certain I’m real.
He lets out a soft sigh. “Thank you.”