Unforgettable (Love Song Standards #8)

CHAPTER 1

Randi’s song list was still playing as she stepped from her shower. She loved listening to the crooners like Perry Como, Frank Sinatra, and Englebert. She gazed at the digital clock on her bedside table. Four hours remained before her expected arrival at the Art Center.

She couldn’t help thinking about her mom and dad.

How she wished they were still alive to witness her success and attend her first formal showcase at one of the country’s premier fine art institutions.

There was so much she missed out on in life once she was forced to live in a group home run by the state. It provided for her basic needs. But that was all. It wasn’t a family.

She never went on a vacation, got invited to parties, went to dances or on a date, had a seasonal wardrobe and wore hand me downs, never celebrated the holidays like families do, or got her drivers permit at fifteen.

Being adopted at twelve years old passed her by.

She transitioned out at eighteen and beneficiary of a trust fund the State set up for her when her parents died to guard their assets.

She had no living relatives as both her parents were orphaned as well.

It was her sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. Graci, who noted her artistic talent, encouraged her along, and introduced her to Miss Fremont, Rochester High School’s Art Teacher, who submitted a scholarship application for the Minneapolis College of Art and Design, where she was accepted.

Her Professors and childhood teachers were proudly attending her showcase. If not for them, she would’ve never survived, never progressed her talent, and created a life for herself.

She finished her toiletry and dressed in jeans, sneaks, and long-sleeved tee.

Outside, the sky stretched wide and impossibly blue.

The wind was calm and the day was bright and perfect.

Spring had finally arrived and it was about time as May was right around the corner.

Winter refused to leave and was notoriously long, cold, and snowy with temps that steadily maintained below zero, and she welcomed the blissful change.

Randi turned off her playlist, reached for her keys, and slung her bag over her shoulder as she gave the painting one last glance.

The tailor she had a last fitting appointment with was just a few blocks away and she was anxious to try on the chic pantsuit she purchased for her show and had custom-fitted to her five-foot petite frame.

Clothes always proved a challenge for her, either the length or the fit This time, it didn’t matter how much it would cost to tailor.

Tonight was the beginning of everything she had hoped for.

“I’ll be back,” she murmured.

As if leaving the canvas alone felt like leaving a part of herself behind.

Minutes later, she was on the road.

The hum of the engine, the rhythm of passing traffic, the familiarity of Rochester streets. It all wrapped around her like something safe, predictable, and contained.

Unlike the memories she didn’t invite.

A distant rumble echoed somewhere far off.

Was it thunder?

Her grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

Storms had a sound., even when the sky was clear.

Her chest rose, then fell.

Not today.

Today was different. Today was hers.

The light ahead turned green. Slowly she moved forward with the flow of traffic, her thoughts already drifting to gallery lights, quiet conversations, the way people would stand in front of her work and try to understand it. To understand her.

A flicker of something moved in her peripheral vision.

Too fast.

Moving too close.

Her head snapped to the right.

Headlights.

She screamed.

“God! No!”

A dump truck veered to her side of the road, heading straight for her.

There wasn’t time to think ... to react. She froze.

There was only time to feel.

Impact exploded through metal and glass. A violent, crushing force that stole her breath, sound, and sense all at once.

The world twisted.

Collapsed.

Shattered.

And then -

Silence.

Somewhere in the distance, a voice surfaced. It was hushed … faint … urgent.

“Stay with me. Can you hear me? You’re in good hands. Stay with me!”

Randi couldn’t move.

She couldn’t speak.

She couldn’t feel.

No. Wait. That wasn’t true.

She began to feel some … thing. It slowly began to surface. A burning. A tearing pain, so sharp, it didn’t feel real. Her eyes welled with tears and overflowed.

The voice returned.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m Dr. Reagan. Stay with me, Randi?”

Stay where? Doctor? What is happening?

Her eyes, her vision became blurred by something wet, thick, and warm slowly gliding down her forehead. She attempted to lift her right hand to wipe the liquid away.

Her right hand.

Was it there? Why couldn’t she raise it?

Darkness edged her vision, slowly spreading. disappearing.

But one thought broke through the chaos, clear and absolute:

I can’t feel my hand.

And then …total darkness … nothingness.