Chapter 32 #2
He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the smell hit him again. Picking up a piece of toast, he took a bite while holding the coffee mug in his other hand, letting the heat seep into his stiff fingers. “So… what kind of place is Driftwood Pointe?”
The other man stuffed a forkful of eggs into his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed.
“It’s a small town on the coast—obviously.
Home to about four thousand people, maybe a little more depending on the season.
It started as a fishing town, but these days tourism keeps most of the businesses going.
” He nodded toward the windows. “Storms like Ruth tend to clear everybody out for a few days, though.”
After swallowing another bite of toast, Julian dug into his eggs. “You said you found me on the beach?”
“Yeah. About a quarter mile south of here.”
Nibbling on a piece of bacon, he considered Brett’s answer.
He didn’t remember a boat. Didn’t remember falling into the ocean.
The only thing he could clearly recall was the freezing water, violent waves, and the strange sensation of the surf forcing him toward shore almost reluctantly, as if the ocean hadn’t wanted to let him go.
He shoved the thought aside before it could spiral any further. Maybe more details about where he was would trigger something. Anything. “Tell me more about the town.”
“Well, it was founded back in the 1600s. One of those old New England places where everybody knows everybody, and half the families have lived here for generations. Widow’s Point Lighthouse has been here for over two centuries, and although it’s now fully automated, it’s the last lighthouse left in the US that the Coast Guard doesn’t maintain. I’m the current civilian keeper.”
“How long have you been doing that?”
Brett tilted his head, his gaze drifting to the ceiling for a moment.
“A while now—years, at least. I kind of lose track of time around here.” He took a sip of coffee.
“Let’s see, what else? Uh… There’s a harbor, old fishing docks, a town green, a historical society, and a farmers’ market everybody takes too seriously.
A couple of restaurants. A cool pub called the Hex & Hearth.
” Another faint smile appeared. “Best clam chowda in New England.”
Julian managed a weak huff of amusement, but the harder he tried to connect to any of it, the emptier his mind felt.
His frustration didn’t go unnoticed. “None of it sounds familiar?”
“No.” The answer came too fast. Something niggled his brain but wouldn’t come into focus. Frustration followed right behind it. “I mean, you said you think you know me—or at least my name—so I’ve had to have been here before, right? The town should sound familiar, shouldn’t it?”
“Maybe.” Brett’s tone stayed calm without slipping into pity. “Or maybe your brain’s still trying to catch up after whatever happened to you.”
Chewing on another piece of bacon, Julian stared at the ocean beyond the window.
Somewhere out there was a life he couldn’t remember.
A home. Friends. Family, maybe. Yet sitting there in an old cottage, with a strange cat curled beside him and the man he felt an unexplainable connection to, it somehow felt more real than the blank space in his own head.
They finished breakfast in a peaceful silence that somehow didn’t feel uncomfortable, then Brett put the dishes in the sink.
“I’ll wash them later. Think you’re okay to walk to the clinic?
It’ll only take about five to ten minutes from here.
My truck’s in the shop. If you’re not up to it, we have one rideshare driver in town. ”
“No, that’s fine. I’m a little beat up, but I can walk. Maybe it’ll help jog my memory.”
Brett dried his hands on a dish towel, then glanced toward the windows where weak sunlight had started pushing through the thinning storm clouds. “Fresh air probably won’t hurt.”
Julian pushed himself to his feet more carefully this time. Every part of him protested, but at least the dizziness had eased since breakfast, and that felt like progress after the ocean had spit him out last night.
The cat lifted its head from the chair cushion and tracked him with sleepy golden eyes before curling back into himself.
Brett disappeared down the hallway, returned with a heavy, heather-gray hoodie, and handed it to Julian.
The fabric smelled like cedar, salt air, and whatever soap Brett used—recognizable in a way that made no sense considering Julian couldn’t even remember his own name or why he’d been in the ocean.
Pulling the hoodie over his head stretched his ribs enough to send a sharp ache through his side. A quick, disjointed image flashed through his mind—Brett wearing the same hoodie while leaning against the lighthouse railing in fading sunlight and relaxed in a way Julian hadn’t seen yet.
The image disappeared almost instantly.
Julian went still, unease prickling across his skin as the strange moment left him more confused than before. None of it made sense. Then the ache in his ribs flared again, dragging his attention back to the present, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth before he could stop himself.
It didn’t escape Brett’s notice. “You sure you’re up for this?”
Not wanting to mention that his mind was messing with him, he rolled one shoulder and then the other, testing the pain. “If I stay sitting around too long, I’m pretty sure I’ll fossilize into your couch.”
That earned him another small smile, softer this time.
Brett grabbed a worn canvas jacket from the hooks beside the door and opened it. Damp air drifted inside, carrying the sharp scent of seawater and rain-soaked earth. Julian braced himself as he stepped outside.
The storm had moved on, but Driftwood Pointe still wore its damage, minor as it was.
Small branches littered the edges of the driveway and the narrow road it connected to.
Puddles reflected strips of pale gray sky between passing clouds, and beyond the rocky shoreline, waves still rolled in hard enough to send bursts of white foam spraying against the granite.