I’ve thought about seeing someone again to to try to make some headway with these flashbacks, but I tried that route before and all it did was frustrate me. The therapist I was seeing through social services tried her best to help me remember, and after six months we were no further along than when we’d started. The neurologist was no help either. I have to rely on myself to get better.
We’re quiet for the rest of the plane ride, my excitement about the trip doused by the darkness of the images in my mind.
*
When we arrive in Palm Beach, we drive straight to his family’s house, which turns out to be a beautiful place on the water with views of the sea from every window and porch. It’s not nearly as imposing as their home in Philadelphia, but I like the casual beachy feel of this house so much better. It’s filled with framed family photographs. I pick up a picture of Gabriel and Hailey, the two of them on their hands and knees building a sandcastle on the beach, their sun-browned shoulders touching. I glance at the other photos, chronicling their growing up years. Gabriel’s only sixteen months older than his sister, and as teenagers they almost look like they could be twins. They’ve always been close, and even now Gabriel’s condo in the city is less than a mile from Hailey’s. I set the photo back on the table next to one of the whole family. They’re sitting around a table in a restaurant. Gabriel’s arm is around Hailey, and she is leaning close to him, both of them with happy grins on their faces. The loneliness that follows me around every day feels even more crushing as I examine picture after picture.
While Gabriel is at his meeting, I spend the morning looking for seashells along the beach and sipping from a to-go mug of coffee. I feel such freedom, and a curious sense of familiarity that I haven’t had anywhere for the last two years. Did I have some special connection to the beach and the ocean in my other life?
When Gabriel gets back to the house in the early afternoon, he looks happy. His meeting went well, and that will result in a nice sale for the gallery. We’ve planned a day of gallery-hopping in Miami for tomorrow, including a visit to the Art Deco District in South Beach and the one I’m most looking forward to—Dot Fiftyone Gallery, with its incredible photography exhibitions.
Before dinner, we drive the forty-five minutes to Fort Lauderdale to visit the Jamali Gallery, spending a couple of hours examining the exquisite paintings, which look like they are from another time and place. The colors are extraordinary, but still when I discover the price on one that I especially love, I’m surprised at the six figures, even though I’ve seen some pretty expensive works go in and out of Ted and Blythe’s gallery.
At seven we head to our reservation at the Tradewinds, where I’m awed by the stunning ocean views. Once we’re settled in, Gabriel looks across at me and raises his glass. “Here’s to us,” he says, and we both drink. “I’ve been thinking. What if we find someone who maybe specializes in helping people remember?”
I shake my head. “I’ve tried. Nothing has worked. Retrograde amnesia is a neurological—”
“I know, I know,” Gabriel cuts in. “You’ve explained that to me. But, Addy, sometimes I can tell that you’re remembering something, even if it’s just for a few seconds. What if you started writing down all these little things and talked to someone who could maybe help you string them together and come up with something?”
“Maybe,” I say, though I’m not ready to tell anyone about the terrifying images I see, even a therapist. I’m not sure I want to know what they reveal about my past.
“Okay. Enough said,” Gabriel says, and takes the conversation in another direction. “What do you think about coming back to Miami in December for Art Basel?”
“Oh my gosh, I would love that. It would be amazing.”
I feel on much more solid ground as we talk all through dinner about the art fair and all the galleries we would get to visit then. I’m learning so much about art from Gabriel. I hang on every word, trying to concentrate, but every now and then my eyes wander to a man sitting at a big group table near us who keeps staring at me. It’s disconcerting, but I make up my mind to ignore him. I shift position to get him out of my sight line.
“This has been such a great day, Gabriel,” I say. “I’ve loved every minute of it.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “Me too. And we have so much more ahead of us. I love you, and I always will.”
Always. What do any of us know about always? “I hope so,” I say.