knowing about my amnesia, so I try not to dwell on it.
“Have you been checked out, Valerie?” Mother asks.
“A doctor saw her,” Flint says. “Ray knows all about it.”
“He does?” This time she sounds mildly angry, confused. “I don’t...when did this happen?”
“While she was on the yacht,” Flint answers.
The flashbacks are fading, and though I don’t want them to return, I have to know more.
I’m not thinking straight when my next words come. I just want answers.
“Mother, listen. I think Ray might be involved in something. Something seriously wrong, something with King Heron.”
“Nonsense, doll. He took over the helm after your father died, and he’s working with the same lovely people your father employed.” She shakes her head. “Everything runs just the same. Except for missing Stanley’s instincts, sometimes. The man always found a way, even when his odds were terrible. Surely, you know Ray’s cut from the same cloth. He’d never—”
“What about the missing ships, Mrs. Gerard?” Flint asks, cutting in.
I glance up at him.
Missing ships? Wait. He’s right, there have been missing ships.
“It’s true. We’ve lost a few over the years. Always as ghastly as it is unexpected, these tragedies.” She shrugs. “Accidents happen in this line of business, in these waters.”
They aren’t accidents. I know that. I know more, too, but it’s not quite coming.
It’s blocked, partitioned off in my brain by something I don’t want to remember.
“Missing ships aren’t accidents...” Flint sits up in his seat, skimming a thumb across my hand, staring at Mother pointedly. “They’re tragedies, Mrs. Gerard, you aren’t wrong about that. But they aren’t accidents.”
Mother ices over. I can see it in her expression, and I remember that, too.
She’s a human ostrich. Always denying bad things, racing to stick her head in the sand at the first sign.
Just like when we were kids and Ray would do something nasty, she’d deny it for him. And she wouldn’t believe me when I told her the truth about her golden boy.
My heart starts racing. Tears sting my eyes.
There’s too much hitting too hard, too fast, too soon.
I grab Flint’s arm with my other hand.
“We should go now,” I whisper, twisting in my seat.
Concern flashes in his eyes. He stands, then helps me up.
“You’re leaving so soon? Where?” Mother asks.
“I’m going back to Flint’s place, Mother.”
“On the Big Island? Another flight? But you just got here. Valerie, this is highly unusual,” she snaps, her eyes flitting back and forth, genuinely confused. “You hardly ever stayed the night at a friend’s house when you were little. And when you went to college, well, we don’t need to rehash that.”
College? I need air.
“I’m not so little now, Mother. I’m an adult. I just need space.”
“Space from me? Your own mother?” she gasps, turning her hand around to point at her chest.
“From Ray.” I watch her blink, stunned, like I just tore a hole in her world.
Flint has an arm around me, and I need that, too. The panic surfaces inside me, this invisible cord around my neck, threatening suffocation.
He turns me toward the door, walking close beside me.
“A-are you ill, girl? You look pale. Are you certain you’ve seen a good doctor?” Mother follows, all questions, stuttering as she walks.
I can’t speak.
New flashbacks keep hammering my head, frying it like a freaking egg.
So many times over the years when I was told to be quiet, to shut up, that I didn’t know what I was talking about.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gerard,” Flint tells her. “She just needs to rest. The doctor said it’ll take time to fully heal.”
“Rest? Then she needs to stay here and see our doctor!” Mother says, her heels clicking after us. “Young man, you can’t just—”
Flint opens the door, walking me outside, beaming back a look that halts her mid-step.
“She’s been in great hands ever since the accident. She just wanted you to know she was okay. We’ll take it from here.”
The air, the sunshine, feels like sweet freedom. The flashbacks and pain drift away, little by little.
I glance up at Flint.
He winks at me, then tells my mother, “She’ll call you later, after she’s rested. I promise.”
“She knows more, Flint.” I wait until we’re in his truck, heading for the main road, before I say it.
“Is your memory coming back? Is that what happened back there?”
“No, not really. More like hints of images, little things, but I know. She knows more than she lets on.” Pressing a hand to my chest where there’s a heaviness, a fear, I sigh.
“Val?” he barks, glancing over.
“I