Page 3 of The Caretaker
“No,” he whispered, almost as if it pained him too. “I’d remember someone like you.”
My shoulders sagged. Maybe the familiarity I’d felt came from his pain, which shot from those watery eyes to connect with mine. He was hurting, possibly even as much as I was, and perhaps that was what I’d recognized in the photo.
His gaze swept all the way to my feet before rising again, and I became painfully aware of my disheveled state. At nearly seven feet tall and broader than most men, the wild hair and beard only made me more intimidating, gruesome even. And while he was taller than the average male height, I still loomed over him and was at least twice his size. I’d unintentionally cornered him, so I backed up a bit, fighting to form a smile I didn’t feel to put him at ease.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You just seem familiar to me.”
He tucked his hair behind his ears, pulling himself together. “Familiar?” His delicate but husky tone was inquisitive. “How so?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, roughly combing my fingers through my hair until my hands intertwined at my nape. “None of this makes sense,” I said under my breath.
“What doesn’t?” he asked, his irises swimming within an ocean. I wondered if those were actual tears or if he always looked like he was on the verge of them. I wanted to hold him, to assure him that everything would be okay. The strange urge to do so baffled me.
“This place, life, you,” I replied sharply, my agitation directed inward.
“What about it doesn’t make sense?” He genuinely seemed to care about my answer. He’d taken a few cautious steps forward, eliminating the space I’d given him.
“Nothing.” I shook my head to clear it. “It’s not your problem. Again, I’m sorry for barreling down on you.”
We were supposed to go our separate ways now, but neither of us moved, and when I tried to move my feet they wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It appeared as though he was struggling to do the same, and for the first time since waking up in a hospital bed to the news that I’d lost my wife, I felt something other than sorrow and fury.
I felt seen and understood, like whatever pained me pained him, but that couldn’t be. Unless what we were feeling wasn’t as complicated as I was making it out to be. He didn’t need to have lost years of his life to a brain injury. He didn’t need to have lost the love of his life either. Maybe what connected us was something universal, an emotion brought on by any number of life’s various atrocities. Despair.
“Are you alone?” I asked. I knew the answer. I’d seen from the picture, and the solitary drink on his table, that he’d been here by himself. What I really wanted to know was if he was alone in general, alone in this world, or if there was someone he could turn to once he left here. According to his own words and the crushing look on his face, he wasn’t okay, and I wanted him to be.
“Yes,” he said, almost gut-wrenchingly so. “I’m alone.”
“Me too.” Amnesia was lonely and isolating, especially when surrounded by people eager for you to remember.The pressure made it worse. But this beautiful stranger didn’t know me, didn’t have anything to gain from me remembering. I felt a need to hang on to that for a while longer.
“Are you a local?” I asked.
“Ah, yeah, you can say that.”
“I was involved in an accident that left me unable to recall some important details of my life,” I said, keeping it simple. “I was here before. In this town, this tavern. Nine months ago, to be exact. It’s likely that I was here for more than just one night. I know you said you don’t recognize me, but I would have looked different then. Would you mind stopping by my table and looking at a few photos? It’s right over there.” I pointed out my booth just as my waitress dropped off my food. My drink had likely gone warm by now.
“And what if I still don’t recognize you? Or better yet, what if I do? What happens then?” he asked, his expression concerned.
“I…don’t know.” I’d assumed I would show up and my memories would magically return. They hadn’t, and so what good would someone recognizing me do? Where would I go from there?
“I know I was here, and not only because I have the receipt to prove it. I canfeelit. I guess if someone recognizes me it might spark a memory for them of a conversation we might have had, things I might have said. Things that could help me remember or lead me to my next destination out here. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot I’ve got right now. This town matters to me, and I need to know why. Why was I here the night before losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me?” I’d asked that more to myself, and felt the odd need to apologize for it when he braced a hand on the wall next to him. Had he lost someone too?
“Okay.” He swallowed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” I led the way to my table.
Pushing my food and beer aside, I reached into my satchel again. “How long have you lived in Haley Cove?” I asked as he settled in across from me. Living in Haley Cove didn’t mean he’d have been in this tavern on the day I visited. I’d honestly havebetter luck badgering the rest of the staff. But maybe he’d seen me somewhere else in town. I doubted I’d come all this way just to eat.
“Permanently? Almost a year. I used to live in New Jersey. Willowbrook to be exact.”
“Willowbrook,” I repeated, hand stalling on the folder.
“Have you been there before?” His tone was careful.
“No, I don’t think so,” I said, unsure of why the town name caught my attention in the first place. I lined the pictures up in front of him. He took his time looking at mine, which I appreciated. It showed he was taking this seriously, and not brushing me off the way Trisha had.
My optimism flared when his finger traced my smile, like maybe it had triggered a memory for him. He barely glanced at Stacey’s photo before shoving both back in my direction.
“Sorry, I’ve never seen either of you.”
