Mind Lies (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

Staring at the window, eyes squinting from the brightness of the sun streaming through, I adjust myself on the ottoman while waiting for Portia to find the perfect spot behind me. After leaving the closet, we talked over coffee and came up with a plan. My desire to remain somewhat anonymous is very important to me. Portia confirmed it would have been important to the old Jerri as well.

We set the ottoman up for me to sit in front of an east-facing window. The light is nearly blinding for me, but it’s perfect for Portia to use. The exposure creates a glow around my body, blurring the edges and concealing my face.

From her view through the camera, I’m angled slightly to the right, wearing an off-the-shoulder tunic so that only one of the characteristics that defines me is shown.

The raven tattoo sits on my shoulder, taking flight toward my neck. I recall our earlier conversation regarding said tattoo as I wait for her to make final adjustments on the camera.

“I think we should keep something that defines you as you in the video, such as your tattoo,” she told me.

“I noticed it in the mirror the other day,” I replied. “Do you know when I got it or what it stands for? I don’t feel like someone who would just tattoo something random on her body without an explanation.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t and you didn’t. You’ve had the tattoo for about six years. You went with me to a tattoo appointment and decided to get one for yourself. You said you’d been planning it for a while, just hadn’t took the plunge yet. When you came out and showed me, I asked what it was for.” She paused, heading to the sink to rinse out her coffee mug.

“What did I tell you?”

Leaning her back against the counter, she said, “That it was time to fly solo—to carry on with your dreams.”

Apparently I purchased the building for the shop the following week, with Cooper as an investor and Portia as a manager.

“Okay, Babe. I’m ready when you are,” Portia says from behind.

Looking over my shoulder at the camera, I will my nerves to settle as she gives me a small but encouraging smile. There are no instruments playing in the background; it’s just going to be me and my voice, singing to the man from my dreams to come back to me. Turning away from her and recalling the fullness in my heart when he was with me, I close my eyes and picture Locklin. I take a deep breath, imagining his scent filling my lungs and his warm, hard body holding mine. 

“This song is for the man from my memories. Maybe I’ve imagined him, and maybe my amnesia is fiercely playing cruel tricks on me; or maybe, just maybe, I’ve lost my fucking marbles.” I laugh softly. “If I haven’t, please prove me wrong. Prove that my mind doesn’t lie. Come back to me.”

“I know you have to leave,

But let me beg you to stay.

This agony, you’re my heart’s reprieve,

I’ll still love you anyway.

Don’t make me ask,

Don’t make me choose,

My soul’s run down,

You’re too much to lose.

But I’m beggin’ you today,

Please, please just choose to stay.

I’m on my knees,

To do as you please,

Please take me anyway.”

Carrying the last note until my lungs are robbed of breath, I end the song softly. I sang with everything I had, everything I wished to have, and the last bit of hope that takes up residence in my empty heart.

I don’t bother to wipe the tears from my cheeks when Portia sits down beside me. “That was heartbreakingly beautiful, Jer.” She sniffs and shakes her head. “I don’t even know what else to call that. It was just . . . wow.”

I close my eyes and nod my head. “I
feel
it when I sing that song, Portia. I feel
him.
” I cough out a humorless laugh. “The fact that I can’t remember,
and
the fact that he’s not here, makes me feel empty, or maybe even stupid—”

“You are not stupid, Jerri,” she interrupts.

Grabbing my hand, she continues.  “Don’t beat yourself up for not remembering; clearly, you had a strong connection to Locklin because even a deaf man would feel what you put into that song.” Her determined eyes meet mine. “People kill for that feeling, Jerri, and if at the end of the day all you end up remembering are these feelings you shared with him, you need to remind yourself that
that
is more than what some people feel in a lifetime.”

My chin quivers before sobs break free. She crushes me in her arms, holding together what’s left.

“I’m so happy I didn’t wake up in that hospital to a shitty best friend,” I mumble into her sweater. She laughs as she cries with me. “You’re stuck with me for life, Lady.”

A throat-clearing breaks us apart, and Portia smiles over my shoulder. “Hey, babe.”

Wiping my eyes, I address them both. “This is the second time today someone has come in without knocking. Do I have an open door policy or something?” I joke.

Cooper answers, “Portia texted and told me to be here around one. I knocked but you didn’t answer. As for Portia, she has no respect for closed doors.”

She scoffs. “That’s not entirely true, Coop.”

He gives her a stern look. “The only door you don’t open is the one to the toilet.”

She smiles. “See, not entirely true. I don’t need to walk in on people having their morning constitutional. I have boundaries, you know.”

He shakes his head before sitting down on the couch. “How are you, Jerri? Portia said you had a rough night. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

I smile at him, but Portia speaks. “You’re already helping, babe.” She turns to me and continues. “Coop’s going to upload the video for us through a bunch of different something-or-others and tag, or tap it, to YouTube to get it lots of views.”

I frown at her, and Cooper shakes his head in defeat. Clearly Portia does not understand the ins and outs of computers, and it’s not worth the energy to explain it to her, so I just say, “Sounds good.”

“Speaking of rough nights, you didn’t tell me what last night’s dream was about before we got started. I assume it must have been big since you decided to follow through with the video idea?”

I nod. “Yes. It was big.”

She places a hand on my knee. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, Jer.”

I shake my head and reply, “No, I do.” Taking a deep breath, I tell them about my dream of Locklin carrying me to a boat. I tell them about the blood dripping down my thigh, about my heart racing in fear just before passing out. A round of “Holy shits” and “What the fucks?” are whispered as I pace the living room recounting the terror.

“You think that one’s real?” Cooper asks.

Solemnly, I nod my head as I reach to undo the button of my jeans. Turning around, I pull them down a few inches and hear a gasp from Portia.

“Oh my god. Why haven’t I seen that before?” she asks.

Shrugging my shoulders in a way that says, “I don’t know,” I pull my pants up before facing them. “There’s something else,” I say, watching the color return to their faces. Portia has moved to the couch beside Cooper, who has his arm around her, holding her close.

Sitting down on the ottoman, I clasp my hands between my legs as I tell them, “In one of the memories, I asked Locklin where he would go if he could go anywhere in the world, and he told me he’d go back to Ireland because to him it always felt like home.”

Portia says, “You told me he had an accent and he calls you Lass. Maybe you went there with him. I guess you could have gone since we met, as well. When we first became friends, we didn’t keep tabs on each other as much as we do now. Going a week without speaking wasn’t uncommon,” she reasons.

I shiver, goosebumps pebbling my flesh, as I deliver the rest of the memory. “Those boats? The dock he carried me to before I passed out? . . .” I pause, waiting for them to acknowledge they’re listening. “There was writing on them. It wasn’t in English.”

I let go of the breath I was holding.

“It was Gaelic.”

We are enveloped in silence for a few minutes. The three of us are lost in our own thoughts, trying to piece together the snippets of my previous life. I place my head in my hands, running everything through my head: the past, the present, and the unknown future. “Oh my god,” I whisper, shaking my head.

“I didn’t tell you,” I say to both of them. “I didn’t tell you. If this is true, if I’m not nuts, if I haven’t lost my fucking marbles, this is why.”

Portia frowns. “Why what, babe?”

Cooper’s eyes light. I think he’s coming to the same conclusion I am, and we silently acknowledge why when we lock eyes. “You, Portia,” he tells her.

She frowns, confused, and looks back and forth between us. “Me what?”

Cooper squeezes her shoulder. “If Jerri’s right, and this shit did happen, she didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

Portia scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. We work together, Cooper. We’ve lived together for a very short time, and”—she pauses to make eye contact with me—“no offense, Jer, but I was literally your only friend when we met. If someone wanted to get close to you, no matter what I do or don’t know, they would assume I did. I’ve been the only person close to you for ten years.”

Cooper says, “That may be true. But think about it; she didn’t tell us about this Locklin guy, and she didn’t make any other friends other than you, myself, Cory, and Mark. When she was with Tom, she never really got close to any of his friends. She just hung out with them when she had to for his sake and for work.”

“I get that, but she’s a private person who doesn’t like a lot of people. I don’t like a lot of people either,” she replies.

Cooper smiles. “You like me just fine, and you’ll still talk a stranger’s ear off. Jerri won’t. She avoids personal questions like the plague.”

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. Listening to people talk about me in the past tense and digesting all this information is enough to make my head spin. “It sounds like I’m not the only one with more questions than answers,” I huff.

“I’m sorry, Jer. We’re not trying to make you upset. We’re just as confused as you are,” she says.

I highly doubt that, but I nod in agreement.

“How about we get this video up and see where that takes us?” Cooper throws in.

Portia adds, “Come home with us, Jer. You’ve been held up in here long enough. We’ll have an early dinner, and you can have a final look at the video before Cooper puts it up.”

I want to decline.

I want to go back in my room, curl up in my bed, and pull the covers over my head. I want to block out the world and burrow under the safety of the blanket.

That’s not how you get answers.

Don’t be a coward.

Reluctantly accepting to go home with Coop and Portia for dinner, I clean up and follow them across the street. “You’re not cooking, are you?” I ask, attempting to make light of an incredibly serious afternoon.

Her laugh precedes me as I walk out the door.

* * *

One thing to know about software developers: they’re loaded.

Cooper and Portia’s apartment, which makes up the entire third-floor of the building across the street, is divine. Portia had once mentioned her love for interior design, and with Cooper’s unfoldable wallet, she has achieved creating a spectacular home.

Modern meets comfort in the edgy space, which is complete with lights that turn on when you speak to them and couches you could easily fall asleep on.

“Did you quit taking your pain meds?” Portia asks from the other side of the island before sliding a glass of wine my way.

“Pretty much. But I took one last night before bed because my legs were bothering me after all the walking we did. Why?”

Cooper answers, “Because they’re not good to mix with alcohol.”

I frown. “Why’d you give me the drink before you asked?”

Portia smirks, and Cooper slaps her on the ass. “Because she would have given you the booze no matter what your answer was. And she’s assuming new Jerri would do the same as old Jerri, which is drink it anyway.”