Charming Deception, Page 9

We walk into the kitchen. It is the most beautiful, well-designed well thought-out kitchen I’ve ever seen in my life, complete with stainless steel appliances, white marble countertops, whitewashed cabinetry, and bluish-grey tiled floor and backsplash. Crisp. Clean. Modern. Laid out for maximum flow and efficiency, but yet still casual and beachy.

“We have frozen vegetables,” he says as he pokes his head in the freezer.

“We have rotini pasta,” I say, looking in the pantry. “How about Pasta Primavera?”

“Sure. Here’s the veg. I’ll put the water on for the pasta.”

“Jaks, what’s that?” I point to the attachment on the faucet.

“It’s a special water purifier. We’ve got them all over, sinks, shower, we even take them with us when we travel. I have water issues.”

I nod, accepting it without question.

I get busy making a sauce for the vegetables. Jaks picks out a bottle of wine for dinner and sets the table. Soon we are sitting down next to each other having dinner.

“Sam, this is very good.”

“Thanks, Jaks. I’m glad you like it.”

“I didn’t think you’d feel like cooking today, after everything you’ve been through.”

“Oh, this is veggies over pasta, a little parmesan cheese, olive oil, and seasonings. It’s nothing hard. And this is a wonderful kitchen to cook in. I love it. It’s so well planned. Great flow. It’s a happy kitchen. And it’s so beautiful.”

“Well, you planned it and you picked everything out. I’m glad you still like it. Honey, does anything seem familiar yet?”

“Yes. The little lighthouses in the bathroom. I remember them.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember buying some of them on vacation a long time ago when I was still in college. And I remember walking into a little shop on the boardwalk and picking one up, marveling at the beautiful intricate detailed work and how much it looked like the lighthouse we just visited.”

“Do you remember, uh, me… right there with you?”

“No, not exactly you, just that somebody was with me. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He put his head down, “but I was there. Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. Two hundred sixty-nine metal steps on a cast-iron stairway. I was right there next to you, my legs still aching from all those steps up to the top of the lighthouse and then back down. But the view was breathtaking. And you were just thrilled. So it was worth it.”

I nod, not because I remember, but to make him feel better.

“And I remember you bringing me one back every time you had to go away without me.”

“Yes! That’s right. Oh, thank God. You remember me, ME bringing you one home from any trip I ever had to take without you?” I nod again, but don’t remember anything else. “You usually come with me when I travel. I never leave you home alone unless I’m going into a dangerous place, but sometimes it happens. I was hoping once I got you home, and you could relax, your memory would start to return. Who would have thought the little lighthouses would do it?” He jumps up and hugs me, picking me up and twirling me around, kissing my head, my cheek, my ear. “I love you. I love you. I love you. And I know you’re going to be just fine!”

“Lighthouses light your way when you are lost,” I say. “Sometimes people who feel lost or alone or frightened find comfort and solace in lighthouses, with their beacons of light to guide one’s way back home. How long have I collected lighthouses?”

“You had a few when we met. Let me think, you had one from Cape Cod, one from Cape May, and one from someplace on Lake Erie. You bought those yourself while traveling. You had them in the living room at your apartment. On top of a bookcase,” he says. “Sam, do you feel lost or alone or frightened?”

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