Francis and Robert Owen lived in a ranch-style beach house on Long Island. The interior wasn’t spectacular, but it was cozy. What Liz loved most was the back porch, dark wood planks surrounded by a birchwood fence. A few short steps led straight to the beach, the last one buried in sand. Liz could have stayed out there for hours. But she and Francis only stayed long enough for her mother-in-law to show her the view and her plants.
Liz appreciated how hard the couple tried to make her feel safe and welcome. Francis had insisted it was exciting because she felt like she’d made a new friend and all her stories will be “brand-new”. Mr. Owen Senior, at no surprise to Liz, talked about his boat, Sydney.
And then there were Ben and Megan, who mainly kept to themselves. Or rather, Megan on her phone for work-related reasons and Ben appearing utterly busy around the house. For someone who once insisted that they were pretty close, Ben hardly said three words to Liz since they got in that afternoon.
For the tenth time since she’d woken from the accident, Liz could feel something was being hidden from her. The more time she spent with Matt, the more she noticed subtle changes in his moods. There were times when he’d look at her as if she were truly his everything. It was undeniable how much he loved her. But her doubts, the few she still had, weren’t unwarranted. They were valid. There were unmistakable glimpses of hurt and anger in Matt’s eyes. Noticeable changes in his tone when she questioned or asked about something specific about their life together. She couldn’t be sure. But in those brief flashes of fury in his eyes, she could swear she was beingaccusedof something. She may have lost her memories, but she wasn’t blind.
Maybe it was because he missed his wife.His Lizzy. Perhaps he was blaming her for keeping his wife away. Or maybe the other way around, and he’s frustrated atLizzyfor refusing to “come back”.
And she would come back.
Liz had accepted that she would live this life temporarily, until she got her memories back and then maybe things would make sense to her. Or she would just disappear into non-existence, where she felt like she’d come from.
“That’s enough of the cucumbers dear, thank you.” Francis broke into her thoughts. She hadn’t realized she was still chopping away.
“Of course. Are they thick enough?”
“They’re perfect,” the woman answered with barely a glance at the sliced vegetable.
“I’m sorry, I was a little distracted, I guess.” Liz wouldn’t shy away from opening up to the only mother she’d known. And Francis seemed like the type of person to appreciate it.
“Oh I’ve been known to let my mind wander while I’m in the kitchen,” Francis admitted and then gently lifted the knife through Liz’s hand. “But it’s always best not to when you’re handling sharp objects.”
“It’s just strange being here and not remembering all of you, when you’re all so…familiar.”
“I understand.” Her warm smile spread through Liz like something she’d never known. It was hearty, loving and everything that Liz hadn’t realized she’d been missing.
“I wish I’d met you all sooner,” Liz turned back to work on the salad.
“Well we’ve been insisting you come for weeks,” she barked, throwing her hands up defensively. Then immediately patted Liz’s back lightly and lowered her voice. “I was beginning to think the Fourth of July weekend was the last we’d see you.” The woman complained, giving Liz a light shake, then something flashed in her eyes and she dashed to the oven.
Liz watched her mother in law for a moment, then turned back to the bowl, her eyes locked in a daze wondering why a spark went off in her chest at Francie’s words. And maybe she wouldn’t have thought twice about her comment if her pupils didn’t double in size as soon as she’d spoken them. Liz tried to think back to everything Matt had told her about that weekend. All she could remember is that he’d told her it was uneventful. And that she’d gone out for a bit with Megan. Her eyes and mind were out of control. Suddenly, being in the kitchen made her feel claustrophobic. She needed to stop wondering about that mystery weekend and move on before someone thought she was having a stroke. She tossed some dill into the salad and took it to the dining table.
Everyone had assumed their seats except for her and Francis, who still had her head in the oven.
Matt held out a chair for her.
Liz quickly glanced around the table to see if the setting seemed familiar to her. If they sat around this same table as her husband had insisted they had. Thanksgiving, Christmas, random family celebrations and some weekends in the Summer.
Nothing. To her, it was all new.
What wasn’t new, however, was the tension she once again felt between Matt and Ben. Something far too heavy to be an alleged object they fought about.
“Matt, didn’t you say the wine is kept in the basement?” Liz asked, putting on her most innocent tone.
“Yeah, we put out a few bottles here, if—”
“Could you show me?” Liz lifted an eyebrow and offered a small smile.
“Uh—yeah sure.” Matt stood and led them down to the wine cellar. The large room appeared clean in the dim lighting but smelled musty and was a tad colder than upstairs. The wine collection was anything but limited, stored in a wall to wall symmetrical wooden grid.
Matt traced one hand over a few of the flat laying bottles, while the other still held on to Liz’s hand. He spun her around. “I know why we’re really down here,” he grinned, staring at her lips. He pulled her towards him and pressed his lips to hers.
She smiled underneath his lips and pulled away lightly.
“Okay, so I didn’t ask you to show me down here for wine,” Liz admitted.
“I know when you’re lying,” he said teasingly and pulling her back towards him.
