A Five-Minute Life

“I know this place,” I said in the foyer, standing in front of a still-life painting of fruit in a bowl. “I know this picture, too.”

It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The way the light falls over the curve of the apple…

The words were my own. I’d been talking to someone in front of this picture. A man. Tall. Dark hair. Dark jacket. I could almost see him… A mirage in my vast desert of nothingness.

They took me upstairs to the rec room and there he was.

He stood near the door. In white, not black, but he was there, looking as if he were about to leave. I recognized the angle of his jaw and the softness of his eyes. Another flood gate of memories opened up. Sun-drenched afternoons. Music. This man sang to me. He played my favorite dance songs on his phone for me. He saved me when—

I brushed that dark memory aside. I’d deal with it later. The same way I’d deal with whatever Delia wasn’t telling me about our parents. Later.

As I crossed the room, more came back to me—sun and music and… paint. Yes. He brought me paint. A canvas. He brought me back to life…

And now I stood in front of him, my heart pounding like a drum.

Holy crap, he was gorgeous. Beautiful brown eyes. Stubble along his square chin. Muscle and strength and gentleness too.

“Hi,” I said. This guy made me shy, and I had never been shy in my life.

I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard and said, “Hi.”

That’s Jim. The name bubbled up from the recesses of my mind.

I saw it carved in black letters on white plastic. A nametag. But he wasn’t wearing a nametag and I hadn’t needed it anyway. I remembered his name on my own. Just as I remembered it wasn’t Jim, but…

“You’re Jimmy. Right?”

“Yeah. That’s me.”

That’s him. My Jimmy.

I nearly laughed at the silly thought. He wasn’t mine, but I was bursting with happiness that he was here. I stuck out my hand.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Jimmy,” I said, his impending touch making me shy again.

His large, strong hand with scars across the knuckles engulfed mine. I gave it a shake but didn’t let go.

“Wow, this is crazy,” I said. My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Crazy and good and just…”

“A miracle,” he said.

God, the way he was looking at me. I searched my memory for some moment with Jimmy that was more than talk and music. There had to be, given how insanely attracted I was to him already. I found only echoes of conversations about Marc Antony and Cleopatra. And Jimmy protecting me from the sick asshole who’d made me touch him. Jimmy hauling him off of me, making him go away. Jimmy holding me and singing, promising that he’d follow me into the dark.

“Yeah. Exactly.” I moved closer to him, my hand still in his. “And I was right.”

“About wh-what?”

“About you,” I said. “You aren’t just a dream at all.”

He was taller than me by a good six inches. His head inclined slightly as if he was going to kiss me. Which was nuts. I just met h

im, for crying out loud.

Only I didn’t. We met a long time ago. We met over and over again. This time, instead of slipping away to wherever the amnesia took me, I was staying right here. If Jimmy wanted to kiss me in front of all these people, that was fine with me because I wanted to kiss him too. Badly. It would be a bow on the momentous gift of waking up, so to speak, because my God, this man was sexy in both the most obvious and understated of ways.

“Thea,” Delia said from behind me, jerking me from my thoughts. Her tone like a cold shower. “It’s time you rested. Say goodbye to Mr. Whelan.”

“Why?” I said.