Accidental Shield

Part of me hopes there’ll be a repeat of earlier. All the stuff I knew about turtles just appeared while sitting next to him on the beach, so maybe he’ll help jog more memories.

It was nothing like remembering the name Gerard, though.

I tense up at the reaction just thinking that name causes.

Why? Is that why he’s so careful about what he says? Are my family bad people—just like Ray in the dream?

“You all right, Val?” he asks.

“Yep, coming,” I say, and carry the glasses into the living room.

I think I’m finally understanding the meaning of the phrase, ‘a goose walked over my grave.’

Sure explains the constant goosebump outbreaks on my skin. Freaky.

I set our glasses on the coffee table and plop down on the sofa, leaning back, enjoying the plush softness.

Flint sits down beside me and opens his laptop. It’s one of the bigger MacBook Pros. It only takes a few seconds for the screen to appear.

He unlocks it with his fingerprint and pulls up a web browser. Then he keeps typing, until he has tabs upon tabs about amnesia open.

“All yours. I’m here if you need any help deciphering anything. Plus Cash is just a call away. He should be by soon.”

We skim through several pages together. They mostly talk about long-term and short-term memory loss, plus several forms of dementia. Other sites talk about treatments for the other underlying causes, stress or chemical abuse, not unexpected blows to the head like mine.

All in all, we don’t find anything really helpful. Disappointing.

“Sorry,” Flint says and grasps the edge of the screen to shut his computer.

I grab his arm. “Wait. I must have some social media sites. A Facebook or Instagram or something? Maybe seeing some old pictures will help.”

“Pictures of yourself?”

“Exactly. That’s what social media’s all about. Posting selfies.” I wave at the keyboard. “Type in my name.”

Slowly, he does, and a couple sites pop up.

I lean forward, holding my breath. “There! Click on that one.”

A home page with my name, listed as Gerard, not Calum, opens but…

There’s only one picture of me.

Wow. Am I a privacy geek or something?

“It’s the settings, I bet. Says you have to be friends with me to see my posts.” I rest my chin on my hand, drumming my fingers on my cheek.

“You must have your page set to private,” he agrees.

I sigh. Just lovely. Nothing’s ever easy.

“And I have no idea what my password is. Or the email assigned to this account to reset it. Argh. Try going back and click on that other site?”

He does, but it’s the same thing. And the same picture.

It’s me. On a beach. Kinda zoomed out. I can’t even make out the print on my t-shirt.

“Do you have any idea what my password or email would be?”

“Email, you changed them up a lot. Too much junk mail,” he answers. “And password? Not a clue. I wasn’t in cryptography, Val. For all I know you might’ve based your shit on old college star charts.”

Oh, please. Like anyone would ever do that.

“As if. Go back to the other site, please.”

He does. I have him click on the friend’s button. A list of several hundred faces appear. “Scroll down,” I say.

I watch the pictures as they roll past. None are familiar, but I’m really only looking for one.

“That’s the end,” he says, scrolling into blank white space.

“Weird. Why didn’t I see your picture? Shouldn’t I be friends with you? I mean, some couples even put their selfies up front and center.”

“Not our style. You know me…or you did. I’m not into social media.”

“Ohhh, you’re one of those guys.”

“Yeah, those guys. Ones who don’t want every damn detail of their lives plastered all over the web.”

I giggle. “Aw, come on. It’s not plastered all over the web. Only your friends see what you post. You can even crank it up so it’s just certain users. You just saw how restricted mine is.”

He closes the laptop. “Lot of fucked up shit in this world. There are hackers who can skim everything and put you in a mountain of debt if they want it bad enough, privacy be damned.”

I lean my head back against the couch. “Yeah, well, if you know one of those hackers, please send them my way, would you?”

He sets the laptop on the coffee table. “No dice, Val. You’ll just have to give your brain a chance. You’ll remember in time.”

“In time for what?” I sigh. “My funeral?”

My lips purse. I’m feeling sorry for myself, a good dose of woe churning away inside.

Flint’s eyes haven’t gone anywhere.

He’s still looking at me with such a serious expression, I kinda regret what I said, how I feel. This isn’t any easier for him.

Seriously.

Just imagine being married to a woman who might never remember the day you married her. I sit up and look him straight in the face. Eye to eye.