Well, that confirms one memory.
Besides his death, and a few foggy hints now and then, I don’t remember much about my father. Just like I don’t remember much about her, other than the fact she’s my mother.
“I don’t think there was a storm, Mother. That’s not what happened to the skiff,” I say slowly.
Flint tenses at my side, shooting me a searing, glassy look. Careful, his eyes warn.
Mother slowly frowns. “You must be mistaken, dear. Ray told me all about it. He said there were huge waves, terrible winds. A miracle you were close to port when it blew through. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. There’s no good reason. An accident is an accident.”
“Did he tell you Val was injured?” Flint asks, his voice a low growl.
“Injured? Heaven’s no!” She looks genuinely concerned now, those matching gold eyes like mine flicking back and forth. “Where? How? What happened?”
The butterfly stitches fell off the other day, but I put my hand to my temple, where there’s still a thin pinkish scar.
“It was just a bump to the head,” I say. “Nothing life-threatening.”
“It was a gash,” Flint says, folding his hands, leaning forward in his chair. “Val was knocked out unconscious.”
“Oh, that little rascal. Now I see,” she says. Like Ray is just a kid Bryce’s age instead of a full-grown man. “He didn’t tell me any of that. He doesn’t tell me anything. He must think I’ll worry myself to an early grave, just like your poor father.”
It doesn’t surprise me Ray lied to her. But it’s hardly for the benign reasons Mother thinks.
My hands start trembling. Flint’s fingers tuck tight around my right hand, and I squeeze his palm as images of chaos, water, and fire on the ocean flash in my mind.
I don’t want her knowing about my amnesia, so I try not to dwell on it.
“Have you been checked out, Valerie?” Mother asks.
“A doctor saw her,” Flint says. “Ray knows all about it.”
“He does?” This time she sounds mildly angry, confused. “I don’t…when did this happen?”
“While she was on the yacht,” Flint answers.
The flashbacks are fading, and though I don’t want them to return, I have to know more.
I’m not thinking straight when my next words come. I just want answers.
“Mother, listen. I think Ray might be involved in something. Something seriously wrong, something with King Heron.”
“Nonsense, doll. He took over the helm after your father died, and he’s working with the same lovely people your father employed.” She shakes her head. “Everything runs just the same. Except for missing Stanley’s instincts, sometimes. The man always found a way, even when his odds were terrible. Surely, you know Ray’s cut from the same cloth. He’d never—”
“What about the missing ships, Mrs. Gerard?” Flint asks, cutting in.
I glance up at him.
Missing ships? Wait. He’s right, there have been missing ships.
“It’s true. We’ve lost a few over the years. Always as ghastly as it is unexpected, these tragedies.” She shrugs. “Accidents happen in this line of business, in these waters.”
They aren’t accidents. I know that. I know more, too, but it’s not quite coming.
It’s blocked, partitioned off in my brain by something I don’t want to remember.
“Missing ships aren’t accidents…” Flint sits up in his seat, skimming a thumb across my hand, staring at Mother pointedly. “They’re tragedies, Mrs. Gerard, you aren’t wrong about that. But they aren’t accidents.”
Mother ices over. I can see it in her expression, and I remember that, too.
She’s a human ostrich. Always denying bad things, racing to stick her head in the sand at the first sign.
Just like when we were kids and Ray would do something nasty, she’d deny it for him. And she wouldn’t believe me when I told her the truth about her golden boy.
My heart starts racing. Tears sting my eyes.
There’s too much hitting too hard, too fast, too soon.
I grab Flint’s arm with my other hand.
“We should go now,” I whisper, twisting in my seat.
Concern flashes in his eyes. He stands, then helps me up.
“You’re leaving so soon? Where?” Mother asks.
“I’m going back to Flint’s place, Mother.”
“On the Big Island? Another flight? But you just got here. Valerie, this is highly unusual,” she snaps, her eyes flitting back and forth, genuinely confused. “You hardly ever stayed the night at a friend’s house when you were little. And when you went to college, well, we don’t need to rehash that.”
College? I need air.
“I’m not so little now, Mother. I’m an adult. I just need space.”
“Space from me? Your own mother?” she gasps, turning her hand around to point at her chest.
“From Ray.” I watch her blink, stunned, like I just tore a hole in her world.
Flint has an arm around me, and I need that, too. The panic surfaces inside me, this invisible cord around my neck, threatening suffocation.
He turns me toward the door, walking close beside me.