With my hands tucked into the pockets of my sweater, I follow Snowball across the rocky forest path. I feel a little worn out and frazzled after badgering Liam for days, and I have been possessed by the urge to get away. I am starting to feel stronger and healthier, so I thought that a walk might do me some good. Snowball would not let me go alone, so I was forced to let the little ball of fur accompany me. She seems to be enjoying exploring the open trails.
The location of my cabin is scenic and satisfying. The forest is silent, except for the gentle rustling of the trees. I find the sound calming and uplifting. I think that I could walk in the forests alone forever, just breathing in the clean air, and reveling in the peace and solitude. I don't have to look a certain way for anyone. I don't have to pretend that I know anyone. I don't have to try so hard to love someone that I don't even know. Someone who won’t let me know him.
Snowball yips at me, distracting me from my thoughts. A smile tugs at my lips.
Why was it so easy for me to love Snowball again, but not so easy to get along with Liam? I really wanted to. I really wanted to feel the way I always expected I would feel when I fell in love someday. So what's missing? Is there some critical piece of information locked away inside my mind that holds the key to me being able to let go? Or did the proposals just scare me so much that I put up walls and defenses?
A rustling in the forest suddenly startles me, and I pivot on my heels in surprise. There is a snapping of a twig and a flash of movement, and the feeling of someone's hand on my arm. Before I can even know what's happening, I find my body springing into motion and grabbing my attacker's arm with a grip that is firm and skilled. I am surprised by my strength as I twist my upper body and push my assailant to the ground, positioning my body over top of his.
“Whoa,” he says in surprise. “Howdy, neighbor.”
It takes me a moment before I am able to focus enough to see his face. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, and the most innocent expression imaginable on his soft features. I realize that I am twisting his arm so much that it is painful, for I can see him wincing. I can also feel the hard contours of his body beneath mine, and the warmth of his skin is seeping through our clothes.
Ripping myself away rapidly, I take several deep breaths as I rise to my feet and grasp a nearby small tree. How did I even do that?
“Someone has some serious martial skill going on there,” he says in appreciation as he dusts himself off. “What was that? Judo?”
“I don't know,” I say honestly, looking down at my hands as though they are alien features. “I have no idea what I just did. I'm sorry.”
“Don't be! Self-defense is a handy trick that all women should know. I might not have been the sort of creep that you needed to defend yourself from, but you never know when you might run into one! I'm David, by the way. David Duncan.”
“Helen,” I say, grasping his outstretched hand for a shake.
“What are you doing out here in my neck of the woods?” he asks me curiously. “I don't get many visitors out here.”
“Your neck of the woods?” I ask in surprise. “But this is mine. I own a cabin only a few minutes away.”
“Oh, that’s right—you’re the new girl, Helen Winters. My cozy cottage is just beyond those trees. Less than a minute away.”
Peering through the trees, I try to look in the direction he is pointing, but my vision is too blurry. “I didn't realize that there was someone else so close.”
“Sure! Let's face it: we city-slickers only come out here for the illusion of solitude. You're never actually alone, anywhere you go, as much as you try to be. This continent is just teeming with human beings. Every miserable inch of it.”
“Well, you're just a bundle of positivity and good cheer,” I tell him teasingly. “Are you like this during the Christmas season? I bet everyone calls you a grinch.”
“Nonsense. I'm the merriest, jolliest person I know, especially around Christmas. Everyone always loves my presents. Especially when I'm not around to actually hand deliver them, and just send them in the mail! That's a lot less awkward than actually having to see me.”
This coaxes a smile out of me.
“So what are you doing in these parts?” David asks. “What’s your drama?”
“My drama?” I ask him in surprise. “What makes you think I must have drama?”
David shrugs. “This is the type of place people only visit to escape. Personally, I just went through a really bad divorce, and my wife took my house. I had to move back in with my parents, and it was fucking humiliating. So, here I am, trying to get away from it all.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him softly.
“That isn’t the worst of it,” David says as he looks down at Snowball with sad eyes. “The bitch took my damn dog.”
Snowball wags her tail as she looks up at David inquisitively. She moves closer to him with cautious steps, sniffing around at his ankles. When David crouches down to offer Snowball his hand, she starts licking him with enthusiastic excitement.
“You have a beautiful puppy,” David says softly as he pets her. “This really makes me miss Macaroni.”
“Macaroni,” I repeat with a smile.
“It’s because her golden fur was curly like pasta,” David says mournfully.
“That’s a really clever name. My dog’s called Snowball.”
I am grateful to have my canine friend with me to help gauge whether or not David is to be trusted, but I already have a good feeling about him. It is kind of refreshing to meet someone new, who is actually offering new information about himself to me. Someone who actually has zero information about me. My natural instinct to tell a story takes over.
“I was driving out here to escape from something when I sent my car off a cliff and crashed into a tree,” I explain. “As you can imagine, the tree won.”
“Ouch,” David says as he stands up and looks over my body with concern. “You don’t seem much worse for wear. Did you sustain any injuries?”
“Head trauma,” I explain with a frown. “I lost a couple years’ worth of memories. So I’m staying out here at my cabin to recuperate and recover, and hopefully I’ll remember.”
“My dad was in a pretty bad car accident a few years ago,” David says. “He’s a pianist, and he couldn’t play for a while. It took him a couple months before he was back to normal, but now he’s perfectly fine.”
“That’s reassuring to hear,” I tell him softly. It blows my mind that we can actually have a conversation in the manner that people are supposed to. Since my accident, I've mostly been around individuals who felt they already knew me, and expected me to know them just as well. I don’t know anything about Liam’s father. He never talks about his family. I have a hunch that Liam was just as closed up before I lost my memories, and that’s probably what we fought about. I already feel like I know more about David than I do about my own boyfriend.
“Can I join you for your walk?” David asks. “Or would you like to climb over this ridge and check out my cabin? I’m a painter, and I would love to show you some of my artwork.”
“A painter? That sounds like a stupid job,” I tell him playfully. “Do you actually manage to make any money from that?”
David laughs softly. “It was hard at first, but things are a lot better now. I do a lot of art shows, and sell to galleries. You'll have to come take a look at my paintings and let me know what you think.”
“I wouldn't be able to judge,” I tell him with a smirk. “I never took any art history classes due to the fact that I was blind for most of my life.”
“Even better! You get to experience my work as a tabula rasa, a completely blank slate. You are an artist’s dream.”
“Is that so?” I ask him shyly.
“Absolutely. You don’t have to judge based on anything else but your first impression. You get to experience the art from the naked state of a child. You just need to tell me how the painting makes you feel.”
Something about this man makes me continuously smile, and I find myself nodding. “Okay,” I respond with genuine interest. “Show me your paintings, David.”
Snowball barks in agreement as she runs around his feet in excited circles. We both laugh at her antics.
“She’s adorable,” David says, bending down to scoop Snowball up in his arms. “What breed is she? A Pomeranian?”
“Honestly,” I tell him with a shrug of my shoulders. “I have no earthly idea. I can’t remember.”
“You’re a strange one, Helen Winters,” he says with a suspicious glance of appraisal. “Are you sure you’re not a wood nymph who lives in a tree, and assumed human form just to seduce me to my death?”
This makes me laugh. “Are all artists as weird as you are?”
“That depends on the type of artist. Painters are idealistic, musicians are self-destructive, and writers are just insane.”
I flinch slightly at his last comment, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s probably accurate.
“Don’t tell me you’re a writer?” he asks in surprise when he sees the look on my face.
“Guilty as charged,” I tell him lightly, letting him lead me back to his cabin.
“And do you manage to make any money doing that?” he asks me curiously as we walk uphill.
“I wish I knew,” I say honestly with a little smile. “I can’t remember any of my banking passwords.”