Damaged Memories

Part 3

As the passengers slowly filled the cabin and took their seats around her, Grace pulled her tattered scrapbook from her handbag, flicking through the pages that were brimming with pictures of famous landmarks and tourist spots. With a black pen, she scrawled the date, 4th June 2019, next to the photo of her standing outside Buckingham Palace just days earlier, London now ticked off the lengthy list of places on the inside cover that she one day hoped to visit.

She'd started the scrapbook when she was in her third year of high school after she'd developed a keen interest in geography, envisioning a working trip abroad when she finished her senior year. Sadly though, Michael hadn't shared the same passion, so several trips to Los Angeles to visit her sister and a food safari honeymoon in Thailand was as far as they'd ventured. But now that Grace was on her own, and as her mum had repeatedly told her before she'd left Devonport, life was simply too short and too unforgiving to let go of a dream so easily.

She tucked the scrapbook safely back into her handbag and pulled out her favourite book, trying to distract the nerves that were starting to crawl through her gut, like a caterpillar with five hundred sticky feet. The idea of starting a new life in a new country was both thrilling and daunting, a huge leap of faith into the unknown. Grace had no idea what her life would look like in a few weeks, months or even a few years, but she had hope that the move to America would at least dissolve a lot of grief-stricken memories that she had been suffocating under in Devonport. She had hope that one day she might find happiness again.

"Excuse me, is this your photo?" interrupted a rugged American voice, dragging her from the depths of her daydream.

When Grace glanced up from her book, she saw an extraordinarily handsome green-eyed stranger pointing to the floor between his feet and unexpectedly, her heart slowed to a grinding halt. The man looked awfully familiar, about her height with short buzzed-cut hair, whilst his cheeks and strong jawline were smothered in rugged two-day growth. His skin was glowing a sun-kissed shade of olive, as if he'd been holidaying in the Bahamas for weeks on end and his icy white teeth were radiating through the most magnificent, genuine smile. When her eyes were drawn to his biceps, prominent underneath an ash grey t-shirt, she felt herself flush and on a brave second glance at his face she guessed he was probably mid-thirties, most likely having seen a few years more than her thirty-two. Eventually she managed to tear her gaze away from the mesmerizing stranger and glanced down at the floor where she spotted the photo of her and Michael on their wedding day, a keepsake she always kept close.

"Oh, yes, it is, thank you," she said as he picked it up and passed it to her with another affectionate smile that radiated pure warmth, restarting her faltering heart and kicking it back into gear.

"You're welcome," he said before he pointed to her lap. "Are you enjoying the book?"

She glanced down at her copy of the classic, Catcher in the Rye and nodded, placing the photo and her boarding pass inside as a bookmark and closing it shut. "Yeah, I've read it a few times actually – it's a favourite of mine."

"Really?" the stranger said, tilting his head slightly to the side and narrowing his eyes at Grace before he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. She was under the impression he was about to ask her another question, but the moment was rudely interrupted by a flight attendant, clearing her throat and motioning with her flirty eyes for him to take his seat. He nodded at the immaculately manicured doll and obeyed.

"I better sit."

"No worries, thanks again," Grace managed calmly, trying desperately to disguise her disappointment that their encounter had been so brief. Then she watched him make his way to his seat just a few rows back. When he sat down, his face disappearing from view, she smiled to herself, relishing in the giddy sensation deep in her stomach as she tried unsuccessfully to match his face to a memory. She was almost certain that she recognised him from somewhere, but surmised it was probably her mind playing tricks on her, like déjà vu.