Waters of Oblivion

Chapter 8.2: The Reunion

He stopped right in front of her and slowly lifted a hand up to her face. First gently touching her cheek with the back of his fingers, he then moved them toward the hairline near her ear.

Reine felt as though she was in a dream. Her pulse raced, and her skin was on fire along the path where his cool fingers had traveled. Unable to move or speak, she kept her eyes fixed on his, but he still hadn't met her gaze in return.

Instead, his hazel eyes followed his fingers entwine in a lock of wavy, auburn hair at her neck. He seemed deep in thought, and among the myriad of things running through her head, Reine wondered - since she herself was unable to find the right words - if perhaps he was also contemplating an appropriate greeting.

"I'm not too keen on the color," he matter-of-factly stated in a deep, masculine voice sending her thoughts into a whirl. "But you do look great for someone your age."

She could feel her brows draw together in disbelief at his lame attempt at humor under the circumstances. These were definitely not the words she would've expected anyone to say, but more importantly, there was something off in their tone.

"Perdonami amore mio." As if sensing her discomfort, he apologetically switched to Italian. Reine couldn't tell whether he was referring to the bad joke or the language in which he made it, but at least she knew what she initially found odd. It was somehow more natural to hear him speak in what seemed to be his native tongue.

Regaining her own voice, she blurted out her unfiltered feelings while concurrently fearing the response. "I feel like I should know you. Or that somehow I already do."

He smiled. "You certainly do, my darling. My name is Massimo Baldovini."

The name sounded familiar. Baldovini. Was it what the woman at the airport mentioned? When she didn't respond, he continued. "Surely you know the name of your husband?"

Reine shook her head. Her husband? She was certain she wasn't married. None of this was making any sense.

Putting one arm around her waist, he led her toward the back of the room. Several other people were already seated at the long table that was now on the platform. Taking their places at the center, she had a clear view of everything and everyone, but Reine was only interested in hearing more of this man's explanation.

"You're . . . you're my husband?" she asked in disbelief, her weak voice barely audible above the crowd's murmur.

"I know that we've been separated for quite a while and memory loss is natural, but I had hoped you'd at least know my name. Although I haven't gone by Massimo for years. You can call me Max."

His introduction was extremely laid-back for the situation, making Reine absent-mindedly stare off into the distance. It was just too much information to process.

"I'm sorry. I realize that you must be quite tired." Max noticed her pause.

She nodded and turned toward him. "Why can't I remember you? You said memory loss is natural? Natural for what?"

He smiled. "You must know it's what happens to our kind, amore mio."

She felt stupid for asking so many questions, but she had to know. "Our kind?"

"You really are tired, aren't you?" He looked at her quizzically. "Yes, those of us who cannot be hurt or die. Not permanently, of course, but when we do, we awaken without our memories. That's why you don't remember that you were born in Florence on January 1, 1475. Or that you took your last mortal breath twenty-three years later. But as you can see, you are still here. Don't worry, darling. Everyone in this room is the same. We all have the ability to live forever." He gestured at the people sitting at the tables below.