Anamnesis

I'd just dug the remote control out of the corner of the armchair when someone banged at the front door.

How annoying. It wasn't that I wanted to watch TV uninterrupted. At four o'clock in the afternoon there was absolutely nothing on. The only reason I sat in front of the TV every afternoon was for the sake of sitting still.

I didn't know how to relax. My days off were worse than the ones I worked at the Walmart distribution center. At work, I skipped breaks when I could get away with it and jogged the parking lot when I couldn't. At home, I cleaned like June Cleaver on Red Bull. Anything to keep moving because it always felt like I was supposed to be doing something, although I could never put my finger on exactly what.

For a moment I considered ignoring the intrusion but the second round of knocking was forceful enough to rattle the china in the cabinet against the front wall.

I tugged the inside door open and smiled politely through the screen. A brief glance at his outfit made the smile a thin one. He wore a gray leather vest with no shirt although May wasn't warm enough yet. It was certainly to his advantage—those muscles would put the guy in the Bowflex ads to shame. Not wanting to be caught ogling, I trained my gaze firmly on points North.

His hair, so light it could have been translucent, fell over his shoulders, nearly touching his waist. Pants to match the vest and tighter than paint. All right. I couldn't help myself.

So. Either a rock star or a model for paperback covers. Neither guy should be on my porch. Trying not to stare at the expanse of bare chest, I sheltered myself behind the door. "Can I help you?"

His voice rumbled like fast water over rocks, a smooth and powerful sound. "I think you know why I'm here."

Damn. I knew, all right. Looked like my past was finally catching up to me. "Look, if this is about the scratch on your Cavalier, I don't even think I was the one—"

"I'm not here about a car." He pulled open the storm door and pushed his way inside, looking around the parlor. "This is where you live?"

He paced a casual circuit around my living room, pausing briefly by the kitchen and peering in. "I expected a lot more purple."

"I haven't had a purple—do you mind? Put that down!"

He set a picture frame back on the mantle without disturbing the others near it. "This looks like an elder's dwelling. Are you still living with your mother?"

It was getting heard to keep my cool. Her knew way too much about me and I was way too private a person to be comfortable with it. I wasn't the type to put all my business out there on Facebook. I didn't like strangers. I really didn't like attention. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want." He continued studying the photographs, sounding out of patience.

"No, I honestly don't." My voice was level, despite my heart banging a staccato so jarring I swore my ribs clattered. I picked up the phone and faked bravado. "You have three seconds to tell me who you are and why you thought it was a good idea to force your way into my home."

"You honestly don't know?"

"Forget it." I thumbed the call button on the phone. "I'm calling the cops."

"Quiet." Leaning at the waist, he locked his gaze onto mine and uttered a word I didn't know. It was a slippery-sounding twist of syllables but what my mind heard was: Remember.

And suddenly I remembered. Everything.

With one strange word he added an extra layer of memory to my life. Missing pieces. Pieces I didn't know had been missing. I had reasons and reactions and regrets that, for the past fifteen years, had been wiped from my mind. With one arrogant word, this bastard simply put them back.