Page 73 of Remember Me
“Oh my God! How horrible!” Jolting, I act like this is news to me. “Does Maddie know?”
“No, not at all. I don’t want to frighten her. But that’s one of the reasons I’ve been super-protective of her. Whoever did this to my wife is still out there. My daughter’s life could be in danger.”
At this reminder, I inwardly shudder. Yet, despite my unease, my inquiring mind is at work. What exactly does Finn know about the accident? Perhaps, he can shed some light on what happened that fateful night. He’s in a talkative mood. The investigative reporter in me probes further. I need to know the truth.Dig deep, then dig deeper.
“Do the police have any clue as to who may have cost your wife her life?”
Finn shakes his head. “Believe it or not, the police initially suspected me.”
His words rattle me. A chill runs down my spine. There’s no way this beautiful, loving man could be a killer. “That’s insane! What made them think that?”
He chews on his lip. “Because she had a substantial life insurance policy. Plus, they suspected she was having an affair. Put two and two together and you’ve got a classicCriminal Justicestory: Jealous husband kills cheating wife and inherits her money.”
A sick feeling washes over me. The thought of infidelity is unfathomable. “Doyouthink she was cheating on you?”
“The night of the accident she went out by herself. She was all dressed up in this hot little outfit... a black mini-dress along with some strappy high heels I’d never seen before. Not the kind of things she usually wore. Plus, she had on a ton of makeup and her hair was swept up. She told me she was working on a story. She was rushed and nervous.” He fidgets with his watch. “To be honest, I didn’t believe her.”
My heart clenches at this revelation and my stomach churns. I try hard to remember, but nothing comes to mind. Not even a glimmer of that night. Flustered, I splutter, “Why didn’t you believe her?”
“It wasn’t the first time. She did the same thing earlier in the week and was very secretive about the story she was working on. She said she couldn’t talk about it.”
What story? What was I working on? I painfully, frantically try to recall that night.Think, Skye, think!My mind does somersaults. Nothing. I have no recollection. Not even of the dress I was wearing. My forehead scrunches as I squeeze my eyes shut in a desperate search for answers. Rubbing my temples, all I see behind my eyelids is a whirl of darkness. Why can’t I remember?
“Are you okay?” Finn’s concerned voice brings me back to the moment. My eyes snap open.
The possibility of having an affair has unraveled me. Did I? An acid blend of guilt and sorrow surges inside me. I swallow past the burn in my throat, then nod, “Yes.”
“Scarlet, do you think I could be a cold-blooded murderer?”
“Of course not!” My voice is sharp. Definitive. I turn the tables. “Do you really think your wife was having an affair?”
He lowers his eyes, absent-mindedly picking at a tuft of grass. “It’s very possible and with just cause.”
Pausing, he tosses the green blades as my stomach clenches with dread. “What do you mean?”
“Though I loved her with all I had, I don’t think I was good enough for her. I was a struggling artist. Never could make enough money. She was a huge success; I was a huge failure. Maybe, she wanted someone who could give her more than I could.”
His words pain me. The ache in the pit of my stomach coils through me. “How can you say that? You’re an incredible man! An incredible father! She had to love you!”
His gaze meets mine again. “You act like you know her.”
I do! I am her! And I’ve always loved you, Finn!Every molecule of my being wants to shout out the reality of who I am. The words burn on my tongue, pleading to come out. Sucking in a lungful of air, I collect myself and swallow hard. My voice grows watery. “Finn, I understand her. I left my husband. But I never stopped loving him. Ever.”
“And I’ve never stopped loving my late wife. She still lives in my heart and always will.” A faint smile plays on his face. “You remind me a lot of her.”
“How?”
My heart pounds as he lowers my sunglasses to the blanket and looks straight into my eyes.
“Your eyes. There’s something about your eyes. The shape of them. Their intensity. The way you look at me.” He plucks a dandelion from the grass and dusts the flower under my chin. My hypersensitive spot. The spot which when touched lights meup like a volcano. At the sensation of the saffron petals on my flesh, my neck arches and a soft moan escapes my lips.
“Stop,” I mutter, fighting my arousal.
He doesn’t. “It’s weird. My late wife had a very sensitive spot on her neck too.”
Memories of him kissing this spot and sometimes testing a new paintbrush along it dance in my head. Goosebumps pop along my arms as a flare of desire shoots up my legs. I bite down on my trembling lips, hoping they won’t betray me. Taking no chances, I turn away.
“Look at me, Scarlet.” The love of my life’s voice is soft but assertive.