True: An Elixir Novel (7 page)

“This is life now,” he says, his voice a caress. “You and me. No one chasing us, no one stopping us . . . nothing in our way.”

He leans in, and I lose myself in his kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, breathing him in, this new scent I already love. There’s nothing else in the universe except this
moment, his lips, his body, his touch. When he pulls away, I keep my eyes closed, waiting for more.

It doesn’t come.

I open my eyes and see Sage sitting on the blanket eating his half of the frittata, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Delicious. You should try it.”

With a rueful smile, I sit across from him and pour myself a cup of tea. Like last night, Sage races through his own food, then ogles mine like a cheetah stalking a gazelle.

“You can have it,” I offer. “It’s great; I’m just not hungry.”

“You sure?”

I barely nod before he grabs the plate and wolfs down every bite, then looks around the room like he’s on the prowl for more.

“Do you feel okay?” I ask.

“I feel great. Just hungry, that’s all.”

I shouldn’t worry. He’s hungry, that’s not a big deal. This body just needs more fuel than the one he’s used to.

I think that, but I don’t believe it. Something feels off—something beyond the obvious—but maybe that’s because I’m still reeling from everything that’s happened.

“Think I can go downstairs and raid the pantry without your housekeeper having a fit?” he asks.

Immediately I think about Rayna—the whole reason I can’t let Piri see more of Sage—and I check my phone to see if she’s returned my texts or e-mails. She hasn’t.

“I can grab you something,” I say. “Then I should go. I really need to try to talk to Rayna.”

Sage reaches out to squeeze my hand. “Forget the food,” he says. “Go see her. And don’t worry. All you have to do is tell her the truth.”

I nod, hoping he’s right, then make him promise to lock the door after I leave. I wait in the hall until I hear the click, then slip downstairs and make my way to Rayna’s house. Wanda answers the door, but she stands like a bouncer, arms folded, her wide body blocking any way inside. “Rayna isn’t ready to see you,” she says. “Maybe you shouldn’t come back over until you hear differently.”

Wanda’s my second mom. This is the first time she’s ever seen me without pulling me into a bear hug. Her cold stare makes me feel like I’m three years old and I’ve been bad. My voice is small when I say, “I understand,” and trudge the miles that now stretch between her house and mine.

I knock gently on the door to my room when I
get back, but Sage doesn’t answer. He’s probably asleep. And I’m locked out. There are definite flaws to my Keep Sage Away From Piri plan. I consider sifting through Dad’s books in the study, but I know it would take me all day to do what Ben could manage in a half hour. It would feel incredible to go for a long run . . . but all my running clothes are, of course, locked inside my room.

Then inspiration hits. My favorite cameras are locked away, but I have others all over the house. I grab one from the living room, sling it over my shoulder, and run outside. I consider driving to the beach, but I want to be close when Sage gets up, so I go back upstairs and spend the next hour snapping unique angles of the furniture, keepsakes, and subtle imperfections I usually take for granted. I shoot like I’m ravenous for the project, without a single worry about whether a shot will be perfect. I work on pure instinct. It’s absolutely magical, and time slips away. When I’m done, I run to my mom’s room and upload them to her computer. She doesn’t have the right software to do anything serious with them, but I can at least click through and check them out.

Every picture leaves me cold.

I can’t understand why. They’re exactly what I’d hoped for—fresh angles on images I always knew—but each one makes my heart sink. I enlarge each bigger and bigger, scanning for the flaw I can’t pinpoint.

Until it hits me.

Of course I’m disappointed. Sage isn’t in any of them.

I hadn’t even realized I was searching for him. I knew he wouldn’t be there—he hasn’t appeared in my pictures since he cut our soul connection. Still, I expected to find him, a treasure tucked into the background of my favorite shots.

I get it now. That’s why I was so excited to take pictures in the first place. I thought I’d have the chance to see him again. Not in Nico’s body, but in the one I’ve known in my soul all my life. Sage is alive and with me . . . but I’ll also never see him again.

“NO! OUT! OUT!”

Crap! How did I not hear my door open? For the second time today I race downstairs to find Piri and Sage in the kitchen. This time Piri’s wielding a spatula at Sage, who stands next to the refrigerator with his hands raised in mock surrender. In one of them he holds a hunk of parmesan
cheese, in the other a bag of asparagus stalks.

“Easy,” he says. “I’m just making breakfast.”

“No!” she shouts. “Out of the kitchen!”

“Nico?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond until I put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “
Nico?
What are you doing?”

“I’m
trying
to make us breakfast.”

“This is not right,” Piri grumbles. “This is very bad.”

“Leave it alone!” Sage snaps. “Clea, can you get her out of the kitchen, please?”

I flash Piri a quick smile, then turn back to Sage. “Actually, maybe we should go back upstairs.”

“No. I’m hungry. I’m making breakfast.”

I sidle close to him and speak through clenched teeth. “You already made breakfast. I said if you were hungry I’d get you something else.” I shoot a meaningful glance toward Piri, but there’s no comprehension in his eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“Breakfast. The frittata you made.”

“How do you know I’m making a frittata?”

A chill runs down my spine. “Can you come upstairs with me?” I ask Sage.

“I’m cooking.”

“Please?”

He grimaces, but he puts down the parmesan and asparagus and follows me out of the room. As we pass the dining room, I notice the table is again set for a meal, complete with another big pot of tea.

“You do know you already made breakfast this morning, right?” I ask when we’re halfway up the stairs.

“What do you mean?”

“You got up, you set the dining room table, and you made a frittata. Piri walked in and yelled at you for being in her kitchen, then we went up to my room to eat. We had a picnic on the floor. You don’t remember that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

We reach my door and I pull it open. Sure enough, the floor is still littered with the detritus of our meal. Sage stares.

“What’s all this?”

“I told you.”

“No . . . this wasn’t here before.”

“It was. You just don’t remember.”

He looks worried, so I reach out and put a hand on his arm. He yanks away.

“It
wasn’t
!”

“It’s okay,” I say, masking my fear with a calm
voice. “You forgot. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything . . .”

“I didn’t forget! I’m telling you, Clea,
these were not here
!”

His face twists in anger. I suddenly feel very small next to his huge, muscular frame, and my voice sounds meek and scared.

“Please don’t yell at me.”

“Then stop lying to me!”
He stomps on one of the plates, shattering it.

“What’s happening up there?” Piri calls. She’s coming upstairs. I can tell. I know something is very wrong with Sage—there’s no way he’d talk to me like this otherwise—but right now I have to deal with Piri, and I can’t do it unless Sage stays calm and out of my way. I have to placate him. Hating myself a little, I hang my head.

“I’m so sorry. . . . It was my mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. Forget everything I said. I’ll go get something to clean this up and I’ll be right back, okay?” I reach out and squeeze his hand while I give him a hopeful smile, and after a moment he grudgingly returns the squeeze.

I slip out the door, close it behind me, race for the stairs . . . and practically slam into Piri. She carries a broom like a club over one shoulder.

“We call 9-1-1,” she says when she sees me. “Now.”

“No. We do
not
call 9-1-1.”

“I don’t like that boy, Clea. He changed.”

“You’re wrong,” I lie. “Nico’s upset about Rayna. That’s it. He’s fine, I’m fine . . . everything is fine. It’s better than fine. For you, I mean.”

I’m scrambling, and Piri can tell. She narrows her eyes and looks at me dubiously. “For me?”

“Yes! I want to show you something. Come with me.” From my bedroom I hear the crunch of Sage stepping on another plate, but I ignore it and lead Piri downstairs. I have no idea what I’m going to show her until I hit the first floor and inspiration strikes.

“Piri, my mom and I have been talking, and we want to send you on a vacation.”

I rattle off what I hope is a convincing story about Mom and I wanting to surprise her with a trip to Foxwoods Casino, a place I know she loves. I say we want to send her immediately—this very night—but I’m going to book it right now with her in the room so she can choose any spa treatments or shows she wants to see.

We’ve never done anything like this for her before, and I can tell she thinks it’s strange. Yet
once I pick up the phone and start making arrangements she gets excited and jumps in with a huge list of requests. It’s cute, actually—her eyes light up and she bounces up and down excitedly as I book everything she asks for. She even squeals when I get her a table close to the stage for a magic show she’s dying to catch. It makes me wish Mom and I
had
planned this for her ages ago.

By the time I’m off the phone, Piri isn’t concerned about anything except her trip. She gives me a huge bear hug and kisses me on both cheeks before practically floating out of the house. I hold my breath as I watch her car on the security camera screens, terrified she’ll see Wanda or Rayna and stop to chat and say something about Nico, but thankfully it doesn’t happen.

“Did I do this?”

I jump at the voice. It’s Sage, and he holds one of the broken plates like he doesn’t know how it got into his hand.

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember it.”

He looks crushed. Whatever made him so violent before is gone now, and he’s so sad I just want to make him feel better. “Don’t worry,” I say. “You’re disoriented, that’s all.”

“Sure.” He still stares at the plate. Gently I pull it from him and set it on the table, then take his hands in mine. I wait for him to look at me, and when he does, when I see the man I love in those eyes, I can’t help but be positive everything will turn out okay.

“Listen to me,” I say. “You’re going to be fine.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I do, though. Whatever else is happening . . . you’re here. You’re human. We’re together. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and we’re starting them right now.”

For the rest of the day, I don’t leave Sage’s side. He never gets angry, and he doesn’t have any more memory lapses. When he takes a nap, I write down what happened in the steno book Ben left me, then watch Sage sleep. I want to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. I want to ground him in reality.

It works. He wakes up with a smile and pulls me onto the bed next to him.

The rest of the day is perfect. We’re constantly touching. We watch movies and TV shows and play board games and talk constantly about nothing deeper or more serious than what’s right in front of us. I love it. Everything feels so simple
and light and
right
. Weirdly enough, it’s the most normal day of our entire relationship.

Still, something nags at me all day. I don’t want to say anything and risk killing the mood, but by dinnertime I can’t help it.

“Okay,” I say once the delivery guy leaves and we’re on the couch chowing on pizza, “I have to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“You really don’t remember anything about our past? About Olivia, Catherine, or any of the others?”

He shakes his head.

“But . . . you still . . .” I can’t bring myself to say the word I want to say. Not as a question. “ . . . care about me?”

I feel so weak and vulnerable as I look into his eyes, but the warmth there is endless. He holds out his hand, and I rest mine inside it.

“I don’t ‘care about’ you, Clea. I love you.”

I should leave it at that. I can see in his eyes it’s true. But I can’t.

“How? You’ve lost so much of what we had.”

“You’re wrong. I remember everything we’ve had.” He takes my pizza and sets it down along with his own, then climbs behind me and rubs my
shoulders. His big, strong hands feel so good on me, and I can feel his breath against my neck. “The first time we met, you chased me down through a jungle. I’d have gotten away, but you fell and got hurt, so I tried to help you . . . and you yelled at me.”

I smile. “I thought you were stalking me.”

“And yet you still took me on. Very ballsy. I was impressed.”

“That’s what you love?”

“That’s what I found intriguing. I also remember you, me, Rayna, and Ben eating pizza in a crappy hotel near JFK. You wore purple sweatpants, your hair was in a ponytail, you had no makeup . . . and you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

“Hmm. When a man with memory loss says you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, I believe you have to take it with a grain of salt.”

“I believe you’re missing the point.”

“Also, I’m pretty sure I was wearing a little mascara.”

“I stand corrected.” Sage kisses my neck, and I tilt my head all the way to the side, surrendering to his touch.

“I remember the beach in Japan,” he says.
“I remember kissing you five minutes before I thought I would die, and I remember thinking that if all I did in my lifetime was make you, Clea Raymond, happy—even for a little while—it was enough.”

I turn to face him and look into the eyes that have followed me forever. I wrap my arms around his waist and melt into him. Whatever he looks like on the outside, this is the man I want to be with for the rest of my life.