Kathleen Pickering - Where It Began

A sigh escaped his lips. Why the hell was he arguing with himself, anyway? Elias’s look said it all. Daniel had no choice but to right the wrong that had begun with him. It was his fate to be ground zero when Maria exploded back to life. It just had never occurred to him, or Elias, that she would request to sail back to the place where it all began.

Daniel needed time to think.

“I have errands to do. I’ll answer you in an hour.”

He didn’t even look back when Elias called out, “Be sure there is storage on the Honora for Maria’s canvases.”

CHAPTER TWO

AGAINST HER DECISION not to heed Del Rio at all, Maria watched his angry stride, infuriated at his rudeness. He had her full attention as he headed into the tropical overhang leading around the villa. His unwillingness to help confounded her. After refusing his attempts at conversation with her all these months, she finally needed him and he was dodging her.

It made no sense.

She’d avoided him most of this past year because a wave of anxiety would hit whenever he came around, rattling her right down to the bone. Then, his soothing, deep voice with its touch of laughter would lull and excite her at the same time. His concerned glances, as if he expected her to ask him a question at any moment, had left her feeling inadequate and foolish.

Recently, however, she’d felt differently. It occurred to her that her subconscious was prodding her. Perhaps Del Rio knew the answers to her questions. Instinct said that he was her ticket to regaining her memory, and every ounce of her being knew this to be true. If only she could calm down enough around him to stop being such a shrew, he might be inclined to help her.

The clang of iron from the side gate heralded his exit. She dropped into the seat across from Elias, aware her father watched her. Perhaps he was reassessing the wisdom of letting her leave. It didn’t matter. She had to make this voyage. Nothing was going to stop her from retracing that trip to Little Harbour—unless Poppa was ill.

“You’re angry with me,” she said.

Elias shook his head, his rheumy brown gaze filled with intention. “No, mi querida. It hurts me to see what is left of our beautiful family quarreling.”

“Del Rio is not family. He acts as if you and I belong hidden away like a couple of loony tunes in an asylum.”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “You simply do not remember, Maria.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Yes. Poppa was right. While a niggling thought teased that she knew Del Rio, he remained an enigma. That his family had been tied to hers for so many years made her wonder why she could remember nothing of this South American.

Yet, something about him disquieted her. Poppa had said Del Rio’s mother was beautiful, his father a lifelong business partner. Elias had laughed, insisting that Del Rio had inherited his Irish father’s renegade looks, while his blue eyes reflected the deep current of his mother’s Chilean soul. Del Rio must have held a strong affection for his mother and her Chilean roots, because he used her last name more often than his surname. The man certainly showed a respect for family that Poppa more than once had openly admired.

Her father could keep his poetic musings to himself.

“I am so tired of not remembering, Poppa.” Her tremulous words surprised her.

Elias turned his wheelchair to face her. With a slow shake of his head he said, “My beautiful Maria. You have been lost in your hideaway upstairs for too long. I am glad you have found strength to seek the answers you want. If it was in my power to accompany you, I would.”

Her chest tightened with love for her father. She stood. “Thank you, Poppa. You know I hate to leave you. I will be back as soon as possible.”

Yes, Del Rio could go to the devil if he did not agree to take her to Little Harbour. It was as simple as that. She pressed her cheek to her father’s, relishing the warmth, inhaling the familiar, soapy smell of his shaving lotion. Familiar scents had been triggers for her memory, and Poppa’s was one of the first to bring her around. “I love you, Poppa. I trust you will ensure your captain cooperates.”

He patted her back. “Have Enrique bring your things to the Honora.”

Ascending her steps to the studio, Maria pushed thoughts of Del Rio away. A commissioned piece needed to be completed before morning. The easel holding a painting half her size stood by the open French doors to capture as much tropical light as possible.

She reclaimed her seat on the wooden stool splattered with various colors of dried paint. Her gaze rested on her current work, which a socialite from her mother’s International Women’s group had asked her to paint. The woman wanted the view from her Islamorada home to be painted like a dream.

Maria usually created only what arose in her imagination, but since this woman had been a friend of Momma’s and offered to pay an outrageous price, Maria had accepted. She had laughed out loud when she saw the photo from which she would work. Living in the Florida Keys was like living a dream. Lately, daydreams came easily to Maria. Anything that promised escape—the slow burst of sunrise, birds flying over the sea, this photo of the view of Florida Bay from her client’s window, all set her paintbrushes in motion. She’d created a technique of blending colors and images that left the viewer mesmerized and contemplative, just as the perfect dream might do. This commission had been simple to create.

Maria still couldn’t believe that complete strangers sought out and paid huge sums for these canvases splayed with the surreal joys, sorrows and regrets of her soul that words could not describe. Heaven knew, even her nightmares made excellent subjects and sold fastest.

She marveled at the encouragement she received from art critics for indulging this exquisite escape from reality. Yet now, only reality stared back from the canvas in the form of Del Rio’s face. He had mocked her when he asked her if she even liked to sail. He knew the answer. She didn’t. And her inability to remember shook her to the core.

It was like being surrounded in complete gloom with no walls, no floor, no sound. No matter how much she reached out, how often she felt for footing, how hard she listened, nothing came. Only darkness. A darkness that spawned nightmares.

She had no memory of the accident; Poppa had told her about it. The only proof was the concussion, cuts and bruises she had sustained. Awakening in a hospital bed and not even knowing her own name had been terrifying. Elias was the one who’d rekindled her memory. By holding her hand and singing songs from her childhood, he had reached her.

Del Rio had been with Elias at the hospital. He had stood behind Poppa to support him. The two men had a bond. She remembered this fact. She also remembered her stunning twin, and their dark, elegant Latina mother, Rosalinda. When Maria and Carmen were young, their mother used to tease that no one could tell the twins apart. Maria remembered Elias saying he would always know the difference.

But what of Del Rio? He remained in her mind like Elias’s shadow. Her father would have to reeducate her about his family, his past. Elias had said Del Rio was like a son to him, but Maria couldn’t even bring herself to speak his first name.

Why?

The man was easy on the eyes. In fact, he was downright handsome. She didn’t like the pull her body felt toward him when he was around. Somehow she’d managed to ignore him. If she kept treating him as an employee, she didn’t have to consider the possibility that he might be more to her family. Because if he was simply the Honora’s alluring captain, then Elias indulged him far more than necessary. And why would this distress her?