Helen Myers - Just A Memory Away

“It doesn’t hurt so much when you’re with me.”

How could anyone who looked like next month’s centerfold for a women’s pinup magazine be this sweet? She hesitated, but knew she had to ask. “Do you remember my name?”

Slate-blue eyes that should probably have seemed cold and hard warmed as he took in her sleep-tousled hair, her rumpled T-shirt and tanned, bare legs. “Frankie.”

She could have kissed him. “And your name?”

He tried. She could see it in the way the veins swelled at his temples, the way the muscles around his mouth and along his neck tensed. But in the end he could only make a negative movement with his head.

“Nothing?”

“Adam…?” he murmured, looking confused. “I remember hearing or dreaming the name Adam.”

Frankie grimaced. “That was a joke. I called you that last night when I found you, because you were—Never mind.”

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