Reminding Raimondo (Book 2) Complete

Chapter 2

In the morning I really believed that Raimondo would wake up remembering last night. Dancing, singing, and laughing the way he was. But he didn't. He awoke frowning and dazed. His mind was somewhere too far for me to reach. All morning he sat staring at the folded cut out of the Jacuzzi room. Lost and not knowing what it was, he ran his fingers through his hair tugging hard every few inches.

So I reminded him. The same way I did yesterday and the day before that. He spent all morning down there, pounding away. But that was this morning.

It was noon now. Raimondo sat still examining the photos spread out on the Afghan rug that covered a good percentage of the room. Yesterday's boyish grin, and happy mood was gone. He was someone else today.

My shoulders fell. I felt slightly helpless whenever I saw him looking over those damned photos. And to make matters worse, there were many faces I didn't even recognize!

"and her?" he asked lifting a photo of the woman he was going to marry before he lost his memory.

I bit my lip. I didn't know if I should tell him the truth or lie. If I lie and he miraculously regains his memory, it wouldn't end well with us. But if I tell him the truth, he might formulate new feelings for the woman he once loved.

"I never met her." I smiled standing up and off the brown arm chair I was sitting on. Deciding to play it safe, I moved closer to him and sat on the floor and across from Ray. All of the photos were spread out before us.

Reading the numbers at the bottom corner of each photo, I placed them in order- each one next to the other. When I completed I took a sip from the mug and placed it on the rug.

"I met you here," I pointed at my photo. It was photo number 32. "I know almost everyone after this point."

He chuckled. 32 was the last one. I am the last new face he needed to remember.

I picked up the photo of Eddie and showed him. "Your father." I smiled.

He took the photo from my hand and examined it. "He looks a lot like me,"

"You look a lot like him," I corrected taking the photo from his hand.

"Amira Sabbagh." I pointed at photo number 5. "She's Middle Eastern and works for your father. You knew her very well... you used to talk to her every morning... and-"

"What about my mother?" he interrupts.

"I don't know much about her."

"You don't seem to know much about anyone." he frowned.

"I know all about you." I smiled. Leaning forward, I rested my hand over his. "I want to help you remember. Really I- "

Raimondo removed his hand from beneath mine and continued to look over the photos. The way he concentrated on the photos made me wonder if he thought that staring at them long enough would help him remember. And a part of me wanted to believe that that would happen and that would be the way he remembers. However, another part of me felt that nothing short of a miracle would help him remember.

"Why don't I start by telling you how we first me?" I suggest while leaning forward.

--

Thirty minutes pass. Ray returns to the basement and continues working on his project. One hour. I rummage through the fridge to find something to make for him to eat. All I find is a piece of cheese and a packet of sliced turkey. I need to go shopping.

Two hours. Three hours.

After counting the remainder of our money, I finally decide to go shopping for food. Broke over hungry. I quickly run downstairs and pick up the tray that I brought down two hours ago. He ate the sandwich, thank god.

Watching him work, I wasn't about to start another conversation with him. Especially after seeing his mood this morning.

"I'll be back in a few!" I yell loud enough for him to hear and make my way back upstairs and out to his cab. I've been to the local supermarket a few times. It's pretty nice and clean considering the condition of the homes in this area.

Driving reminds me of yesterday's encounter with that police officer. How many outlets will Jeff use to find us? If he's capable of subtly having the police do his work for him, what else is he capable of? Every person I pass becomes a potential follower. Someone to fear, someone to worry about. And the clerks at the supermarket, they were a another reason to be paranoid staring at me the way they do.

But even they weren't my greater current worry. I had 20 dollars to work with and I was stuck between bananas and apples.

"They're fruit." a strange voice interrupts my thought process.

I look up to find a young man collecting a bunch of apples into a plastic bag. He looked like he just came out of a gym. He was wearing sweatpants and a sweat shirt.

"Excuse me?" I finally ask after examining his choice of clothes.

He nods at the pile of apples in front of me. "They don't deserve too much thought."

They don't deserve much thought, ofcourse they don't deserve much thought! But the fact that the only thing in my pocket is a single bill with a picture of a very dead and a very white Andrew Jackson, that fact makes apples worthy of thought.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." I smile up at him and walk away. For all I knew he could be working for Jeff.. or his father.

Mentally calculating the total of everything in my head I was certain that I wouldn't recieve any change. The line at this supermarket is always pretty long, and today was no exception. I turn to look at the magazines only to find the "fruits dont deserve much thought" man standing in line behind me.

Oh boy. Please, please, please, don't make the total go over 20 dollars. The last thing I needed was this smart ass stranger's pitty.

"Hello, Ma'am. How are you doing today?"

I smile at her and dump all the produce onto the moving counter. She rings everything up and I feel my face heat up when she tells me the total.

"21.50."

I give the man behind me a side glance and notice that he's watching me intently.

"Can you take out 1.50 worth of produce?" I ask her low enough so he doesn't hear.

"Which do you want out?"

"The apples." I answer without a second thought.

"Keep the apples." the man next to me interrupts.

Before I can stop him, he goes around me and swipes his credit card. "All paid for. You're welcome."

He goes back around me and empties out his hand basket. I pull the twenty dollars out of my pocket and put it on his groceries.

I thank him lifting my bags and walk away. His charity wasn't needed. But his 1.50 was.