who you are? Your name? Your age?”
“No. But I do know I need to find a bathroom. Can you show me the way?”
* * *
He had questions for her later, many questions, and Josephine fought to hide her anxiety over his complete loss of memory. She prepared them a simple dinner, talking to him as she plated the grilled vegetables and lemon-garlic chicken. “I think you must be Italian,” she said, carrying the plates to the small rustic table in the center of the room. The table divided the room, creating the illusion of two spaces, the sitting area and then the kitchen. “It was the first language you responded to.”
“I don’t feel Italian.” He grimaced. “Although I’m not sure what that even means. Can a person feel their nationality?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, sitting down across from him. “But I suppose if I woke up somewhere else I’d be puzzled by the different cultural norms.”
“Tell me about the people I was with.”
“They were all about your age. Although some of the girls seemed younger. They all looked...polished. Affluent.” She hesitated. “Privileged.”
He said nothing.
“Everyone seemed to be having a good time,” she added. “Except for you.”
He glanced at her swiftly, gaze narrowing.
“I don’t know if you were bored, or troubled by something,” she added, “but you tended to be off on your own more than the others. And they gave you your space, which made me think you were perhaps the leader.”
“The leader?” he repeated mockingly. “The leader of what? A band of thieves? Pirates? Schoolboys on holiday?”
“You don’t need to be rude,” she said slowly, starting to rise, wanting to move away, but he reached out and caught her, his fingers circling her narrow wrist, holding her in place.
“Don’t go.”
She looked down to where his hand wrapped her wrist, his skin so very warm against hers. She suppressed a shudder, feeling undone. She was exhausted from watching over him, exhausted from worrying. It had been a long night and day, and now it was night again and she felt stretched to the breaking point. “I’m just trying to help you,” she said quietly, tugging free.
He released her. “I’m sorry.” His deep voice dropped. “Please sit. Stay.”
His words were kind, but his tone was commanding. Clearly he was accustomed to being obeyed.
Her brow furrowed. She didn’t want to create friction, and so she slowly sat back down and picked up her fork, but she felt too fatigued to actually eat.
Silence stretched. She could feel him watching her. His scrutiny wasn’t making things easier, and she knew his eye color now. Blue, light, bright aquamarine blue. Blue like her sea. Reluctantly, she looked up, her stomach in knots. “I thought you were hungry,” she said, aware that he hadn’t yet taken a bite, either.
“I’m waiting for you.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
“The company you’re keeping?”
She cracked a small smile. “The company’s fine. I think I’m unusually tired tonight.”
“I suspect you were up all night worrying about me.”
It was true. She hadn’t been sure he’d survive. There were complications for those who’d nearly drowned. “But you made it through, and here you are.”
“Without a memory, or a name.”
“I suppose we should call you something.”
“Perhaps,” he said, but it was clear from his tone that he didn’t agree and wasn’t enthusiastic about being called by a name that was probably not his.
“We could try names out, see if anything resonates.”
He gave her a long, hard look that made her stomach do a funny little flip. “I’ll say names and you tell me if anything feels right,” she pressed on.
“Fine.”
“Matthew. Mark. Luke. John.”
“I’m fairly certain I’m not an apostle.”
Her lips twitched. “You know your Bible stories, then.”
“Yes, but I don’t like this approach. I want my own name, or no name.” He stabbed his fork into his dinner but made no attempt to eat. “Tell me about you,” he said, turning the tables. “Why are you here on what appears to be a deserted island?”
“Well, it’s not deserted—it’s an island that serves a scientific purpose, housing one of the five research stations for the International Volcano Foundation. My father is a professor, a volcanologist. We were supposed to be here for a year but it’s been almost eight.”
“Where is he now?”
“Hawaii.” She saw his expression and added, “He is a professor at the University of Hawaii. He juggles the teaching and the fieldwork. Right now he’s back in Honolulu, lecturing, but he’ll return end of the month, which is now just nine days away.”
“And he has left you alone here?”
She hesitated. “Does it seem strange to you?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders shifted. “It’s actually normal for me, and I don’t mind. I like the solitude. I’m not much of a people person. And the quiet allows me a chance to do my own work, because when Papa is here, it’s always about him.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died just before I turned five.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged again, uncomfortable with the sympathy. “I don’t remember her.”
“Would she approve of your lifestyle here?”
“She was a volcanologist like my father. They worked together for ten years, doing exactly what he’s doing now, but in Hawaii, so yes, I think she’d approve. Perhaps her only disappointment would be that I haven’t gone off to college or earned all the degrees that she did. I’ve been homeschooled my entire life, even with the university courses. My father says I’m more advanced than even his graduate students, but it’s not the same. I’ve never had to be in the real world or compete with others for work. I just work.”
“What is your field of study?”
“I’m a volcanologist, too, although personally I prefer the point where archaeology intersects with volcanology.”
“Vesuvius?”
She nodded.
