- 8.
Standing before the white backdrop, I expertly arranged my palette, selecting my colors. With
a few strokes, I sketched the outline of a
setting sun.
“Perfect, Nina! You’re so talented! I wish you
could paint the whole thing, but we need room
for the photos.”
I put away my brushes. “Photos?”
Emily turned. “Of David and me. From the past
<
She began sticking photos to the board,
chattering excitedly about their life together.
She was a natural storyteller, eager to share her
happiness.
“This one is right after David got out of the
hospital. He was so thin, and so grumpy! I
saved his life, and he worked for me to pay off
his debt. Actually, I fell for him first. I chased
him for two years. He always gave me the same
reason for saying no.”
Emily scratched her head. “He said he’d
forgotten something really important, and he
didn’t want to… move on until he found it.”
I remembered David’s proposal. “Nina, there’s
something very, very important I need you to
- do. Only you can do it.”
“What?”
>
12:40
“Be my wife.”
My voice was hoarse. “Did he… find that
important thing?”
Emily shook her head. “No. He doesn’t remember anything. I helped him search for three years, going everywhere. Then, we went through some tough times together, and he felt sorry for me, being an old maid, so he… settled
for me.”
After a moment, I heard myself say, “So, it
wasn’t that important after all.”
Emily immediately protested. “No! It was
important to him. He hates hospitals, but he went for three years, rain or shine, trying to….
remember, to get better.”
In one photo, David stood on the beach, the sun highlighting his face. He was grinning, carefree, reckless. I saw a glimpse of the eighteen–year-
<
12:40
old David, arrogant and untouchable, except
when it came to me.
I touched the photo. “Why bother? If he forgot.
it couldn’t have been that important.”
“Nina, will you be the first to sign our guest
book?”
The orange pen felt heavy in my hand. I
hesitated. “Maybe not. My handwriting isn’t very
nice.”
The wedding flowers needed to be ordered. David was busy with the preparations. Emily dragged me along. I wanted to refuse, but I also
wanted to hear more about his life these past
five years.
The flower shop was small, but overflowing with
blooms. “Mr. Jones, a thousand red roses, for
the day after tomorrow.”
<
12:40
They seemed to know each other. The florist gave a thumbs–up. “Just got a fresh batch of freesias. Beautiful. Want some?” Emily shook
her head. “I like strong scents, bold colors. Those aren’t… my flowers.”
She was like a red rose herself, vibrant and full
of life, capable of healing anyone, even a
broken man.
I bought two freesias anyway, their delicate orange petals releasing a subtle fragrance. We passed a fruit stand. Emily crouched, picking up a mangosteen. “David loves these. I’ll get him a
bunch.”
We lived up north. Apples and pears were our
usual fruits. I didn’t know he loved
mangosteens.
Aside from his face, nothing about him was the
David I knew.
<
100
The roar of a motorcycle approached, weaving recklessly through the narrow streets, pursued by two police officers. It sped towards us. The driver showed no signs of slowing down. As Emily stood up, the motorcycle clipped her clothes.
I shoved her with all my might, taking the brunt of the impact. I crashed into the fruit stand, then onto the ground, a cascade of fruit
tumbling over me. I saw my freesias crushed beneath a tire.
“Nina!”
