They stopped for dinner at a cliffside restaurant that overlooked the sea.
Candles flickered at each table, their glow supplemented by muted track lighting
around the walls. The Wynton Marsalis Quintet played on the sound system, muting

the sound of the surf far below. The hostess seated them, and Trelawney studied
Angela's face as she gazed at the stormy ocean.

He wanted her. He wouldn't lie to himself about that. If he'd ever had the
chance before, he would've taken her. But this would be much more satisfying.
She wouldn't fight, true, but she wouldn't run away either.

She looked back at him, her brown eyes wary and confused. He was so caught up

in his fantasies that he forgot his lines. All he could do was smile at her.
That seemed to be all she need though, as she smiled in return.

"You do look familiar to me," she said. "And my name sounds familiar. I just
can't remember anything. What am I like? What kind of person am I?"

His smile widened. "Well, you're beautiful, obviously."

She blushed.

"But you're also smart - brilliant, in fact. You're determined and honest,
loyal, idealistic. You're a good person, Angela Trelawney."

She looked down at her place setting, composing herself before she continued.
"How long have we been married?"

"A year. Here, let me show you our wedding picture. Maybe that'll trigger some
memories."

He pulled the photo out and handed it over, watching her face as she studied the
image. She looked up.

"Do - do you mind if I keep this?"

He shook his head.

"Do we have children?"

"Not yet. We were, ah, going to start working on that this year."

"Oh."

To her great relief, the waiter arrived to take their orders. Her gaze returned
to the whitecaps far below. She knew she had fallen into a ravine in the woods,
because the nurses had told her that. She knew that she had apparently been

hiking alone, because the police had told her that. And she knew what Sean had

told her.

Funny. It seemed strange to think of him as "Sean," and not "Trelawney." But
why? It was some comfort, at least, to find something familiar.

"Would you like to dance?"

She looked up to find him standing beside her, a hand held out. In her
confusion, she acceded, although she didn't really want to. She wasn't sure she
knew how to dance.

Trelawney led her to the small area in the center of the room where two or three

couples were dancing cheek to cheek. Shirley Bassey's smoky voice sang as
Trelawney pulled her into his arms. His chin rested against her hair, and as
they danced, he let his lips drift down to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I was frantic when I heard about your accident. The thought of losing you
forever . . " he hugged her tighter. "I just couldn't bear it, Angela." He

sighed. "You're everything to me."

She relaxed into his arms. She felt so safe there. She closed her eyes and
savored the sensation. Safety. Rest. It seemed like eons since she had last

experienced them. Suddenly, the face of a young blond man flashed into her

mind. It was just a second, and then it was gone. Her body tensed again.

"What's the matter?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

The song ended and they returned to their table. She raised her eyes to his.

"Sean, was I attacked?"

His hand, reaching for his wineglass, froze. He blinked. "No. Not as far as I
know. Why? Do you remember something?"

"No." She hesitated. "It's just that when we were dancing, I felt so safe . .

Trelawney smiled and squeezed her hand.

"And then I got this memory, or an image, or something . . . of this guy. And
suddenly, I felt afraid."

Trelawney's brow furrowed. "What did he look like?"

Angela smiled and shook her head. "That's what's funny. He looked like a
surfer."

He grinned. "Probably one of the hikers who rescued you. You had a pretty good

fall, you know. All the images and emotions are just getting jumbled up."

She visibly relaxed. "You're probably right. Sean," she said, "thank you."

"For what?"

"For taking care of me."

"I love you, Angela. I'll always watch over you."