Prototype by M. D. Waters Page B

Wouldn’t you want—?”
    “No.” I will not get my hopes up over something I know is impossible. Her voice is gone, and with it, what is left of my memories. “You have to let this go.” Let
Her
go, I do not say, because is this not what he is really asking for? His wife to return to normal? “Not everything can be fixed.”
    His chin declines in a half nod. “I know.”
    I push off the wall. “I do not want to talk about this anymore.”
    He takes my wrist, stopping me from walking away. His fingers are warm and callused. “You need a distraction.” When I meet his gaze, he gives me a pleasant smile and stands upright. “Come somewhere with me?”
    “I do not have time for distractions, Noah. My parents—”
    “Give me ten minutes; then we’ll talk. Promise.”
    Sonya exits the office and stops when she sees us. “There you are.”
    Noah’s grip on my wrist tightens as if he believes I will use this opportunity to slip away. He is right to do so, because the idea has crossed my mind. I want nothing to do with his distraction, and I cannot stomach being so near Sonya right now.
    “I’m going to get Adrienne,” Noah says to Sonya. “Can we meet up later?”
    Her eyes narrow very slightly. “Sure.”
    He wastes no time turning us away from her. “Let’s go.”
    Curiosity flares, especially now that I know we are getting Adrienne first. “Where are we going?”
    He gives me a smile that brightens his eyes. “If I told you that, it would ruin the surprise.”

CHAPTER 11
    N oah leads me into a large room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling, but they are not painted. The surfaces are screen-like. I have seen a room like this many times before, but this is much larger.
    “A hologram room?” I ask. Declan once had a room built special for me. It was my private paint studio for months, and the only place I had any real privacy from his security cameras.
    Adrienne struggles to get down, and Noah sets her on the floor. She bounces and points straight-armed at the floor with an impatient grunt.
    “We come here a lot,” he explains, and picks up a small computer tablet from a dock station. “Hold on, chicken,” he tells her in a patient tone.
    He taps the screen a few times until an image appears around us. The beach with its crashing waves, and, so help me, the Heermann’s gull in its breeding plumage comes to life all around me. I cannot feel the sand or the breeze or smell the brine, but a missing piece of me clicks into place and somehow all is right in the world.
    “Mexico,” I whisper. I want to cry from the relief I feel from seeing this so alive around me.
    Noah nods. “Playa de Oro. Beach of Gold. It’s north of Manzanillo.”
    After all this time, I finally have a name for my beach, the object of so many wonderful memories.
    Adrienne squeals in delight and chases after a seagull poking its beak in the sand. The holographic bird does not move or startle off. When she runs through the image, she giggles and repeats the process over and over until the gull flaps into the air with a
caw
.
    “We were married on this exact beach,” Noah says. “Do you remember?”
    I cannot look at him as I shake my head, and a knot has formed in my throat. The details of this moment overwhelm me. Finding out the exact location of my beach. Standing here with Noah and our daughter. Those things alone are enough to upset my fragile balance, but then he has used the word “we,” and it is all I can do not to shatter.
    Noah sits near the edge of the simulated water, arms wrapped around upturned knees, and looks over the expanse of ocean that seems to go for miles. “We rented a house for a month after. The beach sat empty for miles thanks to the South American War ravaging the entire coastline back in the day. Just us and the little house.” He pauses and a small smile lights his entire face. “We were different people there. Relaxed and free of responsibility for the first time in our