You Will Remember Me

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  I grabbed my phone and plugged in Newdale, Maine. It was the only clue, never mind how small, and it was a little over a nine-hour drive from Brookmount, more if I hit traffic. No way would my temperamental Chevrolet make it that far, and the last thing I needed was to break down and end up stranded by the side of the road. I could fly, but that wasn’t cheap, and I wanted to travel without leaving a trail for the cops to follow in case it raised their absurd suspicions.

  I dialed Mike’s number. Without hesitation he agreed to give me more time off, let me borrow one of the garage’s trusty run-around cars, a sprightly orange Ford Fiesta, and said it would be dropped off within the hour. After thanking him a million times, I took a duffel from the closet in the hallway and marched to my bedroom, where I pulled out pants, shirts and underwear, stuffing them into the bag. I’d use some of the cash I’d found in Jack’s apartment to pay for my trip to Newdale, I decided, and find a way to return it.

  As I finished packing, I asked myself if I was being impulsive and irrational, stupid even. Most certainly, I decided. Maya might have told the truth. Maybe she wouldn’t talk to me and would throw me out of the Cliff’s Head, or call the local cops. Regardless, I was done sitting at home, wallowing and waiting. If I wanted answers, I had to damn well go after them myself.

  Once I had the keys to the car, I tried to rest for a while, but sleep wanted nothing to do with me. I spent a few hours tossing and turning, half of my brain trying to talk me out of going to Newdale, while the other half ordered me to get up and move. I complied with the latter and set off a few minutes after 1:00 a.m., settling in for the long drive ahead.

  Hours passed, the sun came up, and I still wondered what the hell I was doing, and what I’d say when I found Maya. When I stopped at a gas station to fill the car and use the bathroom, I made sure to pay for everything with cash. Heron and Stevens hadn’t said anything about having to stay in town, but until they checked out my alibi and cleared me, driving off—no matter the reason—was surely ill-advised.

  I continued, so lost in thought I barely registered when the GPS indicated Newdale was a mere hour away. Not a lot of opportunity for me to calm my nerves, but plenty of time to try and talk myself into taking the next exit, turning back and scurrying home.

  I wasn’t sure why the thought of meeting Maya made me break out into a cold sweat. Something in how her tone had switched from guarded and annoyed to sweetness and light. My mind went into overdrive, cataloging the gazillion different ways our face-to-face encounter could go, and in almost no time at all, I’d arrived at the Cliff’s Head right in time for lunch.

  I parked the car and got out, gazing up at the restaurant. I’d read online it had once been run-down and tired, serving the same old lobster rolls, which had become so bland, rubbery and boring, even the number of tourists dwindled thanks to the shitty online reviews. Everything changed when the place had sold a few years ago and a wealthy retiree from Bangor gutted and fully renovated the building before putting his son in charge. As well as turning into a gourmet hot spot boasting an acclaimed new head chef, the Cliff’s Head had gone from weathered shack to modern, two-story brick-and-steel combo, complete with glass-sided balconies, all perched on the Newdale Bluffs, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and affording the best views in town.

  As the smell of the salty ocean breeze and the sound of seagulls filled the air, I wondered how long Maya had worked here. Was she in there right now? Only one way to find out.

  I walked to the front door and pushed it open. Light streamed in through the massive windows, making the place bright and airy. A server was setting up the wooden tables for the upcoming service, arranging heavy-looking silverware, white china plates, glinting crystal glasses and cloth napkins folded into lover’s knots. The high-backed black leather chairs and gleaming maple floors added to the restaurant’s classy feel. No doubt it was a popular choice for first dates, birthday celebrations and anniversaries.

  A few guests sat at the tables closest to the floor-to-ceiling windows and I realized the photos hadn’t done the place justice because the breathtaking view stretched out for miles. The host walked over, dressed in black pants and a burgundy shirt with the silver logo—the same outfit I’d seen in the photo of Maya.

  “Welcome to the Cliff’s Head,” he said. “May I get you a table?”

  I wanted to blurt out I was looking for Maya Scott, but from my experience of living in Brookmount, I knew how small communities worked. They protected their own. Being too direct might not get me what I needed. Besides, Maya could be in the back somewhere, or maybe her shift hadn’t started yet. Either way, she didn’t know my face. When she saw me, she’d have no reason to suspect I was anything other than a paying customer, a tourist traveling the coast.

  “A table for one would be great,” I said.

  “Of course. You chose a lovely day to stop by. I’m Patrick, by the way,” he said as he guided me over to a table for two by the window. “Let me get you some water and the menu.”

  After he’d brought both, I wiped my hands on my pants, acutely aware of how clammy and damp my palms had become. I sipped my drink, staring out over the ocean, my stomach lurching as the images of another dream I’d had about Jack took over: his body limp, bloodied and bruised, tossed around in the waves like a rag doll, smashed and cut against the rocks. I moved farther back, away from the view.

  When Patrick returned to take my order, I muttered something about being chilly next to the window, and then asked for the daily special. When he walked over with a sweet-smelling lobster quiche and a colorful side salad, the mere sight of them made my stomach growl. I hadn’t bothered eating much again and was glad I’d brought a belt with me to stop my pants from slipping.

  “Are you visiting the area?” Patrick said as he put the plate down.

  “Yes, I’ve never been to Maine before. Are you local?”

  “Waterville, originally, but my boyfriend’s from here. It’s a great place—I love it.”

  I wanted to keep our conversation going, but I didn’t seem able to string another sentence together. I was about to make a pathetic comment about the weather when a huge man with short red hair walked into the restaurant.

  “Hey, Patrick,” he called over. “Maya in today?”

  “Excuse me,” Patrick said, and as he walked to the entrance, I heard him say, “She’s got the day off.”

  “Probably at Drift then,” the other man said, and Patrick gave a noncommittal shrug.

  I wondered what Drift was, and quickly searched it up on my phone, finding a local store selling knickknacks made from driftwood, including mobiles and a number of impressive animal sculptures. I didn’t notice Patrick until he stood next to me, inquiring if I was enjoying the food. Replying it was delicious, I hoped he hadn’t noticed my screen, the sweat above my lip or how badly my fingers shook as I slid my phone back into my pocket.

  16

  MAYA

  As I was about to head out to work in the garage in the morning, Ash practically bounded down the stairs, his face freshly shaved, the dark circles under his eyes almost gone. “What are you up to?” he said with a small yawn as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not at the restaurant today?”

  “No, I’m covering for Barbara at Drift over lunch.”

  Ash frowned. “Did you tell me that?”

  “Yes,” I said, keeping my gaze even. “Last night.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “She’s taking her grandson to the dentist, remember?”

  “Right, right.” He let out a sigh. “Actually, no, I don’t remember you telling me.”

  “I did... Look, maybe mention how you’re forgetting stuff like this to Dr. Adler today?”

  He looked at me, and I could practically see his brain trying to make the connection as he narrowed his eyes, gave his head a small shake. “Hell’s bells, I’d almost forgotten ab
out that. Did you say you’d take me or am I messing that up, too?”

  “No, you’re right. It’s at two, so you can come to town with me and hang out at the store until your appointment.”

  Ash sighed again. “Thanks. I’ve decided I’ll ask the doc about when he thinks I’ll be ready to find a job and go back to work, at least part-time or something.”

  “Hold on,” I said, raising a hand. “I really think we should discuss—”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” he snapped. “Don’t baby me, Maya. I’ve got to get into a proper routine, have something to get up for in the morning, and if I need more checkups or whatever, I’ll need cash to pay for them. I’m not mooching off you forever, it’s not right.”

  “Don’t worry about the money. I’ve got some savings.”

  “They’re your savings,” he said. “And it makes me feel uncomfortable. I want to find work as soon as I can. Maybe get back to carpentry.”

  “But you don’t remember being a carpenter.”

  “What does that matter when I feel like one in here?” He tapped the side of his head. “I’m sure I can do it. Maybe it’s muscle memory or something. Whatever it is, I’m asking him about it.” He raised a hand when I opened my mouth. “Can you give me the password for your laptop so I can see what work might be available?”

  “Dr. Soares said you should stay off screens. You have a concussion, and—”

  “That’s enough, Maya,” he said, his voice sharp, a clear warning I should back off, and although I shut my mouth again he continued anyway. “You really need to stop trying to protect me from everything.”

  “You know the old bathroom in the garage?” I said, deciding to change tack and waiting until he nodded. “A few weeks before Brad died, you two put in the plumbing for a shower.”

  “In the garage?” he said, pulling a face, his frustration turning to curiosity. “Why would we do that?”

  “Because there were three of us here and we couldn’t add another to the house. Anyway, the plumbing’s all there. Actually, before you left, we talked about finishing it. It makes sense, considering how much time I spend in there.”

  His face softened. “That’s a good point. It’s practically your second home.”

  “Right, and I started making another part of the garage into a proper storage room but didn’t have time to finish. You know the rough framing? I need to insulate it properly and add a subfloor and heat to keep the temperature stable so I can work on my pieces all year.”

  “Want me to take a look?” Ash said, his eyes lighting up, exactly how I knew they would.

  I smiled. Ash had always been the first one to offer assistance, never wanted to let anyone down. “Would you? I’ve thought about selling my stuff online for years, and I’m excited to make a proper website, but I need to be able to keep up with demand.”

  “I’d love to help, and it’ll be great practice for when I get a job.”

  I smiled tightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Sure, sure,” I said, stopping when my phone buzzed and I looked at the screen, immediately recognizing the number. My stomach tightened. I held up a finger to Ash in a give me a minute gesture before turning away and answering. “Hi, Barbara, is everything okay?”

  “Barbara?” Dave laughed. “Okay, I’ll roll with it.”

  I knew he would. Dave Decato was a chameleon of the highest order, capable of adapting to any situation he was thrown into. The fastest liar in Maine, he liked to say, probably the entire East Coast. I’d met him a few months after Brad died and I’d tried to cope with the loss by drinking too much and partying too hard. I’d gone out with some friends one night, ended up at a bar thanks to my fake ID. Everyone else admitted defeat and went home while I was intent on ending the night as drunk as possible. Enter Dave, who liked to pretend he was a NYC drug lord instead of the country bumblefuck he truly was. He’d bought me another drink and struck up a conversation before slipping me a little bag of weed, what he called a “teaser,” and writing his phone number on my arm in case I wanted access to a more regular supply. I had, and often, until Ash caught me smoking in my bedroom one night and had gone ape.

  “It’s just weed,” I’d said. “Jeez, lighten up, grandpa, what’s your problem?”

  I’d protested as he’d insisted I flush the rest down the toilet, and promise—cross my heart and hope to die—I’d never bring drugs into the house again. Although I’d crossed my fingers behind my back, too, I’d mostly kept my word. Even after Ash left Newdale and I was losing my mind, I only partook on the odd occasion when a joint happened to be going around after a shift at the Cliff’s Head. I tried Molly once and vowed I’d never do it again because I hated not being in control. It was why I never got drunk anymore. Most people developed a loose tongue when they had too much booze. God only knew I’d seen it often enough at work. But the clonazepam I’d got from Dealer Dave after Dr. Adler stopped prescribing me benzos helped me relax whenever I couldn’t deal with not knowing where Ash was. I’d done a good job slowly weaning myself off them, hadn’t called Dave in over six months, but with Ash home and my anxiety levels rising, I needed a refill, and Dave had been more than happy to oblige.

  “Earth to Maya.” Dave’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “You high or what? I said I’ll be at the usual spot in ten. If you can’t make it, it’ll be next week.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I hung up and walked to the kitchen, where Ash sat at the table with some paper and a pencil. As I got closer, I saw he’d sketched out the rough shape of the garage, and when he looked up, he smiled. “I’m working on your fancy-shmancy bathroom. Figuring out where the claw-foot tub and walk-in steam shower will go.”

  I laughed. “My check might bounce, but by all means, you carry on. I have to run an errand. Won’t be long. Can you be ready to leave for Drift in about forty-five?”

  “Uh-huh,” Ash replied, barely glancing up as he continued drawing.

  See, I thought, I know what’s best for us. Of course I did. I always had.

  * * *

  When I got to the old Newdale cemetery, I parked the car. As usual, the place looked deserted and no other vehicles were in the lot. Nobody would ask, but if they did, it also had great walking trails for the less morbid, and I’d changed into my sneakers before leaving the house in case I needed a plausible excuse for being there. As I walked down the path to the spot where my exchanges with Dave always took place, the grave of a family called Snow—which he thought was “poetic destiny”—I noticed the woman coming toward me in the distance. Too late to turn back, she’d already seen me and was waving now, her red curls bouncing as she picked up the pace.

  Ash had told me about his chat with Fiona outside Drift, and I was in no mood to speak to her. When she got talking, she barely knew when to stop.

  “Hey,” Fiona said. “Sorry I haven’t been to see you. How are you and Ash?”

  “We’re okay,” I said, hoping she’d leave it at that. When she raised an expectant eyebrow and smiled, I gave her as succinct an overview as possible about the last few days.

  “I only just found out about Keenan causing trouble at your house,” she said. “He’s been on a hunting trip this past week.”

  I let out a grunt. “That’s why he hasn’t been around. I’d hoped he’d come to his senses. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, well, he told me about how he laid into Ash.” She rolled her eyes, pushed her hair out of her face. “Christ, my brother can be such a hotheaded dipshit, particularly when he’s been enjoying his beer. What a prick.”

  “No argument there.”

  “The cops know Ash’s back,” Fiona said, and I shrugged. “No, it wasn’t a question. I know Keenan told Ricky, hoping he’d do something now that he’s been promoted, but you and I both know none of the officers ever bought into my brother’s ramblings, including Ricky.”
<
br />   I blinked. “Still no news from Celine?”

  She sighed, her breath escaping in a slow and steady stream. “No. Quite honestly I don’t think we’ll get any. I can’t see why Celine would ever forgive us. I know my dad beat us, too, but she was the youngest, and she took the brunt of it. It was our duty to help her, and we failed.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Anyway, I should—”

  “I disagree, and we both feel responsible. Between us, I believe that’s Keenan’s real problem. He feels guilty and needs someone to blame because he can’t cope with the truth.”

  “Maybe you can remind him it’s not Ash’s fault,” I muttered, and her face fell.

  “I do, Maya, on a regular basis, I promise.” She smiled tightly. “I’d better get back to the motel. I went to tidy Dad’s grave because it’s his birthday. I’d like to say God rest his soul, although I’m not sure he had one, but I’m glad I ran into you. Don’t be a stranger, okay? Stop by sometime. And bring Ash.”

  We said our goodbyes and I watched as she walked back up the hill, my stomach tightening as another person appeared at the top of the path. Dave. Shit. I watched for signs of them knowing each other, let out a sigh of relief when there weren’t any, but as I was about to walk on ahead, I saw Fiona turn. I raised my hand in a wave, but she was staring at Dave. I had no choice but to press on, stuffing my hand in my pockets, my fingers closing over the money I owed him for the benzos. I was supposed to have dropped it graveside already, tucked the neatly folded bills inside the crack on the left and gone for a walk—a long one because Dave was typically late—and pick up the goods on my way back. His one rule was money never exchanged hands directly, and I hoped I hadn’t blown it and he’d leave.

  With a quick glance I made sure Fiona had really gone and nobody else was around. I deftly slipped the cash inside the broken headstone and walked away without a sideways glance. Five minutes later the exchange was done, and I headed back to my car, a little baggie of pills shoved inside my pocket.