by Dani Irons
It takes me a few minutes to get the box balanced on my arm and another few minutes to set it down on Carrie Lockhart’s front step so I can ring the bell.
This house is bigger than I expected, for someone on the Hungry list, but I don’t know Carrie’s situation, so I try not to judge. It’s a two-story house in a nice neighborhood, nicer than mine, with fresh white paint and blue shutters. When I ring the doorbell, it plays like a fifteen-second jingle.
A girl about my age opens the door and I stand there dumbly for a minute while she stares at me. She has a dark, curly afro, a green spaghetti-strap tank and grey cotton shorts. “May I help ya with somethin’?” she asks and I remember that Wyatt said she was new.
“Carrie Lockhart?” I ask and she doesn’t respond. “I’m from the Knights of Columbus and your name was on our delivery list.”
Her eyes narrow and, for a second, I think she’s about to be pissed that I’m trying to offer her charity. Instead, she says, “Olivia?” She takes a step further out of her door and crosses her arms. “Olivia Christakos?” She laughs, but I don’t think she’s being friendly. “Your mom sold my mom some really shitty signs.”
“Um...sorry,” I say, because that’s all I can get out in my surprise. “Anyway, here’s the food.” I don’t want to ask how she knows me. I just want her to pick up the box so I can leave.
“Don’t you recognize me?” she asks.
“Carrie Lockhart,” I say flatly, because that’s the best I’ve got.
She shakes her head. “Leticia. Leticia Lockhart.” She smiles and I know that I’m supposed to know that name. But of course I don’t.
This makes Leticia angry. “But you are the kind of person to go to school with someone for four years and then, when you graduate, pretend to forget them. You know, you’re not so high and mighty. You might be delivering our family some food, but that doesn’t make your life perfect. You could have some basic human decency and say ‘Hi, Leticia,’ as you’re handing out your charity. Kind of defeats the purpose of helping someone out if you can’t even be nice to them.”
My stomach shrivels. I can’t believe she thinks I’m snubbing her. “Actually, I was in an accident,” I gesture to my arm. “And I hit my head and now I have amnesia. Sorry. I don’t remember you.” Okay, I know how bad it sounds. Like I’m blowing her off. Like I’m the biggest bitch in history.
Her lips purse, totally not believing me. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I really wasn’t trying to be a b—”
“You still with James?” she asks like I’ve said nothing.
I shake my head, confused. “You might be thinking of someone else.” Even though she knew my name.
“No, honey,” she says, cocking her hip. “I know you. Queen of Santa Barbara High. You didn’t think your shit stunk as much as mine. You dated James, then you went off to L.A. for college. How’s that going by the way?”
My heart begins racing with this new information. “Fine,” I say. “So you’re saying I dated a guy named James in high school?”
She nods at me slowly with her eyebrows raised. “No way you could have forgotten him. You two were hooked at the hip.”
I swallow. “What happened between us? James and me?”
“How would I know?” she asks harshly, leaning against the doorjamb. “Did you really have an accident?”
“I’m sorry. I have to go.” I duck out of there, leaving the box on her step, and walk back to Wyatt’s truck as fast as I can.
When I close the passenger side door behind me, Wyatt can see something’s wrong by my expression. “What happened?” he asks.
I stare at him. This sweet, caring, selfless volunteer. The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Who the hell is James?”
Chapter Twenty
Eleventh Grade
It was a perfect seventy-two degrees two days before Christmas. I wore a pink sundress and glittery, festive heels and James sported a tight-fitting white button up and dark jeans. We kissed under the mistletoe in the entryway of the hotel lobby and someone in the room—another guest at the holiday party—shouted, “Woo hoo!”
James dipped me and planted another one on me just to show off. My insides glowed with pride and embarrassment. We’d been together for a year and a half and he could still make me swoon.
I’d started out the night being nervous about the party. It was a dry party—meaning no alcohol—and since I’d started going out regularly with James, there hadn’t been one party that I’d gone to sober. It was just what we did.
But since I was used to it, I needed it to calm my nerves. James even put his foot down about me slamming a few on the car trip over. “It’s just a few people from work, it’ll be fine,” he’d said, but as my eyes scanned the crowd, I realized that he’d fibbed. James worked at a large cable company and at least a hundred people clogged the room—gathered by the refreshments, hanging out by the huge Christmas tree or dancing on the slick-looking floor in the middle of the room.
James didn’t hesitate; he pulled me to the dance floor by my sweaty palm. A fast-paced song played and although I totally felt exposed, I danced with him. He sang, “I come from a land down unda...” and placed his hands on my hips, twisting them side to side to get me going. It made me laugh and loosen up.
After that day on the wharf, we’d become inseparable. He drove me to school, walked me to every class, drove me home, called me when we couldn’t hang out, and took me out on proper dates when he could. He paid for everything: dinners, lunches, movies, ice-skating. He even bought me a tiger-eye necklace that I hadn’t taken off once since he gave it.
And we’d almost had sex. At a party last summer that Chloe had thrown, James and I got pretty tipsy and ended up in Chloe’s room—which was marked Do Not Enter. We rolled around on the floor, losing all of our clothes and James went down on me. I still hadn’t recovered completely from how good it felt. I returned the favor, but didn’t know what I was doing and stopped after only a few minutes. James had a condom, but said, “Let’s wait. I don’t want to be drunk when we do it.”
I’d gripped him by the neck, looked into those blue eyes, and told him I loved him for the very first time. He kissed me sweetly. “I’ve loved you since the sixth-grade dance.”
Now, as I watched him hop and sway and make me laugh on the dance floor in front of all his coworkers, I knew I would jump his bones the moment I could get him alone. During the next song—a slow, romantic one—he pulled me close and I whispered, “I want you. Tonight.”
He kissed me not so sweetly that time and I felt his excitement on my hip.
We ended up going back to his house, leaving the party early. I said hello to his parents and James told them we’d be watching movies in the family room. We did, and his parents checked on us a few times, but then ultimately went to bed. I was cuddled under a thin blanket when James came over, slipping under it with me. I put a hand on him, over his pants. He groaned and leaned over to kiss me. We got undressed slowly after James locked the family room door—just in case. There was none of the foreplay from before. We were both too excited and nervous that his parents would come back downstairs to check on us. He was condomed and hovering above me when he said, “Are you ready? Are you sure?” in the sweetest voice I’d ever heard. His gaze was heavy and seductive.
“I am very sure,” I said. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said, kissing me as he pushed in.
Sweet pain.
Chapter Twenty-One
Now
“James?” Wyatt asks, looking away from me. “I...don’t know. Was there someone at this house named James?”
I want to yell at him because I know...I know...something isn’t right here. That he’s holding something back. I’ve had this feeling since I “woke up.” But
I won’t yell because, even though she can’t hear me, the tension in the truck might wake up Charlotte. “Nope. It wasn’t someone at this house...wanna guess again?” My voice is tight and I’m talking through my teeth like I’ve noticed my mom does sometimes when she’s pissed off.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and surprise replaces some of my anger. I didn’t expect him to give in so easily.
“Sorry. For. What?” My voice is hard and short as I try to rein in my anger.
Wyatt’s looking out the windshield, out at the nice neighborhood. A few kids are playing down the street. They’re wearing hockey gear, but seem to be pushing a can around. I’m about to ask Wyatt again what he’s sorry for, but then he says, “He was your boyfriend. Before me.”
Wheels turn in my head; I can feel them cranking around up there. Problem is they aren’t getting me anywhere; I have no memory of a James. “Who—”
“He hurt you,” Wyatt says over me. “I didn’t want to talk about him.”
Something in my brain clicks and I ask, “Is he blond?”
Wyatt’s infinitesimal nod confirms my guess.
I suck air through my teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why the lies?”
“I didn’t want you to remember him.”
Pushing aside the fact that it isn’t up to him what I should or should not remember, I ask, “How did he hurt me?”
“Chloe said he hit you once. You explained it away as an accident, but how can you slap someone on the face by accident?”
I think about this. I’m not sure if it’s possible. “Where is he now?” I shouldn’t want to know the answer to this question, but I do. Whether Wyatt or I like it or not, James is a piece of my puzzle, and possibly a way to wake up my memories.
“Who knows? Who cares?” Wyatt says now, looking disgusted. He grips the steering wheel tightly and it groans under his fingers.
I don’t want to push him but I have a right to know. “Did I love him?” I think about when I first had the dreams of the blond boy, how real they felt. Maybe even more real than being around Wyatt in the flesh.
“No,” he says without hesitation.
“How long was I with him? And when?” I stare at Wyatt’s pained expression.
“Only for like...” his pause is long. “A month or something? Right before we got together.”
“And he hit me?” I wring my hands in front of me, watching my knuckles turn white.
He nods. “Chloe said the mark was still on you the next day.”
The sunlight is bright on Wyatt’s face and I reach out to touch his hand. He jerks back.
“Sorry,” I say, confused. I remove my hand.
He sighs. “No, I’m sorry. I just hate the asshole. I didn’t tell you about him because I didn’t want you to know that part of yourself. I wanted you to start fresh.”
“I get that, but I need to know everything, Wyatt. Everything. Anything could bring my memory back.”
The muscles near his jaw clench.
“Will you just...promise me you’ll be upfront with me about that stuff from now on? I think it would be what’s best for me.”
His eyes meet mine finally and a little thrill runs up my spine at his intense expression. “I will do whatever it takes to do what’s best for you. I care about you.”
I nod slowly, but don’t really like his super extreme tone. “Okay...”
A heavy silence settles over us.
He leans over to hug me, but it’s awkward with Charlotte in between us. She wakes up and makes complaining, mewing sounds like an annoyed cat.
I have tons more I want to ask but I don’t like seeing Wyatt so upset. Maybe I’ll ask another time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Twelfth Grade
Never had I been this drunk. I felt the Elvis bulldog smirk on my face, I was nearly asleep against the wall, the music was too loud and someone was pulling on my arm.
“Liv,” the voice said. Chloe. “You do not want to pass out in this house. I’m not even sure who lives here.”
I let her hoist me up. I helped her a little, but she did most of the work.
“Where’s James?” I heard myself ask, my voice slow and so, so sleepy.
“I don’t know. We’re going to put you in the car and then I’ll go back and try to find—”
“No,” I said, pushing away from her. She stumbled a little but didn’t fall down. I did, though, to my knees. “I’m gonna find him and then we’ll go.” She helped me struggle to stand.
“Fine,” she said, placating the drunk, irritated girl. “I think I saw him outside, smoking a bowl with Tyler and Bo.”
I nodded. “Well then, lead the way...”
The outside air felt so much better than the air inside the house. I barely remembered the party. There were shots involved, a keg and many illegal substances that I did not participate in; the liquor was more than enough. James did though—a lot of it involved putting things up his nose—and I watched, admittedly a little turned on. The last time we had sex, he was high and he’d lasted forever. Maybe we could do that again.
“There he is,” Chloe said, pointing behind a garage to an area thick with weeds head-high. I could just make out a mop of blond hair and the cherry of a cigarette in the darkness. Tyler’s low laughter echoed through the air.
James reached out and wrapped an arm around me, steadying me, when I walked up. “Whoa, girly,” he said. “Had a little too much?”
I nodded with a smile. “Time to go home,” I whispered, nibbling on his ear.
“Ow!” he said pulling away, “you bit me!” Tyler and Bo laughed hard, Bo actually slapping his hands together.
“Ah, babe...wutz wrong, huh? Don’ like it ruff?” I burped in his face. “Sorry.” He grimaced and I couldn’t tell if he was as messed up as I was.
I tore the joint away from Tyler and took a deep drag. Minutes later, I puked in the weeds. “God, Liv,” James hissed, taking me by the arm. “You need to learn your limit.”
I peered up at him through my puke-covered hair, silently pleading for him to take me home. His eyes were red, I could see with the help of a nearby alley light, and he was furious. My head spun and I nearly fell down, into the puke, but Chloe caught me. “I’m taking her to my house. Do you want a ride?” she asked James.
“Yeah,” he said. Then he swiped a bottle of whiskey that Bo was holding and took several gulps. “If I gotta deal with this shit, though, I need to catch up.” By the time we walked to Chloe’s car, he was stumbling and laughing. When we climbed into the backseat, he fell asleep.
I didn’t last long after.
* * *
Someone pulled on me again. Chloe. Again. “Gaw,” I said. “Just let me sleep.”
“I can’t let you sleep in the car,” she said. “You’ll get in trouble and we’ll be verboten from seeing each other. You’ll get grounded.”
My eyes fell closed again while I pondered the word verboten.
“Wake up!”
My eyes shot open.
“I need your help getting James awake,” she said. “He’s super passed out.”
I leaned forward onto James’s lap, took his face in my hands. “Baby,” I whispered, tapping lightly on his cheeks. “Wake up, baby.”
He groaned and tried to move farther away from me, into the car door. My head was beginning to throb, but I felt less drunk after the little nap. “Baby,” I tapped again.
“Oh shit,” Chloe said from behind me, outside of the car. “He better get up. Or I’m gonna have to wake up my parents to help us get him out and then you’re totally going to be in trouble.”
I looked at her over my shoulder. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be in trouble?”
She shook her head, crossed her arms. “I was the DD,
remember. I had so much fun at the friggin’ party, let me tell you. Even the water was spiked, I think.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“I’ll get him up,” I said. “Baby!” I tried a little louder, slapping his face a little harder—not enough to hurt him, but enough that his eyes opened. They were full of rage. “Finally,” I said with a smile. “We were worried about—”
James slowly raised his hand and slapped me across my face. The force of it threw my head back. He continued to watch me, daring me to say something. I didn’t; I was too shocked. In the three years that we’d been together, James had never once gotten rough with me. He stared at me a moment longer and slunk back to sleep.
I toppled out of the car. “Leave him. I don’t care if I get in trouble.” I slammed the door behind me, rubbing at my face.
“He hit you,” Chloe whispered as we walked up to the back door of her house. Like I didn’t already know.
“He’s just drunk and high,” I said. “He didn’t mean it.”
Chloe’s expression was full of disbelief. But instead of arguing with me, she said, “Yeah. Of course.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Now
After a lazy afternoon of playing cards with Chloe, I have her drop me off at Wyatt’s. I want to see him and ask if he’ll help me out with something. I still have no clue where my phone might be—even after checking in with my parents, hoping they might know, it’s still M.I.A. I’m assuming I had it on me when I was hit and now it is either demolished or someone got lucky and found themselves a new phone. Either way, I don’t have tons of use for one. It’s not like I go anywhere or know any of my friends to call, but it would still be nice to have. There might be pictures or contacts that might help jog my memory.
Chloe waits in her car while I knock on the door. Wyatt answers, wearing blue plaid pajama pants and nothing else.
I fight off a blush, but it wins out. “Do you usually answer the door without a shirt?” I ask him, watching a horrified expression grow on his face.
