by Jess Petosa
"Me," a harsh voice says from the stairwell.
Chills run up my spine and I turn to face her. She is wearing a light blue dress and nude pumps. She is carrying my packed black duffel bag. She has dyed auburn hair and pearl earrings. She is a woman I would know anywhere.
I stifle a gasp.
"Mom."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The four of us are silent for thirty seconds. One minute. Two minutes.
My mom's judgmental glare bores through me and I'm filled with thoughts and memories of all the times she gave me that same look. When I didn't make honor roll, when I decided to quit soccer, when I started dating Jason.
Jason.
My mind is reeling. Who is he?
"Melissa," my mother says my name with distaste as she walks across the room, her heels making a click-clack sound the entire way.
"Mom," I say the word again.
"It's time to go home." She holds out my black duffel bag and I instinctively take it from her.
“Grace," Marie says soothingly. "Stay. Let's talk about this."
I'm hit with realization after realization with each minute that passes. The Grace Cafe. The lanterns to light the way home. Charles and Marie's daughter who never visits. That's my mom.
"There is nothing to talk about. I think you've done enough," my mom spits at Marie. My grandmother. "I'm surprised I didn't think of it sooner; Melissa coming to the one place I despise most in the world. I should have known."
She shoots me another glare and I tense up. Will is completely still beside me, and out of the corner of my eyes I can see his deep frown and furrowed brows.
"Maybe Melissa doesn't want to leave," he says coolly. "She's an adult. She can make her own decisions."
My mom gives Will a once over and wrinkle her nose. "Who are you?"
"William Davey," he responds.
"Ah," she says back. "Jim's son."
Her blue eyes track over to mine.
"Can we speak alone, Melissa?"
I just nod, not able to utter a single word.
Marie approaches us slowly and places a hand on my mom’s arm. My mom recoils but Marie doesn’t falter.
“Grace. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
What does that mean?
Marie disappears out back, and Will exits through the front door. I'm fearful that he is going to leave me here, all alone, but I can't blame him. I'm still standing in the same spot, clutching my duffel bag to my abdomen, when my mom steps inches from me. She is eye level with me, and I can see the disappointment and anger etched across her face.
"I sent them away so as not to embarrass myself or you," she hisses at me. "My mother filled me in a little on your situation, so I'm going to give you a pass on your childish antics and disrespect, but it is time to come home. There is nothing for you here."
"Will is here," I speak before I think. My voice is quivering.
My mom steps back and grab my left hand, turning it flat and palm down. She inspects my fingers.
"Where are your rings?" she asks.
I look down at my hand. "What rings? I wasn't wearing any jewelry when Charles and Marie found me, unless it fell into the water."
My mom frowns. “I probably should have told my parents when it happened, but then I would have had to invite them.”
"When what happened? Invite them to what?" I'm tired of asking question after question. Is it so hard for anyone to just give me a straight answer from the start?
"Your wedding. You’re married, Melissa."
I drop my bag and back up against the door, clutching my chest.
"No. No no no no no no," I say over and over again through the tears streaming down my cheeks. They roll onto my shirt and splash onto the wood floor beneath me.
"Oh yes, very much so," my mom says. "It's time to come home to your family."
"Why isn't he here?" I ask suddenly. "My husband."
The word sounds foreign as it leaves my lips.
"Because he is busy earning a living and keeping up with every other task you left behind. He wanted to come when he found out where you were, but I knew that it would be better if I came here. It's my fault this is where you ran in the first place."
“How can I be married?” I ask her, even though I know it’s a dumb question.
My mom crosses her arms and taps her foot impatiently. "There will be time for questions later, Melissa. My mother has told me that you are starting to get your memories back, and with the help of the best doctors back in Chicago, we should be able to quicken the process. You'll soon be able to answer your own questions."
"Chicago," I repeat her. "We are going to Chicago?"
"Well of course." She waves a hand in the air.
I look at the floor, the wood grain blurred through the onslaught of tears.
Chicago.
A large bustling City with no ocean. It lacks everything I love about Hampton Harbor.
"Can I say good-bye?" I glance out the back door at Marie. She is standing down near the water, her hands clasped in front of her.
"I'll be in the car. Make it quick, we have a plane to catch," my mom says with obvious annoyance.
I wait for her to leave before I walk across the kitchen and out the double doors that lead to the patio. When I reach Marie I automatically throw my arms around her and give her a tight hug.
"Thanks for everything you and Charles have done for me. Will you tell him good-bye," I say. "I don't think my mom is going to drive me into town. Oh, and Amy, Katie, and Shelley, and everyone else at the cafe."
Marie pulls back, fresh tears in her eyes. She nods. "Of course. I should have told you sooner, I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay," I tell her. "I'm going to get my memories back, and I'm going to remember coming here. I'm going to remember the time I spent here this month, too, and I'll come visit. My mom can't stop me from doing that."
Marie smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. She is hesitant to believe me, and by the way my mom acted and spoke in the house, I don't blame her.
"I have to go," I say, not wanting to linger on a good-bye. "I'll see you again. I promise."
We share another hug and I hurry back to the house, scooping up the black duffel I dropped in the foyer. I step through the front door backwards and pull it closed behind me. When I turn again I almost jump in surprise. Will is leaning against the porch post, his hands in his pocket and one leg cocked outward. His chin is angled down and he looks up at me through long, dark eyelashes.
"So I guess you're leaving then?" I can hear the accusation in his voice as his eyes travel to the packed bag in my arms.
"Will," I say softly. "We knew this might happen."
"Why are you giving up so easily?" He steps toward me, his hands thrust in front of him in a pleading stance. "You melted into a scared little girl in front of your mom. She can't control you. You are an adult."
I clench my jaw, working it slowly before I respond. "And here you are talking down to me like a child. I have to go, Will, I don't have a choice."
I try to walk past him but he grabs my arm and forces me to face him.
"Why?" he asks.
"It's complicated," I respond.
"Is this complicated?" He crushes his lips onto mine, almost painfully, and I can feel the desperation in his kiss.
I push away quickly, breaking contact between us.
"I'm married," I blurt out.
Will humps away from me.
"What?" he stutters.
"See," I say loudly. "That is why I have to go. I have to..."
I don't wait for him to say anymore. I turn and hurry down the steps, jumping over the last one and sprinting to the car. I don't even bother to put my bag in the trunk; I climb into the front seat with it and then throw it into the back. My mom backs out onto the drive and I steal a glance at the porch. Will is standing just where I left him, a painful expression frozen on his face. His hands are gripping his hair and he is staring past our car, his
lips in a tight line. My mom straightens the car out on the drive and we pull away from Charles and Marie’s house, possibly for the last time.
I promised Marie that I would come to visit, and I'll try. But somehow the thought of being this close to Will is already ripping me apart inside. I know that every time I come back here, every time I step back into that house, a small part of my heart will tear off and imbed itself into this island. For the first time since my accident I find myself wishing that I could just forget.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
We arrive at the airport and check in one hour before our flight departs. My mom chirps excitedly about how we'll be back in Chicago before nightfall, and that maybe we can stop at my favorite restaurant on the way home. Her mood improved drastically when we left Hampton Harbor, and continued on an upward spiral the closer we got to Bangor. We board a small plane that makes a hop to Portland, and there we immediately board an airbus that will take us west. My mom chatters a bit as we take-off, telling me information that feels useless to me right now.
"I've invited everyone over for dinner tomorrow night to celebrate your return. Robbie will be there, and of course Amanda and the kids. Jason's parents will be there, and his sisters. Your father will be a no show, of course, but Ted is so happy that you are coming home..."
She babbles on and on about people I don't know, doing things I don't remember. Of course, the names Robbie and Jason tickle my memory. I know that Robbie was the little boy playing on the hill with me, and gather that maybe he is my brother. Jason is the boy from the picture, and I faintly realize that he is probably my husband. She makes no mention of a child, and I don't ask. I doubt she even knows about my ectopic pregnancy.
I fall asleep once we are in the air, glad for a way to pass the two hour and twenty minute flight to Chicago.
" Shit. Shit shit shit. My mom is going to kill me."
I pace a bedroom, one that I don't recognize as my own. My mind tells me that is belongs to Jason, my boyfriend. She is sitting on the bed, wearing a purple TIGERS tee and gray sweat pants. He rubs at his eyes with his hands and runs his hands over his head, which boasts blonde hair that is buzzed close to his head.
"We can ask my mom for help. She'll help us. We can go to a clinic...," he rattles off.
"What?" I turn on him. "No, I'm not doing that. We'll... we can give the baby up for adoption."
"But then people will know, Mel. People will talk."
"You should have thought about that before you got me pregnant, Jason."
I snap at him and resume my pacing. My hands are shaking at my side, and in one I clutch a pregnancy test. Jason sighs and pushes himself off the bed. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my still small waist, settling his chin on my shoulder.
I instantly calm down.
"We'll figure it out, Mel. I promise."
I turn to face him and wrap my arms around his chest, burying my face in his neck. He leans back and my feet leave the floor. I've always loved how easily he can lift me into his arms. He carries me to the bed and we fall onto the soft comforter together, facing each other on our sides. Bright green eyes peer at me through light eyelashes.
"Your mom really is going to kill you, though," Jason says and I slap him playfully.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the flight attendants are going to start preparing the cabin for landing. Please make sure your seatbelts are secure and your trays are in the upright position."
The captain’s voice crackles over the speakers, and I jolt up. My ears ache from the pressure and I cover my hands with them. My mom hands me a piece of gum and I take it willingly, popping it right into my mouth.
"Jason," I say his name out loud, the memory fresh in my mind.
"Hmmm?" my mom asks.
"Nothing," I respond.
My hand falls to my stomach. The positive pregnancy test feels fresh and raw, as if the memory is from just weeks ago. I know it can't be the same pregnancy I just lost though. We were young in my memory, high school age. I think about the feelings I remember, the ones I have for Jason. I loved him, wholly and deeply, at that time in my life. Do I still love him that way now? I can't conjure those feelings when I think of my husband, whoever he might be. I think of Jason’s short blond hair and his wide muscular build. He is so different from Will in a physical aspect, but the feelings I feel--or felt-- for both of them are similar. Too similar.
The plane begins its decent and I glance out the window, waiting for a first glimpse at Chicago. We drop out of the blue sky and into a covering of white fluffy clouds. Soon the clouds break and the ground appears below us. Small homes dot the area in a grid like fashion, all shoved together with little space in between. The City is coming up on our right, and even though it appears small from up here, I know that it is large, and loud, and overpopulated. Just beyond the City is a wide body of water.
Lake Michigan my mind tells me.
It doesn't sparkle like the bay in Hampton Harbor, nor does it stretch to foreign lands.
The plane touches the ground smoothly, and the evening becomes a blur as we are taxied to the airport and exit the plane. The airport is bright and loud, and a crowd of people waits in an area outside a plane. I wonder if the plane is headed back to Portland, and I fight the urge to blend in with them and hitch a ride back to Maine. A clock on the wall tells me that it is five-forty five, and I remember that Chicago is in a different time zone than Maine. It is six forty-five there now, and I should be in the middle of my dinner shift at the Grace Cafe. CAFE.
"Melissa!" My mom's voice snaps me out of my haze. "Baggage claim is this way."
I follow her through the crowded terminal, trying to keep up with her quick steps. I don't know how she moves so fast in heels, but I can tell that she is on a mission.
A lady over the loudspeaker welcomes guests to Chicago O'Hare International, and reminds us not to leave bags or personal belongings unattended in the terminals. We take an escalator downstairs and round the corner into a large, open space. There are dozens of baggage claim stations, and men and women gather around each one with impatience. My mom didn't bring anything more than her purse, and I carried my small duffel bag on, so we are only coming to the baggage claim because that is where we are being picked up.
When we draw closer to the long set of doors at the end of the room, a tall, older man steps toward us and kisses my mom on either cheek.
I know that he is Ted. I recall his name but I can't picture him in any of my memories.
My mom tells him about her awful trip to Maine and the long plane right. I shift nervously beside them and fiddle with my bag, trying to look anywhere else. My eyes lock with someone standing about ten yards back, a boy that has shifted into a man since my last memory of him. He is still broad and tall, and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his silver athletic pants. He is wearing a purple TIGER BASEBALL shirt, newer than the one in my memory, and his blonde hair isn’t buzzed as short anymore. Instead it is cropped nicely around his head and sculpted in the front with gel.
I know him and I don't, all at the same time.
My lips form the name Jason and he is walking towards me, his steps hesitant. I forgot to ask if my mom informed anyone of my condition before we landed, or if she is just going to let a series of awkward moments share the news.
He stops a foot in front of me and teeters back and forth between his heel and toes nervously.
"Hey Mel," he says.
His voice and that nickname rack the nerves in my body, and my mind is scrambling to come up with memories. I catch sudden glimpses of Jason and I; out on dates, kissing in his car, passing notes in class, and so on. None of them feel important, and I don't recall the pregnancy or our marriage. I am assuming since he’s here, he’s my husband, but no one has admitted that fact just yet.
"Your mom tells me that you had an accident. That you lost your memory." He looks at me with worry, and I think I catch a glimpse of hope in his eyes.
His words are t
hick and rough, and have a different tone than the way people speak in Maine. Did I have a Chicago accent when I woke up? Did my voice adapt to Charles and Marie's?
My tongue crawls down the back of my throat and has taken up residence near my lungs, making the ability to breathe difficult. Jason takes a tentative step forward and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close to his chest. The embrace feels so different from Will's and I squeeze my eyes shut.
I need to stop thinking about Will.
"You must have been so scared," Jason says into my hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."
