by Hillary Avis
“Did you find that odd?”
He shrugged. “There were a lot of things she wouldn’t talk about.”
“So why did you go along with it?” Michelle’s stare bored into him and his chin wobbled slightly as he dug deep for the memory.
Allison’s stomach lurched. She reached out a hand toward Michelle. “Is this necessary?”
“I need to know what he remembers.”
“I have some problems with my memory these days.” Paul flushed. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking back then.”
“It’s fine,” Michelle said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. “I’m going to explain. The reason our parents didn’t want us together is because we’re both descended from Remembrance’s founding families. Does that ring a bell?”
Paul nodded. “My mom’s from one of the early pioneer families. The Bakers.”
“Exactly right. My people are the Crisps. Our families go way back, along with a third family, the Claypools.”
“I guess a long history means a lot of grievances built up over the years.” Paul chuckled uncomfortably.
“Not a lot,” Michelle corrected. “Just one.”
Allison wanted to scream with frustration. Michelle always eked out information in the slowest possible way. “The Bakers and the Crisps had an agreement to guard a magic library from the Claypools,” she blurted out. “Part of that agreement was that they each had a role to protect the books, and those roles had to be kept separate. That’s why they stopped you and Michelle from dating back then.”
Paul blinked owlishly, seeming to have just realized Allison was there, and shook his head. “I don’t follow.”
Michelle gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course you don’t. She skipped ahead. But she’s right. Remember the Founders Tree?”
Paul shook his head, letting out his breath in a frustrated blast. “That was before I was born.”
“Right. When it was hit by lightning, the three founding families each chose something to be made from the wood. The Claypools built this gazebo.” Michelle patted the bench beside her. “My parents had a bunch of paper made at the pulp mill. Your family made some fancy pens out of your share. It was only afterward, when they saw what the gazebo, paper, and pens could do, that they realized the wood from the Founders Tree was magical. Somehow, it recorded all the memories of the people in town in its rings.”
“Now you’re just making fun of me.” Paul stood up abruptly, his jaw tense and his voice brittle as he edged toward the gazebo’s stairs. “You think because I have memory problems that I’m an idiot who will believe any nonsense you come up with?”
Allison rose, her hands out pleadingly. “No—she’s telling the truth. I swear. That’s why the gazebo makes your memories so much more vivid. Think about when Emily was born,” she urged, patting the bench where he’d been sitting. “You’ll see what I mean.”
Paul eyed her warily but sat where she’d indicated, letting his lids fall closed. Emotions flickered across his face as he traveled through the memory. She knew it was one of his few memories of the last twenty-five years that were still intact. Worry, surprise, elation. Then he winced, his eyes flying open. He’d hit the end of the memory. The place where the rest of it had been torn out. She could tell that it hurt.
“You see?” Allison asked. She sank down beside him and touched his shoulder gently. He didn’t pull away. “It’s like a movie, isn’t it? Except you can feel everything. The paper works the same way, except the memories appear on it like printed words. Plus, you can read other people’s memories and experience them, not just your own. The founding families—your family—they bound the paper into books and made a library that holds all the memories of the people who live here.”
Michelle gave a brusque nod.
Paul still looked skeptical. “Let’s say you’re telling the truth. What does this have to do with me?”
“We’re the librarians,” Michelle said. “You and I. As the oldest descendants of the Bakers and the Crisps, we’re responsible for keeping the library safe. We keep it hidden. We make sure nobody damages it. We make new books when they’re needed.”
“What about you?” Paul turned on Allison. “What’s your involvement? Are you a Claypool?”
Allison shook her head, her chest so tight that she couldn’t even get a word out.
Michelle supplied the answer in her usual clipped tone. “The Claypools are gone. They aren’t allowed in Remembrance anymore. They used the books to hurt people. To steal things.”
Recovered enough to speak, Allison added, “They kidnapped you when you were just a toddler. Then, after your parents paid the ransom, they tore your parents’ memory pages out of the books. That’s why your mom and dad never talked about it afterward. It wasn’t in their memories anymore.”
Paul paled until his skin was nearly the same color as his silver hair and covered his mouth with a trembling hand for a moment before he dropped his hand to his lap. “Is that why I can’t—did they do the same thing to me?”
Allison nodded. “That’s where things get a little complicated.”
“It’s not complicated,” Michelle snapped. “The Claypools are up to no good, as usual. We thought they were gone, but they’re not. They killed my son and his wife. They stole your memories, Paul. They’re still after the library, and it’s up to us to stop them.”
The lines on Paul’s face deepened as tears welled in his eyes. He shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t see what I can do about that now. I’m useless.”
“You’re not,” Allison said fiercely, squeezing his arm again. “You’re not. We need you.”
“Who are you, again?” He turned his bright blue gaze on her, his eyes still swimming.
Allison couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. “I’m your—”
“She’s the guardian of the library,” Michelle interrupted, her shoulders stiff and straight. “Not family. She’s not supposed to know any of this. She’s supposed to watch the books while I watch her. That’s it.”
Paul shifted his attention away from Allison. “And what about me? What’s my role?”
“You’re the author. You guard the pen.” Paul barked a laugh, but Michelle shot him a sharp look that silenced him. “The pen is the most critical tool. It can make new books, and it can change memories, too. That’s why the Claypools want it. That’s why they’re willing to kill for it.”
They were all silent for a moment as a chill settled over their small group, even as the late afternoon sun slanted into the gazebo, forming a golden pool around their feet.
“If what you say is true, then we have to keep it away from them,” Paul said slowly. Allison squeezed his arm again, and he patted her hand absentmindedly, sending a wave of warmth over her skin. “But I still don’t see how I can help with that. I can’t even remember where it is.”
“I have it,” Allison said, ignoring Michelle’s glower from the other bench. “It’s safe for now.”
“You aren’t the author, he is.” Michelle thumped her cane on the floor of the gazebo for emphasis. “The pen needs to stay in Baker hands, just like the paper needs to stay in Crisp hands.”
“It’s not though, is it?!” Allison shot back, still stinging from Michelle’s earlier comment about her not being family. She couldn’t be more family than the mother of Paul’s only child. It was deliberately cruel to put it that way, and Michelle knew it. “The paper is in Claypool hands already. That’s your fault.”
Paul’s eyes widened as he looked back and forth between them, waiting for the next volley of words. “Is that true?”
“It’s not in anyone’s hands right now,” Michelle said calmly, sitting back in her seat. “The paper is in storage, and Elaine is in jail.”
“Her son Zack isn’t, though,” Allison said grimly. “And he’s the one who killed—” She broke off when she heard Paul’s breath catch as he recognized the names.
“Zack? You don’t mean
Emily’s fiancé?”
Allison nodded. “I told you it was complicated. His father was Keith Claypool. He died in a plane crash before Zack was born.”
“We thought Keith was the last one,” Michelle said defensively. “How was my dad supposed to see a fetus in the memory books?”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Elaine—”
“Elaine Kirkpatrick?” Paul asked wonderingly, touching his forehead as though he couldn’t believe that she could be involved, too. He must be used to distrusting his own mind. “Zack’s mom, Elaine?”
Allison nodded. “She was married to Keith Claypool. He didn’t tell her about the library. He was just a child when the Claypools were driven out of Remembrance, so he probably didn’t know about it himself. Elaine put it all together when she was going through old family files. She’s spent the last few years scheming to get the Claypools’ power back, for her son. Zack marrying Emily is all part of the plan to take over the library.”
“Does she know? Emily, I mean?” Paul leaned back to take in her expression. “Does Emily know he might be dangerous?”
Allison shook her head. “Not yet.”
He pulled his arm away from her and stood up again. He paced back and forth across the gazebo floor, searching it like he hoped Emily was hiding behind one of the wooden posts that supported the roof. “We have to warn her!”
Michelle leaned toward them in her seat and pushed back a lock of silvery blonde hair that fell forward when she did so. “It’s time to pass the pen to Emily, Paul. It’s time for her to become the author. She needs to know everything.”
Fear pierced Allison’s chest. She knew what that meant. As soon as Emily became the author, Michelle would find a new guardian for the library. Any chance Allison had at returning Paul’s memories to the books would be gone. Her own memories of the library would be gone as soon as a new guardian took over, too. The first task of any new guardian was to remove the memories of the library from the last one.
“No!” she gasped. “That puts the pen too close to Zack. We have to get the paper back first. We have to get your memories back, too, Paul—the ones Elaine ripped out.” Paul jerked his head toward her. “They’re in storage somewhere, together,” she rushed to add, hoping he’d side with her plan rather than Michelle’s. “If we find one, we find the other.”
“Even if that means Emily is engaged to the enemy?” Michelle raised one nearly invisible eyebrow, her words as sharp as daggers. “Even if she goes to bed every night next to a murderer? She needs to know the truth, Paul.”
His hands clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles popped.
“She’s safer if she doesn’t know anything, isn’t she? She’s only a target for the Claypools if she’s the author,” Allison said calmly, hoping to soothe Paul’s agitation, even though her own nerves were twanging like taut rubber bands. “As long as Emily’s ignorant, she’s not a threat to their plan.”
Michelle snorted. “If she knew what was going on, she could help us. Zack trusts her. He might even tell her where the paper is, if she’s persuasive enough. She deserves to know.”
“What if she doesn’t want to play secret agent? She’s not a pawn in your game.” Allison jutted out her chin defiantly. She wasn’t ready to give up on getting Paul’s memories back. There was a chance that she could make his mind whole again, if Michelle wasn’t so adamant about finding a new guardian as soon as possible. “You think you can shove us all around like chess pieces, but Emily might not sign on to your scheme. She might even side with Zack. We need to think it through before we make a rash move and jeopardize the whole thing.”
Michelle shook her head. “It’s not up to you, is it? It’s up to Paul.” She fixed him with a gaze so intense, Allison was a little frightened for him. “I waited to tell my son about the library, thinking he’d have a better life without the weight of that responsibility. But Tim’s ignorance didn’t protect him. It killed him.”
“That’s not true!” Allison blurted out, before Paul could react. “He and Dara were murdered because of you. The target was you, not them. It was your fault they were in harm’s way.” She turned to Paul. “Trust me. I want Emily to stay safe as much as you do. But telling her doesn’t keep her any safer. It doesn’t get us any closer to recovering your memories, either.”
“What’s your decision, Paul?” Michelle asked quietly, ignoring Allison entirely.
Paul bit his lip as he looked back and forth between them. Finally, he threw up his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t trust either of you, to be frank. This all sounds like insanity to me. You say one thing and you say the opposite, and you both might be lying. I don’t know what you really want, do I? Maybe you’re the Claypools.”
“You know I’m a Crisp, Paul.” Michelle’s voice was level, reasonable. “You knew my parents.”
Allison’s stomach lurched as Paul stared at her, assessing. She couldn’t prove her loyalty to him. Nothing she said would stand up to scrutiny if he couldn’t remember her. Finally, her lips moved. “You know I care about Emily,” she said, her voice faltering. “You’ve seen us together. We’re—”
“Friends,” Paul finished for her. “I know she trusts you. That’s the only reason I’m even listening, because I trust her. That’s my decision.”
“What is?” Michelle pressed.
Paul clenched his jaw as he straightened up to his full height, his clear blue eyes snapping with the confidence he’d always had before he lost the last twenty-five years. “I trust Emily to make the right choice. She should know everything.”
Chapter 2
He didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t know what he was giving up. Allison blinked back her hot, stinging tears as Michelle rose triumphantly from her seat.
“Good. Good.” She turned to Allison. “Give Emily the pen as soon as you can convince her to make the trip down here. Show her the books when you explain everything. If you want, I can come over and—”
“No.” Allison cut her off. “I’ll do it.”
Michelle gave her a satisfied nod. She leaned heavily on the handrail, wincing as she made her way down the stairs to the path. Paul watched her slow, uneven gait as she walked away from them, toward the highway and Rosemary Street.
“Hard to believe it’s the same girl,” he said under his breath.
Allison joined him on the top step. “I guess we’ve all aged on the outside, even if we don’t feel it on the inside.”
Suddenly he clutched her left hand with both of his, pulling her around to face him. His eyes, usually the clear blue of a tropical sea, clouded as they bore into hers. “I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror. I look, and I know it’s my reflection, but it’s just—not me. I know what my face looks like. This face isn’t mine.”
She reached out her other hand to touch his cheek, and to her surprise, he let her trace the familiar contours of his face. She lightly ran her fingers over his smile lines, her favorite lines, the faint ones that blossomed by his eyes, the deeper ones cut around his mouth. She loved them. They were hers, in some strange way. They’d carved them together, one at a time, by sharing smiles across the bakery counter, across the breakfast table, across their pillows every night.
“It’s a good face,” she said, warmth spreading across her chest when he smiled at her crookedly even as he shook his head.
“You should have seen me before.”
She let go of him to pull her purse around, hesitating a moment before she dipped inside for the folded sheet of paper. She smoothed it out and handed it to him. “I did see you before.”
“What is this?” He scanned the first few lines before he flipped the page over to see the printed words continued onto the back. “Is this from a book?”
She nodded. “It’s your memory. One of the ones that was torn out. It’s the only one I could get back. The rest are still out there, though. I can find them, I know I can.”
His eyes widened and he flipped the page to the fro
nt again, sinking down to the bench as he read his own memory. She’d read it a hundred times since she’d pocketed it, so many times the memory seemed like hers instead of his. She could almost recite it in her head as she waited for him to finish the page. It wasn’t anything important, just a memory he had of watching her when they worked together in bakery, back when she was his employee and not yet his girlfriend.
He read the whole thing twice before he looked back up at her. “Is this you?”
She nodded.
“We...had a thing?”
She choked on her own laugh as she sat down next to him and let her head rest on his shoulder, soaking up the blissful feel of it pressed against her cheek. “We did. A big thing.”
He nudged her until she sat up and looked him in the eye again, his face now still and serious. “How big?”
“As big as it gets.”
“Emily? She’s—?”
Allison nodded, feeling the jet of pain that crossed his face. “Ours,” she finished. “She’s ours. I swear to you, she’s my daughter, too. That’s why you can believe me when I say that all I want to do is protect her while we try and get your memories back.”
Paul jumped to his feet and resumed pacing the gazebo floor, three huge steps one way and then back again a half-dozen times before he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me before?!” he finally burst out.
He was angry. He had a right to be. As much as she and Michelle had told him, they’d withheld plenty of other details. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
“I mean before today!”
“I did,” she said simply. “So many times. It just didn’t stick. I’d tell you and then come back to Golden Gardens the next day, and I was a stranger again. Something about how the Founders Tree magic works, I guess. The memory tries to find a place in the books, but if the right page is missing, the memory has nowhere to go. Nothing to hang onto, no trellis for a new memory to grow on, maybe.”
He huffed disbelievingly as his anger dissipated and sank back down beside her. He read the page again and shook his head. “How do I know you didn’t just make this up yourself? It’s just words on a page.”
