by Alana Terry
And of course, I’d be closer to Chris ...
Part of me feels like he should be the one to bring these things up, but I know he’d never ask me to do something like that. To give up my scholarship just to stay by him.
This is a decision I’ll have to make on my own.
He’s got his arm around my shoulder, which is sweet. It also shows how much more comfortable he’s grown around my mom. A year ago, he would have never dared to sit like this if anybody in my family was around. Chris and my mom get along great, but of course there’s not a single person in the world my mom can’t win over. I’ll admit, Dad can be kind of intense, so I don’t blame Chris for acting nervous when he’s around. Chris doesn’t really know what it’s like to have a father who doesn’t beat you up when he’s angry, so there’s that too. I think Chris and Marco would get along pretty well, but my brother’s busy selling pharmaceuticals. He’s hardly ever around anymore, and he’s only met Chris once or twice. Still, they’ve been cordial enough with each other. I think there’s potential there at least.
“I love you,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist.
Chris glances nervously at my mom in the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, “it’s not like it’s that big of a secret.” I laugh and feel his body relax.
“I love you,” I repeat and wonder if I’ll ever be happier than I am right now.
I don’t know what the future has in store for Chris and me. Maybe I’ll stay around with him for another year and we’ll grow even closer than we already are. Or maybe we’ll find that when I’m in New York, the distance only makes our relationship that much stronger.
All I know is that this is the happiest I’ve ever felt, right now. Right at this moment.
A moment I know I’ll never forget.
CHAPTER 11
I blink. Passed away? With Jesus? What in the world is Sandy talking about?
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “Come here.” She wraps me up in a hug. A hug that feels more familiar than I think it should. I remember what she told me. Every Tuesday. If my head didn’t hurt so much, I could try to do the math. Guess how many times Sandy’s told me this same news, how many hugs just like this she’s given.
Should I cry? Part of me thinks I should cry. Have I already spent my daily allotment of tears? Am I a terrible person? Shouldn’t I be throwing myself on the couch, pounding the pillows, telling Sandy it can’t be true?
That’s probably the reaction Sandy was expecting. Maybe she thinks I’m in shock or numb and that’s why she’s still holding me and petting my head like I’m some kind of lap dog in need of comfort.
No, it’s different than that. I’ve been in shock before. How else would you describe what you experience when you wake up and realize that three months of your life, entire chunks of your brain, are missing?
This isn’t shock.
In fact, my head feels clearer and more focused than it has all day.
I begged Sandy to tell me what happened to my mom, and she did. Except I know something she doesn’t. That’s why I’m not crying. That’s why I’m not panicked or hysterical.
I don’t remember what happened. I don’t have a clue where Mom is or why Sandy is gripping me so tightly that suddenly I feel like I’m the one who’s meant to comfort her.
I don’t feel confused, sad, or scared. I know my memory’s missing. I can’t explain why all the photographs in our home have been removed or why I can’t find my cell or log into any of the computers.
But I do know one thing.
Mom isn’t dead. I’m not in shock or denial. In fact, I’m thinking more clearly than I’ve been since I woke up this morning.
Mom isn’t dead. Which means that somebody is lying to me.
I don’t know Sandy as well as I could. Like I said, our family hasn’t been the most regular of attenders at her church, and I stopped going to her girls’ Bible study a couple years ago when life got too busy.
But I know that Sandy would never intentionally lie to anybody. And I know by the way she’s working so hard to comfort me that she honestly believes my mom is dead.
Sandy isn’t lying to me. Not deliberately.
Which means that somebody else is.
And I think I know who that might be.
CHAPTER 12
I need to be careful to play this right. Need to be careful to make sure Sandy thinks I’m upset without going so overboard she sees right through me.
I muster up a few tears. Nothing over the top. She still hasn’t let me go from her wrestler-strength hug, so I just need to shake my shoulders some and make a few small sobbing sounds. Sandy really is crying, which makes me feel guilty. Like I’m tricking her or something. The truth is I just need to figure out what Sandy knows, or what she thinks she knows.
Mom isn’t dead. This isn’t wishful thinking. I know it. I remember something ... I have no idea what it is, but if I can get Sandy to keep talking, I’ll figure it out. I have to.
“What happened?” I keep my voice small and force a little tremor.
Sandy gives me one last squeeze then pulls away. “I think you should probably ask your dad about that.”
I shake my head, trying hard not to let her guess that Dad is the very last person I’d trust to tell me the truth right now. “I want to hear it from you,” I state.
Sandy heaves a sigh. She’s still holding my hand in hers. I give it a squeeze and try to look both thankful and needy.
“Well,” Sandy begins, “do you remember your senior trip?”
I nod. I don’t have time for her to fill me in on inconsequential details. Who knows how long we’ll have to talk in private, just the two of us? So I pretend to recall more than I do. “We went to the cabin,” I answer. “Mom drove Chris and me.”
When I say Chris’s name, something in Sandy’s expression changes. It’s slight. Hardly noticeable. Except I do notice.
Sandy straightens out her flowery skirt, focusing for a few seconds on one of its more prominent wrinkles. “Do you remember what happened once you got there?”
“We got things ready and waited for the rest of the group to show up.” I don’t know if I’m just making an educated guess or relying on some sort of latent memory that remains locked up in my brain.
“It happened right before noon.”
I lean forward. There’s something familiar about Sandy’s words. I remember. I ... I think I remember.
Maybe I remember remembering?
I have to focus. Need to pay attention to each syllable she speaks.
“You were ...” Sandy’s voice falters. “You were attacked, sweetie. You and your mom both.”
I pretend to give a little cry. Pretend like I’m absorbing this information for the first time. But I know that I remember something. Do I just remember Sandy telling me this same story before, or is there more to it than that? If I could just clear up this stupid headache ...
I need more pain meds or something, but I can’t stop right now. I have to play the part. Have to act like the girl who’s just found out her mom has been killed. Sandy believes every word she’s speaking. I know she does.
But I don’t.
It didn’t happen that way.
You don’t have to cry, I want to tell Sandy. In a way, I feel like a monster allowing her to grieve over my family like this when I know it didn’t happen the way she said it did.
An attack at the cabin. That part doesn’t sound familiar. At least I don’t think it does. I was attacked. Mom was too ...
No, it didn’t happen that way.
Which means my mom isn’t really dead.
Which means that someone is lying to me. And that same person has lied to Sandy too.
A question bursts through the surface of my mental fog. “What about Chris?”
Sandy shakes her head. She looks so pitiable, I feel awful, like I’m the one breaking her heart with my questions. “Maybe we should wait for your dad,” she whispers.
“Please.” I don’t need to pretend to beg. Don’t need to pretend to act desperate for this information. “I want to hear it from you. Dad never liked Chris to begin with. What happened to him? Please tell me.”
Sandy sighs. “Honey, Chris disappeared. He took off, and the police still haven’t found him yet.”
This comes as a surprise. “Was he kidnapped or something?” My heart is racing. This wasn’t what I was expecting Sandy to tell me.
She’s hugging me again. What is that smell? Some kind of flowery perfume. Or maybe it’s her shampoo. The scent is nauseating and makes my headache even worse.
“Sweetie, this isn’t going to be easy for you to hear,” Sandy says. “But the police believe Chris was the one who attacked you.”
CHAPTER 13
“I don’t believe you.” I’m irrational. None of this is her fault, but I’m consumed with an inexplicable hatred for Sandy. For her lies.
“You’re wrong,” I insist. “That’s not what happened.”
This isn’t like me. One second I’m starting to figure it out, feel like I’m actually starting to remember. And then this? I don’t know why I’m so angry at her either, but it’s not like there’s some sort of textbook to tell you how you’ll respond when someone comes in and cuts out three whole months of your life.
It makes absolutely no sense at all.
“Chris would have never done this to me,” I repeat, and Sandy’s holding me, letting me swat at her with my fists. I’m not trying to hurt her. At least I don’t think I am. It’s a little bit hard to think right now, so excuse me if I’m not acting like myself. As if I even know who that is anymore.
“I know it’s hard to hear, sweetie.” Sandy keeps repeating these silly phrases that I’m sure mean well but only sound like nonsense to me. It’s hard to hear? I’d like to see what she’s like after someone opens up her brain and dissects her memories and then tells her that the two people she loves most in the world are actually a murderer and his victim.
It’s not true. None of it. Mom’s not dead. Chris isn’t guilty.
Which means he’s still out there.
Maybe.
I’ve got to find him. Is that why Dad took my phone away? And what about Mom? If she’s not dead, that means she’s somewhere too. Up until today, I thought the worst pain I’d ever been in was when I got my wisdom teeth yanked out. I wish I could go back to that now. I’ve heard of throbbing headaches before, but at least with a throb there’s that pulse of relief, however short lived. The pain for me is constant. Unabated.
I need my mom.
“I didn’t want to have to tell you,” Sandy sighs, as if this were all my fault. I just wanted answers. I didn’t ask for these lies.
“Can I pray for you, sweetie?” she asks, but I shake my head. I know it’s probably sinful for me to say, but I can’t withstand the mental fog long enough to pay attention to any prayer. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I want to sleep. I want to die. I want to throw up. Maybe I’ll go and do all three at the same time.
“What in the world is going on in here?” Dad comes racing in, then blurts into the phone, “I’m gonna have to call you back.” He stops in the threshold of the living room and stares at Sandy. “Oh. Is it Tuesday?”
She nods, and Dad’s angry expression softens.
“So you told her?”
Sandy nods again.
Dad hurries over to me. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I know it’s not easy to find out about it this way.”
“She told me Mom’s dead.” I want Dad to laugh. To tell me that Sandy is just making things up, but the pain in his expression tells me that he believes her lies as well.
Or at least he acts as if he does.
“I’m so sorry, Mimi.”
“It didn’t happen,” I protest. Because I know it isn’t true. At least I think it isn’t true. Am I remembering, or am I just refusing to believe the truth?
I don’t have the stomach to mention Chris. I sink back on the couch. Dad and Sandy probably assume I’m still upset at finding out about Mom, but my head hurts so much I can hardly think about her right now. Does that make me a terrible person? Am I selfish that I’m crying for myself and not my mother?
No, because I know she isn’t dead. I’m certain of it.
I’m going to get this figured out. I have to.
In the corner of the living room, Dad and Sandy are having a conversation in hushed tones. I catch the words sleep and shock and better after a nap. Sandy tells my dad it’s going to get easier.
“It’s so hard to see her like this.” He’s whispering. Probably thinks I can’t hear. Maybe they assume I’ve even fallen asleep. I’m tired enough I probably could. “Every single week,” Dad exclaims, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Is this my new Tuesday ritual? To hear about my mother’s death all over again?
“Did she ask about him?” Dad asks.
I’m too tired to hear Sandy’s answer. Or maybe she’s just better at keeping her voice down.
“I don’t think we should tell her anymore. Her brother says it might be better to say she’s on a trip or something ...”
I only catch the last half of what Sandy says then. “The truth will set you free.” It’s a verse from the Bible. I recognize it even though I couldn’t tell you if it’s from the Old or New Testament.
The truth will set you free.
As if I needed another reminder of this prison I’m in. A prison in my own mind.
The truth will set you free ...
Well, then it’s time for me to figure out some answers. Learn the real truth for myself.
But first, I need to sleep ...
CHAPTER 14
Springtime. I’ve always loved the spring. And today’s going to be perfect. It’s the senior trip today. Time to get myself up and out of bed.
Ow.
I sit up in bed then look at the clock. One? That doesn’t make sense. It can’t be night. The sun’s out. But I’d never sleep in. Not today.
And why does my head hurt so much?
“Mom?” I glance around my room. Something’s missing. I guess the clock could be wrong. Where’s my phone? That always has the right time, except I can’t find it.
“Mom?”
I’m dizzy when I try to get out of bed. I don’t understand any of this. What about my senior trip? Mom wouldn’t have let me miss it. And what about Chris? He was going to come over hours earlier. We should be at the cabin by now. Everyone else is already there waiting for us.
I open the door to the hallway, blinking. My eyes aren’t used to this light. I look down and wonder how I ended up asleep in my clothes.
Oh, no. I’m sick. I’m going to throw up. Got to hurry.
That’s so disgusting, but at least I made it to the bathroom on time.
“Mia?”
I scream when the shower curtain pulls open. I ran in here so fast I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s me.” My brother Marco. What is he doing home? He peeks his head out from behind the shower curtain. “Hand me the towel.”
I’m too confused to ask any questions, and I simply do what he says.
The next thing I know, Dad is at the door, his phone in one hand. “Everything okay? What’s going on?”
“I startled her,” Marco says, stepping out of the shower. Even with his towel wrapped around him, I’m a little weirded out to see my brother like this. I keep my eyes on the toilet bowl where I just emptied my stomach.
I still have no idea why either my brother or my dad are home. Marco never stops by anymore, and Dad should be at work. None of this makes sense, and I’m late for my senior trip. “Where’s Mom?”
I study the worried expressions that pass from my father to my brother then repeat, “Where’s Mom?”
Dad’s about to say something but Marco steps forward. “Hey remember, you got kind of sick right before your camping trip. You told Mom she should go so everyone else co
uld have a good time, but you weren’t feeling up to making it.” He gives a sympathetic frown. “Sorry, Mimi.”
It’s a nickname he hasn’t called me in years, but it doesn’t feel as awkward as I would have thought it might to hear it from him again.
“What are you doing home?” I ask.
He smiles then tousles his wet hair. “Mom felt bad about leaving you for the weekend, and Dad’s got work to do, so I said I’d come by and keep you company.”
“Oh.” I guess it makes sense. Funny that I don’t remember any of it though.
“How you feeling?” my brother asks.
“My head hurts.” I look over to where Dad was standing, except he’s gone. Strange. Wasn’t he right there just a second ago?
“Yeah, the doctor said it might.”
“I went to the doctor?” Suddenly I feel dizzy. Marco reaches out for my arm, steadying me when I nearly lose my balance.
He gives a little chuckle. “You really are out of it, aren’t you?” He gives me a smile, then says, “Hey, let me get dressed and then we’ll watch a movie. Once you’re feeling better, I’ll drive you out to the cabin and you can join your class for the rest of the trip.”
Something doesn’t feel right, but I can’t quite place it. Maybe it’s the fact that my brother’s being so nice to me when we haven’t seen much of each other in years.
“So Mom left without me?” It doesn’t sound like something she’d do.
“She didn’t want to,” Marco says, “but you were so worried about everyone else being disappointed that you begged her to go.”
“I did?”
Marco laughs again. “That’s my little sis. Always so selfless. And humble enough you don’t even remember when you’ve done it.”
Pain pulses from between my temples. “What am I sick with anyway?”
Marco shrugs. “Some kind of 24-hour bug. Headaches, vomiting, disorientation. You seriously don’t remember Mom taking you to the doctor?”
