by Nina Bocci
I hadn’t noticed the first time, but small, clear wires disappeared into his ears. He had some sort of hearing device, and I realized that I didn’t know how much he heard that first day. Was he reading my lips? Or were they simply to amplify sound so he could hear me?
“Henry,” I said slowly. Something was scratching away at my memories. I couldn’t place it, but a strange sense of familiarity was washing over me.
“Yep, still me,” he said with a joking lilt.
“This was always a bookstore, right?” I remarked, having the strangest sense of déjà vu.
He nodded, waving toward the top level that had a coffee bar. “Coffee?” he offered, climbing the three stairs and disappearing behind the bar. There was a deep recess that served as a lounge area with squishy chairs and mismatched tables dotted throughout. There was a shelf to the side that housed a complicated-looking silver coffee machine with many bells and whistles. Lining the walls next to the coffee were cups in varying shapes and sizes. A couple cookie jars were set up, and the stools looked inviting. This place was cozy, like the one on my street back in Brooklyn.
I told Henry as much. “So that’s where you’re living now? Brooklyn?” he asked, and I slapped my forehead realizing I hadn’t introduced myself.
“Yes. And I’m Charlotte, by the way. I’m sure you figured that out already, you know, with all the obvious clues and my sparkling conversational skills.”
“Wow, you really have no memory of this place, do you?” he said disbelievingly with a frown, setting down a steaming cup of cappuccino.
I figured that Emma had mentioned something. After all, they were best friends. “Emma told you, huh?”
He nodded, making himself a cup and setting it down beside mine. Like much of the shop, things were delightfully and artistically mismatched. My cup had a small green symbol on it, and his emblazoned with Penn State’s logo.
“I know it seems odd, but I really don’t. I get these brief flashes, but it’s like my brain won’t let the memory train fully back into the station,” I said honestly before taking a sip of the coffee.
“That’s quite the metaphor.” He smiled, and it lit up his face. His skin had just started to pick up a summer glow, making his light blue eyes sparkle and stand out against the tan.
“What are you doing here? Emma said you’re up at the high school? English, right?”
He nodded again. “Yeah, I help out here a lot during the summer. I come to read to the kids every week. Run some of the book clubs.” He looked down into the cup. The slight lines around his eyes deepened. “I just can’t believe you’re here. I’m sorry if I’m being rude.”
“I think you’re allowed, after what I did to you. Actually, I’m surprised you’re being as kind as you are, all things considered.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Noted. Seriously, though, it’s just hard to be the only one with these memories. We were best friends. It’s like I’ve imagined my childhood because no one else is there to remember it.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked contemplative, a line deepening on his forehead as he scratched at the five-o’clock shadow on his chin. “Emma said you don’t remember much, but I don’t know if I should fill you in. Or if you want me to. I’d rather see if you could remember our friendship, and this place, yourself. I’d hate to give you my version and have it cloud what memories you might recover.”
“That’s just it, though, I have none and no clue if I’ll get them back,” I answered, growing perturbed at myself. “I remember bits and pieces, but so far, you’re not one of them. Emma is, but barely. I think being near her in college helped with that. I wish I could remember you. Emma said we were inseparable.”
“She’s not wrong. We did everything together. Me, you, her, our friends Nick and Cooper. Mostly it was you and me, though.” He blanched at the last statement as if it bothered him.
“Does that hurt your feelings?” I blurted out, wishing I could pull the question back in. “I mean, it would bother me, so I’m just wondering.”
“It bothers me a great deal, but what can I do but help you—hopefully—remember what you can?”
That was an offer that I not only appreciated but, for some reason, was also looking forward to. There was something in his eyes, a promise, a memory of a lost time, something that made me want to spend time with him. Maybe it was the former friendship manifesting itself into something other than a clear memory. Whatever it was, I found myself wanting to get to know Henry.
Again.
“I have a feeling the longer you’re here, the more will come back to you. I mean, look at it this way. You knew this was a bookstore. Do you remember anything about it? The layout hasn’t changed since you were last here.”
I tried desperately to think back to ten-year-old Charlotte. Sliding off the stool, I spent a few quiet minutes taking my time to look around. I stopped at the large, round oak columns, sliding my hand over the smooth wood, and turned to Henry to see him watching me curiously.
I nodded. Swallowing my nerves and confusion, I said quietly, “I remember story time here. I don’t know what, when, or why I do, but I have a feeling I was here for stories. Could that be?”
Henry smiled and nodded, following behind me but letting me explore the area without disruption. After doing a full lap around the perimeter of the store, I took a seat on the tufted armchair in the sitting area. Henry looked as if he was not sure where to sit, choosing instead to lean against the wood column, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting.
The cuckoo clock ticked by as we continued to stare at each other in a quiet bubble. The phone didn’t ring. Customers didn’t come in, and I was hell-bent on being charming and in control.
“Remembering story time was one thing, why don’t I remember you?” I said. I hated the way the light dimmed in his eyes.
Finally, he shrugged. But it wasn’t just a shrug. His face displayed every emotion. “I guess I’m not very memorable.”
My initial reaction was Yeah, right. Look at you. But I chose a simpler, less insane approach instead. “It’s not you, it’s me. I think I spent so many years blocking out Hope Lake and its presence in my life that it’s hard to find my way back.”
He nodded, pushing his large body from the pillar to join me. “I hope that your time here is helpful in remembering what you loved about this place the first time you were here.”
I straightened. “I hope so, too. I don’t know how long it’ll be, but it’s at least the summer,” I rambled, wondering why this guy made me so uneasy. Not in a creepy kind of way, but a rug-being-pulled-out-from-my-feet kind of way. Maybe it was the supposed history, or just that I felt an attraction crackling in the air. Whatever it was, I didn’t know how to process it.
Henry turned, walking back toward the counter.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, following him to the coffee bar with my still-full mug.
He shook his head, looking at anything but me.
“I know I don’t remember—”
He looked up, right at me but straight through me. As if I weren’t even there. “Like I said, I guess I was pretty forgettable. I wish you all the luck while you’re here. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
And with that, he turned on his heel, descended the stairs, and went out the door that the children had used. I caught a glimpse of him before the door closed. He reached out to greet some parents, a handshake, a man hug, and a kiss on the cheek of one of the women. His attitude turned sunny again the moment he got away from me.
What had he said earlier? Noted.
9
When Dr. Max arrived at Gigi’s later that night, he brought with him more food than I’d seen in ages. When you’re single and living with someone like Parker—gone all hours of the night, sleeping in spurts throughout the day—you tended to grab small bites here and there. I hadn’t prepared a meal of that size in, well, ever.
“Max, thanks for coming,” I welcomed, lea
ning into his offered one-armed hug. “Is Dad running late?”
“He got tied up in Barreton. Next town over. There was a couple-car pileup and they called him to lend a hand. I couldn’t go because I still had two patients to see. I’m not sure when he’ll get here.”
“That’s disappointing. I’m glad you still made it, though.” He set the bags with dinner on the side table, and pulled something from one of them.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking the small wrapped package from him.
“Just a little something to make Hope Lake feel a bit more like home.”
Tearing open the paper, I smiled. “It’s beautiful, thank you,” I said, carefully holding a thin square painting.
“Your father said that the Brooklyn Botanic Garden was one of your favorite places to visit as a kid.” He stepped behind me, looking over my shoulder at the hand-painted piece. “It’s linen paper, so it’s fragile. I couldn’t find a frame for it at the antiques store.”
I shook my head. “I have the perfect place to put it.” I set it gently on the table in the foyer. “I’ll run it upstairs after dinner, which I see you brought a lot of.”
He shrugged. “I tend to get carried away.”
We walked into the dining room.
Gigi joined us, scooting over to Max, who enveloped her in a hug. “Thanks, my dear. You’re too good to this old gal.”
“Gigi, you’re not old!” Max said, smiling down at her.
“I was talking about Charlotte. You’re kind to bring her dinner.”
I rolled my eyes, and Max threw his head back with a bellowing laugh. “Gigi, you’re a gem,” he insisted.
“So tell me about your day,” Gigi asked, again. She’d questioned me as soon as I got back home.
“I told you, I’d tell you when Dad gets here.” I had already played the conversation in my head at least a hundred times over. The more I thought about the possibility of the flower shop, the more excited I became.
Only for the summer, Charlotte. As if I could forget.
“Yes, yes, well, I was hoping to get the scoop. I could just call Emma,” Gigi offered, taking out her brand-new iPhone.
“Where’d you get that? Good Lord, woman, that’s like three versions better than mine!”
Dr. Max laughed. “She had to teach your father how to use his Apple Watch. She’s a pro.”
“Come live with me in New York and you can work at the Apple store on Fifth,” I teased.
“I would actually love that. I’ve been looking at the new Mac mini.”
This woman.
My and Dr. Max’s phones buzzed at the same time as Gigi’s watch face lit up. I checked the message. “Dad will be here in five.”
“That means you share your news in six minutes,” Gigi announced, her tone leaving no room for argument.
In my heart, I knew this decision was mine alone, but I still wanted them to be in on the details.
The doorbell rang, jolting me from my thoughts. “Dad doesn’t ring the bell, right?”
Gigi shook her head. “What time is it? Oh, crap. I forgot about Nick coming over. Do me a favor, sweetheart, grab my checkbook from my room. It’s on the dresser. I need to get him out of here before your father gets here.”
“Why is he coming here?” I asked, but there was a flurry of activity.
Without giving me a response, Gigi took off in her chair toward the front door. I looked to Dr. Max, who was just shaking his head, laughing. Apparently, this was another story that I needed to get later.
I took off for Gigi’s room, not glancing at the front door. I heard his voice, though—deep, rich, and yet still somehow playful.
“Gigi, I’m here for our date. Where are your dancing shoes?” Nick teased, and I couldn’t help but smile at the silly giggle that escaped my ninety-year-old grandmother.
Her checkbook was tossed open haphazardly on her dresser. The checks were unexpected. They were splattered with polka dots and read I’m not adulting today.
“Gigi, you’re full of surprises,” I murmured.
Joining them in the foyer, I came to an abrupt stop when I saw the man in the doorway. Just where were they hiding these guys in Hope Lake? And what were they feeding them?
This man was sitting on the floor, legs outstretched before him and smiling at my grandmother like she was the only light in the sky. It was the second-most-endearing thing I had seen all day, and both involved handsome men and my grandmother. He looked tall, maybe not as tall as Henry, but definitely over six feet. A rich, tan complexion made him look surprisingly boyish. On his shirt was a logo with the script ARTHUR LANDSCAPE ARCHITECTURE beneath it. Ah, that explained the tan and the forearms. Then I remembered Emma saying he was responsible for the beautiful flowers across town and at Gigi’s.
“Hello there,” I said, walking up to place my hand on the back of Gigi’s chair.
When he looked up, I was greeted with warm, inviting brown eyes. He stood, patting Gigi’s hand gently as he rose.
He pulled me into a bone-crushing hug and murmured, “Good to see you again, Charlotte.”
“Nick Arthur, right?” I said, still smooshed against his shoulder. “We used to ride bikes together?”
“Yes! Among other things. Mud biking, river fishing, anything outdoors. You used to be my reading partner, too. Drove Henry crazy,” he said, laughing at what was I’m sure a shocked expression.
Unlike the blank slate that I had with Henry, something about Nick brought back a flood of memories.
I closed my eyes briefly to catch a flash of a little boy with dark brown hair and big brown eyes with lashes that touched his cheeks when he closed them. He was sitting at a table laughing, with a glass of milk in one hand and a large cookie in the other. A chessboard sat before him in the crowded kitchen.
“We used to play chess, too, right?” I asked, surprising myself and both he and Gigi, judging by the expressions they wore. “Maybe I’m wrong; these memories don’t seem to make much sense.”
His smile was all the answer I needed. It lit up his face in a way that made me want to smile back. “Yes! You remember, I can’t believe it. Henry said you didn’t remember him at all, and I figured if you didn’t remember him of all people, I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Charlotte, you really don’t remember this town? You didn’t tell me that.”
I saw Nick look over my shoulder to where Dr. Max’s voice came from, and for a brief moment his expression faltered.
“Sorry, Gigi, I didn’t realize you guys had company,” Nick said, tipping his chin toward the dining room.
“Oh, I’m not really company, right, Gigi?” Max said confidently, strolling over toward Nick. “I consider the Bishops family; I’m sure that Nick feels the same way, right?” Max clapped his hand on Nick’s shoulder the way that guys tended to do. “Hey, golf next week?”
Nick shrugged. “Sure, I guess my ego can stand another blistering defeat. I’ll see if Henry and Cooper want in. Though Henry hates golf.”
Gigi groaned as my father’s car pulled into the driveway. “Oh, here we go.”
Nick turned to glance outside, then quickly turned back to me. “While this has been a fun, short trip down memory lane, I have to run. Gigi, I’m popping out the back door. Charlotte, don’t be a stranger. Gigi will tell you how to find me,” he said, dropping to his knees and kissing her cheek again. “I think you owe me a rematch at chess!”
Nick, clearly familiar with the house, jogged through the swinging kitchen door.
“Gigi, why does Nick avoid my dad?” I asked, just as a car door slammed outside.
“That, my dear, will require some wine,” she responded just as my dad appeared in the doorway.
“Why was he here?” he asked no one in particular. “Did he come to talk to you, too?”
I shrugged. “No, Gigi was going to give him a check,” I answered, hoping Gigi would back me up. “And this isn’t The Bachelorette, Dad. I’m not looking for Mr. Right among the available
guys in town.”
Dr. Max stayed silent, leaning against the wall that led into the parlor. He just smirked at my dad, who continued to ramble.
“So why’d he stop by?”
Gigi slapped him on the arm. “He cleaned out my gutters for me and did all the work on the flower beds and baskets. He wouldn’t take the money the other day, but I convinced him to take a check as a donation to that Little League team that he and Henry coach.”
Dad huffed, but it didn’t seem like he was really annoyed.
“Do you not like him or something, Dad?” I asked.
He frowned. “I wouldn’t say that I don’t like him. He’s just a pain in the ass and likes to push my buttons. Well, everyone’s buttons. He’s a bit of a nuisance, you could say.”
I waited for him to explain further. “The boys—and Emma, too; she’s not excused from this—used to always dare each other to do the most idiotic things, most of which Nick talked them into. Some of which had lasting complications.”
“Poor Henry,” Gigi said, touching her ear absently. “For how smart all of them are, they really got into some sticky situations.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, turning to Gigi.
“When they turned sixteen, Nick managed to break Henry’s arm and Cooper fell out of a tree, breaking his leg. We still don’t know how that happened.” Gigi shook her head.
“Whatever they all did, it sounds like I missed a hell of an exciting childhood by not living here. The most exciting thing to happen to me in New York was when Mom left me on the subway and I ended up in Long Island at midnight.”
Gigi gasped, her hand flying up to her heart. The color drained from my father’s face, and again, I wished that I had a working filter.
“What?” he said, in a quiet, even tone. I almost wished he screamed it, because at least I would know he was mad. This was a terrifying reaction, because it meant he was beyond pissed and entering into irate territory, which only ever happened when he was discussing my mother and her many flaws.
