looks away. And after that Hazel gets in the car and I try shifting to drive before I remember the engine is off. And then I try shifting into drive again before I remember the engine is still off and then I finally turn the engine on and when the motor comes to life, I press my forehead against the steering wheel and take a deep breath.
“Molly?” Hazel says from the backseat.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
“Clancy?” she says.
“She’s fine, Hazel.”
Hazel looks at me in the rearview. I try not to meet her gaze but it’s hard. Her blue eyes fill up the whole mirror.
They’re both doing shifts at the bookstore today, so I drop them off first, and I drive home in silence, the radio turned off and the windows rolled up and only the soft breeze of heat from the vents to disturb my forced peace.
I don’t really have time for a nap before Sayer gets here, but I lie down anyway. It takes me a long time to get to sleep and my alarm goes off practically the second I do and I end up feeling more tired than when I got home. But at least the circles under my eyes have faded a little.
A very little.
When I pull myself out of bed, it’s ten of four and I shower in three minutes, get dressed in another three.
With four minutes to go, I sit on the edge of my bed and wonder what the fuck is going on.
I’ve been wondering that a lot.
With each new memory that surfaces, my grip on things gets a little more slippery.
A little farther away.
What do I know so far?
The basics, Molly. Just think about the basics. Like Clancy’s yes or no questions, it might be the easiest way to organize things.
Okay.
The basics.
I was friends with Lyle. He told me how he felt about me. I told him that I couldn’t return the feelings because I had feelings for someone else.
For his brother, apparently.
But there’s something between us, Lyle and me. Something that happened to me or something he did for me. Something that makes him feel like I owe it to him.
I have no idea what that could be.
The doorbell.
The journey down the stairs seems to take forever, and with each step my anger boils up under my skin until I swear I have turned red with the heat of it.
And when I open the door, I know Sayer can tell, because at first he smiles and he opens his mouth to say hello and then he shuts it and takes one tiny step backward. More like a shuffle. He shuffles backward and I step out of the house and plant myself firmly on the welcome mat and I cross my arms over my chest because suddenly it is freezing.
“I told you I would explain,” he says.
“You lied to me.”
“I can explain now.”
“But you lied to me.”
“What did you remember?” he says.
“No, wait,” he says.
“Can we just . . . can we get out of here?” he says.
“Let me get my coat.”
A half an hour later and Sayer has pulled the car to the side of the road and we’re walking through a brief patch of forest to where, I know, the trees will open up on to a public beach. It’s sure to be deserted with how cold it is and with the sun already so close to setting. The perfect place to talk.
He drags a blanket from the trunk of his car, so I guess he planned this. Or, I don’t know, maybe the blanket came with the car. Or maybe he bought the blanket for the car and now he just keeps it in the trunk so in case he breaks down somewhere in the middle of a snowstorm he can use it to keep from freezing to death.
He spreads the blanket on the sand and I sit on it without accepting his tentative offer of help.
And then I start talking before he’s even settled himself. Because if I don’t just jump right into it, I may never start.
“I remembered the warehouse, with Lyle, and I remembered the time before that. We were in a graveyard. The graveyard in town, next to the beach.”
“And then?” He seems to know there’s something else.
“I remembered us at a coffeehouse. We were watching your friend play guitar. Parker. He played a song
“Molly?” Hazel says from the backseat.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
“Clancy?” she says.
“She’s fine, Hazel.”
Hazel looks at me in the rearview. I try not to meet her gaze but it’s hard. Her blue eyes fill up the whole mirror.
They’re both doing shifts at the bookstore today, so I drop them off first, and I drive home in silence, the radio turned off and the windows rolled up and only the soft breeze of heat from the vents to disturb my forced peace.
I don’t really have time for a nap before Sayer gets here, but I lie down anyway. It takes me a long time to get to sleep and my alarm goes off practically the second I do and I end up feeling more tired than when I got home. But at least the circles under my eyes have faded a little.
A very little.
When I pull myself out of bed, it’s ten of four and I shower in three minutes, get dressed in another three.
With four minutes to go, I sit on the edge of my bed and wonder what the fuck is going on.
I’ve been wondering that a lot.
With each new memory that surfaces, my grip on things gets a little more slippery.
A little farther away.
What do I know so far?
The basics, Molly. Just think about the basics. Like Clancy’s yes or no questions, it might be the easiest way to organize things.
Okay.
The basics.
I was friends with Lyle. He told me how he felt about me. I told him that I couldn’t return the feelings because I had feelings for someone else.
For his brother, apparently.
But there’s something between us, Lyle and me. Something that happened to me or something he did for me. Something that makes him feel like I owe it to him.
I have no idea what that could be.
The doorbell.
The journey down the stairs seems to take forever, and with each step my anger boils up under my skin until I swear I have turned red with the heat of it.
And when I open the door, I know Sayer can tell, because at first he smiles and he opens his mouth to say hello and then he shuts it and takes one tiny step backward. More like a shuffle. He shuffles backward and I step out of the house and plant myself firmly on the welcome mat and I cross my arms over my chest because suddenly it is freezing.
“I told you I would explain,” he says.
“You lied to me.”
“I can explain now.”
“But you lied to me.”
“What did you remember?” he says.
“No, wait,” he says.
“Can we just . . . can we get out of here?” he says.
“Let me get my coat.”
A half an hour later and Sayer has pulled the car to the side of the road and we’re walking through a brief patch of forest to where, I know, the trees will open up on to a public beach. It’s sure to be deserted with how cold it is and with the sun already so close to setting. The perfect place to talk.
He drags a blanket from the trunk of his car, so I guess he planned this. Or, I don’t know, maybe the blanket came with the car. Or maybe he bought the blanket for the car and now he just keeps it in the trunk so in case he breaks down somewhere in the middle of a snowstorm he can use it to keep from freezing to death.
He spreads the blanket on the sand and I sit on it without accepting his tentative offer of help.
And then I start talking before he’s even settled himself. Because if I don’t just jump right into it, I may never start.
“I remembered the warehouse, with Lyle, and I remembered the time before that. We were in a graveyard. The graveyard in town, next to the beach.”
“And then?” He seems to know there’s something else.
“I remembered us at a coffeehouse. We were watching your friend play guitar. Parker. He played a song
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