Forget Me (Hampton Harbor) (18 page)

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
.

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 thick 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.