Forget Me (Hampton Harbor) (7 page)

"The night of the accident, when you carried me to the car,"
I grasp at the words running through my mind. Where do I even begin? How much
do I say? I take a deep breath. "When I woke up later that night, I was
confused and in shock. I didn't know where I was, or who I was, or what day it
even was."

Will is watching me with an unsettling intensity, and I fight the
urge to look at my hands. Hands that are gripping my dress tightly.

"The thing is, I still don't remember. I don't remember a
moment before waking up in Charles and Marie's home. I don't remember you picking
me up off of the dock, and I don't remember my accident. I don't even remember
coming to Hampton Harbor. I know silly things, like where Maine is on a map,
that Abe Lincoln was a President, what yachts are." I throw out random
facts. "But I can't tell you one single thing about the person I was
before the accident. The person I am."

Will's expression remains solid but something in his eyes shift. I
recognize that look and I groan inwardly.

"No one else knows, except Charles and Marie," I tell
him. "Once I knew we were going to dinner, I realized it wasn't fair to
keep this from you."

"I wish you had told me before our date," he says. I
stiffen. The fire goes out and the bufferflies in my stomach slip back to sleep.

Will runs a hand over his eyes. "I didn't mean that the way
it sounded." His hand moves to his hair and he looks at me. "I'm
sorry this happened to you, Jane." He pauses on my name. My fake name.
"I really am. I just... I don't think it's wise to date you when you’re
dealing with such a severe issue."

I'm turning to stone now. I wrap my arms around my middle and hug
myself. Will is no longer watching me, instead he is looking out over the bay.

"For all we know you have a boyfriend, or maybe something
more serious. You see it, don't you? How unwise it would be to date."

He looks at me and I nod slowly. I feel like a child, and it
definitely isn't a feeling I was expecting. His words make sense, and I'm
chiding myself for going on this date. I'm disappointed that Marie didn't think
of this, and I'm pissed at the stupid loose rope on the dock. I stand from the
bench and straighten a wrinkle in my dress.

"Let me give you a ride home," Will jumps up and extends
a hand to me.

"No thanks." My voice is trembling, and I sound wounded.
Will hears it too and more pity fills his expression.

"Don't." I hold up my hand. "Don't pity me. I get
it, I do."

I close my eyes and it takes effort to force back the tears that
are welling along the rim. When I open them Will hasn't moved.

"Goodnight, Will. Thanks for dinner." I turn and start
the short walk to the cafe. The restaurant we ate in was closer to the cafe
than the boating company, and I can already see Charles’ solar lanterns
swinging in the breeze.

"Jane!" Will calls after me. I feel his grip on my arm
and I spin around. "Wait..."

"That's not my name." I pull my arm from his grip and
back away. "I don't know who Jane is."

The boardwalk crowd is more concentrated here, and several people
stop to stare at us. I turn and start my walk again, and this time Will doesn't
follow me. I'm right, I realize. I don't know who Jane is. Jane is a girl who
thought she could start over. She thought she could heal with time. Jane is a
girl who was stuck in a dream, living with a nice old couple and working at the
cafe on the bay. Jane was naive and hopeful. No, I don't know who this Jane is.
She definitely isn't me.

I know that Charles
and Marie are both at the cafe tonight, and I want to run inside and into
Marie’s arms. Instead I head up the ramp beside the cafe, and look for the
nearest bus stop. The buses run until midnight, taking tourists to and from
park locales, and to and from Bed & Breakfasts and inns. I know that I can
get one to drop me off at home. Marie told me it was a last resort if I happen to
get stranded. Of course, I think I can remember how to drive, after watching
Amy and Marie do it, but if I had a driver’s license, it slipped into the
ocean, along with my memories.

It costs me two dollars to get home, and I pay with the tips I
shoved into my purse before my date. The bus drops me off at the end of the
drive, and I start the long walk back to the house. Thankfully, daylight is
still hanging on so the path is easy to see. Charles has more lanterns here,
hanging from a tree every few feet, but the darkness behind it would overwhelm
me if it were deep into the night and pitch black out. I imagine it as I do my
mind. There is a thin, lit path of memories that I’m walking down, and the rest
is just blank.

"Thursday is practically the weekend here," Charles told
me this morning, so I know that the cafe will be open until Midnight. He said
on the weekends they stay almost until closing, making sure the customers
are
satisfied. Knowing this I feel better not immediately
retreating to my room. Marie gave me a house key yesterday, so I let myself into
the house and hurry upstairs to change my clothes. I throw my dress on the
closet floor, not sure if I ever want to wear it again. I pull on black yoga
pants, a lightweight sweatshirt, and then sweep my hair back into a
ponytail. 

I gather one of Marie's books off the dresser and wander out to
the back patio. I'm hoping that getting lost in a book might help lift the
heavy weight sitting on my chest, but I'm not exactly optimistic.

I fell asleep
before Charles and Marie came home, and in the morning, we are all silent at
breakfast. I am having a hard time deciding whether or not Marie realizes I
came home early, or if she thinks I snuck in during the early hours of the
morning. We eat breakfast in silence and I head up to shower. Amy explained to
me that the cafe is the busiest during the breakfast hours, so the waitresses
that have been there the longest get those shifts first. Therefore my schedule
is all lunch and dinner shifts, and currently Shelley is scheduling me for
three to four a week. I don't mind that I'll be busy. Right now, I need it.

I ask Charles to take me into town early, and he obliges. He says
he has some items to get at the hardware store, and I wonder if he is just
making conversation. I wander down Hampton Harbor’s main street for the first
time since the accident. I haven't had time before now, and last night I had
been so preoccupied with Will, I hadn't taken time to really look around. Maybe
that had been in the plans for the rest of the evening. We might have walked
around and window-shopped. We might have gotten ice cream and then sat by the
bay, people watching until the day grew dark.

I shake thoughts of Will from my mind and continue to walk.

I pass a few clothing boutiques and pick out a few other
restaurants that seem interesting. There is a seafood place with a giant
lobster hanging from the roof, and a restaurant with lights along the outside
that are fashioned after burgers. It is ten o'clock, and many of the shops are
just starting to open their doors. Owners and employees prop the doors open
with rocks or other knick-knacks, and I find myself smiling at the cheerfulness
of this small town. I come upon an old bookstore and for some reason I feel
drawn inside. The space is cramped, and every spare inch is covered with shelves
of books. 

I pass by the non-fiction section, and a few fiction sections:
Westerns, Historical, and Science Fiction. There is an old man huddled over a
cardboard box at the checkout counter and I doubt he even notices me. A
staircase in the middle of the store leads down, and the sign reads CHILDREN,
YOUNG ADULT,
AND
RESTROOMS. I follow the stairs and
find the lower level to be similar to the first. The store is built into a
hill, so there are full-length windows in the back of the room that overlook
the bay. I run my fingers over a few of the book bindings, feeling a sense of
familiarity that I haven't felt since the accident, and a happiness I haven't
felt since before my talk with Will.

"Back already?" The old man from upstairs appears around
the corner.

I step toward him. "I've been here before?"

He smiles and nods his head. "About two weeks ago. A Sunday,
I think. You bought a few books from upstairs."

"Do you remember what I bought?" I ask. The old man’s
smile fades.

"Maybe it wasn't you." He backtracks.

My eyes are wide and I hold my hands out in front of me. I must
look insane.

"Sorry," I say quickly. "I should go."

I brush past him and hurry back up the stairs. I exit through the front
door, bursting back onto the sunny street. I decide to head back to the cafe
early and maybe eat a small snack before my shift starts. It is strange to meet
someone who knows me from before the accident. The man at the bookstore is the
first, and probably not the last. Maybe I was in some of these other stores
that night, and I'm sure a little prying might get me some answers. 

When I get to the cafe, Amy is counting up tips from her breakfast
shift, and getting a new order pad ready for lunch.

"Hey girl," she says to me. "Ready for a busy day?
A few tour busses just pulled into town so I think we'll do well tip wise."

I just nod, hoping that she is right. If I am busy, the day will
fly by and I'll barely have time to think of anything except burgers,
sandwiches, lobster, and drinks. 

Amy's prediction turns out to be correct, and we are swamped from
lunch on. There is no break in between to stop and eat, but I do manage to
shove a roll down my throat while waiting for the cooks to finish up a large
order. The tourists are from Europe, and they are on a bus tour of the East
Coast, visiting different national parks. As I work, I listen to their
conversations, enjoying their accents.

"I totally forgot to ask you about your date last
night." Amy finds me in the kitchen as I'm pulling freshly chopped lettuce
from the walk-in cooler. "I was going to ask Will but he is looking moody
today."

"It went..." I pause. "What do you mean he is
looking moody?" 

Amy is working a double and hasn't had so much as a chance to step
outside the cafe.

"Is he here?" I whisper yell the question, pulling Amy
into the cooler with me.

"Are we hiding?" she asks with a laugh in her voice.
"The guests can't really even see us in the kitchen."

I run my hands over my hair. "Right, sorry. Um, the date
didn't go well. At all."

"Then why is he sitting in your section?" Amy asks.

I frown. "To torment me? I don't know."

"Oh my god, Jane, do you have a stalker? I never would have
pinned Will Davey to be the type." Amy giggles and I push past her to open
the door.

"Please take his table for me?" I beg her as I step back
into the warm kitchen.

Amy sighs and rolls her eyes. "Okay, but only because he is
dreamy. And you can take table six for me. It’s a high maintenance old couple,
so you're welcome in advance."

"Thank you," I say with as much sincerity as I can
muster. I'd take the old couple ten times over right now.

I do my best not to look in Will's direction the entire time he is
in for dinner. Sometimes I steal a glance when I know that I will see the back
of his head, and the times that I need to walk directly past his booth, I keep
my eyes focused on my tray. At one point he leans out of the booth, and I think
that he’s going to grab my apron, but he bends down to pick up a napkin
instead.

Even though I’m still busy, the minutes are creeping by slowly. It
has been thirty-two minutes since Amy told me that Will was here, and I am anxiously
waiting for him to leave. I haven't taken a deep breath, nor have I had a clear
thought. I deliver wrong meals to two of my tables, and give the high-maintenance
old couple regular coffee instead of decaf. I'm angry, sad, and happy all at
the same time.

Angry that he had the nerve to come here.

Sad that he had to make me see him after what he said to me last
night.

Happy that he looks just as miserable as I feel.

Eight long minutes later, Will leaves money on the table and is
gone. I watch his back until it disappears out of my view, and take my first
deep breath in forty minutes. I lean against the counter and relax my
shoulders, which feel sore from how tense I’ve been. 

"That was close." Amy leans up beside me. "That
must have been one bad date."

"I can't even talk about it," I tell her truthfully.
Because talking about it would mean having to tell her my secret too, and then
I would probably have one more person disappointed in me.