The Secret History of Us

by Jessi Kirby

  Today, my important spot is In Focus, the camera shop.

  I leave Main Street and cut down Ruby Street, where it’s tucked away, off the beaten path. At least I hope it still is. The owner, Chloe, had always joked that if it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t be in business. I didn’t think it was true, but in this town you never know. Little mom-and-pop shops like hers come and go pretty often, so I’m relieved when I see the sign still there.

  The bells jingle just like they always have when I push through the door. There are no customers, and no one’s behind the counter either.

  “Be right with you!” a female voice calls from the back room.

  “Okay!” I say. “No hurry.”

  I take a moment to glance around the tiny shop. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look much different than I remember it, with its small variety of cameras, lenses, and accessories displayed beneath the glass U-shaped countertop. The same framed shots of Chloe’s travels from around the world hang on the walls—vibrant oceanscapes, lush rain forests, stark deserts. I remember all of them. Even the same bulletin board to buy or sell used equipment, or to advertise your services, is still on the wall next to the door.

  I run my eyes over the different cards and flyers, and one in particular catches my eye. It reads:

  Attention Teen Photographers!

  Coast Magazine wants you to submit your photo essay for publication in our annual Young Artists’ Issue!

  Winners will also be featured in a mounted show at the Pelican Bay Art Festival!

  This year’s theme is: Things Unseen

  For a moment, I try to imagine what I might shoot for the contest, but then I see the deadline has already passed. The day after my accident, in fact. As far as things that I’ll always remember, that date is one of them. It marks the before and after for me, dividing my life into known and unknown. I wonder if it will always feel like that. Like everything is in relation to that date.

  “Hi!” The voice startles me and I feel it in my ribs. I turn, slowly.

  “Liv, oh my God, honey. Come here.”

  I don’t have a chance to, though, because Chloe comes out from behind the counter with her arms extended and gives me a big, warm hug. Then, like she realizes it might hurt, she lets go and steps back.

  “How are you doing? I’ve been thinking of you since I heard about the accident, sending good vibes. Are you healing?”

  “I’m okay.” I don’t mention anything about the memory loss. I choose to focus on the physical instead. “It gets a little bit better every day,” I say. I feel myself smile. A real smile. I am genuinely happy to see her.

  She crosses her arms and tilts her head. “Good,” she says. “I’m so glad.” She smiles now, and I notice the tiny crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Those are new—at least to me. Other than that, she looks remarkably the same. I think about telling her—as a compliment—but then I’d have to explain the whole memory thing, which I just don’t want to get into. I like it better this way, without her knowing.

  “You look pretty today,” I say instead.

  “Well—” She looks pleasantly surprised. “Thank you, sweetheart. You do too. Now, what can I do for you?” she asks. “Do you have more beautiful shots for me?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. A tiny hope rises in my chest.

  “Like the ones you’ve been bringing in for the last month. You’re getting so good with mood and light. They’ve just been gorgeous.”

  I want, so badly, to ask what they were. I shouldn’t have to ask about my own pictures, but now I have something to look for when I get home. This feels more right than anything else has since I’ve woken up. I’ve been here. I didn’t stop taking pictures like my mom thinks. Or even if I did for a while, I started back up again. I don’t know why she wouldn’t know that, or why I would’ve kept it a secret.

  Either way, it feels like a puzzle piece that fits. It makes me even more curious to see what’s on the film. I take the canister out of my purse.

  “I’m not sure if they’re gorgeous. Or what’s even on here, really. I just found this in my camera bag and want to see what’s on it.”

  Chloe smiles and raises an eyebrow, and takes the film. “Ooh, a mystery roll. That’s always fun.”

  “Can we do one hour?”

  Chloe frowns. “Machine was down earlier this week, so I’m way behind. How about later this afternoon—more like three or four hours?”

  “Oh. Um, okay,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “That’s fine.” I almost want to ask for it back and take it across town to Rite Aid, but I have no way of getting there, and Chloe’s so nice I don’t have the heart to ask for it back.

  She hands me an envelope to fill out. “I saw your brother yesterday, and he mentioned you’d be coming back to work soon. I’ll have to put in a lunch order now that their friendliest delivery person is back.”

  “Definitely do,” I say, though I have no idea what she’s talking about. I hand her the envelope with the film in it. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Actually, I won’t be here. But I just hired a new girl, so she will be.”

  “Wow,” I say with a smile. “Business is booming, huh?”

  Chloe lifts an eyebrow. “Not exactly. But I’m taking a trip to Iceland next month, and I need someone to run the shop.”

  “Ah, of course.”

  “I was actually going to ask you, but then the whole accident happened, and I didn’t—I’m just glad you’re okay, sweetie. Anyway, who knows? Maybe in the future, I’ll need a second employee.” She winks. “Bye, hon.”

  “Bye,” I say. My hand is on the door, but I hesitate. Something in me wants to tell her what’s going on with me, because all of a sudden I feel like I’m lying.

  “Hey, Chloe?”

  She looks up from the counter.

  “Yeah?”

  “I . . .” I shake my head. “It was just good to see you again, is all.”

  THIRTEEN

  I STEP OUT the door and back into the sunlight that’s so bright now it gives me a headache. When I reach into my purse for my sunglasses and realize I have none, I make my way back to Main Street to stop in one of the little tourist shops for a cheap pair and kill some time. I try on a few, and since they’re two for $10, I pick a couple of pairs that I like and pay for them. When I walk out wearing one of my new pairs of sunglasses, I feel hopeful. Even a little confident.

  Summertime tourist season is in full swing, and the smells of clam chowder and fried seafood drift through the air. I lean against a railing watching as people pass by, coming and going in both directions. They all seem to have something to do, somewhere to go, people to be with and laugh with. It makes me glad I’ll be starting work in a few days. It’s better than sitting around the house. I’m not ready to go home yet, and the Fuel Dock, where Sam’s at work today, is just a few docks down, so I decide to walk over and say hi, and maybe even get a shake.

  When I get there, the deck is packed full and there’s a line that goes around the corner of the bright yellow building. The Fuel Dock is an obligatory tourist spot, but also a favorite of locals and fishermen, mainly because they serve up the best burgers, fries, and shakes in town. Everyone has their favorite flavor, and mine is the Double Dark Chocolate Chip because it’s perfectly chocolaty and has tiny chips that fit right up through the straw.

  I get in the line—it moves surprisingly fast, and within a few minutes, we’ve rounded the corner to the front. I see Sam behind the window, and he’s hustling. Calling out order numbers, checking on food, and handing it to waitresses. It looks hectic, and I get a little nervous. I look at the line that disappears around the corner behind me. I don’t know if I’m quite ready for this. When I look back at the crew behind the window, Sam sees me.

  “Liv! Hey! Come here!” He grabs four grease-dotted bags and motions for me to go to the pickup window.

  I meet him there, and he hands me the bags.

  “Thanks, but I was gonna get a shake to
o.”

  He shakes his head. “Nice try. It’s not for you. We’re slammed, and I need you to take this out to . . .” He looks down at the receipt attached to the bags. “B Dock, slip eighty-seven. The Wagners’ boat.”

  “Um . . . okay.” I don’t know who the Wagners are, but I know how to find my way there.

  “Thanks,” he says, “Oh. And you know who the Wagners are, or you should, so act like it.” With that, he disappears into the kitchen again.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, looking down at the bags in my hand, then out at the rows of lettered docks. I guess I start work today.

  B Dock is all the way at the end of the first row, so I get going. When I reach the gate and try the handle with my free hand, it’s locked just like the other one was this morning. I close my eyes and try to remember the numbers I typed in at M Dock. When I put my hand to the buttons, the code comes back to me and I punch it in, but it doesn’t work. I look around, but this dock looks empty too. I don’t want to fail on my first delivery. I stare at the buttons again, trying to pull the right combination out of my brain. I try one, and then another, and another. I jiggle the handle. I set the bags down and jiggle the handle again, feeling more and more panicked by the second.

  “Hello!” I call. “Anyone here? It’s the Fuel Dock! I have your lunch! Customer number eighty-seven?”

  I wait. There’s no answer. And then a water balloon comes sailing past me and splats on the cement, splashing my legs.

  A little girl, maybe ten years old, comes running down the dock in her bikini, long blond hair trailing behind her. “Jackson, don’t throw water balloons at Liv. She was in an accident, you know. You could seriously injure her.”

  There’s a goofy laugh, and then a splash, and a boy on a paddleboard emerges from behind a boat, grinning at me. “Sorry, Liv,” he says. “I wasn’t aiming for you.”

  “Yes you were,” the girl says, as she gets to the gate. “Don’t lie. You’re so dumb.”

  “Your FACE is dumb,” the boy shoots back. He hits the water with his paddle and sends a splash of water in his sister’s direction. I have a flashback of me and Sam, and almost this exact exchange. That was his favorite joke when we were kids.

  The girl ignores him and opens the gate, and gives me a hug that squeezes a little too hard. “We saw you on the news. That was so scary. You almost died.” Her blue eyes are wide as they look up at me.

  I’m not sure how to answer, or who these kids are. They must be regular summer vacationers. One of the families who dock their boats here for a few weeks at a time. Clearly, they know me. And we’re on hugging and water-balloon-throwing terms.

  “Well, I didn’t,” I say.

  “I’m glad,” the girl says, holding out two neatly folded bills.

  “Me too.”

  I take the money and hand her the bags. “How long are you here?” It seems like an appropriate, I-know-what-I’m-talking-about question to ask.

  “A whole month!” Jackson shouts from the water. “And guess what? We’re gonna take sailing lessons from that guy who rescued you.”

  My stomach does a wild flip, and goose bumps ripple over my arms. “What?”

  “Yeah. He works down at the sailboats. It’s gonna be awesome! He even said he’d teach me CPR, like he did on you!”

  I flash on the shaky footage from the video, of Walker’s arms pumping on my chest, my body jumping and falling beneath them, and I can’t believe these kids have seen it. Or that they’re so casual about it.

  The girl looks up at me. “Are you guys friends now? Because he saved your life?”

  Her question snaps me back to the conversation.

  “No,” I say. “We’re, um, not friends.”

  She frowns.

  “I mean, I don’t know him.”

  “Well, you should come sailing with us one day. Then maybe you could become friends.”

  She’s smiling, and I can see how that would make sense in her mind as a happy ending to a scary story. I smile. “That would be fun, but I have to work, so I don’t know.”

  “Oh,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “That stinks.”

  “Your FACE stinks!” Jackson yells from the water. “Dylan’s, not yours, Liv.” He dips his paddle into the water to turn himself around, wobbles, then falls in with a splash.

  The girl, Dylan, bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but join her. The boy comes up laughing too, and she rolls her eyes, then levels them at me. “I wish you never taught him that joke. He’s been saying it since last summer.”

  “Sorry about that,” I say, still laughing. I look at Jackson as he climbs back onto his board. “I should’ve known. My brother did the same thing.”

  “Kiddos!” a male voice yells. “You plannin’ on bringing lunch back?”

  “I’m coming!” Dylan yells over her shoulder. She looks at me. “See you later, Liv.”

  “Bye, Liv!” Jackson waves from the water.

  “Bye, guys,” I say, and we all part ways.

  I walk back in the direction I came from, replaying the whole conversation in my head, especially her assumption that Walker and I would now be friends because of what happened. I like the way kids sometimes see things so simply, though I’m not really sure how that would actually happen.

  But still. He did save my life, and it gives me a nervous, good feeling knowing that I’ll probably see him around. I stop and lean on the railing for a moment, taking in the postcard image of the bay. The sun sparkles on the glassy water, setting off the tall masts of the sailboats against a cloudless blue sky.

  In the far distance, the graceful arch of the Carson Bridge frames it all. It looks pretty in the daytime. So different than in the dark. I force my eyes to stay there a moment. Try to imagine night instead of the bright sunshine all around me. I picture headlights, crisscrossing the bridge, one set after another, until something goes wrong, sending one of them off course. I see the lights arc out and away from the others, their beams cutting through the empty darkness between the bridge and the water in slow motion before disappearing beneath the surface.

  And then, in my mind’s eye, I see a boat. Walker’s fishing boat.

  I blink, and it’s daylight again.

  My phone is buzzing. Paige.

  “Hey,” she says as soon as I answer. “Where are you? I’m at your house to help you get ready.”

  “Get ready?” I ask.

  “For your date? With Matt?”

  FOURTEEN

  I’M SO NERVOUS I feel sick.

  I look down at my outfit, sure that it’s all wrong even though Paige helped me pick it out. I fidget with the strap of the sundress, then run my fingers through the sections of hair that she’d straightened and pulled over my shoulders after she’d carefully applied my makeup. That part had taken forever, and I’d gotten stiff sitting there, but she’d been determined to do enough blending to cover what’s left of my bruises. When she was finally finished, she’d stood back with a proud smile.

  “Perfect.”

  Then she’d turned me around slowly to look in the mirror. I almost hadn’t recognized myself for the second time since I woke up.

  “Is this . . . ? This is what I normally look like?” I’d asked, eyeing my reflection. “This seems like a lot.”

  “It’s not,” she’d said, hands on my shoulders. “It’s just that you’re not used to it. But you usually do your hair and put on makeup, especially if you’re going to see Matt.” She’d gestured at the makeup spread out over my desk. “This stuff is all yours, Liv. I made sure not to do anything that you wouldn’t have done yourself. You look beautiful, and my work here is done. I gotta get going, okay? I have work until ten, but it’s gonna be dead, so call me and let me know how it goes.”

  “I will.”

  With that, she’d packed up her stuff, given me a hug, and left me alone in my house, waiting for Matt to come pick me up.

  I stand up and look in the mirror above the couch for the millionth time s
ince I’ve come downstairs to wait, and I tell myself that this is me. This is what I look like now. This is what I wear when I’m going out with my boyfriend.

  I look down at the phone in my hand, at Matt’s phone number, just a tap away. I could call him and explain that I’m not feeling well, put this off a little longer to give myself time to memorize the history of us that Paige spent last night telling me. But she was so excited when I’d decided to call him, and today when I’d called my mom to ask her if I could go out, she sounded like she was too.

  “Of course,” she’d said. “We love Matt.”

  “I know,” I’d told them.

  The knock on the door sets off a wave of butterflies in my stomach. I let it settle a moment before I stand up, smooth my hair and my dress, and go to answer it. Then I stop. I stand there in the entryway for one more moment and try one last time before I see him to believe what Paige said. That I’ll feel a spark of something when I see him again.

  And then I open the door, and he’s standing right there on the step, holding another bouquet of red flowers in his hand, looking as nervous as I am. We stand there looking at each other, not sure what to say, or do. Unsure of how to be around each other. Like the strangers we are.

  There are no sparks or flashes of anything, just the warm summer air and silence between us.

  “Hi,” Matt says, before the quiet stretches too tight. “I . . .” He holds out the flowers to me. “I brought you these.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “They’re so pretty.” I look down at them and remember the note from the hospital. His, I assume. “My favorites.”