Chapter 11
He woke slowly, with a vague sense that something was wrong, which built until he was sitting upright in bed remembering the forgetting. So, it was real, and there was another day to face. There was a clock by the bed that glowed 7:15 and it was getting light in the room. A reconnoitering of the closet netted a terry robe, and he went across the hall to the bathroom and then followed the light from the kitchen. Carrie looked up from the newspaper. A cup of coffee was on the table next to her. She searched his face.
"Anything?"
"No. Sorry."
"You'll need your coffee," she said, and pointed to the stainless steel carafe in the coffeemaker. "Did you sleep?" Her mouth was full of toast, and she licked some jam from her lip.
"Oh yeah, I slept. I was afraid I'd be awake all night thinking. You?"
"I slept okay. I was just about to knock on your door. I have to leave in about twenty minutes. Students waiting. I should be back by 11:00." He poured himself a cup of coffee in a mug she'd left out for him and sat down opposite her.
"There's cereal above the stove when you're ready for breakfast, and bread in the big drawer there," Carrie said, "but I'm sure you can find things on your own. Do you know how to listen to your messages? Come to think of it, you have the cell phone -- they probably called that number too."
"Is there an answering machine?" He hadn't seen one, but there was a telephone on the end of the kitchen counter.
"No, it's voice mail. You dial *98 to access them. I saved them for you. I don't think anyone will be in the office before 9:00 though. Do you know what you are going to say?"
"That's what I've been wondering. I guess just the bald truth. 'Sorry, I don't seem to remember you. Or me.'" His laugh didn't have much humor in it. "Who should I call, do you think? You know them better than I do."
"Probably Lou. Two of the calls were from him, and then Andrea. Lou first, I'd think. Do you have the number?"
"Yes, from the business cards in my wallet."
Carrie was wearing the same sweater and overalls as last night, and she had one foot planted on her chair and an arm wrapped around her knee. She obviously wasn't clumsy pregnant yet, and she looked very young this morning, with her hair still uncombed and no lipstick.
"My driver's license says I'm thirty-four. How about you?" Then he added with a tentative smile, "If that's not too personal."
"I'll be thirty-four too, next month." She put her foot back down on the floor. This morning her socks were red and blue striped. She pulled the boots out from behind her chair, where she'd left them last night, and tugged them on. He didn't want her to go yet.
"You don't look it. I think you lie about your age." She smiled a little.
"I got the photo album out for you," she said. "I thought looking at it might jog some memories. There are a few pictures from your childhood, but your mom has most of those. This album is mostly our pictures. It's on the coffee table in the living room."
"I can't believe how you're handling this," he said. "You're so calm and sensible." She looked at him with surprise.
"What do you think you would do if it was reversed?" She frowned at him. "Exactly the same thing, try to help. Really, Brian, I'm not that special." She seemed almost irritated. Maybe he was laying it on a little thick.
"Okay," he said. "I'll just take you for granted then. But here's another thing. About my mom." He grimaced. "Do you think we need to call her today? Or will she be upset if we wait until after I get the work thing dealt with? Will she call while you're gone? Maybe I shouldn't answer the phone." He felt ashamed as soon as he heard himself, sounding like a panicky kid, making excuses, trying to put off a responsibility. He shook his head ruefully. "Listen to me. What a wuss! Afraid of my own mother."
"No, you're right. Unless she calls, you can talk to her tomorrow." She corrected herself. "We can talk to her. She probably won't call. Sometimes she just comes by if she's in town shopping." Carrie contemplated it. "She's sort of vulnerable right now. Tell you what. I'll call her when I get home and invite her to dinner tomorrow."
This time he kept his mouth shut about how wonderful she was. She looked up at the clock again. "I have to go." She grabbed her bag and took out a hairbrush on her way to the door, and was gone.
He followed her path to the front door and opened it, watching her back the car out of the drive, glad to see she looked both ways before she gunned the motor and tore down the street. He frowned though, when she only slowed at the stop sign before careening around the corner and up the hill towards the college.
Clean Slate Page 11