“Great. And let me know if you want a refill on that coffee, hon.”
Auden barely acknowledges her. His attention remains fixed on me.
“I need to be up front with you,” he says when she’s gone.
I take another sip of my cocoa. “That’ll be a refreshing change.”
He spins his cup again in nervous semicircles. “If you and I are going to see each other, even as friends, it can’t be…typical.”
“Trust me, it’s already far from typical.”
“What I mean is…any time we meet, we have to do it in…secret.” He cautiously glances up at me.
I raise an eyebrow. “In secret.”
“Yes. Everything has to be kept secret. Phone calls. Texts. You can’t tell anyone. Not even Grace. You can’t tell anyone that you’ve met with me. Or spoken with me. You can’t even say that you’ve seen me.”
“Aren’t you being a tad dramatic?” I ask.
Auden stares at his cup. Half turn. And another. His seriousness makes my smile fade.
“Your mother went to great lengths to have me erased from your life, Shelby. What do you think she’d do if she found out I was back? Back and trying to help you remember what they stole from you? Do you really think she’d let that happen?”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to process his words. “You’re serious.”
He sighs. With everything Auden has said, this shouldn’t surprise me. But still…Who sneaks around like this? I press the bridge of my nose. It suddenly hurts to think.
“Wait. If we’re supposed to be keeping us secret, why did you take me to the movie theater? What about the audition?”
“Karen and Mr. Lyman are exceptions,” he says. “Believe it or not, there are a few people on my side. Very few. But they’re there. Luckily, still being newish in town, most people don’t know me. There are some popular places I can’t go, like Jenny’s or the grocery store. Too big of a chance I might see someone who recognizes me, but I can usually keep a pretty low profile.”
My stomach goes cold. It’s a chill that even the hot chocolate can’t warm. “But why do you have to avoid people other than me? They didn’t have their memories of you wiped.”
Auden stops turning his cup. It’s only a half second of hesitation, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“It’s hard to explain,” he says, carefully.
“You said you’d tell me everything.”
“I will. It’s just…” Auden sighs. “I can’t lose you again, Shelby. So for the time being, I’m asking you—I’m begging you—to go along with this. Pretend that you’ve never seen me. Pretend that you are exactly as you were when you came back from Denver. Pretend I don’t exist. And it needs to stay that way. Or at least appear to.”
The chill spreads. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”
“I know,” he says, dropping his head miserably. “I’m trying hard not to, but it’s impossible. Maybe that’s the brilliance of using memory erasure. It makes me look like the crazy one.”
I flinch, and his eyes widen.
“I’m not saying you’re crazy,” he says, swiftly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I…” He scrapes both hands through his hair and exhales with frustration. “I’m really striking out here, aren’t I?”
A heavy silences settles between us. Auden’s pleading gaze returns to me. A part of me wants to get up and leave. I’m not sure if I can take much more of this.
Auden seems to sense my hesitation. “You probably don’t want anything more to do with me.”
“I’m not sure what I want,” I say, quietly. I look down at my hot chocolate. Auden ordered it with such relaxed confidence. He wasn’t trying to show off or convince me. He knew, without missing a beat, what my favorite drink was.
“I’m not sure what to think of you yet,” I say, stirring the cinnamon stick in the melting whipped cream. “You’re a little intense. But…”
“But?”
I smirk a little, in spite of myself. “I’ve always had a thing for intense guys. Especially those who proclaim their love for me.”
Auden smiles. “And that happens often?”
“Oh, shut up. This may the first time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t form a swift opinion on the matter.”
The way he laughs at my joke makes my heart flutter. His eyes shine as if I were the most charming person in the world. I can’t think of the last time someone looked at me like that.
“Are you still willing to give me a chance?” he asks. “In spite of the bizarre conditions?”
I drop the cinnamon stick into my drink and fold my hands on the table. “I think so. Yes.”
He exhales with shaky relief. “Thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll help you remember. I’ll bring it all back.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I say, softly. “Dr. Stevens said there’s no chance of erased memories returning.”
“He doesn’t know everything.”
“He’s an expert in his field.”
“Well, he doesn’t know about us,” Auden says, passionately. “About our love. You can’t just blot out something like that. Not forever.”
For the first time since I met him, I genuinely hope he’s right.
Auden gives his cup another twirl, looking a little self-conscious. “I don’t even know where to start,” he admits.
“Start at the beginning.”
He looks up with a glimmer in his eye. “Yes. That’s perfect. I showed you where we first met. Now, I’ll take you on our first date.”
I shrug. “Can we do it in secret?”
“Absolutely. How about tonight?”
“It’s a school night,” I say.
“Friday, then. Do you think you can sneak away? Convince your mother that you’re at a party or something?”
A nervous little thrill twists inside of me. “I think so.”
“It’s a date then.”
Chapter 11
My whole life, through the highs and some pretty big lows, there’s nothing a good movie couldn’t fix. Or at least make me feel better for a while. I try to watch a new one every week, but I have my go-to picks for when I’m sad, mad, restless, depressed, bored, even happy—any mood can be improved.
Or so I thought.
I’m halfway through The Great Gatsby, the Robert Redford version, before I realize I’ve barely been watching. My eyes have been on the screen, but my thoughts are elsewhere. They’re all over the place, in fact. Everywhere except the movie.
I press pause and sit up in bed. It’s the scene where Gatsby shows Daisy the newspaper clippings of her that he’s kept over the years. It sends a thought spinning above the others.
Proof.
I’ve already tried, unsuccessfully, to search for him online. I realized I don’t even know his last name, so a Google search only turns up pages and pages about Mark Auden, the Broncos running back. And he doesn’t appear to be on any social media. A fact that I find pretty weird. But then, Auden did say things wouldn’t be typical.
Still, I’m determined to find some kind of clue. If I really had loved Auden, like he claims, surely there would be some kind of evidence in my room. Notes. Pictures. Dried roses. Teddy bears holding red satin hearts. I don’t know…something.
Flipping on my light, I head for the overstuffed fortress of my closet. It would probably take the better part of a decade to sort through the boxes I have stuffed in there. I’m not a hoarder; I’m sentimental. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
The first box I pull out is filled with a bunch of stuff from the different plays I’ve been in. Programs. An outdated headshot. Old scripts, the pages filled with messages from other cast members on closing night, like a yearbook of sorts. With a smile, I flip through the script of Our Town, which we did last fall.
> Cam drew an exaggerated caricature of me on nearly every page so that if flipped rapidly, there’s a rough animation of me doing a side heel kick.
I laugh and shake my head. Scanning the other messages, however, I see little indication that I was in the throes of some great romance.
The next box is filled with old homework assignments and papers from sophomore year. Guess I can throw this one away. Or maybe it would make good kindling in case the zombie apocalypse forces us to shut ourselves in the house for a few months. I set it aside and dig for more.
After an hour of sifting through old art projects, abandoned journals from middle school, and half-finished attempts at screenplays, I fail to come across any convincing evidence I was ever in a relationship with Auden. After an hour, all I have is a knot in my stomach.
How could I not find a single shred of evidence? Surely I should have some keepsake. Mama once showed me an old stack of love letters she and Daddy wrote to each other in high school. Thinking of it now, I feel a pang of regret that we’ve abandoned note writing for texts and DMs. I’ve already looked through my phone and found nothing. That’s the problem. A text is so easy to erase.
I sit back on my knees with a sigh. There’s only one way to fix this situation. My tried-and-true solution for moments of spiritual darkness: eat food.
Standing in the coolness of the open fridge, I’m about to balance a can of Dr Pepper on top of my Pringles can when I hear the sound of the front door opening. My eyes dart to the hallway. Maybe I can make a run for it, before they notice me…
“You don’t need another soda today, Shelby,” Mama says.
I puff out a breath, eyes rolling up. “I’m not getting a soda,” I lie.
I turn to greet Mama. She looks at the soda can, then at me, and her eyebrow raises.
“I have a big paper to write,” I say, moving past her. “I need brain food.”
“You were watching a movie, and we both know it.”
Actually, right now I’m having an annoying conversation with you, I think.
“Can I go?” I ask, holding back the sarcasm that roils inside of me. Mama’s chin notches up with wordless expectation. I swallow a sigh. “Can I go, ma’am?”
“Not yet. I need to talk to you.”
“Okay. About what?” I ask, impatient.
“Let me put my stuff down and get settled first,” she says, with irritation. “I’ve been out all day.”
Grinding my teeth, I silently go to the couch beside her armchair. Those are our usual spots for her lectures. Mama takes her time, hanging up her purse and fishing out a beer from the fridge. She sits down in her chair with a sigh and twists open her beer. I have to tap my foot to keep from snapping at her.
Finally, she turns her attention to me. “I was talking to Meredith Lloyd today.” She takes a slow sip of her beer.
“Okay. And?”
“And she says you’re doing another school play this fall. Says you got a big part in it?”
“Oh. Yeah, I am,” I’m a little surprised that she cares and sheepish that I was being such a brat. “I got the lead, actually. Juliet.”
Mama’s face instantly corrects my assumption. She’s not pleased or proud. Her eyebrows bunch together in a scowl of disapproval.
“I don’t like it, Shelby.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t like you doing all of these plays. It’s a waste of time.”
Heat crawls up my throat. “And what else should I be doing? Focusing on my studies? We both know you don’t really care about them.”
Mama shakes her head. “I don’t think you should be giving all of your free time to that crowd.”
“That crowd?”
“You know what I mean.”
I stare at her. “No, actually, I don’t.”
“Most of those theater kids are weird,” Mama says, definitively. “And I don’t like you spending time around them. It makes you act differently.”
My face is burning. “I don’t act differently around my friends. I act like myself. You may not like it, but this is who I am.”
“Oh please,” Mama scoffs. “Once you’re done with high school, you’ll never think of acting again.”
“That’s not true,” I say, anger bringing me to my feet. “Maybe I’m going to make it a career.”
“In Hollywood?” Mama asks, with a wry, mocking smile.
“Maybe. Why not?”
“Don’t be irrational, Shelbs. You wouldn’t last five minutes in that hellhole. You don’t belong there. That’s not who you really are.”
My throat clenches. “And you know who I am?”
“Of course I do. You’re an Orchardview girl, born and raised. Your family’s here. Your whole life is here. What more could you want?”
I stare at Mama, fighting back the burning threat of tears. I’ve heard her say this all before. It’s nothing new. And nothing I say will make a difference. For some reason, tonight, her words sting more than usual. It makes me weary. Just talking to her drains me.
“Are you going to let me be in the play or what?” I ask, too resigned to sound sharp.
Mama sighs deeply. “I shouldn’t. It’s my job as your mother to do what’s best for you. Trouble is, I’m too damn soft.”
I wait for her to finish her rant. I refuse to provoke her any further. Just wait her out and get out of here.
“I suppose I can’t really stop you. You’re so stubborn that you’ll do it anyway.” She shakes her head. “Go ahead. Waste your time if you want.”
I set my jaw. “Thank you.”
Mama points at me. “But this is the end of acting. It’s a high school hobby, you understand?”
“I understand.” Then I add, with venom, “Ma’am.”
• • •
Friday approaches like a rain cloud in the summer, with an electric anticipation. It’s not good or bad. There’s just the tingling sense that something’s coming.
Gathering my books at my locker at the end of the day, my gaze darts around, looking for knowing glances. Intellectually, I understand that no one could possibly know I’m meeting Auden tonight, but I can’t help feeling that people suspect anyhow.
A clank beside me startles me to the point of nearly throwing my books. Grace leans against the locker beside me with a dreamy sigh.
I can’t help smiling. “Let me guess. Brad Corbin?”
She sighs again, dramatically flinging a hand to her forehead.
“You look like a lovestruck princess in a Disney movie,” I say. “Next thing you know, an anthropomorphized sparrow is going to land on your finger.”
“I am like a princess in a Disney movie. Because after tonight, I’m going to live happily ever after.”
“What’s happening tonight? Brad’s going to kill the evil sorcerer who has held you captive in the Castle of Stone Sorrows?”
Grace giggles and then grips my arm. “He asked me out, Shelbs. On a for-real date. Just me and him. Our first date!”
My face lights up. I’m about to tell her that I’m going on a first date too, but then I catch myself.
Secret. I’m not used to keeping those from Grace. It makes me a little sad, actually, that we can’t both be giddy about our dates. At least I can be giddy for her.
“About time,” I say brightly. “That was probably the most drawn-out buildup to a date in the history of high school romance.”
“Right?” Her dreamy smile returns. “He’s going to kiss me tonight. And it’s going to be amazing.”
“Is that so?”
“When it’s right, it’s right, Shelbs. You can feel it.”
I give a tight laugh at the irony of her statement given my situation. “If only it were that easy,” I say, under my breath.
Grace doesn’t notice. She has a distant look
on her face, no doubt envisioning the amazing future kiss.
“Have fun tonight.”
“Oh, I will,” she says, with a sly grin. She shoulders her bag. “I better go. I only have three hours to get ready!”
I wave and watch her go. But nerves quickly bleed into my amusement. I only have three hours too. Not to primp and pick the perfect outfit, but to prepare myself for the truth. If that’s even possible.
• • •
Driving up to our designated meeting spot, I’m suddenly not sure if I can go through with our date. I glance around the dark, empty parking lot. He told me to come to the old foothills trails. Maybe this is a huge mistake…
But there Auden is, walking toward my car with a nervous smile. His hair has been carefully gelled into cooperation, and he’s dressed in a sleek, dark blue button-down shirt and black slacks. He looks like a waiter at a fancy restaurant. As he comes to open my car door for me, I feel the blood rush to my face.
“You look lovely,” he says, holding out a hand to help me out of the car.
I manage a weak smile. His palms are clammy. For some reason, his nervousness makes this whole situation even more awkward.
“This way,” Auden says. “I hope you don’t mind an outdoor dinner. It’s a nice night. I checked the weather.”
“It’s okay with me.”
Auden leads out on Creekside, the shortest of the trails. Try as I might, I can’t come up with a single conversation starter, so I just follow. We’re quiet for two full minutes. The only sound is the gentle flowing of the creek, water running over rocks and past cattails. I press my lips together. Not sure how much more of this awkward silence I can take.
Just as I’m about to speak, a new sound glides past me on the breeze. Violin music. My brow furrows. Auden glances over his shoulder with a sheepish smile.
“Right this way.”
The trail curves around a huge cottonwood tree. As we pass it, the glow of candlelight immediately comes into view. The trees form a natural circular clearing under the stars. There’s a table set up on the grass, covered in a thin, shimmery white table cloth. A bouquet of lilacs, my favorite flower, blooms from a vase in the center. A second table holds two covered plates and the little portable speaker, currently playing Vivaldi. Dozens of white candles in hurricane vases surround the scene, flickering through the evening darkness. Lilac branches have been scattered everywhere, their perfume filling the air.
Remember Me Always Page 7