by James, Marie
Exhausted, my dad settles in the chair beside my bed. I still don’t open my lying mouth to spit the truth about what happened, and as time goes by, I wonder if I’ll ever build the courage to utter those incriminating words.
Chapter 7
Dalton
It’s been twenty-three days since the accident.
Eight days since I woke up from a medically induced coma to parents who seem to have aged overnight. I lost all my memories since I was a young child, and I gained a brother.
Preston is ten, and I’ve never seen the kid before in my life.
Peyton is no longer a chubby-faced, curly-headed baby sucking on her thumb in a crib and learning how to stand. She’s almost fourteen and heading to high school.
My bedroom, where I’ve spent most of the last five days since being discharged from the hospital, is familiar in that the window and closet and bathroom doors are in the same place.
Gone are the Matchbox cars and Legos. In their place are sports trophies and textbooks.
I don’t have the mind of a five-year-old. I don’t even feel that young, but all the experiences I’ve had since I was that age seem to be gone. My speech and vocabulary seem to have been maintained, but I don’t have a single recollection of elementary school or junior high.
Although the strangers who call themselves my parents told me it’s the summer before my senior year, I don’t recall my first three years of high school. Other than clues in my room, I don’t have any idea who I am—or was.
I’m athletic according to the accolades overflowing the shelves on the far wall, but at the same time, I must be intelligent due to the textbooks on the desk in the far corner. I feel smart like I know things, but it’s impossible to just pull facts from thin air when there are a million other things to worry about right now.
I was ashamed but still a little thrilled when I accessed the search history on my phone. I discovered a slew of things about myself. I like fast cars, facts about outer space, and apparently, I have a thing for nerdy girls who do porn. My cheeks were on fire by the time I cleared my history and deleted saved screenshots of all of the half—and sometimes completely—naked women in plaid skirts and glasses.
One thing I do know from that discovery is that I still like nerdy girls who do porn, but my head was throbbing after looking at my phone for so long, so I just put it away.
I’m lying on my bed just staring at the wall, mentally willing all of my memories to come back when there’s a gentle tap on my door. I’m sure the old me would know just by the sound which person in the household is there, but the Dalton I am now doesn’t have a clue.
Mostly, my parents and siblings leave me alone, and I don’t know how to tell them that I’m lonely and want company. Our interactions so far are stilted and filled with awkward silences, but at least I’m not isolated in my room with strict instructions to rest. Each time I see my mom or dad, I can feel the pain they’re suffering from at my lack of recognition.
“Come in,” I say loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear.
“Were you sleeping?”
“No,” I answer. “Come on in… Mom.”
She smiles at the moniker, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. She’s an intelligent woman, an attorney I’m told, just like my dad. She’s well aware that I’m calling her that just to ease some of the tension between us. I’m not certain it helps. Hell, it may be making things weirder, but I can’t bring myself to call her by her first name.
She stands stiff just over the threshold in my room, and it makes me wonder, not for the first time, what kind of relationship I had with my family members before the accident. They all seem happy that I didn’t die, so I guess that’s a good thing.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at the thick leather-bound book she’s clutching to her chest when it doesn’t seem like she remembers what she came in here for.
“This,” she says with a quick smile as she begins to move toward me, “is the family photo album. I’ll be honest. I haven’t been the best at keeping up with the day-to-day memories, but I figured this would be a good start for you. Most everything we have from the last seven or so years are all in digital form, but your father is getting those printed so you can look at them.”
I smile, knowing exactly what she’s doing. Dr. Columbus and the specialist, who visited the hospital after I woke up, both suggested that I immerse myself back into my life. They recommended looking at pictures and watching the shows I loved when my headaches subsided. They encouraged me to associate with the same people I did before, but neither Mom nor Dad seem too keen on that idea, even though they wouldn’t explain exactly why that was.
All of this is with the hope that something will trigger memories. They assured me that these memories could trickle in over time, come at me full force all at once, or could be gone forever. They also said that some memories could come back while others didn’t. Neither doctor would placate me or even speculate which of these they think would happen with me. They reminded me that I was lucky to have survived being ejected from my car during the accident, and although they were reluctant, they even admitted that my intoxicated state and lack of reaction time might have been what saved my life.
“I’ll…” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, “I’ll take a look at these things later. My head hurts pretty bad right now.”
“Okay.” She takes a step back after placing the photo album beside me on the bed, and her disappointment is clear.
They haven’t pushed me much. They haven’t even mentioned anything about punishment for drinking and driving, which resulted in wrecking my car and nearly killing the neighbor girl. I recall being in a timeout for an eternity when I used my jumbo crayons to color a mural I thought was worthy of being showcased at The Louvre on my closet wall when I was three, but I guess it’s hard to discipline someone who doesn’t even remember what in the world happened that night.
“You can keep that as long as you need to.”
Before I can thank her for the effort, she’s out the door and down the hall. When her bedroom door closes with a soft click, I know what’s happening. If I followed her and pressed my ear to her door, I’d hear her sobbing. It’s happened more than once since I got home, but I don’t know if it’s because I’ve ruined their lives and put them in debt with hospital bills. I don’t know if she cries because she’s grateful I’m still alive, or if she’s upset that I can’t remember much about her. I don’t have it in me to ask.
Tired of the claustrophobia that comes hand in hand with staying in the same room for days, I climb off my bed and walk down the hallway. I don’t turn toward my parents’ room but toward the stairs. Maybe sitting on the back patio will help. There’s a huge in-ground pool here, and even though everyone assures me that I’m a great swimmer, all I can remember is the one time I slipped and thought I was going to drown in the bathtub when I was two.
As I walk past my brother’s room, I lift my fingers to the tiny scar right above my left eye that I got the day I slipped in the tub. I cling to that memory because I don’t seem to have many these days.
Preston’s door is halfway open, and when I peek in, I find him sitting on a black beanbag in the middle of his room while he races cars around a track on his TV.
“Mind if I play?”
My little brother jolts when I talk, and the surprise is still on his face when I cross the room in his direction.
“Play?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I won’t be able to play for long because my head will start hurting, but I’m bored.”
I don’t bother admitting that my head is already throbbing as he scrambles to pass over the other controller. I can deal with a little pain if it means I don’t have to be alone right now.
Preston starts another game, one that allows two players, and somehow the buttons on the controller are familiar. Even the track my silver sports car is navigating is familiar. My car races in the lead, and I don’t even
have to look down at my hands to figure it out. It’s almost like an out-of-body experience. I have not a single recollection of playing this game before, but my hands seem to have played it a million times over.
“Wow,” Preston praises when I lap him on the screen. “Impressive.”
I’m smiling, having a good time for the first time since leaving the hospital, but then out of nowhere, a black car sideswipes my car. The silver car on the screen spins out of control before stopping in the middle of the track with a small puff of smoke coming from under the hood. It’s not a huge accident. There isn’t blood pouring from the doors or anything, but it hits me in the chest like a cannonball. I drop the controller as Preston’s little red car rushes past me to the finish line.
“Wanna play aga—” My brother’s jaw snaps shut when he looks over at me. “Is it your head?”
“Yeah,” I lie before standing from the floor to leave his room.
“Hey, Dalton.” I turn in my brother’s direction. “Thanks for playing with me.”
I nod my head, a little weirded out that he seems so grateful that I spent ten minutes playing a video game. If anything, I should apologize for having to cut it short.
“You never took the time before,” Peyton says when she sees the look on my face after I step out into the hallway.
“So, I was just busy all the time or something?” That would explain all the trophies in my room and his surprise at me asking to play.
“No,” she answers, her voice flat. “You were just that big of an asshole.”
Chapter 8
Piper
Surreal. That’s the only way to describe how my night is going.
What started out with me helping my mom make dinner has turned into an impromptu gathering with the Paynes. All of them, including Dalton.
My archnemesis is sitting in the recliner in the den while my mom, Mrs. Payne, and I put the finishing touches on dinner.
This entire scenario isn’t odd. My parents have been friends with the Paynes for as long as I can remember. It’s the addition of Dalton, that is unusual. Normally, he’s too busy with friends or sports practice to come over. His parents normally just take him a plate to eat when he gets home late.
His eyes found mine the second I answered the door and his parents stepped out of the way. He didn’t say a word to me as he walked into the house, but the look in his green eyes was nothing like the millions of times he’s glared at me in disgust. I directed the guys to the living room, and thankfully, that’s where they have stayed.
“How are you feeling, Piper?” Mrs. Payne asks as she transitions the mashed potatoes from the pot on the stove to a serving dish on the counter.
“Pretty good. My arm only hurts late in the evening. I’m off the prescription pain meds and only taking over-the-counter stuff when it bothers me.”
Her face scrunches up, and I recognize the same look of guilt that was on her face when she told me she was sorry Dalton wrecked his car with me in it.
“That’s good.” Her voice is small and still tinted with shame.
It makes me feel ten times worse, but Dalton has been home for over a week now, and from overhearing conversations between my parents, he still hasn’t remembered anything from that night.
“I’ll be as good as new before long,” I assure her.
My physical ailments may heal, but the torment from my lies will haunt me until the truth comes out, and even if he never gets his memories back, I imagine I’ll feel the weight of my sins for the rest of my life.
“I hate to even ask this of you,” Mrs. Payne begins as she places the potato pot in the sink, running water in it to soak, “but would you consider still tutoring Peyton?”
She’s hopeful when she turns around to face me, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s already anticipating my rejection. According to her, her son almost killed me. Why would I volunteer to help her family when she believes they caused me pain and suffering?
“Of course,” I answer before I give myself time to talk myself out of it.
“Really?” Shock fills her voice. “That’s very kind of you.”
I just nod, busying myself with getting silverware from the drawer.
“Can I ask another favor?”
“Sure.” I’m filled with trepidation when I look at her again.
“Preston usually visits my parents in the summer, but with everything that’s happened, we didn’t feel like it was a good time for him to be separated from the family.”
Translation—Dalton doesn’t remember him, and it won’t happen if he’s gone.
“I was hoping you’d be able to keep an eye on him during the day while you’re tutoring Peyton.” She takes a deep breath and continues before I can respond, “He’s pretty self-sufficient. Mostly stays in his room playing video games, so you won’t have to keep a constant eye on him.”
I almost tell her no, but the guilt won’t let me. “Sure. No problem.”
“I’ll pay you double what we agreed to for helping Peyton.”
I merely nod before walking out of the room to set the dining room table. If I turned down the money, it would look suspicious, so while I put the silverware by the place settings, I think of places I can donate it to for charity. I can’t keep it. It’s effectively blood money, and I’ve done enough bad things to last a lifetime.
The unspoken part of watching Preston seems to be that I’ll now be doing my tutoring at the Paynes instead of going over junior high math equations in the comfort of my own bedroom like I had planned. I chalk it up to penance before heading to the den to let the guys know dinner is ready.
My hands are trembling by the time I take my seat. Somehow, Dalton ends up sitting right beside me. Every other time he bothered to show up for one of these meals, we take seats as far away from each other as possible. It decreases the possibility of any of our parents discovering the hostility between the two of us.
My mom smiles at me when I pull my chair further under me, and I hope she didn’t notice that I also moved it a few inches closer to Peyton. Even the distance I’ve managed to put between Dalton and myself doesn’t ease the tension. I know exactly what tonight is. It’s a show of reunification, a way to test the waters and see if the relationships between the families will survive the tragic accident that nearly took the lives of a child from both families.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Payne seem subdued, a contrast to their normally boisterous demeanors, and telling from the look on my dad’s face, he isn’t impressed with the new seating arrangement.
Throughout the meal, I chat with Peyton about schedules and what we need to study tomorrow. I avoid conversation with Dalton, and it seems he’s avoiding interacting with everyone. I’m succeeding at pretending he isn’t even in the room until I hear his fork clank on his plate for the millionth time.
“Crap,” he mutters when his utensil strikes the china once again.
When I chance a glance in his direction, I notice him struggling to cut the pork chop on his plate. He does it for another minute longer before I swear if I hear his fork fall one more time, I’m going to pick it up and stab him with it.
“Here,” I snap, yanking the fork from his good hand and reaching for his knife, “let me help you.”
My words come out on a hiss between clenched teeth, and when I lean over to begin cutting, the back of my arm brushes his chest. We both tense, but at least he doesn’t spew some hateful stuff in front of my parents.
“Thank you,” he whispers when I finish, placing his knife to the side. I leave his fork on his plate, knowing dang well I don’t want to chance touching him again to hand it over. “I can’t wait to get this cast off. I feel useless with it on.”
I straighten in my chair, pushing my glasses up my nose and manage a side glance to see if his face betrays his statement. He’s not sneering at me or giving me a heated glare that says he remembers what happened and is only lying in wait to explode my life. He would be the type of guy to pull some stuf
f like that.
“You’re welcome,” I respond when I don’t see any of the past hatred in his eyes.
After the weirdest dinner on the face of the earth, I offer to do the dishes while everyone else retreats to the living room. I’m avoiding everyone, and I have been since I was released from the hospital. I’ve only spoken with Frankie a handful of times because I can’t get Dalton’s words out of my head. Deep down, I don’t believe Frankie had anything to do with Vaughn’s little prank, but I can’t talk to her without wanting to tell her the truth about what happened that night.
Not one single person saw me climb behind the wheel of his car, so that means everyone in town is under the impression that Dalton was driving. My lie of omission has spiraled out of control, and I haven’t been able to think of a way to confess and survive the fallout.
Once the dishes are done, I take the back exit out of the kitchen, so I don’t have to face the people in the den, but once again, my plans are foiled. Dalton is leaning against the wall in the hallway, and at first, I wonder if he’s trying to avoid everyone as well.
“Hey,” I say as I try to walk past him.
“Piper,” he whispers, and the single word from his mouth makes my legs turn to stone.
I haven’t heard him use my real name in years. I’ve been Mary to him and every other person in my school for as long as I can remember.
Before I can convince my legs to start working again, Dalton is standing in front of me. When I take a step back to avoid contact, I hit the wall, and he just keeps coming. Two steps are all it takes before his body is pressed against mine. I turn my head to the side, tears already burning my eyes. I thought I had a little longer before we were going to hash out what happened that night.
Air rushes past his nose as he inhales. His breath is warm on my shoulder when he releases the breath. His casted arm hangs at his side, but his elbow is bent enough that I feel his fingertip brush my hip.
“Fuck,” he mumbles when he breathes me in for a second time. “Please tell me you’re mine.”