Do You Remember(18)

It’s a man. I can tell that much. But it’s hard to tell much else. He’s wearing a dark baseball cap low on his forehead, a pair of sunglasses concealing his eyes, and a beard covers the lower half of his face. He’s wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a dark brown jacket, his hands shoved deep into the jacket pockets.

I stare at this man. Is this the person who’s been texting me? Is that possible?

The man looks up at the Nissan. Even though he’s got on his sunglasses, I can feel his eyes on me. He’s staring right at me. And then he takes his sunglasses off.

Holy crap. Is that…

Harry?

My mouth falls open. I want to roll down the window and call to him, but I’m not even sure it’s him, and anyway, the light has turned green and Camila is speeding away. I sit back in my seat, gripping my knees with frustration.

It’s him. I’m sure of it. I knew he would never have abandoned me. We loved each other too much.

“Camila, could I wait at the park while you’re shopping?” I ask desperately.

“Wait at the park?” She frowns at me. “What are you talking about? We’re just going to be at the supermarket for fifteen minutes. Then we’ll head back.”

“Yes, but—” I can’t tell her why I want to go to the park without giving it away. “I just think it would be nice to have some fresh air.”

“Graham will take you there later. Don’t worry about it.”

I’m not going to change her mind, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as we get to the supermarket and I’m out of her sight, I’m going to the dog park myself. I’ll text Harry to wait for me.

The parking lot for the supermarket is nearly empty. I had been hoping it would be more crowded so it would be easier to slip away, but it’s the early afternoon on a weekday, so that was unrealistic. Camila tosses her sunglasses in the car and we get out together. As she stretches from the drive, a man in the parking lot lets out a low whistle. She snorts and rolls her eyes.

“You wish,” she remarks.

It’s hard not to notice all the appreciative looks Camila gets as we walk to the supermarket together. From men and women. She’s beautiful, like a sculpture. Even I can’t help but admire her. Graham probably…

No. I need to stop thinking about that. Anyway, I don’t care. It wouldn’t bother me in the slightest if the two of them were having an affair. They’re both strangers to me, after all.

When we get inside the supermarket, Camila grabs a shopping cart and hands me a basket. She looks me straight in the eyes. “Fifteen minutes, then we meet at check out, okay?” When I don’t respond, she says, “You got me, chica?”

“Uh-huh.” I bob my head. “Is there anything in particular that we need? Anything I should look for?”

“You let me take care of that,” she says. “You get whatever you want. Something to help you enjoy the rest of the day.”

I get the subtext of what she’s saying. Whatever I buy, it should be something I can use today. Because by tomorrow, I likely won’t even remember I have it.

Camila takes off for the dairy aisle. I watch her disappear into the distance while I head to the display of soaps. It always amazed Harry that there could be an entire aisle just filled with soaps. Why do you need a separate soap for your face and your hands? Aren’t they all basically the same thing—soap?

I pick up a bottle of watermelon soap. I pretend to consider buying it, in case Camila is watching me. But then with my other hand, I pull out my phone. I punch in a message to the same number that texted me this morning:



I’m at the supermarket. I just need to get away from Camila then I’ll come to the dog park. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.



The reply comes almost instantly:



No, you won’t. Delete these messages.



What is he talking about? I’m a ten-minute walk away. Camila is nowhere in sight. Does he think I don’t know how to get to the dog park?



I’ll be there. 15 minutes.



Don’t try it. Delete these messages.



I frown. Before I can stop myself, I type: Harry?

Three bubbles flash on the screen repeatedly as I wait for his reply. My legs feel almost weak as the message pops up on the screen:



Delete these messages. Now.



Damn it.

I do what he says. I delete the messages on my phone. But I have not aborted the plan. I can make it to the dog park. I just hope he waits for me.

I drop the basket I’ve been carrying on my elbow onto the ground. I peek along the edge of the aisle, making sure Camila isn’t in sight. We’re supposed to meet in about fifteen minutes. So that’s how long I have until she notices I’m gone. It’s plenty of time.

I tuck my hair behind my ears—I still can’t quite get used to how short it is. Why did I cut it? I had assumed it had something to do with the surgery I had after my head injury, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. I miss my hair.

I stride purposefully in the direction of the exit. Once I’m outside, I’ll turn left, and then it’s a five-block straight shot to the park. It’s funny how I remember it so well. I know how to get to the dog park, but somehow I can’t remember the man I am supposedly married to. There’s something seriously wrong with that.