Don't Look Back(9)

Hands shaking, I pulled them free of my mom’s and brushed my hair from my flaming cheeks. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

My unofficial welcome-back get-together was coming to a close. The girls gave me quick hugs and pecks on the cheek before filing outside to their respective BMWs. I wondered what kind of car I drove.

“What really happened?” Mom asked, following me through the many rooms, to the smallest one on the main level—the family room. “Samantha, answer me.”

I sat down on the overstuffed couch. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just remembered getting ... mad at you before, snapping at you. It caught me off guard.”

She stared at me for a moment, then knelt in front of me. I was surprised that she’d risk getting her linen pants dirty, but then she clasped my cheeks. Her hands were shaking. Tears built in her eyes. “I never thought I’d be happy to hear you remember being upset with me, but I am.”

My smile was wobbly. “Lame, huh?”

“No, it’s not lame, honey. It is progress.” She stood, brushing off her slacks. “But I do think you should take it easy this weekend.”

I arched a brow. “I was reading about it last night, and the articles said I should be around things that are familiar. That will spark my memory.”

“I don’t know. All of this is a lot to deal with.”

I took a deep breath, already knowing this was going to be a problem. “I want to go to school Monday. I have to. I need to.”

“It’s too soon.”

“I have to do something normal. Maybe it will help with my memories.”

She looked even more concerned. “Dr. Weston said you need to take things slow. It could be too much.”

“What damage could it do?” I threw up my arms, frustrated to my core. “Am I going to forget more? There isn’t anything else I can forget!”

“I don’t know.” Mom turned away, fiddling with the gold bangles on her wrists. “I’ve already spoken with the school. They said it’s okay if you stay home a week or so.”

In that moment, I learned something new about myself. I didn’t have any patience. Jumping to my feet, I planted my hands on my hips. “I’m going to school on Monday.”

“Samantha, I really—”

“What’s going on in here?” Dad walked in, pulling off white golfing gloves as he bent and kissed my cheek. “It sounds like old times.”

I tried not to be skeeved by the chaste kiss. He was my dad. No reason to be freaked out. Mom turned on him, and the blood drained from her pretty face. Okay, maybe I should be skeeved out. I stepped to the side, nervous and unsure.

“What are you doing wearing those shoes in the house?” Her voice was shrill, hurting my ears. “You’ll scratch the floors. Again!”

Dad laughed. “The floors will be fine. No one cares if they’re scratched or not.”

“I do!” Mom protested. “What would our friends think if they saw them?”

He rolled his eyes. “I think you are the only person I know who’d be ashamed over the condition of their floors. Anyway, what’s going on?”

She huffed as she eyed him. “Your daughter wants to go to school on Monday.”

He slapped his gloves into one hand, causing me to jump a little. “Joanna, if that’s what she wants to do, then we shouldn’t stop her.”

“But—”

“So I can?” I rushed on, hopeful.

She looked between the two of us and sighed heavily. “Two against one, I see. Some things never change.” And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

“Don’t worry, honey. Your mother is just concerned about everything.” He sat, patting the space beside him. I followed suit, clasping my hands together. “She’s been beside herself with worry. We thought...”

“That I was dead?”

He blanched and swallowed. “At first your mother thought you might have run away, and she was so upset. You know how she is.” A puzzled look crossed his face, and then he shook his head. “Actually, you don’t. She was worried that Cassie might’ve talked you into doing something like that, and if so, gossip would spread all over the place. I just wanted my little girl back, especially after we began to think the worse.”

Was Mom more concerned about what her friends might think? Either way, I still couldn’t imagine what my parents must’ve thought. “I want to remember.”

“I know.” He patted my knee.

“No. See.” I dug out the photo of Cassie and me from my jean pocket. “I need to remember.”

My dad swallowed again. “Do you ... do you remember her?”

I shook my head. Nothing about her face or how she draped her arm over my shoulders was familiar. Hell, my own face in the picture was strange to me, even the freckles spotting my nose. Cassie had freckles, too, but on her cheeks.

“But she could still be out there, wherever I was. She could be hurt or...” I turned the picture over, looking up, meeting his eyes. “If I remember, I could find her.”

“Honey, the police searched most of the state park and haven’t found anything.”

“Maybe she’s somewhere else. No one knows if I ... walked there. That’s the first thing I remember. Walking,” I told him. “Maybe I walked from somewhere else.”