Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac(57)

“Phone’s probably a good start,” I said.

“And no regular phone either, or not much.” Dad took my backpack and didn’t speak to me again until we were in the car.

On the highway Dad elaborated on his plans for my punishment. He told me I was “seriously grounded” for at least the next month. “What’s a serious grounding entail anyway?” Dad asked.

“Not sure,” I said.

“Not going out with James or anyone else, I think,” Dad said. “Also, I want you home immediately after school, and I’ll drive you there and pick you up, too.”

“I could walk and save you the bother,” I said.

“No, this is part of the trust thing. You see, I don’t trust you anymore.”

It stung, but I deserved it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d quit yearbook?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What am I supposed to do with you, Naomi? I never thought I’d see the day that you’d run off to California without telling me. That’s after-school special stuff.”

“I know.”

“Can you tell me anything that will help explain this?”

“I was worried about James,” I began. “I could tell he was in a bad place…”

“Why didn’t you come to me? Didn’t you think I would help?”

“It wasn’t just James, Dad. It was me, too…”

I told Dad everything.

I told him about remembering everything.

“Aw, kid,” he said, “why didn’t you say?”

“I guess my life seemed to be going one way, and it seemed too difficult to think about starting all over again or going backward. And I…I didn’t want to lose James.” I didn’t add that I felt like now I had anyway.

“I’m not sure I understand. Why would you have lost James?” Dad asked quietly.

“Because…maybe it won’t make any sense to you, but not having pasts was something we had in common.” It hurt me to even say this next part. “I think it might have been one of the main reasons he liked me.”

“I doubt that very much.” Dad smiled for a second and then he sighed. “You can drive again?”

I nodded.

“Shame about you being grounded, then.”

I didn’t talk to James until Tuesday night, when he got back to Tarrytown. I probably wouldn’t have even gotten to talk to him then except that Dad had left me alone for about ten minutes, so that he could go get coffee.

We didn’t discuss L.A. or anything that had happened there. To tell you the truth, I was overjoyed just to hear from him. I had been worried he might not make it back from California at all.

He didn’t say anything at first, but I knew it was him.

“I can’t stay on the phone long, Jims,” I said finally. “I’m not even supposed to be on the phone now.”

He apologized and then he got even quieter—so quiet, I could hear Raina watching TV in her bedroom, and the fridge making ice, and Raina’s cat, Louis, lapping water from his bowl. When James did finally speak, his voice was so strange. He asked me, “What do you know about yourself for certain?”

I said, “My name.” I laughed to let him know I was done discussing the matter.

He must have taken it like a dot-dot-dot instead of the period I had intended, because he continued, “Besides your name. Besides your name, besides the facts, what do you know about yourself to be true, essentially true?”

Normally, I liked his…I guess you’d call it philosophy, but on this night it was sort of scaring me.

I told him that I loved him, because it was all I could think to say. “I wonder,” he said. “I just really wonder. If you knew everything, would you still feel the same?”

I should have just confessed that I did, in fact, know everything, but I didn’t.

Then he said, “How do you know that being in love with me wasn’t some grand mental delusion?”

I felt insulted, like he was saying that everything that had happened between us didn’t count for anything. I took it the wrong way, and I didn’t say what I wish I had said, something like, “Love is love. It’s not about knowing, and besides, I know everything I need to know anyway.”

Instead, I told him I had to go; Dad would be back any minute, and I was in so much trouble already.

Then in a clear, strong, reassuring voice, he said he loved me, too (that too still smarts), and that he’d see me in school the next day, which ended up being a lie.

At lunch, I called his cell phone from the school pay phone. Raina answered. “Naomi,” she said, “I was about to call you. It’s been a hectic day.” Her voice was scratchy and raw, as if she’d been up all night talking.

“Is something the matter with James?” Given James’s history, all manner of horrific possibilities came to mind.

“No,” she said. “No, he’s fine.”

Then she told me. James had voluntarily decided to go back to Sweet Lake, which was the Albany mental health facility he’d been in a year ago.

“Why?” I asked. “He was fine.”

“I think that he was feeling a bit overwhelmed” was all she said at first.