Help Me Remember (Rose Canyon, #1)(16)

I turn to my mother, my body trembling a little. I hate this. I hate this more than I can ever say. I don’t know who she is, and it’s utterly surreal and unsettling for her to be talking to me as if we’re friends. I am lost in this world that doesn’t make sense. How can I not know who people are? People who clearly care about me. This woman collected my mail, so I must have some sort of friendship with her.

“Thank you so much for doing that, Tessa. I don’t know what you heard about Brielle’s injury, but she has a gap in her memory. If she . . .”

“Oh, yes, I heard. I just thought with her coming home . . .” Tessa looks to me. “I live in the apartment next to you. My husband, Nick, is the building supervisor. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Tears prick at my eyes, but I hold them back as I nod and offer her a small smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry I don’t . . .”

“Don’t apologize, Brie. Just know that you have people here who care and are looking out for you.” The sincerity in her voice eases my anxiety a bit.

“I appreciate that.”

“Of course, that’s what neighbors are for. Hey is—” She pauses and waves at Spencer. “Hey, Spencer!”

“Tessa, good to see you.”

I glance over at him. “You know her?”

“I have been to your apartment.” He chuckles.

“Of course. I just don’t . . . you know, remember.”

Tessa sighs heavily. “I’m sorry I accosted you in the parking lot. I’m sure you have a lot to do. I just wanted to let you know how glad we all are that you’re home and doing okay. Well, minus the not remembering thing.”

“Thank you,” I say. I may not have memories of her or this place, but at least there is someone nice here.

I look toward the building where I live—or, where everyone says I live—and wait for something, anything, to happen.

The bricks are no longer scattered around and I remember climbing to the fourth floor, when there were no windows because they’d been broken, and staring out at the mountains in the distance. And many other nefarious things my mother has no clue about. “How many people live here?”

My mother rubs my back. “There are eight apartments, two on each floor.”

“And I live in one?”

“Yes, do you remember anything about it?” Spencer asks.

“Not anything recent, just something old.”

He laughs, probably knowing exactly what I’m talking about. I was a senior in high school, and the boys were all home for some event. They decided to have some secret party, but I heard them planning, so I grabbed a few friends, crashed it, got incredibly drunk, and fell asleep on Spencer. Much to his chagrin.

“It was a good party.”

My mother huffs. “You boys were always getting into trouble back then, and somehow, Brielle found a way to tag along.”

“I was always protected,” I tell her. They couldn’t stop me from doing half the dumb things, but they always made sure I had a safety net—them.

Spencer nods. “That she was.”

“Well, what are you doing here, Spencer?” Mom turns with one brow raised.

“I am helping Brie—reluctantly.”

“Helping?” I can hear the concern in her voice.

“Brielle needs answers—we all do, and the only way to get them is for her memory to return. I talked to Holden and Cora, and they agreed that my helping her retrace her life isn’t the same as us just dumping the info. So, I’m going to help her do that.”

Now that surprises me. “You asked Holden?”

“I mentioned what we were doing and asked him to please step in if he thought it was a bad idea,” he says as though it should be obvious. “He is a doctor.”

“Yes, but shouldn’t I have been the one to ask him?”

He raises one brow. “Did you have plans to?”

No, but . . . I could’ve.

“I’m not going to put you in harm’s way, blow the case, or fuck up your recovery.”

Oh. I guess that makes sense.

“I am worried,” my mother offers. “I have to get back to California soon, and I feel as though I’m abandoning you. I just . . . I have to get back to the store and other things.”

I’ve been so wrapped up in everything else that I never thought to ask about her life over the last three years.

“You aren’t abandoning me, Mom. I promise,” I tell her. “Besides, I need to remember, which means taking a walk through the last three years of my life. I should be able to handle that, right? Unless, of course, you two would just like to tell me what I’ve been up to?”

Spencer speaks before my mother can. “It sucks, but it’s the only way. We’ll work through it and get you to remember when we can.”

“And if it’s too late?” I ask.

I understand that whatever is in my locked memory will allow the police to find a killer and that tampering with my memory would hinder that, but I don’t understand how telling me where I bank would affect that.

“Too late for what?” my mother questions.

“Everything. What if I never remember? What if Spencer isn’t Sherlock Holmes and can’t help me retrace anything? What if I never find Isaac’s killer and they come back to finish the job?”