The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(63)

“But what about the zone-outs?” Benny grabbed a handful of chips and cracked his beer open. “I’ve never seen one, but Claire seems concerned.”

Steffi’s dad opened the slider and returned to the deck wearing a fraying gray cardigan. It made him look old. She didn’t like to think of him as frail, but she supposed he’d sailed through middle age sometime ago, unlike her mom.

He took a seat in front of the plate Steffi had fixed him. “Looks good.”

Her dad’s lack of concern about her head injuries gave her a chance to deflect the conversation. She pointed at Benny. “Thank the grill master.”

Benny took a seated bow, then pressed her again. “Steffi . . . what else did the doctor say?”

Her father smothered his burger in barbecue sauce and added some bacon on top for good measure. If he cared about the doctor’s opinions, he didn’t show it. He’d grown skeptical of doctors ever since her mom’s cancer treatments failed.

“He didn’t think my description fit with grand mal seizures, but diagnosing that is tough unless I have one in front of him, because I can’t really explain what’s happening to me when they occur. I lose track of time, but I’m not convulsing or anything. He said it could be psychological, from the ‘trauma.’” She speared a pickle, resenting being seen as some fragile flower who couldn’t deal with being mugged. “He spouted off a bunch of stuff, dissociative amnesia, PTSD, yada yada.”

Benny set down his burger and affected a playful snicker. “You need a shrink?”

The Lockwood family did not believe in shrinks. They also didn’t believe in UFOs, the NRA, or public displays of affection.

“No!” She glanced at her dad to gauge his reaction. “He was just throwing out every possible explanation, that’s all. That’s what doctors do when they don’t have a real answer.”

“Yep,” her dad added.

Benny shrugged. “Well, you did experience something traumatic. Maybe you haven’t processed it.”

“Who are you, and what did you do with my brother? And since when did you buy into psychobabble . . . or think that I’m such a wuss that I haven’t gotten over what happened?”

“Don’t get all worked up.” Benny licked some ketchup off his finger. “It was just a thought.”

“A stupid thought.” She shooed a bee away. “I’m sure it’s just the shrinkage. Maybe it will get better with time, or maybe it will just be the way I am from now on. I don’t get headaches, and these lapses are annoying but not harmful.”

“What if you’re driving when one happens?” her dad asked.

She hadn’t considered that possibility. “It hasn’t.”

Her dad nodded, brows low in thought. She could only assume that her answer satisfied whatever concern he might have for her problem.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, that her own outlook on life might be different if her mom were still living. That woman had made a big deal about everything. Maybe a little too big, too often. She’d ironed every stitch of clothing in the house, including Steffi’s jeans. Those creases in the legs of her Mudds had been embarrassing at the time, but now Steffi smiled at the memory.

It had also taken her mom two days to decorate their Christmas tree because every strand of tinsel had to be perfectly placed. Her dad, on the other hand, hadn’t bought a live tree since his wife died.

And whenever her mom had entertained, she’d prepared multiple dishes and side dishes to ensure that everyone had their favorite food. Most important, her mom had never shied away from a deep dive into a hard conversation or hugs . . . and probably wouldn’t have run from shrinks, either.

“One last question. Is there a pattern?” Benny asked, pulling Steffi out of her reverie. It took her a second to remember where the conversation had left off.

“Not that I can tell. They’re sudden and brief. No headaches or puking—sorry, Dad—or drooling or anything else.” She shrugged and took another bite of her burger. Missing her mom didn’t help her situation, and neither did her brother’s interrogation.

“Sudden?” Benny wiped his mouth, having quickly inhaled his meal. “Like they get triggered by something?”

“Nah.” She frowned, shaking her head. “It’s completely random. Weird places, times of day, sometimes when I’m alone and sometimes while with others.”

Benny narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing in common—no sound or scent or anything—that sets it off?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“And you don’t remember anything when you snap out of it?” Benny’s scowl deepened.

She shook her head. “It evaporates. Like when you come out of a dream, and it fades before you can make any sense of it.”

“A good dream or a bad one?” Benny leaned forward, eyes focused on hers.

“I don’t know,” Steffi snapped, appetite gone. She did know that those episodes made her uneasy. Often they’d made her sweaty and slightly queasy, to boot. “I told you, I don’t remember.”

“Maybe you should see a shrink.” Benny looked at their dad. “What do you think?”

“Steffi’s got a good head on her shoulders.” Her dad covered her hand, even though his metaphor suggested he hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation. “If she thinks she’s fine, she’s fine. If it gets worse, then she’ll go back to the doctor.”