The Leaving(49)

“Bye, then!” the woman said brightly.

Scarlett stopped at the nurse’s desk.

She had to know.

“The woman with the artwork in that room there,” she said. “Does she have Alzheimer’s, too?”

“Oh, that’s Goldie.” The nurse was shifting file folders. “Rare case of viral encephalitis. She’s lost the ability to form short-term memories. Or long. That’s why they call her Goldie.”

“Goldie?” Scarlett waited.

The nurse was putting a file into a cabinet, which she slid closed with a thunk. Looking up, she said, “Because she has the memory of a goldfish?”



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“That’s awful,” Scarlett snapped. “They should call her by her name.”

Lucas was waiting by the elevator, but there were a few people in wheelchairs waiting, too.

Scarlett headed for the wide stairs to the lobby— Had to get out


Had to get out now—


That EXIT sign there.


and Lucas followed and then caught up to her. “What’s wrong?” Scarlett pushed—





EMERGENCY DOOR



Too late.


Sirens sounded.


She stepped out into the sun, wanting to run.


Without memory you were a goldfish.


Swimming

i n c i r c l e s


Without memories you were . . .



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. . . no one.

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Lucas


They drove. Mostly quiet.

Just:

“Maybe we should see if Chambers will check out the memory lab? Maybe there’s a connection there?”

And, “You think he’ll remember anything?”

And, “I doubt he’ll even remember he promised to read it.”

And, “You okay?”

And, “Yeah, I think so.”

And, “Goldie.”

And, “I know.”

It hadn’t been a dead end, exactly.

Maybe he’d read the book, maybe he’d give them something.

But it didn’t seem . . . likely.

Something eventually had to look familiar.

Something had to trigger a memory.

Crack this ice.

Had he ever seen that building?

Driven or been driven down this road?

Had he ever been to a bowling alley like that one or a hibachi house like that one?

When the road turned desolate—clear-cut fields and some plagued-looking stretches of woods where emaciated trees leaned on each other for support—Lucas tried to let his mind go blank.

To stop working so hard.


HORSE. HISS. CLICK. SADDLE.

GOLD POLES. COTTON CANDY.


The image still always there, to fill the void.

He closed his eyes.

Pushed it away.

Put this in its place.


KISS. BEACH.

LOVE. PENNY.




If you remember the important things, you should remember . . .


LOVE.


But it didn’t stick.

Images faded too fast.

Floated on the surface for a moment before a pebble rippled them away.

“There it is,” Scarlett said.

His pulse started to tick up when he opened his eyes, saw four smokestacks. The one car on the road in front of them seemed to be going too slow intentionally.

Then a sign for the Manatee Viewing Area appeared and she said, “I feel sick.”

“There,” he said, pointing to the next sign.

She turned into a parking lot and pulled into a spot one down from the only other car there.

Again she got out with the engine still running, left her car door swung open, and seemed to sleepwalk to the gate.

He killed the engine, got out, and closed both doors before joining her. An arch featuring the silhouettes of two manatees marked the entrance. Beyond the gates, steam burst out of four tall chimneys like dragon breath.

Scarlett had been tugging at the chains on the gate—the clanging of wind chimes made of shackles—but now gave up, let the padlock fall mute.

“The manatees only really come in winter,” she said. “I should have thought of that.”

“We would have come anyway.”

“Manatees never forget,” she said.

Lucas turned to her, raised his eyebrows.

“When I was looking this all up last night, I read that about manatees. How their closest relative is the elephant and how they can remember miles and miles of coastlines, places to find warm water. Places like this. Why don’t I remember it?” She sounded like she was about to cry.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s okay.” He stepped toward her, face-to-face, put his hands on her upper arms, a half embrace.

Afraid to give in to this.

Afraid to scare her off.

“We could try to hop the gate,” he said, releasing her and turning back to the park. “See if we can find the penny machine.”

She pointed at a few security cameras up high on posts.

“Could do it anyway.” He shrugged. Just inside the gate, the sign on the gift shop where the penny-stretching machine probably was hung crooked on its mount.