I Can't Remember by Cindy Gunderson

Author:Cindy Gunderson [Gunderson, Cindy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Button Press via Indie Author Project

I realize Friday morning that I completely ditched my first therapy appointment. Mom even sent me a reminder, but it got lost in the hundreds of texts I still haven’t checked. Chalk up that appointment fee as yet another way I’m costing my parents through all of this.

After lunch, Nina and I sit in the living room. I find myself doing this a lot these days. Sitting. Staring out the window. It’s impossible for me to clear my thoughts. No matter what distraction I have in front of me, there’s always the sickening truth that I’m a suspect in a murder case. And that I have no memory or proof to defend myself.

Before Nina can say anything, a knock on the door makes me jump.

Nina’s eyebrows furrow. “Who could that be?” she mutters. “I’m not expecting any packages…”

She peers through the peephole. “Probably some kid selling something,” she says. “I’ll humor him.”

Opening the door, she begins her spiel, “I’m not going to buy anything, but you’re welcome to practice—” She shifts her weight as a man’s voice cuts her off. “Oh!” she laughs heartily. “Mia, this is one of your friends!” she calls to me, then, turning her attention back to the door, she flings it open wide. “I’m so sorry, come on in.”

Still sitting in the living room, I stare at the entry. I don’t have ‘friends,’ and certainly no friends that would a) know where I live, or b) care enough to come over.

“Hey Mia,” Max says, stepping through the doorway, his hands shoved into his front pockets. “I hope it’s okay that I stopped by—you weren’t in class, and since I picked you up here...I just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re okay,” he explains.

“Yeah,” I say, “I’m just really surprised. And I was up late last night.”

“I’m still not sleeping great either,” he says.

“Do you want to sit out back?” I ask. “Nina’s garden is pretty spectacular.”

Though she’s pretending to ignore us, I see a smile lift the corners of Nina’s lips as she places my plate and fork in the sink. I should’ve cleared those, I realize.

“Sure, if I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Just wallowing in self-pity. But I could use a break,” I say, and he laughs. Motioning for him to follow, I lead him through the kitchen and out the patio door. Just feeling the sun on my face lifts my mood. We sit on the bench under Nina’s pergola, the grapevines giving us partial shade from the surprisingly intense sunshine.

“Here,” Max says, passing me a card. “I told Phil’s mom that I’d get this to you.”

I stare at the loopy letters. “I can’t believe she wants me to come,” I whisper. “Doesn’t she think—?”

“She heard about the videos,” he says, his jaw clenching. “I thought you lost your phone.”

“Max, I—I didn’t get it back until the other day. Someone found it. And I didn’t know about the videos when we talked, otherwise I would have told you—”

“It’s fine,” he says, but he won’t meet my eyes.

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