Mind Lies (7 page)

Katherine gives me an understanding smile. “I know it’s a lot, Jerri. Focus on what we know for now. Go for a drive with Portia. Search through this apartment to see if something jogs your memory. Maybe sing to yourself. All of these things can help.” She moves to pack her belongings into her Kate Spade bag. “Call me on my cell if you need anything before our appointment next Wednesday. And remember to be patient; you can’t rush your memory.”

Portia rolls her eyes. “I don’t think that’s a character trait she lost with her amnesia, Doc.”

“Then there’s hope your girl is still in there,” Katherine says over her shoulder as she leaves the apartment.

Chapter Ten

Three more days.

That’s how long it took before I could move my injured body down the stairs to get out of the apartment. Cooper and Portia have been wonderful; I couldn’t ask for a better pair of friends. I’m grateful for all the things they have done for me, but I drew the line when Cooper tried to carry me up and down the stairs. It’s something I needed to do on my own, and now that I can, this will be the first day I step foot in the shop.

Elegant and eclectic are the first two words that pop into mind as soon as Portia opens the door at the bottom of the stairs.

This is mine.

My eyes follow the exposed beams on the ceiling, taking in the multitude of chandeliers strategically placed throughout the room. The lighting is low, complementing the atmosphere.

Varying styles of furniture dominate the space, from heavy bookcases to low profile couches and ottomans. Throw pillows in all colors and prints bring each setting together. Low music plays in the background, and the soft rugs silence my steps as I follow my friend through the space I clearly took pride in.

There are so many pieces of furniture of different styles, and there’s a shelf-covered wall filled with every type of bowl you could imagine. But somehow it all comes together. The space doesn’t feel cluttered or mismatched. It just . . . flows.

“What do you think?”

I twist my head, painfully, and swallow.

“It’s beautiful. Amazing.”

She smiles. “You love this place. You spend a lot of time in here. Even when it’s closed, you’re always re-arranging furniture, making everything perfect.”

I give her a small smile in return. “Sounds like my happy place.”

She frowns. “It doesn’t make you unhappy; it’s more like your pride. You pride yourself on everything being perfect in here. Everything has to have a spot, and until you find where it goes, you’re not content.”

I gather much more from her words. At least they make sense at the moment, unlike my identity. I still don’t know who I am and where I come from. Perhaps these feelings have resonated within before the amnesia.

“Be happy. You’ve just missed Mr. Grant. He came to ogle the Maserati without purchasing, yet again,” a man says.

I turn and am greeted by a very well-dressed man who eyes me with a mixture of hurt and sorrow. His hair is expertly coiffed, cut perfectly on the side, shinier than the hair on one of those models in a Pantene commercial. Thick-framed glasses are perched on his clean-shaven face, and a bow tie is placed perfectly below his neck. Portia explains quickly that the Maserati is the queen of our couches and that Mr. Grant is the old, moneyed fart who ogles but never purchases.

Placing a hand on Cory’s arm, she continues. “Jerri, this is Cory. Ignore his whiny bitch routine. He’s still upset that he didn’t report you missing sooner. He feels like it’s his fault. I’ve assured him it’s not, hence the standoffish prude act he has going on right now,” Portia tells me.

Cory scoffs. “Keep your opinions to yourself, Pixie. As per usual, you don’t know your ass from your elbow.”

She smirks. “Like I said, whiny bitch.”

I smile at the well-dressed man, noting mild guilt in his eyes. Portia told me how close we all are. I was told that Cory is very much a part of our lives, and that he tends to join us for weekly dinners and holidays.

“It’s nice to meet you again, Cory. I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” I tell him softly.

Clearly sensitive, his eyes mist before he says, “Fuck it,” and places his arms around my shoulders. It’s a soft embrace. His chin rests lightly on top of my head. “I know this must be awkward, but just roll with it, okay? I need you to roll with it.”

I place my hands lightly on his hips and notice Portia, standing at the counter, discreetly wiping her eyes. I feel his lips touch the top of my head, and although I don’t remember this obviously kind man, I feel a familiar tingle at the corners of my eyes before he leans back, keeping his hands on my shoulders.

“I guess it doesn’t mean much right now, Jer. But I am so damn sorry. You gave us all time off for Portia’s wedding, and I had the weekend off following that. But normally I check-in more often or stop by. I don’t know why I didn’t, and when I showed up on Monday and couldn’t find you, I felt like the biggest prick. If I had just called or stopped by—”

“Enough of that,” Portia interjects. “We’ve been over this. We all feel like shit, Cory, and maybe when Jerri regains her memory, she’ll be pissed. But right now, let’s just take the easy road, for Jerri’s sake. She’s got enough going on as it is.”

“Pixie—” he says.

I place my hand on his, resting on my shoulder, and say, “She’s right, Cory. No hard feelings. I don’t remember anyway. And right now, that’s all I want to focus on. Remembering.”

He shakes his head. “Fine. That doesn’t mean I can’t still punish myself though. By punishment, I mean that I’ve already booked you in with Marcus and have given half my paycheck to pay for it. Portia said you’re feeling better, so you’re getting the full treatment. Our treat.”

I tilt my head. “Marcus? Like Mark, your partner?”

Portia snorts. “Cory will only call Mark by his full name. He’s prissy like that.”

He shoots her a look. “
Mark
is such a nineties abbreviation of a great name.
Marcus
is a very good name, and he deserves the full of it.”

“Oh, he likes the
full of it
alright,” she laughs.

Cory straightens his glasses and wags a finger in her face. “We both know your jabs at my gay relationship slide right off my shoulders, wench; besides, I watched you avoid sitting on hard surfaces before the wedding. I’ve seen Cooper in the showers at the gym, so I know where he stuck it—and it’s wasn’t between the flaps.”

I bark out a laugh and watch as Portia simply raises an eyebrow and shrugs her shoulders in a way that says, “I love my husband, and I’m not ashamed
.
” Clearly these two have a very open and friendly relationship, judging by the amount of banter.

“As I was saying,” Cory continues, “you’ll be primped and preening like a peacock. I booked all your favorites: nails, face, hair, and of course a massage.”

I shake my head, a little lost for words and slightly taken aback. It feels incredibly overwhelming to have strange people remind me of my favorites, likes, and dislikes, from the soup and sandwich Portia fed me bought from my favorite deli to the spa treatments I prefer. It’s one thing when I’m wandering around upstairs in a foreign place I once called home. For the most part, I can treat it like a semi-vacation, a place that’s more than comfortable, a place where you find yourself pausing to take in the view from a window. It feels like seeing the colors on a particular painting you don’t remember seeing before.

However, being down here, in this shop I call my own, in a place with people who know more about me than I care to think about, it just makes me feel more lost. There’s no getting-to-know-you faze. It’s awkward and empty, and I feel like more than a third wheel. I feel more as if I’m the giant fucking elephant in the room, and regardless of how much these people care about me, I’m starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable.

Stepping foot in
Eclectic Isle
was just part of the journey today, a way for me to see my so-called pride and joy before continuing on the hunt for my memories with Portia. More than ready to end the awkwardness and empty feelings taking over my battered body, I say, “I appreciate that Cory, thank you.” Looking at Portia I ask, “Do you mind if we get going now? I usually get tired in the afternoon, and I’m hoping we can cover as much ground as possible today.”

Portia and Cory share a glance. “Sure thing, lady. Let’s go. I’ll call you later, Cory.”

“Wait,” I say. “I feel like an ass now. What’s happening with this place? Am I supposed to work? Should I close this down for a bit until I’m well enough to continue working?”

Portia loops her arm through mine and continues pulling me toward the door. “It’s all good right now, Jerri. Cory’s working a little overtime, and we have a part-timer art student who we just moved to full-time while she’s on spring break. Everything’s taken care of.”

I clear my throat, avoiding the sting, and kick myself for earlier “ill” thoughts regarding these caring people, who obviously just want what’s best for me. The afflictive feeling in my gut has not completely abated, but I choose to focus on what’s important and where we’re headed. My feelings can be dissected and analyzed later when I’m in the haven of my bedroom.

Once in the car, Portia types “laundromat”
into her GPS. It lists fifteen laundromats within a ten-mile radius, so she says we’ll start with the one closest to where we went to night school and branch out from there.

Looking out the window, I watch people on the street pass by, going about their lives. A mother tries to catch up to her son, a toddler, who chases a pigeon. A man in a suit pulls angrily at his tie as he argues into his cell phone. All these people take for granted the moments surrounding them, the moments that make you feel whole at night. They take for granted the importance of remembering.

The significance of smells, the influence of a breathtaking smile, and the value of those closest to you are all the things that should make your days feel significant. But once you lose that time, it has the power to break you.

I notice that Portia’s tiny frame and short blonde hair does make her look like a pixie. Caught in that train of thought, trying to place my mind on more important things, I tell her, “I appreciate you doing this with me.” I clasp my hands together, squeezing them hard enough that my knuckles turn white. “The fact that I can’t remember a single thing about you, and yet you’re still doing this with me—well, just . . . thank you.”

She turns down the radio and adjusts her hold on the steering wheel. “Nine years ago, I showed up at school with a busted lip and a black eye. I made a stupid decision, one of many. His name was Matt. We hadn’t known each other very long, but you were the first to see past my bullshit excuses. You offered me a place to stay. You may very well have saved my life, Jerri.”

She clears her throat, shaking off her emotions before continuing. “Regardless of what you did for me then, I would still be here for you now. But
because
of what you did for me at that time in my life, there is no way in hell I
couldn’t
be here for you now. I was at a really low point, and you helped pick me back up.” She gives me a small smile. “I’m not picking you up as you did with me; I’m just holding your hand, babe. That’s what family does. We hold on.”

Nodding, I quietly agree. “We hold on.”

* * *

“Five times the charm?”

“I hope so, Portia. I really do.”

The first four laundromats where a bust. Three were single-story buildings—no apartments above. The fourth was at the bottom of a ten-story building that looked nothing like the one from my memories.

Rounding the street corner, Portia parks the car beside a two-story building. I sign out front reads, Ming’s Coin Wash
.
As we start on the sidewalk, the low heel of my boot catches on the concrete, causing me to stumble. Luckily, I right myself as my vision starts to blur.

“Don’t leave me here, Lachlan. Please! I can’t stand it anymore,” I beg. Strong fingers tighten around my arm, catching me as I stumble on the concrete walkway heading toward the back of the building.

“I’m sorry, Lass. I truly am. But this is safest place for now. Trust me.”

My laugh is harsh when I reply, “I’m so fucking done with safe, Lachlan. I love you, and you leave me. Every damn time. I’d take unsafe with companionship over safe, lonely, and empty. I can’t keep doing this, Lock. I can’t.”

“Jerri!” Portia’s harsh voice snaps be back to the present. We’re still at the side of the building. The cool, grey concrete against my back feels better than the sweat accumulating on my temples. Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes to meet Portia’s concerned ones.

“This is it. It’s up there.” I nod toward the red, rusted staircase to my left. I feel relieved, and scared, that we’ve found it. On one hand, I’ve confirmed that I’m not completely insane. But on the other, I worry about the constant references in my memories regarding my safety.