Unremembered (10 page)

‘Yes.’

His face contorts. ‘Are you crazy? That was a rhetorical question. I’m not answering it.’

‘They’ll be worried.’

‘Yeah. And
pissed
.’ He makes a hissing sound with his teeth. ‘If I’m going to get totally reamed out, I’d rather it only happened once.’

‘What do you mean?’

He sighs. ‘If I answer it, they’re going to yell at me for taking you out of town. Then when we get home, they’re going to yell at me
again
. So if I don’t answer
and just take you home, I’ll only receive one scream fest. Get it?’

The phone has stopped ringing.

That funny feeling punches me in the stomach again. The one Cody earlier identified as guilt.

‘Maybe you should tell them that we’re OK?’ I suggest. ‘So they don’t worry.’

Cody settles into his seat and gazes out the window. ‘Nah. We’re almost at the bus station. We’ll be home in a few hours. They can just chill until then.’

‘ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?’ Heather’s voice screams
from the balcony as Cody and I scamper down the driveway of the house four hours later.
‘YOU DISAPPEAR WITH NO NOTE. AND NO PHONE CALL. AND YOU TAKE A POOR, HELPLESS AMNESIAC GIRL WITH YOU? DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE, CODY?’

Cody shoots me a sideways glance as Heather hurries down the stairs and starts to stomp towards us.

‘Your father was about to call the police! Do you have any idea what would happen if the authorities found out that we
lost
a foster-child on her
third
day of staying
with us?’

She grabs Cody by the elbow and he whimpers as though he’s in pain. I know that I have to say something. I have a responsibility to Cody. To deflect Heather’s anger.

‘Heather, this is not Cody’s fault,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s mine. I forced him to take me. He didn’t want to go but I made him.’

I notice Heather’s grip on Cody’s arm loosen. ‘Take you where?’ she asks. Her voice softens when she addresses me and I immediately feel regret for getting Cody involved.
Especially when he didn’t want to go in the first place. I probably should have tried to figure it out on my own.

‘To Los Angeles,’ I tell her.

‘YOU TOOK HER TO LOS ANGELES?’ Heather’s voice is back to a roar and her fingers retighten around Cody’s biceps.

‘Please,’ I implore. ‘Please don’t be angry with him. He tried to stop me. But I was determined to go.’

‘What on earth were you doing back in Los Angeles?’

Cody’s eyes flicker to me. I immediately know what he’s thinking. He’s wondering if I’m going to tell Heather the truth. About what we did. About who we talked to. About
what she told us.

‘I . . .’ I begin with hesitation.

Lying protects people.

‘I wanted to go to the airport,’ I finish. ‘I thought it might trigger a memory. I thought it would help.’

Heather exhales a heavy sigh and releases Cody’s arm. I hear myself sigh as well. ‘Violet,’ she begins, her voice once again gentle. Patient. It’s the Heather from
yesterday and the day before. The one who picked me up from the hospital and made me a grilled cheese sandwich. ‘You can’t just sneak out of the house. You’re our responsibility
now. It’s our job to make sure you’re safe. And we can’t do that unless we know where you are at all times.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have left.’

‘No, you shouldn’t have,’ she says, and then she turns her attention back to Cody. ‘And
you
,’ she says, her voice sharpening. ‘You shouldn’t
have taken her. You’re grounded until school starts.’

‘Mom! That’s so not fair! You heard her! She basically kidnapped me.’

‘I don’t care,’ Heather says. ‘You’re still grounded.’

Cody kicks at a pebble on the driveway. ‘This sucks!’

I want to ask what
grounded
means but I suspect it’s not the right time. Regardless of the definition, I can read Cody’s body language well enough to know that the word
doesn’t have a positive association. I reach out and gently touch Cody’s hair. It’s something Kiyana used to do to me in the hospital when I was upset and somehow it always made
me feel better. ‘I’m sorry, Cody.’

His face reddens and he ducks out from under my reach. Then he lumbers towards the house, mumbling, ‘Whatever.’

Heather looks at me again. ‘Violet, honey. You know if you want to go someplace you can come to us.’

‘I didn’t think you would take me.’

My first piece of truth.

Heather reaches out and rubs my arm. ‘Of course we’ll take you. Anywhere you want to go. Just promise me, in the future, if you want to go somewhere, you’ll ask us.’

And apparently my last piece as well. Because before I even open my mouth, I know my answer will be another lie. ‘I promise.’

‘Good.’ She smiles. The first one I’ve seen since we arrived home. ‘So, did it work?’

‘Did what work?’ I ask.

‘Going to the airport. Did it trigger any memories?’

In a flash I see everything: Brittany, the gate agent. The ocean. My locket. The engraving. The boy.

‘Try to remember what really happened. Try to remember
me
.’

‘No,’ I say.

She puts an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. ‘Don’t worry. It will all come back to you eventually.’

I nod, as though I agree, and barely muster a smile.

‘And first thing tomorrow,’ she says brightly, ‘I’m taking you somewhere that’s guaranteed to get your mind off things for a while.’

I glance over at her, genuinely curious. ‘Where?’

She flashes me a wide grin and a wink. ‘The mall.’

The mall is a crazy place. Massive and full of people and
activity.

Heather does most of the shopping. As we walk through something called a department store, she plucks items from the racks and expresses her enthusiasm with phrases like, ‘Oh, this is
adorable!’ and ‘You would look so cute in this!’ and ‘If I had your tiny figure, I would wear this!’

A friendly lady named Irina shows us into a small room in the back where I’m supposed to put on the clothes to see if they fit right.

‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Heather asks. ‘Or I can wait out here and you can come out and show me the stuff you like.’

I shrug. I don’t really have a preference. ‘Whatever you prefer.’

She opts for entering the dressing room with me. ‘Just in case you need help putting anything on,’ she explains. ‘Some of those zippers can be hard to reach.’

Heather sits on a bench and watches as one by one I try on all the clothes she selected for me. Since I don’t seem to have an opinion about anything she makes the final decisions on what
is working and what is not.

‘Isn’t this fun?’ she asks as I slide a purple dress over my head. Heather pulls it down around my knees.

I nod to appease her. ‘Yes. It’s fun.’ Even though I actually find the process quite tedious.

‘Oh,’ she breathes, her eyes lighting up as she admires the dress. ‘That is just stunning on you!’ She stands up and motions eagerly towards the door. ‘Let’s
take a look in the big mirror.’

She leads me out into the hallway and towards a platform with three mirrors forming a semicircle around it. ‘Go ahead, step up there so you can see it from the back.’

I do as I’m told, turning from side to side to view the dress from every angle. I admit, it is a nice dress. The fabric is lightweight and soft. The colour matches my eyes. And it seems to
fit me well. But beyond that, I’m not really sure what Heather is getting so excited about.

I hear a trample of footsteps behind us and four girls prance into the dressing room, giggling.

‘OMG, Lacey!’ one of them exclaims. ‘That skirt is going to look so good on you. Trevor is going to fall madly in love with you the moment you walk into that party
tonight.’

I look at the girl holding the hanger with the skirt on it – Lacey, I presume – and our eyes meet for a brief second. She offers me a tight-lipped smile before slipping into one of
the dressing rooms with her friends and closing the door.

‘You totally have to get it,’ another girl chimes in. ‘It’ll go perfectly with that white belt you bought last week.’

I continue to listen in on their conversation as Heather leads me back into our stall and helps me out of the dress.

‘They sound about your age,’ she remarks as she hands me another one to try. ‘Do you want to go talk to them? Maybe ask them for an opinion on what we picked out?’

I slip my arms through the sleeves and shake my head. I can’t think of one thing to say to those girls. It’s not as though we have anything in common. I’m an amnesiac who likes
to count things, and they seem to be most focused on whether or not a belt will make someone named Trevor fall in love faster.

Plus, after observing their excitement, I’m starting to think that my disinterest in trying on clothes is not normal. I wonder if I used to be as enthusiastic about shopping as they are.
Before my life became one giant black void and all I had left was an empty locket, a cryptic note and a mountain of unanswered questions.

Somehow I doubt it.

I’m starting to get the feeling my life was
never
normal.

‘That one’s nice too,’ Heather comments. ‘Let’s add it to the pile.’

I slide it over my head and hand it back to Heather.

There’s a knock on the door. ‘How’s it going in there?’ Irina asks.

Heather takes inventory of the items she’s placed in her collection. ‘We’re almost done.’ She holds up the purple dress to me. ‘I think you should wear this one
out. It looks so pretty on you.’

‘If you hand me the tag, I’ll ring it up,’ Irina offers from the other side of the door.

‘Great.’ Heather pulls the price tag from the dress and places the hanger on the hook. Then she scoops her selections into her arms. ‘I’ll pick out a few accessories and
meet you by the cash register.’

‘OK.’

She slips out the dressing-room door and I’m left alone with my reflection.

Lacey and her giggling cohort exit a few moments later and the room falls silent. I stare at the girl in the mirror wearing nothing but her underwear. I take in her smooth honey-coloured skin,
long lean legs, glossy chestnut hair and violet eyes. Despite everything that’s happened – despite the efforts I’ve made – she’s still just another unfamiliar thing
that I hope to recognize one day.

Heather said I was beautiful. The nurses at the hospital said I was beautiful. Even Irina said I was beautiful when she showed us into this dressing room. But I can’t see it.

I don’t know what beautiful looks like.

And suddenly I find myself wondering if that boy from the supermarket thinks I’m beautiful too.

That spot in the centre of my forehead begins to glow with heat again. Like it did when he stood before me in the parking lot. I try to push the thought from my mind, feeling embarrassed for
even entertaining it.

Just then, I hear Irina’s voice through the closed door. She’s whispering but I hear every word.

‘No. It’s her. I swear,’ she says. ‘She has those same purple eyes. It’s the girl. The one from the news, who survived that crash. She’s here buying
clothes.’

My whole body turns to ice and I yank the door open and see that she’s speaking into her cellphone. ‘Please don’t,’ I plead. ‘Don’t tell anyone that I’m
here. I can’t handle any more media circuses. I can’t go through that again.’

Irina’s mouth falls open and her cellphone slips from her hand. She barely manages to catch it and fumble it back to her ear. ‘I’ll call you back,’ she says hurriedly,
and tucks the phone into her pocket.

‘I’m so s-s-sorry,’ she stammers, her eyes wide. ‘It was my sister. She won’t tell anyone. I was simply so excited to meet you. We never get celebrities in the
store.’

‘I’m not a celebrity,’ I insist. ‘I’m just a girl trying to figure out who she is and where she came from.’

Truth.

It feels good.

She nods and gestures quickly between the two of us. ‘Well, this has to be some kind of clue, right?’

‘What?’

‘The fact that you speak Russian, of course. And so flawlessly! Not even an accent!’

I blink. ‘What are you talking ab—’ But before I can finish the question, I hear it. The words. The unfamiliar, sharp sounds. They’re not Portuguese. And they’re
certainly not English.

‘They did not mention that on the news,’ she says. And I now hear it in her voice too. The same language.

Russian.

I speak Russian.

On top of everything else.

‘There must be some mistake,’ I say, switching to English and going back into my dressing room. I close the door and lock it, falling on to the small stool and burying my head in my
hands.

I haven’t cried since the day Kiyana showed me my own face in the hospital. But I can’t help it. The tears form on their own. I have no control over them. They stream down my face. I
sniffle and try to wipe them away but it’s an endless task. They just keep coming.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ Irina calls through the door, thankfully in English.

‘Yes,’ I lie, although I can’t imagine it’s very convincing.

‘I’m . . . going to help your . . . moth– um . . . the woman you came in with.’ I hear Irina’s footsteps retreat and I start to sob again.

Mother
. That’s what she was about to say.

My mother.

Even
she
knows Heather’s not my mother. Even she knows I have no family. At least not one that cares enough to come claim me. Who is my mother? Does she speak Russian? Portuguese?
Both?

Is she good at math like I am?

Does she hate to shop too?

Is she so busy that she doesn’t have time to watch the news and see that her daughter is lost and alone and in desperate need of some answers that make sense?

I hear a faint knock on the dressing-room door. Irina must have told Heather that I was upset. And Heather, being the kind, caring replacement mother that she is, came running to help.