“All your meals are covered in your package.” Yvonne spoke up from behind the curved desk that looked like something from a museum. Either the woman loved antiques, or she found joy in refurbishing furniture others discarded. “You’re welcome to keep snacks and drinks in the kitchen. I’m afraid the refrigerator in your room is one of those tiny things. June is a slow month for us because of the heat, and you’re practically family, so I’m willing to bend the rules a bit.”
“Thank you.” She answered automatically while ignoring theyou’re practically familybit. She stood and stretched her arms over her head, enjoying the pop between her shoulder blades as her spine released. Aunt Sarah had remained standing, and she made her way to the door. Michelle paused halfway across the wood floor and peered at a series of old photographs covering the wall. “Are these local?”
“Of course.” Sarah tapped the glass on a picture of four women standing on a wooden porch. They wore severe expressions, the black-and-white image looking stark and frightening. “That’s my great-great-great grandmother. Her husband was one of the founding members of the town. Made him a bit of a celebrity through Blue River’s history.”
That meant Sarah’s roots in this town went deeper than she’d imagined. She grunted a non-committal response and walked into the glaring sunshine. Hot rays bounced off the asphalt and shimmered in the glass windows of the shops across the street.
Sarah pointed out each one. “Mavis sells candles, gift baskets, and the like. Jerry over there owns the hardware store. Don’t expect you’ll need anything from him.” She turned left and headed down the sidewalk, not bothering to look back and see if Michelle followed. “You’ve got Nick’s ice cream shop, Robert’s barber shop, and then further down that way is Blue River Tack and Feed. It’s owned by the Wilson family.”
“Doubt I’ll need the feed store, Aunt Sarah.” She almost regretted letting the name slip out, but the smile that appeared on Sarah’s face made it worthwhile.
“Been a right good minute since you called me that.” She tented a hand over her eyes and squinted into the distance. “I think you were about thirteen when you decided that plain old Sarah was good enough.” A loose shrug rolled her shoulders. “Anyway. Grocery store is this way. Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
Michelle tagged along. What else was she supposed to do? This walk down memory lane might rip her mind open and give her life back. She wasn’t about to pass up that chance. The oddity of walking down the street in a place where she’d grown up but had no memory of raised goosebumps on her arms despite the heat. She shivered in her t-shirt and stuck her hands in the back pockets of her canvas shorts. Her sneakers scuffed along on the sidewalk, drawing her attention to the smooth stretch that boasted buckets of flowers hanging from the antique iron lampposts. Color popped every twelve steps, and she stopped to sniff a cluster of pink flowers. “What are these?”
“Pansies.” A bold laugh roared out, and Sarah slapped her leg. “I’ve always loved that. Pansy. It’s supposed to be an insult when someone is called a pansy, but stick around long enoughand you’ll find out they’re one of the hardiest flowers. They’ll be blooming long after everything else gives up and dies.”
That was…oddly encouraging. Michelle smoothed a petal between her thumb and forefinger. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yep. They’re my favorites. Always have been. Oh.” Sarah snapped her fingers. “If you’re willing, the church is just over this hill. I try and ride the bus to services when we can find a driver.”
“They don’t have one on staff?” She released the flower before she tore through the fragile petals and looked in the direction Sarah walked.
Sarah’s short grunt gave a sense of disappointment. “Only on the weekdays and for emergencies.”
A church spire rose above the shops in a sharp triangle. A single cross sat atop the spire in what many might consider a beacon of hope. What did she believe? In the days after her accident, she’d been encouraged by the hospital’s chaplain to put her trust in God. It felt familiar but not, like she understood his sentiment but struggled to follow through. If God was to be trusted, why had He let her lose her memory?
What good could possibly come from her accident?
She’d become a stranger in her own skin, an unwilling participant in a meaningless cascade of problematic situations with no solution. “I’ll take you to church as long as I’m here.” The words erupted from her almost against her will. Curiosity snatched at her confusion and forced them out. She wished them back for all of two seconds, until she saw the relief in Sarah’s eyes and the way her shoulders sagged in obvious relief.
“It’s good to have you here.” Sarah patted her arm once and continued her walking tour. “Come on. I promised to introduce you to the Blake family.”
Names blurred as Sarah continued talking. Michelle nodded along, only partially listening while scanning the town and the few people making their way through life.
One thing became obvious: people here loved Sarah. They were stopped a dozen times before reaching the grocery store, and every person greeted her aunt by name, asked how she was doing, and wished her well. They were polite to Michelle and not overly curious, accepting Sarah’s thirty-second explanation that she was on her way to the grocery store and moving along.
The lost feeling that had started as she lay in the hospital bed settled deep in her heart and thrummed out an unsteady refrain that she didn’t belong here. Did she belong anywhere? The few days she’d spent in her city apartment before leaving for Blue River had been tinged with that same sense of despair.
“Here we are.” A quick wave and the automatic door opened. Sarah walked straight in and to the right, going to the cash register where a middle-aged man sat with a newspaper spread out across the counter. “Morning, Herbert.”
The man looked over the rim of his glasses, and his weathered cheeks creased. “Well, now, look who’s come to see me.” He stood and braced his palms on the counter. “And brought some company.” Watery blue eyes squinted, frown lines appearing on either side of his mouth. “It can’t be little Michelle.”
Little Michelle?
“Don’t mind him.” Aunt Sarah huffed. “He calls anyone under the age of forty little.”
“Humph.” Herbert skirted the counter. “I say it because it’s true. All these kids been coming in here since they were this big.” He held his hands a foot apart. “Even you.” He shook a finger toward Michelle. “You used to come in here with your mama when you weren’t no bigger than a puppy.”
She tried to maintain her smile, but it faltered at the crushing weight of how much she’d lost. Course, she wouldn’t remember those years even without the amnesia, but what about later?
Herbert continued, oblivious to her discomfort. “Then, when you started school, she’d bring you by here every evening to pick out a sucker. You always wanted a red one. But I don’t have to tell you that.”
Her mouth flooded with saliva, and a hint of memory tempted her tastebuds.
Grinning, he plucked a bright red lollipop from a turntable stand and held it out. “Glad to have you back.”
“Thanks.” Another automatic answer, and she took the candy from his outstretched grasp. The scent tantalized her, the overwhelming Nelson flavor seeping through the plastic wrapper.
