Page 5 of The House Beyond the Dunes

“Okay, good. I’ll meet you in the lobby. You could use some privacy.”

“You’ll wait, right? I can’t get home without my wallet and phone. They’re still at the beach cottage.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I’ll wait right outside the front entrance.” She pulls the cigarette from behind her ear, rolls it between her fingers before vanishing.

I test my hip with a little weight. It aches, but the pain is more manageable. I shrug off the hospital gown and glance at the bruises already darkening my entire left side.

Fishing panties from the paper bag, I try to lift my left leg, but it complains bitterly. I back up, regroup, and refocus. As I gingerly pullon the panties, I catch my reflection in the mirror over the sink. Deep blues and purples skid down my left side. Carefully, I touch some of the darkest spots near my hip.

A memory sputters and tries to fire. I close my eyes, coaxing it forward. Unexpectedly, I feel the floor go out from under my feet. I’m facing Kyle. He’s gripping my arms as he falls backward, pulling me with him. There’s anger in his eyes. And then we’re flying.Whack!

My stomach twists. I shrug on the flannel shirt and then carefully work on the jeans. Shoes are slip-ons. No jacket, but I don’t plan on spending a lot of time outside.

As I cross the room, I concentrate on each small step. It burns like hell, but my ability to absorb hardship and pain makes me a good candidate for a PhD in psychology. The plan is to eventually counsel broken, lost girls who live in society’s cracks.

Kyle had wondered why I didn’t want to work with clients with money. I’d tried to explain that that world is not mine. I thrive in the forgotten places. Who knows, maybe I can teach a few of the misplaced that there’s life beyond now.

I smile at the nurse when she arrives, sign hospital papers that commit me to massive debt, and promise to call if I need anything else. Hospital protocol means leaving in a wheelchair, so with my grocery bag clutched in my arms, a nurse pushes me across the lobby to the hospital’s main front door. Outside, the cold, dark air chills my overheated skin, now damp with sweat.

Shelly is standing under a light smoking, inhaling deeply. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Carefully, I rise, and we cross the lot toward the parked cars. The cold, salty wind off the waterfront is brisk and quickly robs me of the heat I banked in the hospital.

Shelly’s car is a fifteen-year-old Toyota Corolla. Rust rings the front door and the back wheel well. The hinges on the front passenger door squeak when I open it. I brush the fast-food wrappers onto the floor and ignore Blink’s white cat hairs clinging to the seat. Cigarette smoke mingles with the smells of something that desperately needs to be tossed.

“I should’ve cleaned the car up.” Shelly slides behind the wheel, takes a last drag on her cigarette, and tosses the butt into the lot.

“It’s fine.” A fading Christmas tree air freshener dangles from the rearview mirror, fighting the good fight but losing.

“I’m surprised you called me,” Shelly says. “No one ever calls me.”

I click my seat belt. “I thought we were our own support team.” Shifting, I struggle to get my left hip comfortable.

“I’m not exactly reliable.”

The chill outside leaks into the car. “You’re here now. That counts for a lot.” My backup bench is so shallow. I’d thought maybe Kyle would join Team Lane. He was rigid, but so is steel, and it’s dependable.

Shelly tucks a gray strand behind her ear. “I thought you were a telemarketer at first. They always call around dinnertime when I’ve just heated up pizza in the microwave.”

The engine starts, Shelly turns on the heat, and I close my eyes. Warmth skims over the gooseflesh puckering my skin. Shelly switches on the radio, and the grainy sound system crackles “Riptide” by the Chainsmokers. The bass pulses in my chest.

“So, what the hell happened at the beach house? The nurse said that guy you went away with is dead.” Shelly rarely minces words.

“Yes, he’s dead.” The worddeadoverwhelms the simple sentence. “We fell down the stairs.”

“How?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Shelly’s gaze narrows. “How do you not know? It’s been less than eight or nine hours.”

I stare into the darkness broken by the glare of overhead parking lot lights. “I remember right up until we reached the top of the stairs. I don’t know what triggered the fall. I guess my brain is rattled.”

Bracelets jangle on Shelly’s wrists as she turns up the heat. “That’s super weird. I didn’t think people really lose their memory.”

“It’s in there somewhere, and it’ll come back.” This conversation sounds like it belongs to someone else. Kyle and I still feel like an almost couple. My heart pinches.

A hard knock on the car door startles me. I look to my right and see a man standing inches away. I never saw or heard him coming, and it’s unnerving to realize my guard has dropped so low.

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