Page 48 of That's Not My Name

“Nah, it’s nothing. What are neighbors for, right? We’ve lost that sense of community these days, and I’m doing my damnedest to get it back.”

Aw. That’s kinda sweet. I think I like Old Man Ben.

“We should be helping each other,” he goes on, “not isolating ourselves with screens and the internet. Take away the iPhones. Get back to family values.”

Ah, nope. He lost me.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Wayne says. He looks back at me and frowns. He meaningfully flickers his gaze toward the cabin.

I shrug and jerk a thumb at the door. “Locked.”

Realization dawns on his face and he drops a hand into his pocket. “My bad. Here.”

He tosses the keys in a high arch, and I reach up with my free hand and snatch them from the air without even thinking about it. I turn my palm over to stare at them in surprise. Huh. I’m coordinated. Add that to my list too.

Mary Ellen Boone. Seventeen. Good student. Senior. Lizzo. Strawberry allergy. Floral jackets. Dead mom. Bit of a homebody. Cinnamon rolls. Purple. Homeschooled. Good catch.

“I’ll be inside in a minute. I want to grab some more firewood first,” Wayne says. “Go get warm, Mary.”

Ben takes the hint. “I’ll let you both get back to your day. It’s wonderful to finally cross paths.” He squints at me again before I turn to unlock the door.

Pretty ironic that he should think I look familiar, considering I wouldn’t be able to pick out my own face from a hall of mirrors.

“It was great to meet you too,” Wayne says behind me, “And you know what? We’re here if you need anything. Firewood, first aid, whatever. We’re prepared—”

The door creaking open blocks out whatever else he says, and the blast of warm air from the woodstove feels so good on my itchy, irritated skin that I immediately close the door and let them finish their neighborly conversation in peace. I gravitate to the sofa and sit close to the fire. I didn’t realize how cold I was until now. I sit with my hands stretched toward the heat until my fingers pink up and get their warmth back. And with it comes exhaustion in another wave.

I hear a thump against the side of the house. I pause to listen and hear it again a few seconds later. Maybe firewood tumbling against the siding? Honestly, I’m too tired to care. All I can think about is taking a nap.

I haul myself off the couch, throw my jacket on the peg by the door, and hang Wayne’s keys on the little hook beside the light switch. They swing for a second, and I freeze.

A flash of another doorway invades my mind. A narrow white door with a key holder beside it. This one isn’t a screw hook in a log, it’s a plaque with four silver hooks and “Family Forever” in white cursive across the top. I blink and a woman appears between me and the door. Her back is to me, reaching out to hang her keys on the hook. She’s inscrubs, I think. They’re teal and shapeless. Her dark hair hangs down her back and she throws it up in a bun and drops her purse on the red couch beside the door.

I blink and I’m staring at the cabin wall again.

Holy shit. Was that a memory of my mom?

The door opens and Wayne steps inside, startling me. He doesn’t notice. He shivers, running his palms over his bare arms, and holds out the bright pink bag I forgot in the van. “Nosy people. We came out here to get away from neighbors,” he says, irritated, before he looks at my face. “What?”

I take the bag on autopilot, my mind still on the woman with the dark hair, and I blurt, “Was my mom a nurse? Or a doctor?”

He takes a step back. “No. She stayed at home, with you. Why?”

Disappointment prickles at my insides. I guess that wasn’t my mom after all. “Just curious what she did for a living. Do we know any nurses or doctors? Anyone who wears scrubs?”

He gives me a furrowed look. “No. Why?”

I shrug. “Thought I remembered something, but I guess not.”

His face softens. “Today was a lot for you.”

“Yeah, the Benadryl kind of killed the fun.”

“No, I meant the whole day: The people, the shopping, being out in the world.”

I blink at him, surprised he thinks leaving the house is the problem, not the allergy attack. If that smoothie didn’t take me down, I’d have asked to stop at the beach somewhere, stretching our trip out as long as possible. “Oh yeah, that too.”

The woman’s image comes to mind again. I see the outline of her so clearly. Ithasto be a memory. She has to be a friend’s mom or something? I wish I could have seen her face—maybe that wouldhave helped me place her. But she’s gone, and so is the remainder of my energy.

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