Page 33 of Midnight and Mine

“The house has been passed down through the family since the 1800s. Your parents have done two remodels. One back when you were middle-school aged and one a few years ago to create an open floor plan. They wanted a room where they could cook, watch television, and keep an eye on the grandkids.”

“Oh, I didn’t ask if I had brothers and sisters. Am I an aunt?”

I put the car in park and run over to her side, lifting her out of the truck and carrying her to the front porch.

“No, you’re an only child.”

“I figured, or my parents would have said something.”

“Do you want to sitout here a minute before we go in? Maybe take it one step at a time.”

“No, nothing ever got done by waiting.” Which is true. In my bones, I feel like I’m a doer. Of course, I could be a lazy cat hoarder. I have no idea.

Scott laughs and opens the front door. I think he liked my answer. My parents’ house is beautiful. There’s a little office room looking out onto the porch and front yard, but then there’s a large great room with the kitchen on the left behind the office and square island. A large cream sectional in a u-shape sits in the middle of the room, and the other wall has three photos at least five feet tall. All three are of flowers or trees taken from unique angles and are absolutely stunning.

My mom comes from the hallway. “Sweetie, so glad you’re home. If you want us to change anything, let us know. If anything makes you feel uncomfortable, say the word, and we’ll put it up.”

“Nonsense, this is your home, and it’s beautiful. The photos are magnificent. Did you buy them from an art gallery?”

“Oh goodness, no. We know the photographer. She’s local and very good, don’t ya think?”

I nod and can’t quit staring at them. They’re captivating. “Where do you want me?”

“If you feel like eating, we could eat before Scott takes you to your room.”

“That sounds good.”

“Did you make my favorite?” I ask. Mom looks at Dad, who looks at Scott. “I’m kidding. I know you didn’t have time to fry chicken on short notice.”

“Heaven’s no. Fried chicken is for Sundays. What can I whip up for you?”

“BLTs? I’m pretty sure I can’t go wrong with bacon.”

Scott laughs as he delicately sets me on the couch and positions me toward the large television that takes up a stone wall and fireplace. “Yeah, who doesn’t love bacon?” He lifts his brows. “Comfortable?”

“Yes, thanks. Can I see Vanessa and Jessica now? I have some memories of them, and I think it would help jog my memory.”

“Sure, when do you want them to come?”

“Maybe in a couple of hours, after I nap.”

After lunch, Scott takes me to my bedroom. I look at the pictures scattered on the bookshelves. There are two of me, Jessica, and Vanessa, then there’s one of the three of us with Scott and two guys I don’t recognize. We’re probably in early high school judging by the hair and clothing. There’s one of the dance team and a few photos of me by myself.

“I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.” He places my journal on the bedside table.

“Could I get another glass of sweet tea? Pretty sure I love it.”

“Yeah, babe.”

Babe? I really need to figure out my life because I’m falling for a guy I can’t have. A guy I’m not married to. I need to ask more questions, and I intend to ask Jessica and Vanessa.

“Here you go. Oh, and the girls will be here in a couple of hours. They can’t wait. They were at the hospital for hours and hours. They love you.”

“I know. From what I remembered so far; I can tell we have a close bond.”

“You do. Get some rest.”

I hear him go in the room next door, and I place the journal on my lap, turn to the page past our Hangman games, and write down the memory I had of Jess and the mysterious person rubbing my back in the hospital when Mark died. Then I write what I remember from my dream about Vanessa.

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