Page 22 of Forget Me Not
“I think you’ll find it rewarding,” Mitchell continues, maybe picking up on my hesitation. “Therapeutic, out here in nature. Nothin’ at all but you and your thoughts.”
I attempt a smile, though I’m still not convinced. Besides, me and my thoughts are a dangerous combination. We’ve never gotten along when left alone together—but then I imagine Natalie from that summer, her manic smile and big, bright eyes. The bloody little nicks I’d always see on her skin, evidence of the hours she spent digging through vines, and I feel a shiver at the thought of us spending our summers in the exact same way, in the exact same place.
Like swimming through a cold spot, sharp and brisk, the idea itself an unexpected thrill.
I try to shrug off the irony—the fact that, twenty-two years later, I still want to know what it must have been like to be her—and instead focus on the fact that it makes me feel closer to her, somehow. Closer than I’ve ever felt before.
“I’m sure I will,” I say at last, because if she did it like this, then I can, too.
CHAPTER 14
The guesthouse is cold by the time I’m back, my hairline damp with sweat and an angry red burn stinging the back of my neck.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, my body sinking into the mattress and a weariness settling into my bones. We didn’t even do any work today. We only walked the grounds, a slow, leisurely pace, but still, I’m tired. The intensity of the sun and the sheer size of this place. The magnitude of what exactly I signed up for and the slow stretch of summer pulling like taffy, long and lazy and only just the start.
I look down at my legs, at the crust of dirt flecked across my ankles. A small smattering of welts like a cluster of bites. I reach down and absentmindedly scratch, my nails dragging across the skin as I feel the wet slick of blood, the sting of ripped flesh. Then I stand up and walk to the desk, grabbing a piece of paper from my briefcase and starting a basic list for Mitchell.
I jot downsunscreenandbug spray,my pen hovering over thepage until my eyes are drawn to the laptop asleep by my side. The screen is dark, but still, it’s tempting, so I tap at the keys, deciding to check my email before being hit with an error message.
I already forgot: I’m not connected to the internet.
It strikes me as strange, suddenly, how blindly reliant we are on technology. How much has changed since 2002. How we go about our lives swiping and dragging, clicking and tapping, and how back when Natalie disappeared, none of this stuff even existed. There was no digital trail pointing directly to Jeffrey. No online footprint for us to follow, no damning messages for the cops to scour. We couldn’t search her browser history or learn about her life from various apps. People had to talk to one another, face-to-face. The world was so much simpler in so many ways and it might actually be nice to stay disconnected for a bit, to use this month to fully reset.
I lean back, letting myself daydream about a summer without my phone, without email. Without idly scrolling to numb my mind. It’s nice, the thought, but I know I need to be able to check in on my tenant, access my inbox in case I hear back from my leads, so I glance around now, letting the thought melt away as I look for a password written somewhere. A modem or a router. As I wonder if this place even has internet at all. Ithasto have internet—how could anyone these days survive without internet?—and I stand up when I can’t find anything, making my way back to the door and deciding to walk to the main house and ask.
I place my hand on the knob, pulling it open before jumping straight back as a startled sound erupts from the depths of my throat.
“Hi,” Liam says, smiling uncomfortably on the other side of the door. He looks timid and embarrassed, a sharp contrast to the way he appeared just yesterday. All confident and sure as he walked me around. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Hi,” I echo, embarrassed myself by my skittishness, my nerves.I look down, realizing my hand is clutching the base of my throat, and I remove it quickly. Wiping my palms on the sides of my jeans. “No, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you. Can I help you with something?”
I feel my body tilt into the doorframe, trying to hide the mess inside.
“I brought you lunch,” he says, holding up two brown paper bags. “Actually, I broughtuslunch. I thought you might be hungry?”
He says it like a question, the end of his sentence trailing off in high pitch, and I think I register a subtle blush in his cheeks. A shyness peeking through I hadn’t noticed before.
“Starving,” I say, and as if on cue, I can feel my stomach rumble as I realize I haven’t had a proper meal since that pizza back home, back with my mom, almost two days ago now.
I step back outside, closing the door and looking down to find a straw basket pushed against the siding. There’s a blanket folded neatly inside; a strainer of freshly washed berries I assume he just picked.
“I thought we could have a picnic,” he says. “Sit outside somewhere in the shade.”
I smile, the two of us taking off in the direction of the vineyard, no sounds between us except for the crunching of grass and occasional zip of a mosquito. It isn’t awkward, though. The lingering silence. Instead, it’s oddly refreshing; a comfortable kind of companionship like we’ve known each other for years instead of hours.
We stop once Liam finds a spot beneath a live oak and I watch as he unfolds the blanket, draping it gently across the ground. Then I plop down, too, pretzeling my legs and opening the basket before pulling out two bottles of beer.
“Drinking on the job?” I ask with a teasing smile.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
I twist off the caps and thrust a bottle in his direction, clankingmine against his before taking a sip. It’s cold, hoppy, and feels incredible on my throat. Then I swallow, exhale, and allow myself to close my eyes, tip my head back, and simply sit with the silence for a second. Something I haven’t done in a long, long time.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
I open my eyes to find Liam staring, that wary little smirk emerging back on his face.
“Very nice,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Have you worked here long?”
