Page 50 of Forget Me Not
I look down, realizing I’m still barely clothed, so I slide the drawer shut and walk toward the dresser before pulling on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, making my way to the other side of the house. Then I run my nails through my still-damp hair before twisting the lock on the door and swinging it open.
“Nasty weather,” Liam says by way of a greeting, eyes peeking out from beneath his hood. “Mind if I come in?”
“Of course not,” I say, gesturing for him to step inside. He brushes past me and I shut the door fast; fat, wet drops slipping their way in as he flaps out the moisture clinging to the shell of his coat.
He looks up at me now, the two of us standing just a few feet apart.
“Looks like this might hang around for a while,” he says before pulling off his hood to reveal a mop of wet hair. “Did you get caught in it?”
The moment feels intimate, how dark it is. The air between us still and stale after the last hour with the power shut off. There’s water running down the bridge of his nose, dripping onto the hardwood floor, and I realize now that he’s looking at me so strangely: head tilted to the side like he’s trying to work through some problem he can’t understand.
“I thought you came inside before it started,” he adds.
I look down, two twin spots of damp on my shirt where the ends of my wet hair are resting on the fabric. Then I open my mouth, ready to croak out a lie about taking a shower when I seeLiam’s eyes dart down to my legs before glancing at the clothes crumpled up by my bed.
The clothes he saw me wearing earlier, the ones that got soaked during my run across the yard now pooling water onto the floor.
“I went back out,” I say instead, looking next at my ankles, the smears of dried mud caked to my skin. My mind is racing to come up with something new, something plausible. Something he might actually believe. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went back out, but then the skies opened up and you weren’t in the vineyard. I thought I saw you walk into the shed?”
“Yeah,” he says, still eyeing me like he doesn’t actually believe the things that I’m saying. “When the wind picks up like this, we try to secure things the best we can.”
“I’m assuming this means we’re done for the day.”
“Probably tomorrow, too,” he says, nodding as he takes another step inside. “Soil’s gonna be too wet to be walking around.”
I smile, relieved he’s not pushing it, but I also can’t tell if he’s just being polite.
“Two days off,” he adds. “Lucky you.”
“When do you think we’ll get the power back?” I ask, twisting around as my eyes land on the diary sitting in plain view on the bed. I didn’t hide it this time, Liam’s unexpected arrival catching me off guard, and I position my body between him and the mattress, trying my best to obscure his view.
“Hard to say,” he says. “Maybe tomorrow, but you just never know.”
“Do you think it’s out everywhere?”
“I’m really not sure,” he replies, turning to the side as he surveys the kitchen. My dirty cookware and dishes, dried eggs peeling from the skillet in the sink. “The center of town is a bit more connected, but when the lines are down out here, they’re usually down all over.”
I nod, chewing over the fact that I’m now completely cut off.
I watch as Liam turns back in my direction, squinting again like he’s digging through his mind for some explanation that refuses to make itself known.
“Was there anything else?” I ask, not wanting to be rude but suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. I’m practically sitting on top of the diary now, my body backing up slowly as the two of us talk, and while I doubt he knows what it is, I doubt a simple glimpse at the cover would give anything away, I can’t risk him finding it and looking inside.
I can’t risk him flipping it open and reading that first line—I guess I’ll start with my name, Marcia—suddenly realizing the reason behind all my questions, a probing curiosity I can’t contain.
He opens his mouth, then closes it again, like he’s trying to work up his nerve. He’s wearing the same uneasy expression as when he was about to step into the shed behind Mitchell, glancing back at the house before taking a breath, and I feel a faint tingle somewhere in my chest as I wonder if he somehow knew I was there.
I clench my fists, waiting for him to ask me outright, but instead, he hoists up a bottle I hadn’t noticed he was holding.
“You want a drink?” he asks, a small smile peeking through as he wiggles the glass neck in the air. “I figured, since the day is a wash, we might as well have a little fun.”
I look down, realizing the bottle must have been tucked inside the flap of his jacket. Then I glance at the digital clock on the stove, nothing but a black box where the little green numbers would normally be. I have no idea what time it is, probably sometime in the late afternoon, and while it feels a little too early for a drink, there’s really not much else we can do.
“Why not,” I say as he places the bottle on the counter before stripping off his jacket, turning around to hang it up on the wall.I take the few seconds with his back turned to grab the sheets and whip them over the diary, obscuring it from view before he turns back around.
“What are we having?” I ask as he takes a couple mugs from the cabinet next, twisting the cap off the bottle with a crack.
“Muscadine wine,” he says, glugging a healthy pour into them both. “Made it myself.”
