Page 18 of Until You Found Me

“If I remember something that might lead to who I am, then I’ll tell you right away. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“There is…something, though. Something else.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. Speaking this aloud to him makes it real, and that’s somehow worse than letting it swim around in her head alone. “I think I had a child. There’s a scar on my lower belly. I found it in the shower at the hospital. I can’t remember their face. If it’s a boy or a girl. If I was a good mother or a bad one, but I have a little horizontal line that says I created a person and they might be out theresomewhere.”

“I’m sure you’re a great mother,” he says confidently, as if he could have any idea at all. “We’ll figure out the rest.”

We. She likes the sound of that and wishes she didn’t at the same time. “You seem sure.”

“I am.” He taps his shirt pocket where the acorn resides. “Plus, we got luck on our side now, right?”

She smiles with a nod. “Right.”

“I gotta work on the boat tomorrow, but I’ll see you in the afternoon?”

“See you then.”

He turns to leave before spinning around again. “And I meant what I said about coming by if you need anything. It’s no trouble. There’s a hole in the fence a ways down you can cross right over. You’ll know you’re in the right place when that pretty view disappears.”

“I will. If I need anything.”

She watches him leave through that gap in the fence and disappear toward the vague outline of a silver trailer.

There’s a welcome safety in knowing she could be there in a few minutes and that allows her to relax under the covers in her new bed without fearing a fresh monster around the corner.

She opens the box Arthur and his wife left to find two thick blankets, a jar of local honey, a mug with the seaside etched onto it, and a few packets of hot cocoa from a shop she saw in town. She’s giddy at being the proud owner of her very own mug. It’s the first item that’s hers unless she counts the used clothes on her body.

It’s then that she wishes she could share this with Logan. She wants to drink hot chocolate with him by the fire, butshe’ll have to settle for waiting until tomorrow to see him again. She could think of far worse places to wait. She’s warm and dry and content for the first time since she opened her eyes in the woods. Things are turning around, she hopes, opting for a cup of tea from the kitchen in her fancy new mug.

A few tea leaves escape the bag and get stuck in her teeth on her first sip, grinding there like dirt and she shivers, willing away the taste of earth. One moment she’s fine and the next she’s assaulted with memories she doesn’t want.

“I’m safe. It’s not real anymore,” she says into the steam of her cup.

The boiling water from the stove scorches her face and burns her nostrils.

“I’ll see Logan tomorrow. He’s right across the fence.”

The burn on her scalp from a hard yank to her hair tingles at the crown of her head.

“It’s not real, it’s real, it’s not real.”

The darkness followed here to taint something good. She can’t even drink a cup of tea without it whisking her back into a living nightmare. She’s resentful of that. Wants to enjoy this brief respite without fearing her own thoughts, but demons lurk in every corner, even in this beautifully crafted space.

She fears what the coming night will bring next and vows to stay awake to avoid another memory. One is enough for now. She’ll trade sleep to keep them at bay as long as she can.

Chapter 5

Logan thinks about Tessa while the wind chaps his face on the boat. He takes the acorn out of his chest pocket and turns it over between his fingers. He can count on one hand the number of people who have given him anything.

He was tempted to check on her before heading out this morning. See if she slept well, if she likes it here, if she needs anything, but he isn’t trying to smother her. Her light was still on in the wee hours of the night when he woke up for water, and he hopes she wasn’t suffering from the same insomnia that always plagues him.

For the first time in a while, he didn’t struggle to find sleep last night. He felt more relaxed knowing she was close by instead of at the shelter or the clinic. He couldn’t wait to get back home, though, and fretted the whole drive. Was he careless not to check on her that morning? Should he shower first before going over? Should he bring the dog?

This type of indecision isn’t something he’s used to. Nothing has mattered much lately, so he’s had little reason to get flustered. Even in the short time he was with Lydia, he never felt as concerned about making a mistake. She always had one foot out the door, anyway. He knew that going in and didn’t expect much. He tried to be good to her, to make it work,but struggled to form an attachment despite his efforts. Then again, there has always been something wrong with him, he’s certain of it. He’s never felt the type of attraction that comes easy for other people and that was always his problem, no one else’s. Attraction, attachment, connection, none of it has ever been real for him.

Still, he already likes seeing Tessa more than he’s liked seeing anyone in a long damn time. He’s not sure what that means or if it means anything at all. It’s unfamiliar enough to rattle him to his core and leave him more than a little confused.

When he pulls the truck into his driveway after work, he forgoes the shower and pulls on a fresh shirt to save time. Whistles for the dog and assumes that even if she’s sick of seeing him, she might welcome his fluffy counterpart.

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