Page 53 of Forget Me Not
I reach my car and twist around, my eyes landing back on the main house behind me. Mitchell’s red truck still parked in its spot. My plan is to make my way into town today, maybe find a restaurant with Wi-Fi—a place where I can charge my phone and laptop and finally pick back up on my search—but then I hesitate, wondering if I should let my hosts know where I’m going. Despite the weirdness of this last week, I still feel ingrained with that strange sense of duty. A programmed politeness that inherently comes with being a woman in this world. It somehow feels wrong, just leaving like this… but at the same time, I know I have an excuse. Liam told me we weren’t working today.
Besides, even though it sometimes feels like it, it’s not like I’mactuallyforbidden to leave.
I unlock my car, easing into the driver’s seat. Then I twist the key, listening as the engine sputters to life, a tingle of nerves beginning to emerge the second I begin the slow crawl down the drive.It’s almost like I’m expecting Mitchell to come running out onto the porch, slamming his hands down hard on my hood and dragging me back, not letting me leave. Still, I move forward, one eye on the house in the rearview and the other scanning the woods on either side of the road. The place feels empty, oddly serene in the silence, and I exhale only once I reach the end of the drive, my car gliding to a stop at that old wooden sign.
I take a left off the property, my foot heavy on the gas and my knuckles white on the wheel. Then I look into the mirror one last time, watching as the sign grows small in the distance, the wordsGALLOWAY FARMfading away.
CHAPTER 35
Ladmadaw’s Main Street is practically deserted and I park my car into a spot across from the only restaurant I can find. The place is sleepy, only a handful of people slinking their way down the walk, and I slam my door shut before jogging across the street, a little bell ringing as I open the door.
“Order at the counter,” a voice says, and I look up to see a woman behind the cash register busying herself with some out-of-sight task. “Take a seat wherever you want.”
I glance around, the place empty with the exception of two patrons hunched over heaps of coagulated eggs. There’s a smattering of tables in the center of the room, a couple booths in the corners with ripped leather seats, and I pick one at random, placing my bag onto a chair before making my way to the counter to order.
I eye a pastry display full of muffins and bagels, a collection of ground coffees and teas by the bag. Then the woman looks up, a subtle bulge in her eyes as she takes me in.
“I’ll take a blueberry muffin and a black coffee,” I say. “Do you have Wi-Fi?”
“Sure,” she says, her eyes flipping across my every feature as if she’s attempting to drink it all in. They’re pretty, a light hazel with flecks of green. “Password is written on the card on the table.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching into my pocket to grab some cash. “Glad to see you guys have power.”
The woman cocks her head, like she isn’t sure what I mean.
“The storm last night.”
“Oh,” she says. “Yeah, well, it takes a lot more than that to down these lines.”
“But just down the road—” I start, pointing toward the door, the direction of Galloway… but then I stop, feeling the cogs turn in my head. A slow, silent lurching as my mind starts to march in another direction.
The only other direction that makes any sense.
“We’re built for hurricanes around here,” she continues as I nod, feeling a bit dazed as I think about how I had crept down the stairs, watching as Mitchell touched Marcia’s neck. The way he had noticed those leaves stuck to her skin before my vibrating phone cleaved through the quiet. “This island can handle a lot more than some rain.”
I look down at the counter, my mind picking up speed as I imagine myself bolting out of the house and wondering what Mitchell did once he got back inside. I wonder if he walked into his bedroom, started changing out of his soaking clothes before looking down at that lightened spot on the floor.
If he lifted those boards and pulled out that bag, peering inside to find everything tucked in the right place… except, of course, for the gun that was supposed to be wrapped in that towel.
The gun that’s currently back in my guesthouse, waiting patiently in the drawer of that desk.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, realizing that the storm could have just been a convenient excuse. That somethingelsecould have cut off the power—or, more accurately, someoneelse. Someone who knew I had been digging around.
Someone who wanted to stop me from finding out more.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
I blink back to the present, the woman at the register biting her lip. Then I squint, drawing a blank as I take in her jet-black hair that doesn’t look natural, the silver stud in her nose and the long sleeve of tattoos winding its way up her arm.
“You look just like her,” she muses. “Natalie, I mean.”
“You knew my sister?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Yeah.” She smiles, although it seems sad. “It’s like I’m looking right at her after all these years.”
I swallow, scrutinizing her more carefully now. The woman blinks a few times, like she’s getting uncomfortable under my gaze, and that’s when it hits me.
It’s the eyes,hereyes. That light, milky brown with flecks of green. The only thing about her that hasn’t changed.
