Page 212 of Secrets Along the Shore
I wandered into the room with the false door, the secret study. The one where I’d found the files, the yearbooks, the truth.
I hadn’t looked through all of it. I still had no key to that one cabinet. Maybe part of me didn’t want to find out what was in it. Maybe part of me already knew what I’d find.
I turned on the desk lamp and sat down, opening another file from the other drawer. Inside, there was a photograph.
Me and Livvie.
We were sitting on the dock, legs dangling over the water. I had my arm around her shoulder. She was grinning, her front teeth slightlycrooked, her hair tied back with a ribbon. I was looking at her like she was the center of the world.
A knot formed in my throat. I traced the edge of the photo with my finger.
Ihadloved her.
I just couldn’t remember how.
My breath caught in my chest, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. There was more. A list of names. Notes scribbled in the margins. Olivia Bishop was the first name on the page. Next to it:recovered speech comprehension; partial auditory return. Must replicate.
Then, one by one, every other name had been crossed out.
All except mine.
Scarlett McBride:long-term memory gap; no auditory recovery; shows unique adaptation.
Unique adaptation? What did that mean?
That I was malleable?
Controllable?
I stared at the photo again. If Livvie had been the first, and I was the last, we were bookends to Scanlon’s experiments.
I took the photo and drove back to Becca’s house right away. I wouldn’t wait until the next morning. I didn’t care if she slammed the door. I wasn’t leaving without trying.
I stood on her porch and knocked. Once. Twice.
No answer.
“Becca, I brought you something,” I said through the door. “Just look at it. Please. Then I’ll go.”
There was a pause, and then the door cracked open. Her eyes peered through the gap. Then she opened wider.
“What is it?”
I held up the photograph.
Her eyes widened in surprise and longing. She opened the door wider, her fingers trembling as she took it from me.
“I didn’t think I had many pictures of her left,” she said.
“I don’t remember her,” I said. “Not really. Not the way I should. But I can feel her. In my dreams. I know I cared for her.”
Becca said nothing. Just stared at the photo like it held the last bit of her soul.
“If you’re protecting someone,” I said softly, “I get it. I’ve done that, too. But you can’t grieve Livvie while you’re still holding all this guilt. You can’t move on. And I can’t remember unless I understand what you know about her…and that night.”
Becca’s eyes met mine. Softer this time.
“She was bright,” she said. “Too bright. Like a firework. Everyone loved her. Especially you.”
