Page 27 of Don't Forget Me
Vulnerability.
And she hadn’t run—not like she could. She made him pancakes instead.
He took a bite, moaning as he chewed the best pancakes he’d ever eaten.
Who was this woman?
9
ELIZABETH
There was something to be said for lake air.
Or maybe it was being in a coma.
It did things for Elizabeth she hadn’t thought possible. She laughed at the ridiculousness of that. A coma wasn’t good for anyone.
But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this light. Even as the rain started up again late morning, it couldn’t dampen her mood. The weakness that had plagued her since stopping cancer treatments was gone. Her final surgery was over a year ago, but returning to her normal health would take more time. Her body had to get used to exerting itself after a lifetime of having to take it easy.
Except that here, at this house, nothing held her back.
She’d explored the kitchen more in depth when she woke before deciding to make her favorite comfort food. Pancakes were the cure for everything.
And Nick had needed a cure.
Watching him break down the day before felt like watching one of his movies with Booker. Though, it was real this time. The man behind the screen had feelings too.
He obviously didn’t remember his own accident, and she couldn’t be the one to tell him of the problems he caused, the people he hurt. The words refused to form on her tongue. So, she didn’t know what exactly caused the meltdown. The drunk driving thing? Being stuck here for longer? Something else entirely?
Whatever it was, he’d needed pancakes.
Elizabeth wasn’t good at a lot of things, but she liked to think taking care of people was her superpower. It was why she’d wanted to be a doctor in another life, why she’d loved the chance to be a mom.
It even weirdly explained her current career of barista.
Bringing her mug to her lips, she sipped the hot tea, curling her legs underneath her in the overstuffed, brown leather chair sitting in the corner of the study. This room hadn’t changed much. Exposed beams ran the length of the ceiling and down the walls, creating an earthy, homey feel. The fireplace her dad taught her to light when she was ten looked cleaner than she remembered, but it cast the same orange glow through the room.
Her dad worked in marketing once upon a time, and he’d bring his work with him when they spent summers at the lake. Elizabeth used to love sitting across from his desk, looking through the colorful designs and brilliant slogans. They played a game where one of them would start a slogan and then they’d go back and forth, each adding a word.
Her smile fell as she stared at the unfamiliar desk now sitting where so much hilarity had taken place. Setting her mug on the table beside the chair, she walked toward the desk, memories flooding her.
Her dad must be worried sick about her. She could picture him hovering next to the hospital bed, a forlorn look in his eyes, just as he had every time before. He’d try to shield the kids, but they were too intelligent for their age, and they’d want to see their mom whether she opened her eyes or not.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away as quickly as it had come. Her eyes caught on the bottom drawer of the desk. It sat partially open as if calling to her.
Glancing at the door to make sure she was still alone, she bent to pull it open further.
Inside, stacks and stacks of files hung in manila envelopes, but only one made her pause. It bulged with a thick, ring-bound bundle of stark white papers stained with age.
Liz pulled it out and traced a finger over the front page. Don’t Forget Me. The words wrapped around her, whispering to her with their call. Something told her whatever was in these pages was important.
Underneath the title it read: A Screenplay by Stephen.
Why was it buried in the depths of this desk?
A noise sounded outside the door, and she tucked the pages into the back of her pants, covering them with her shirt. She kicked the drawer shut seconds before Nick walked in.
Freshly showered, his hair was still damp, and the strong smell of sandalwood wafted off him. Elizabeth had no words but not because of who he was. She’d spent the night reminding herself he was just a normal person in an abnormal situation.
