She shrugged. “Not a thing.” She hadn’t exactly done anything to encourage the resurfacing of those memories. Hadn’t looked at the photos on her phone or read the old texts.
“Well, give it a little time. The brain’s an amazing organ. Just because you can’t access them at the moment doesn’t mean they aren’t still in there.”
The thought was meant to comfort but instead felt like an impending threat. Like they could appear any moment and ruin her future.
“I could put you in touch with a cognitive therapist if you’d like. Sometimes that helps.”
“I’ll let you know. Thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.” She decided to change the subject. “I was hoping to meet Carina tonight—or maybe I already have.” She snorted. “I can’t tell you how weird it feels not to remember my life.”
“I can only imagine. No, you actually never met Carina—and I guess you’re not likely to now. We broke up in June.”
The information barreled through her mind like a train, destination unknown. She took in his wan expression and felt a prick of empathy. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “It happens.”
“How long were you together? Sorry if you already told me this.”
“It’s okay. We dated almost three years.”
“You took this internship because you didn’t want to be too far away.” She remembered that from their first conversation when he’d rescued her on the side of the road.
He gave a wry grin. “Joke’s on me, I guess. But no, she met some guy at school and that was that.”
“That’s the worst.” Or she supposed it must’ve been. She’d never been in love before. Well, not that she remembered.
“It hasn’t been fun. But it’s been a few months now. And my work keeps me busy.”
She studied his face. “Does that help?”
He met her gaze, then broke out into laughter. “No.”
She smiled at his honesty. Wished she could think of something helpful to say. She’d had plenty of disappointments in her life, but romantic heartbreak was foreign to her. And truthfully, selfishly, she was a little glad to find Carson suddenly available. But she could hardly admit that.
Meg wandered over just then and rescued her from having to think of an appropriate response.
Lauren counted the mugs in the Hickory Cabin and wrote the number on the checklist. Eight. Two were missing. She moved on to the dinner plates. This kind of work, simple though it was, now took her full concentration. This was her fifth day doing inventory and she was only now on the last cabin. Of course she’d had other tasks requiring her attention—preferred tasks. She dreaded returning to this counting and math and spreadsheets. Jonah had offered to help, but he’d no doubt insist on working side by side, and that would make the chore even harder.
Because avoiding Jonah had become jobnumerouno.
He made her uncomfortable with his steady gazes and concerned looks. He was so different from the Jonah she remembered. It wigged her out and she didn’t know how to respond.
A text message vibrated her phone. Seeing it was from Sydney, she finished accounting for the plates and took a short break. Her friend had practically begged to come see her after her brother’s wedding last weekend, but Lauren put her off. As nice as it might be to have her friend nearby, Sydney was hoping to be promoted to manager at the restaurant where she worked. And taking off abruptly right after a week’s vacation wouldn’t help her cause.
How’s it going?her friend had asked.
Fine, I guess. Doing inventory on the kitchen suppliesat the moment.Sothanks for saving me from that.
What are friends for? Still foggy?
Math has never been my friend.
How’s everything else?
She hadn’t really opened up to Sydney about everything. Hadn’t opened up to anyone. Maybe it was time to unload.
Everything feels so weird. Jonah keeps coming around, staring at me with these hope-filled eyes. I feel so much pressure to remember. Like everyone’s justlooking at me wondering,Do you remember anything yet?No, I don’t! And you know what? I don’t even think I want to.
Oh, honey. I’m sorry. That’sgottabe tough.
