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  In the file room, she rested her forehead against the coolness of a file cabinet, unsure of what she should do. She didn’t want to jump into other people’s heads, absorbing the gritty details of their life, their secrets. Her own was scary enough. Had she pushed too fast for independence? Maybe she needed to move back to her childhood room, return to being cocooned in her parents’ house.

  “You okay?”

  She plastered on a smile before lifting her face. “Trying to figure something out.”

  “So it’s not problems with M&M?” Liz asked.

  “M&M?”

  “I know it’s difficult to think of Marcia and chocolate at the same time. And it probably gives the candy a bad name.”

  “M&M. Marcia Meacham. I get it.” Summer tapped her forehead. “That reminds me I forgot to stop by and check in.”

  “You shouldn’t have to.”

  “It’s better that I do.”

  “If she gives you any grief, tell her I held you up.”

  “Thanks.” Summer went to Marcia’s office and once again knocked on the open door. She wanted to laugh when Marcia made a show of checking her watch. “Liz stopped me.”

  Marcia frowned. “For what?”

  “A question,” she said vaguely. “Should I continue filing?”

  Marcia pursed her lips, making them look even thinner. “I suppose. You didn’t seem to mess things up yesterday as I expected.”

  My head’s going to explode from the praise, Summer thought as she returned to what she considered her office. The image of her brain matter splattered all over Marcia’s low-cut white sweater and her pristine office pushed the incident with Fiona to the back of her mind. As she filed, she entertained herself by coming up with different ways to slime Marcia. The morning passed quickly.

  At ten to one she left a note on Marcia’s desk as to her whereabouts, then took the stairs to the lobby. She spotted Keile standing by the elevator and was filled with anticipation. Here was somebody she remembered. Keile looked competent and very professional in a charcoal suit with a crisp red shirt. Summer was glad her mother had helped her pick out the dark blue pants and tapered light blue shirt she was wearing. Left to herself she favored baggy jeans and oversized T-shirts. “Hey. Thanks, you know, for doing this right away.”

  “No prob. There aren’t too many people I remember from back then. It’ll be fun to talk over old times.”

  “Funny you should mention that.” Summer gave her a strained smile. “Unfortunately I only remember a few things from my past. And what I do remember only happened since I ran into you.” If Keile was surprised, she was too polite to show it. “Why don’t I fill you in on the way?”

  As they walked to restaurant row, Summer explained her situation. “So you see why I was so eager to have lunch.”

  Keile nodded. “I can’t imagine how terrifying that would be. Memories, good and bad, are at the base of who we are.”

  “Right now my base is a little over two years old. My family has filled in some of the blanks, but as I’ve discovered since running into you it’s not the same as having the actual memory. So thanks again for that.”

  “Glad I could help. Is there any particular place you’d like to go? What with you being two and all?”

  Summer laughed and to her surprise discovered she was hungry. “I could go for a burger.”

  “Mac’s then,” Keile said and backtracked half a block.

  Mac’s was more pub than restaurant and claimed to have the best selection of beer in Seneca. The inside was a casual collection of wooden tables and chairs, in addition to a bar that ran halfway down a side wall and round the back of the establishment. It was crowded, but Keile spotted an unoccupied table in the back.

  Summer took a deep breath as she opened the menu. “Smells good.”

  “Best burgers in town,” Keile assured her. “The problem for most people is deciding which one of the ten specialty burgers to order.”

  “But not for you?”

  “I’m still more the ‘stick with what I know’ kind. But I forgot you don’t remember that. You were always trying to get me to try new things, not study so much.”

  “I don’t know about the trying new things, but I do remember me trying to talk you into doing something non school-related with me. You never would.”

  Keile shrugged. “It was nice you tried. You were so the free spirit extraordinaire to me.”

  “Hi.” A perky African American waitress with intricate braids hanging down to her waist breezed up to the table. “I’m Katrina. Have you decided what to order or should I come back?”

  “I’m ready,” Summer said. “I’ll have the avocado burger with Swiss cheese and a Coke.”

  “Good choice.” Katrina gave her a beaming smile. “How would you like that cooked?”

  For a second Summer drew a blank. “Uh…medium?”

  “Okay.” Katrina turned her attention to Keile. “Philly rare with a Dr. Pepper for you?” At Keile’s nod, she said, “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

  “Is it bad when the waitress knows what you want?” Keile asked.

  “Only if you wanted something different. I’m all about consistency. It’s a check in the success column if I can follow my day-to-day routine without consulting a list. Obviously not the free spirit you remember.”

  “To be expected. Do you still paint?”

  “I’ve tried,” she said, shaking off the twinge of pain the reminder brought. “I’ve seen some of my work and it’s impossible to imagine I had that kind of creativity inside me. I’ve been told it may come back. To give it some time. I figure after two years it’s gone. That’s one of the hardest things to take. Being told what I used to be able to do, who I used to be and not seeing a way to get back there.” She sighed. “It’s tough.”

  “I still have that drawing you did of me,” Keile admitted. “The one time I gave into you and instead of tutoring you, I sat for a picture. You always said you didn’t need math to fill a canvas. Since I’d seen some of your work, I agreed but never let on. You even paid me extra.”

  “It sounds…” She broke off as the waitress plunked down their drinks.

  “Sorry it’s taking so long. You need anything else right now?” When they shook their heads, she hurried off.

  “You were saying,” Keile prompted.

  Summer frowned, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t remember now. That happens more than I like.”

  “You’ll remember later.”

  “That should be my motto,” she said, dunking the straw into her drink with more force than necessary. “‘You just wait. It’ll come back to you.’” She exhaled. “Like I believe that.”

  “You remembered me. That means there’s a chance other things will come to you. If you’d seen me three years ago, you’d believe in chance.”

  “Don’t tell me. You turned into a party animal and flunked out of school?”

  “Okay, maybe the changes don’t seem so drastic on the outside, but they were huge on the inside. Three years ago I was more like the person you knew in college. My main goal was to have money.”

  “Who doesn’t want to have money? Everyone—”

  “Are you going to let me finish?”

  Smiling, Summer pantomimed zipping her lips.

  “I guess a better way to say it is that I was focused on having money to the expense of everything else. I was working like crazy, getting bonuses and watching my savings grow. Didn’t matter about not having a life outside of work. Then one day I’m taking my dog to the park and this little kid finds me. I don’t know how it happened, but while he and I waited for his parents, we connected. I met his mom, fell in love and realized what I’d been missing.” Keile pulled out her cell phone. “This is Kyle now. He was eighteen months old when I met him.”

  Summer looked at the photo, then quickly back at Keile. “But he looks like you.”

  “Wait for it.” Keile scrolled through more photos. “This is his biological father,
Marcus, who is also Kyle’s mom’s brother and, as it turned out, my long-lost brother.”

  “Whoa. Just whoa.” Trying to make sense of what she’d just been told, Summer gave the waitress a distracted smile as she placed her burger in front of her.

  “Confusing, right?” Keile grinned. “I love to freak people out with our supposed incestuous relationships. In reality, Marcus is my partner Haydn’s adopted brother. When she decided she wanted to be a mom, he was her first choice for a donor. He’s also the biological father of our daughter, Chelsea.” She thumbed through more photos. “This is old, but here’s Haydn with Chelsea. It’s all very surreal how it worked out.”

  “I don’t know, Keile. Sounds more like fate.” Summer studied the smiling redhead and bundled up baby. “And incredibly romantic. Like Beauty and the Beast romantic.”

  “Are you calling me a beast?”

  “If the shoe fits. But my point is that it was an incredibly romantic movie and one of things the old me has in common with the new me is a love of reading. Especially romances. Which makes no sense when I think about it. I can’t see myself ever falling in love. Can’t see myself ever being ready for a relationship. Not like I am now.”

  “Thought the same thing.” Keile doused her fries with ketchup. “It was going to be just me depending on me. You don’t get hurt or disappointed that way. You don’t do much living either. Love changes you for the better.”

  “It seems to have changed you. Looks good on you, but my situation is different. I’m a wreck. Anyone who’d take me on is suspect. No, crazy. They’d have to be crazy. It’s better I be crazy by myself.” She took a bite of her burger and agreed with Keile’s assessment. It was great.

  “We won’t talk about love. But friends. You gotta have friends, right? And to get friends you have to meet people.”

  “Why do I feel like I’m about to be sold something?”

  Keile smiled. “Have I got the perfect opportunity for you! We’re having a party Saturday. Nothing fancy, just food, drink, conversation and maybe a little dancing. No pressure. You can talk or not talk. Meet women or not meet women. You don’t have to stay long.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not good at that kind of thing.” Nerves danced up and down her spine. The thought of having to deal with strangers was a little frightening. No, she corrected herself, it was terrifying. As her breath quickened, she raced through the multiplication table. But even that wasn’t enough to douse the fear of being exposed, of being surrounded by women who expected her to know how to act, what to say, how to be normal. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to come. Maybe you could come over another day. I’d love for you to meet Haydn and the kids.”

  “I could do that.” Suddenly her chest wasn’t so tight. “I’d like to do that. Like to meet the woman who accomplished what I couldn’t.”

  Chapter Five

  Saturday morning found Summer on the treadmill assessing her first week of work. Her Wednesday night session with Dr. Veraat had been a success. So maybe she hadn’t mentioned the head hopping deal. She was allowed. She had gotten some good strategies to deal with Marcia and her continued displeasure with anything that was Summer, and that was a good thing. It was hit or miss at times, but more hit than miss, so she felt overall work was going well.

  On the other hand, she’d let herself be convinced that going to Keile’s party would be a giant step toward independence. A step that would do Summer and her mother a lot of good. And later, hearing the excitement in her mother’s voice when she learned of her daughter’s plans, Summer had been forced to admit once again that Dr. Veraat knew her stuff.

  Flying on hope, she was letting herself believe her memory would return one day. That every step she took forward was a step toward the old Summer. The one with the free spirit who didn’t sweat the small stuff. The one who didn’t look at a pad and pencil with trepidation.

  “I’ll get there,” she said, breathing heavily. How could she not when yesterday she’d managed to take the elevator down without a hitch? An elevator packed with boisterous workers, eager to begin their weekend.

  At the three-mile mark, she gradually slowed to a walk and toweled off sweat. It wasn’t yet eight, which gave her more than seven hours to obsess over everything about the party. From what she was going to wear to how stupid she was going to sound trying to make small talk. Maybe she could stay long enough to meet Haydn, then sneak out the bathroom window when Keile wasn’t watching. Officially reaching pathetic, she thought as she removed her workout clothes.

  Studying her naked body in the full-length bathroom mirror, she looked for signs of her improved appetite and found none. She was still thin. Painfully so when compared with old photos of herself. While she hadn’t been fat, there had been enough bulk to constitute a medium build. Of course her hair hadn’t sported a white, lightning bolt streak then either. No, that was one of the side benefits she’d discovered when she woke up from the coma. A benny that drew unwanted attention.

  “But you did wake up,” she reminded her reflection, fingering the streak. It was a small price to pay for coming back to life, for having her family’s prayers answered. She was grateful for that.

  Of course during those first few months of consciousness, gratitude had not been at the top of her list of emotions. If she was a wreck now, she’d been a catastrophe back then. Fighting the nurses, doctors and her mother with what little strength she had. She’d been confused, and, though she wouldn’t admit it at first, frightened about everything.

  She turned on the water in the shower and stepped inside as scenes of those first months played in her mind. She’d been like a lump of clay that needed to be shaped into a person. Everything had to be learned and with varying degrees of success. Walking had been the easiest. Her mother claimed that was because it enabled her to get away.

  So many little things she even now took for granted had frustrated her, angered her, shamed her because somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain she seemed to know how she had been, how she should have been. When Dr. Veraat had tried to explain what was going on, Summer had silently dismissed it as psychobabble. From everything she’d read, and she had read plenty, the functioning of the human brain was still a major mystery. Her brain, she’d been told by many of the doctors-in-training at Emory Hospital, was even more so. One of the neurologists had written a paper on her recovery. She’d declined his offer to study her further—like some kind of lab rat. If he hadn’t learned what he needed in a year of study, he wasn’t ever going to learn it in her opinion—in this case, the only one that counted.

  Her stomach grumbled as she was getting dressed, an unusual but not unwelcome occurrence. To celebrate, Summer decided to try something different for breakfast. She’d go out, a kind of dress rehearsal for tonight. The deli two blocks away would do. It was small and not overly crowded when she passed it in the mornings on the way to work, unlike the Starbucks a street over. She wouldn’t be overwhelmed by people desperate for coffee. And if she were, it was only a quick jog back to the safety of the condo.

  The number of people milling about on the sidewalk outside her building surprised her. While it was nothing like the almost frantic pace of a weekday morning when everyone was on a deadline, everywhere she looked there were families with kids. A lot of kids. Nothing like the mostly single, mostly younger people she was used to seeing.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she moved forward into the throng, ducking her head down to avoid making eye contact. Anxiety didn’t pull at her confidence until she was a block away—halfway to the deli, halfway to safety. Her footsteps slowed as she debated the decision she’d made earlier when she hadn’t been surrounded by people talking, laughing, enjoying the cool morning air and each other.

  Her plans shifted when she saw the line stretching out of the deli’s door. She could go back, grab some cereal, but that seemed like a cop-out. Getting jostled from behind, she moved forward, scanning
side streets and discovering restaurants never noticed before. There had to be some place she could go.

  It took almost six blocks before she spotted the sign for a bakery. She maneuvered through the crowd, backtracked and made a right. Inside the shop, which looked bigger than it had on the outside, the smells of yeast, cinnamon and sugar melded into something heavenly. Her midsection reacted as she spotted the display cases filled with various kinds of breads and pastries. The difficulty would be in picking just one. But maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe today she could have two.

  The place was busy, but the line was moving fairly quickly and there were places for her to sit. When she finally made it up to order, she picked the breakfast sandwich on a croissant and a chocolate-filled doughnut, along with a hot chocolate, since she had as not yet regained her love of coffee. With her hot chocolate and an order number plaque in hand, she found a small table near the front window. While waiting for her food, she amused herself by making up stories about the other people in the restaurant. There was the overweight couple with plates piled high who had been together long enough to eat off of each other’s plate. There was the harried mother who was struggling to keep her baby happy and at the same time stop her two older boys from smearing food on each other. The abundance of freckles and mischievous eyes of one of the boys made her fingers itch for pencil and paper. A few strokes and she could have his likeness down on paper. Then she could attempt to capture the frenzied look on the mother’s face. Maybe add the grumpy baby and the older boy with spikes in his dark hair for a family shot?

  Realizing where her thoughts were taking her, Summer caught her breath. Could she do it? Was she finally ready to put pen to paper and create? Her gaze returned to the redheaded boy. What was it about him that made her want to capture his image? That stirred her imagination? If she could figure that out, maybe, just maybe she could find her muse, paint again. The thought was as terrifying as it was thrilling.

  Her order number was called before she could figure it out. When she returned with her food, the family was packing up to leave. She felt regret, as if an important opportunity had passed her by. Suddenly the food on her plate wasn’t as appetizing. She picked at the buttery croissant for something to do rather than out of hunger and watched as the kid with the freckles beat his brother in a race to the door. Her fingers itched again, seeing the triumphant smile that split his face.