34
It punches me in the gut once more, just like the first time I read it and the time after that.
The funeral was in the past.
The past.
And I remember it.
I was so focused on the who that I completely missed the when.
Walking toward the cemetery gates, my head spins so much it aches. Inside the van, Luke cranks the heat and we begin to defrost as we drive in silence toward my house. I am paralyzed by emotion. Not until we exit the freeway and turn left into my development does Luke speak.
“You have to talk to your mom,” he says.
I watch the houses that I remember from tomorrow go by and wonder whether a part of me remembers them from yesterday, too. All the rules to my world are being challenged with this one discovery. The simplicity of knowing what’s coming isn’t so simple after all.
I find myself wanting to call Jamie. Wishing I could. I shake off the thought and watch the houses some more.
As Luke pulls into my driveway, the porch light blinks on. I glance at the dashboard clock and realize that it’s nearly eight o’clock, which is not so strange, except that I left before eleven this morning and haven’t called since.
“She must be worried.” Luke says what I’m thinking.
“She should be,” I say.
“Go easy on her.”
“I’ll try,” I reply weakly before I slide out of the van and head inside to confront my mother and discover the truth about my missing memories.
35
“Who was Jonas?” I ask again, somehow guessing the answer but needing confirmation.
My mother’s eyes share a mixture of shock and sorrow that makes me want to look away.
But I don’t.
“Who was he, Mom?” I ask a third time, softer now.
“How do you know…” She looks down at her hands. I stay still, watching her realize that how doesn’t matter.
Mom lifts her gaze once more, but though her head is high now, her posture has cracked.
“Jonas was your brother,” she says in a near whisper.
I am silent, unable to ask her to go on, but she does anyway.
“He died.”
“I know. I was at the cemetery. I saw his tombstone.”
“Why…” She stops herself. “Well, that part doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll tell you how I ended up there after you tell me what happened to my brother,” I say, a tear racing down my cheek, “and why you lied about him. Lied about me.”
“Oh, London, I didn’t lie. I kept a very sad truth from you. I thought…”
“What, that I should be blissfully stupid my whole life?”