Don't Look Back (3 page)

“Yep,” Scott replied, lips pursed.
Carson started to leave again but stopped once more. Muttering under his breath, he looked at me. “I’m glad you’re okay, Sam.”
Before I could even respond to that, he was gone. I turned back to Scott. “He doesn’t like me.”
Scott looked like he wanted to laugh again. “Yeah, he doesn’t.”
A weird, twisty feeling sprang in my chest. “Why?”
Pushing off the bed, he sighed. “You don’t like him.”
I didn’t? Did I not have taste? He was baby-making material. Then I frowned. How did I know who was baby-making material? “I don’t get it.”
“You were kind of a bitch to him ... in the last couple of years.”
“Why?”
The look on his face told me he was getting tired of the question
Why?
“Because his dad is hired help, and you’re not a fan of the hired help. Hell, or their offspring and anyone who associates with them.”
I dropped my hands into my lap, unsure of how to respond to that. He had to be kidding. “We have hired help?”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Dad and Mom do, which is funny because Mom hasn’t worked a day in her life.” When he saw my expression, he cursed. “Jeez, this is like talking to a toddler.”
Anger pricked my skin, and so did hurt. “Sorry. You can go talk to Car, who apparently doesn’t suffer from an impaired IQ.”
Regret flickered in his eyes, and he sighed again. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, but, Sam, this is weird. It’s like
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
or something.”
It
was
weird. I glanced at the empty doorway, anxious and even a little afraid. I suddenly realized I didn’t want to be left alone. “Where are you guys going?”
He glanced down at his sweats, one brow raised. “We have baseball practice.”
“Can I go?”
Surprise shone on his face. “You hate going to baseball games. The only reason you do go is because of Del.”
“I don’t know who Del is!” My hands balled into useless fists. “I don’t know what I hate. Or what I like. Or what I’m supposed to do or say. I don’t recognize
any
of this. To make things worse, now I find out that everyone apparently hates me— including my best friend, who disappeared at the same time I did—and I can’t even remember
why
.” I looked around the room, close to tears. “And my middle name is Jo. Who gives their kid a middle name like
Jo
?”
Scott didn’t say anything for several seconds, and then he knelt in front of me. It was strange looking at his face, seeing my own face—but more masculine and hard—staring back. “Sam, it’s going to be okay.”
A tremble started in my lower lips. “Everyone keeps saying that, but what if it’s not?”
He didn’t answer.
Because it wasn’t okay—it was never going to be okay. I was stuck in this life I didn’t remember, squeezed into the shell of this girl—this Samantha
Jo
Franco—and the more I learned about her, the more I was starting to hate her.

On Saturday I met my friends ... for the first time. They talked. A lot. And they sounded and looked the same. Hair with brighter streaks strategically pieced throughout. Each of them looked as if they could use some of the doughnuts I was scarfing down.

They crowded around me, hugging and crying. My mom lingered in the kitchen, sipping wine at eleven in the morning. One of the three girls stood out from the rest. Her name I learned pretty quickly.

Veronica Hodges.
Blond. Tan. Skinny. Perfect. The type of girl who could do tanning-bed commercials and be crowned homecoming queen in a bikini.
Smoothing her manicured hand over her white cashmere sweater, Veronica curled her red-painted lips at the package of doughnuts and croissants as if they were infested with cockroaches. “We are so glad you’re okay, Sammy. All of us have been so worried.”
I brushed white crumbs off my hands. “Thanks.”
Veronica glanced over her shoulder at my mom and then leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. “And we’re really hoping that Cassie will show up, too.”
Curious as to why she was whispering that, I looked at the other girls. They all nodded like good little dogs. I picked up a croissant. “Me too.”
She frowned. “But ... your mom says you don’t remember her.”
“Or us,” chimed in Candy Alderman. She, too, eyed the box of goodies. “It’s good to see that your appetite is the same.”
I paused, a croissant halfway to my mouth. “It is?”
Candy nodded. “You’ve always eaten like a guy.”
“That is so true,” Mom murmured over the rim of her wineglass, eyes focused on the ceiling.
Lowering the croissant, I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing that I’d retained my manly appetite. I glanced around the room, and all I could think about was the girl I’d seen in my thoughts, the natural blonde who had been so happy and so real. I wanted to know who she was.
“So,” Candy said, drawing the word out. “You don’t remember anything?”
Just like that, my appetite vanished. I tossed the croissant back into the box and glanced at my mom. Now she was paying attention. “I don’t remember, but the doc thinks it will come back to me soon.”
The girls looked relieved, and then they started talking about school, the upcoming start of the baseball season, which appeared to be a big deal around these parts, and where they were going tonight. I was invited, but my mom kindly advised them that I wasn’t stepping foot out of this house anytime soon.
Fabulous.
They moved on to the boyfriend I didn’t remember.
“He’s so hot,” Candy squealed. “And so, so perfect.”
“Totally.” Veronica nodded, holding her hands out in front of her chest. “You guys have this perfect relationship.”
I glanced at the quiet one with brown hair and blond streaks. She said nothing as she picked at a small napkin.
“He’s been worried about you.” Candy tipped her head to the side, grinning. “You’re luckier than you realize.”
Lucky to be alive, or lucky to have such a great boyfriend?
Oddly enough, except for what Veronica said, no one talked about Cassie. I was sure they were avoiding the topic so I wouldn’t freak out. I appreciated that, especially considering I’d spent the bulk of last night going over all the terrible things that could’ve happened to us, but I wanted to know more about her.
When there was a lull in the conversation, I cleared my throat. “Did Cassie say anything before we... we went missing? Did she talk about plans?”
Veronica glanced down, sucking in her lip. “She really didn’t—”
“I think that’s enough for today, girls.” Mom appeared behind Veronica, smiling without showing any teeth. “Samantha needs her rest.”
“Mom,” I snapped, embarrassed to be treated like a small child. I pushed back, toppling over the bar stool, and stood. My knees shook, and my voice came out in just a whisper. “Mom...”
She shot a look around at the group of girls, who had paled under their fake bakes, and then grasped my hands, eyes wide. “What is it?”
My heart pounded irregularly. How could I explain it? I knew I’d snapped at my mom before like that. I’d
felt
that way before—frustrated, annoyed, and angry
at her
. The wash of familiarity when there’d been virtually nothing was dizzying. It wouldn’t be a big deal to anyone else, but to my empty brain it was epic.
“Samantha?”
Everyone was staring at me. Each face belonged to a stranger. There was no rushing flood of memories or even a spark of familiarity as Google and WebMD said there would be. I’d thoroughly searched the Internet on dissociative amnesia last night and other than the fact that it was linked to traumatic events and mental illness—
sweet
—there was little information on how, or if, I’d get my memories back.
Hands shaking, I pulled them free of my mom’s and brushed my hair from my flaming cheeks. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
My unofficial welcome-back get-together was coming to a close. The girls gave me quick hugs and pecks on the cheek before filing outside to their respective BMWs. I wondered what kind of car I drove.
“What really happened?” Mom asked, following me through the many rooms, to the smallest one on the main level—the family room. “Samantha, answer me.”
I sat down on the overstuffed couch. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just remembered getting ... mad at you before, snapping at you. It caught me off guard.”
She stared at me for a moment, then knelt in front of me. I was surprised that she’d risk getting her linen pants dirty, but then she clasped my cheeks. Her hands were shaking. Tears built in her eyes. “I never thought I’d be happy to hear you remember being upset with me, but I am.”
My smile was wobbly. “Lame, huh?”
“No, it’s not lame, honey. It is progress.” She stood, brushing off her slacks. “But I do think you should take it easy this weekend.”
I arched a brow. “I was reading about it last night, and the articles said I should be around things that are familiar. That will spark my memory.”
“I don’t know. All of this is a lot to deal with.”
I took a deep breath, already knowing this was going to be a problem. “I want to go to school Monday. I have to. I need to.”
“It’s too soon.”
“I have to do something normal. Maybe it will help with my memories.”
She looked even more concerned. “Dr. Weston said you need to take things slow. It could be too much.”
“What damage could it do?” I threw up my arms, frustrated to my core. “Am I going to forget more? There isn’t anything else I can forget!”
“I don’t know.” Mom turned away, fiddling with the gold bangles on her wrists. “I’ve already spoken with the school. They said it’s okay if you stay home a week or so.”
In that moment, I learned something new about myself. I didn’t have any patience. Jumping to my feet, I planted my hands on my hips. “I’m going to school on Monday.”
“Samantha, I really—”
“What’s going on in here?” Dad walked in, pulling off white golfing gloves as he bent and kissed my cheek. “It sounds like old times.”
I tried not to be skeeved by the chaste kiss. He was my dad. No reason to be freaked out. Mom turned on him, and the blood drained from her pretty face. Okay, maybe I should be skeeved out. I stepped to the side, nervous and unsure.
“What are you doing wearing those shoes in the house?” Her voice was shrill, hurting my ears. “You’ll scratch the floors. Again!”
Dad laughed. “The floors will be fine. No one cares if they’re scratched or not.”
“I do!” Mom protested. “What would our friends think if they saw them?”
He rolled his eyes. “I think you are the only person I know who’d be ashamed over the condition of their floors. Anyway, what’s going on?”
She huffed as she eyed him. “Your daughter wants to go to school on Monday.”
He slapped his gloves into one hand, causing me to jump a little. “Joanna, if that’s what she wants to do, then we shouldn’t stop her.”
“But—”
“So I can?” I rushed on, hopeful.
She looked between the two of us and sighed heavily. “Two against one, I see. Some things never change.” And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.
“Don’t worry, honey. Your mother is just concerned about everything.” He sat, patting the space beside him. I followed suit, clasping my hands together. “She’s been beside herself with worry. We thought...”
“That I was dead?”
He blanched and swallowed. “At first your mother thought you might have run away, and she was so upset. You know how she is.” A puzzled look crossed his face, and then he shook his head. “Actually, you don’t. She was worried that Cassie might’ve talked you into doing something like that, and if so, gossip would spread all over the place. I just wanted my little girl back, especially after we began to think the worse.”
Was Mom more concerned about what her friends might think? Either way, I still couldn’t imagine what my parents must’ve thought. “I want to remember.”
“I know.” He patted my knee.
“No. See.” I dug out the photo of Cassie and me from my jean pocket. “I
need
to remember.”
My dad swallowed again. “Do you ... do you remember her?”
I shook my head. Nothing about her face or how she draped her arm over my shoulders was familiar. Hell, my own face in the picture was strange to me, even the freckles spotting my nose. Cassie had freckles, too, but on her cheeks.
“But she could still be out there, wherever I was. She could be hurt or...” I turned the picture over, looking up, meeting his eyes. “If I remember, I could find her.”
“Honey, the police searched most of the state park and haven’t found anything.”
“Maybe she’s somewhere else. No one knows if I ... walked there. That’s the first thing I remember. Walking,” I told him. “Maybe I walked from somewhere else.”
“That’s a good point, but don’t force yourself.” He smiled as he stood, gloves dangling from his hand. “And if you don’t ever remember, then it’s not your fault. Okay?”
I nodded absently. Dad left after that. I went up the flights of stairs and placed the picture on my desk. Going into the bathroom, I reached to turn the faucet on but had forgotten it was one of those hand-motion-activated ones. Rolling my eyes, I waved my hand under the tap, and the water kicked on. After washing my face, I examined it again. I’d been doing that a lot, hoping that something would click. It hadn’t yet.
I took several deep breaths and closed my eyes. I blinked twice when I reopened them. The bathroom light was off. Had I accidentally done that? I didn’t remember hitting the switch on the wall. Backing up, I glanced out into my bedroom and swallowed hard.
I was under stress, and stress could make you do things absently. That sounded like a good theory, and I was going to go with it.
Heart pounding in my chest, I dropped onto my bed and stared at the plastic stars lining the ceiling. Last night I learned they glowed.
I liked that.
Did I like them before or did I think they were stupid? There was no answer. Nothing had an answer. I rolled onto my side and pulled my legs up, tucking them against my chest.
Cassie.
Her name had haunted me like a sad, strange melody ever since those officers left the hospital room. Could she be out there, not knowing who she was and in a different hospital? Scott had said Cassie and I fought a lot, but that was what friends did ... or at least I thought they did. And I sounded like a real tyrant anyway—so bitchy that even Carson didn’t like me. Hell, my own brother seemed afraid of me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced my mind to go blank. Which shouldn’t have been that hard, but I kept seeing this set of vibrant blue eyes rimmed in black. Ridiculous. I took a deep, calming breath and pictured Cassie’s face. Obviously she was the last person I was with. What had we been doing? Movies? Partying? Just hanging out and talking?
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, staring at the delicate music box with a little ballerina curved to the side, one leg bent at a ninety-degree angle. Was I a ballerina? Somehow I doubted that. Sighing, I rolled over, shoving my face into the pillow.
Something
crinkled underneath it.
Pushing up, I tugged the pillow away. Tucked halfway under the blanket was a piece of yellow paper folded into a triangle. Positive that it hadn’t been there this morning, I pulled the slip of paper out and slowly unfolded it.
My breath caught and I dropped the letter, scuttling back on the bed. Pulse racing, I closed my eyes, but I could still see the words.