He grinned as he came closer, as though he’d missed her during their short separation. He unzipped his coat, letting it drop down his shoulders before draping it across the back of his seat and sliding into the booth.
“Anything sound good?” he asked, reaching out for a menu.
She cleared her throat, still slightly dazed as she nodded her head. “Well, it would be a shame not to try the soup.”
Her voice was barely audible, but he smiled nonetheless. “You’re probably right.”
The server came forward, and set two mugs on the table while eyeing Samantha warily. She didn’t say a word, but the way the girl watched her made Samantha nervous. As though she’d seen Samantha’s reaction to him entering the room. As though she knew everything Samantha was feeling without her saying so.
“Are ya’ll ready to order?” she asked, filling their mugs with piping hot coffee. “Or do you want me to give you another minute?”
Tristan shrugged, lowering his menu to look at Samantha. “I’m ready if you are.”
She took a breath, turning toward the server before nodding her head. She could feel the walls of doubt closing in around her. Doubts about this trip, her relationship, her sanity.
“Can I have half a grilled cheese, and a cup of soup, please? Split pea,” she confirmed, then she rose from her seat without saying another word and excused herself to the bathroom.
Alone in a stall, she fished her phone from the bottom of her bag and called Steven. She needed to hear his voice, to hear him say he missed her, he loved her, anything that would ground her back to the life that seemed to be slipping through her fingers by the second. Steven’s phone rang a half dozen times, then finally rolled to voice mail, making her heart drop.
“Hey babe,” she began, her throat constricting as she thought of words to say. “We’re in Chippewa Nebraska. It’s so cold I can see my breath.” She paused, resting her head on the toilet roll and feeling almost sick. She began to laugh, not hard, but in a way that could easily shift to crying given the opportunity. “I think it may rain before we stop; isn’t that crazy?” She pulled in a breath. “I already miss our sunshine. I miss you.” But as the words crossed her lips, they didn’t quite feel genuine. They didn’t quite feel hers. “Call me.”
She disconnected the call, lowering her head to set her ears between her knees. But all she could think about were the words Tristan used back at her apartment. “I don’t remember much about you, either.”
“Much.” What did that even mean? The more she thought about it, the more impossible it became to ignore. He had to remember something. Maybe not their time in the woods, but something.
When she finally made it back to her seat, their food was already set on the table, and her brow was set with determination to get some answers. She slid into the booth, finding him relaxed and eating his meal, yet looking so perfect, Samantha had to force herself to look away. Her mind was clouded with confusion. So much so, she could hardly see straight. Because two days with Tristan had sent doubts about everything scorching through her veins.
She poured some creamer into her coffee, fetched a spoon from the table and began to stir. “What do you remember about me?” she whispered. She meant for the words to sound confident, like one of the random questions asked around a bonfire. Like the ones they asked each other in the car. But it came out unsure. Almost frightened. Not strong and steady like she’d intended them to.
His brows furrowed and he put down his burger. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know?” She shrugged. “I mean, Renee and I have been best friends for ten years. You can’t possibly remember nothing…”
Her words trailed off, and he pushed himself back in his seat and tilted his head. “Hmm… I remember you always wore two braids.” He paused. “Split right down the middle on either side.” He took a sip of coffee and grinned. “I remember you played the flute.”
She nodded and began organizing the sugar packets, listening. “That was me,” she agreed. “Anything else?”
He only shrugged, narrowing his eyes slightly as he sat forward. “I remember…”
But the way he looked at her made her heart start beating faster. Made her grab her spoon and take her first bite of soup.
“That you and Renee were attached at the hip.”
She took a breath, her lips curving downward. “Yeah,” she agreed. “We sure were.”
But then he did something that surprised her. He leaned forward and asked a question of his own.
“What do you remember about me?” His voice was low, almost suspicious. Which caused her heart to squeeze and run on overdrive.
She glanced down at the table, grabbed a cloth napkin, and unfolded it in her lap before looking up again. “I remember a lot,” she said. “I remember you were popular. I remember you having friends by your side every second.” She looked up into his waiting eyes. “You were the quarterback for the West Valley Panthers.” She licked her lips, everything she wanted to say lingering at the tip of her tongue. “I remember…all the summers we spent up at your family’s cabin. Especially the last one.” She was proud of herself for saying it, but at the same time her chest filled with anxiety as she waited for him to speak.
He took another sip of coffee, his eyes intense as he watched her. As though trying to read her thoughts. She could feel it. The tension accumulating between them. So tight it was as though they were both caught in vice.
He nodded slowly, a slight confirmation causing her nerves to ignite like fireworks inside her.
“The cabin,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I did some stupid stuff there.”
Her heart pinched at his statement and she turned to look out the window again. “Yeah.” But what she really wanted to do was cry. “We all did.”
The server came then, breaking up their conversation to check on their meals. “Everything okay over here?” she asked, topping off their mugs with fresh coffee.
But when neither of them spoke, she left for the back room again, and Samantha turned to face him. It was as though all the anger and frustration she’d kept bottled inside came exploding out of her. “I remember a few more things,” she began, her chin held as high as she could manage. “You were a player. A cheater, and someone who cared about nothing but himself.”
He took a long sip of coffee, his expression hardening before her very eyes. It was like a Tristan she’d never seen before. A Tristan she never wanted to see again. He pulled out his wallet and placed a couple of twenties on the table before getting up to leave. “You’re right. That’s exactly who I am. Exactly.”
She cringed, her heart aching because she knew she’d hurt him. She’d meant to, even though he’d done nothing but tell her the truth… Though now she felt like a complete bitch. “Tristan, wait!”
But he didn’t listen. His large legs had already carried him halfway across the restaurant, far away from her and her tongue that had lashed out to hurt.
Chapter Fifteen
When they finally got back to the Mustang, Samantha was in a foul mood. Partly because she hadn’t slept in days, but also because she deeply regretted what she’d said. The server had meddled so much, all the memories she’d tried to forget about were rising to the surface. Memories she hadn’t thought about for a long time. Memories she’d buried deep for good reason.
As soon as she buckled herself into her seat, she bent forward to fish her iPod out of her bag and start a new book. It was one she’d listened to at least a thousand times but always found comforting. Like a threadbare old t-shirt, or a bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone—the story about the boy who lived.
She closed her eyes, listening to the voice that had lulled her to sleep on too many occasions to count, and tried to forget about the past. To forget about everything. To not worry about the what-ifs, or the reasons he didn’t remember. But to focus on an epic tale about good vs. evil. About power, and temptation, and growing up.
Before long, a good four chapters into the story, something changed. She felt the car slow, decreasing in speed at a steady rate that caused panic to lurch in her chest. She quickly opened her eyes, sure they hadn’t been on the road long enough to justify stopping, and realized they were pulling off to the side of the road—on a pitch black two-lane highway—in the middle of nowhere. Samantha pulled the ear buds from her ears and straightened. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go to the bathroom out there.”