The Memory Keeper

Chapter 12

A hand fell on her shoulder and she jerked awake, not sure where she was for a few seconds. Peter looked down at her, brow creased with worry. "I am so sorry," he whispered.

She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when she saw the time. It was well beyond midnight. The window in the office was filled with that warm shade of pink just before the sun had edged completely over the horizon.

She sat up, back and legs aching horribly, and pushed herself out of the chair, her skirt wrinkled, hair mousy. A half dead fly floated around in her coffee. Peter watched her, a pitying expression pulling at his face. "Why didn't you show, then?" she asked at last.

"Hit some weather on the way back," he said. "Had to wait it out in Willow Haven."

She turned, trying to smooth her skirts. "You visited Willow Haven? I've been there as a child, but I hardly remember what it was like."

He nodded, face somber. She looked back, confused. He chuckled a little, lost in thought, then said, "Well, it is small." He looked up at her for a moment, smiling a little, then absently ran a finger along the mantel over the fireplace and rubbed the dust that came off between his fingers.

"They are peaceful, the people. Quiet. Well, maybe not peaceful... Observant is a better word. It is like when they look at you, they see something you don't, and will hardly tell you unless you ask, and that usually requires paying them, like a psychic reading or séance."

"Did you ever fall into that trap?"

He shook his head. "No, but I would hardly call it a trap. They really do see spirits, or fragments of your future, but if they just openly told everyone they passed on the street, it would be for you like mind weaving for free. Right?"

Natalie nodded. "I see what you mean." She bit her lip. "I kind of wanted to speak with a middle person at one point, but Piper talked me out of it."

There was hardly any hesitation. "Piper was right to do so."

Natalie placed her hands at her back, trying to stretch out the knot that had formed there throughout the night curled in the arm chair. "Wait, did you ever hire one?"

He shrugged, but did not specify. Looking at the window, yellow light pressing through the dull pane, he asked, "Would you like to go out for a coffee? That café I told you about, the one with the sandwiches, sells the city's best coffee, the kind with the whipped cream and all."

"I love treating myself to one of those occasionally," Natalie said.

"Allow me to, then, treat you to one. You've worked so hard for me."

As she gathered her coat, he hesitated, then slipped behind, helping her arms through the sleeves. He stayed, adjusted the back of the collar, the tips of his fingers brushing the back of her neck. It very well could have been without meaning, but Natalie felt his breath at her ear. She did not move, sure he could hear her pounding heart. Then he stepped away, moving around to open the front door, frowning left and right for a 'closed' sign.

She laughed quietly and flipped the sign hanging on it, from 'walk-ins welcome' to 'Closed. Come back later.' They were made of thin sheets of plywood and hand painted by Piper.

Peter and Natalie walked side by side down the cobblestone street, in the direction of the mountain peaks, early sunlight shining in their faces, warm despite the frost sparkling on verandas and lamp poles. They followed the merchants to the train station square, who tried to sell them bread, hand woven scarves, fresh peaches, and much more, which they declined politely.

They turned right, down the quiet lane of whispering weeping willows toward downtown Coldton, not saying much. Peter pointed out a fox. It peered at them from the brush, scampering away when they got nearer. And Natalie talked about she and Piper's paint battle. Peter laughed, throwing his head back, and she felt tears well in her throat, because for a moment, this all seemed normal. Innocent. And she wanted more of it.