The Memory Keeper

Chapter 17

"I saw Piper," Natalie said once Peter had made her a seat with a pile of throw pillows.

"You say it like you sound disappointed. Did something happen?"

"What didn't happen, is the question."

His brows shot up.

She sighed. "We do not have to talk about it. I suppose I just... feel jealous of anyone who can make her laugh like that."

He sat down beside her, resting his elbows on his knees, but did not say anything. He let her mull over her own thoughts, and brew in it. She wished he would not. She did not trust herself alone with this feeling, afraid she would not come out of it at all without turning into a crumpled ball of paper.

There was the smallest speck of wonder that Flower was somehow herself. To her it all made perfect sense in the end. She could never seem to see her face. She does not seem to remember the secret she shared with Piper the night they had met. Those blue flowers that kept showing up...

She wanted to ask Peter about the memory of he and Flower on the boat, the name of the flowers he put in her hair, but could not, because she had taken that memory away from him, for her own, so she came up with another idea.

From her coat pocket, she pulled the letter he had written to her, and revealed the pressed blue flower, the pistil yellow and shaped almost like a star. "Is this flower special to you?"

He peered at it in the dimness. The fireplace was lit with blue and green flames, and middle people were sitting around mumbling to each other. Sweet smelling fumes rose from the seats, and it took Natalie a minute to realize they were smoking something, most likely made by witches.

Mr. Sheinfeld touched the flower gently. "It is the color of your eyes."

"But is it special?"

He dropped his hand. "Yes, it is."

"What do you remember about this flower?"

"I am having a hard time trying to remember, if you could understand... And I think you do." His eyes seemed to cut into her for a moment, but she told herself it was only the reflection of firelight. He sneezed, wafting his hand through the smoke, which had become overwhelming. "Sorry. Not for sneezing. For losing my patience for a moment."

She shook her head. "No, I am the one who should be sorry. I should not ask you to try and remember. It will not help the healing process. I only ask a client what they remember after I weave it. But I have never taken them like this before."

Peter suddenly rested his cheek to his palm, looking as though they discussed something as normal as what they wanted to eat for dinner. He smiled when Natalie stopped rambling, looking irritated. "Were you even listening?"

He nodded. "Yeah, of course." His eyes dropped to her dress, traced the rose patterns, and for a moment she could almost feel it like an actual caress across the tops of her knees. She waved a hand in front of his face, surprised to find it clasped in his own the next second. He kissed the back of her hand, and she felt it in her stomach. She wanted to ask if he was alright, if the smoke was affecting him somehow, but a selfish part of her did not want him to stop. Another, more daring part of her wanted a lot more.

The mind weaver let Peter raise his lips to her cheek. His breath tickled her ear and her lashes fluttered. She turned slowly until their lips brushed, and that was all it took. Peter laced his hands through her hair on either side and crushed his mouth to hers. She felt all the breath leave her, and a giggle she did not recognize fumbled from deep within her chest as he joined her on the pillows, the kiss deepening, slowing, like a calm before the storm.