The Memory Keeper

Chapter 27

Peter's brow furrowed. Not with anger. Not even confusion. But a sorrow so thick, she felt the very room quiver with it. And then he whispered, making to stand. "I am sorry... I do not know what you are talking about."

When he made it to the set of double doors, he looked back. "Please excuse me, miss Gorman. Help yourself to tea and biscuits. I must make a call."

***

A shiver had grasped hold of Natalie. While she sat in that chair, she felt all of her memories with Peter flashing before her eyes. She could still feel his hands around her face while he kissed her in Willow Haven's manor. Could still smell the smoke of his pipe as he stood outside her office after one of the mind weaving sessions. Could still see the concern in his face when he brushed her tears away on Piper's porch...

How could he not remember? Or was he pretending he didn't, in order to brush her away and start all over? Was she only a distraction through the more intense sessions? Or was he still in love with Flower?

There were only two days left to close up Peter's sessions. Though her feelings for him were more important than her silly license, she did not want Piper to face being dismissed from her apprenticeship alongside the mind weavers. So it was for her friend she continued to wait.

At last, after what felt like an hour, the door opened.

Natalie looked up, expecting Peter to come in and explain himself, but instead she found Piper. Her friend looked tired, like she had been up all night yet again, brewing who knew what for who knew who. She met Natalie halfway across the room, where the mind weaver grasped Piper's shoulders.

She had not realized she was crying. "Peter does not remember," she choked, a scream balled in her throat. "He looks at me like I am some ordinary mind weaver."

The expression the witch wore was one reserved for such pity, as though Natalie had fallen into a mud slide in her best dress. "Don't worry, Natalie. All of this will make sense later, I promise."

"Does he remember you?" The mind weaver cried, and Piper found she had to hold Natalie up, for she was slipping, as though the weight of this was too much to bare. A sob escaped her, and she fell to the floor, dress crumpled around her like a pond of fabric, face in her hands. Her whole body trembled, the sadness like a monster stomping through her very soul.

The words escaped Natalie as though it took a lot of effort to breathe and speak. "I can't imagine forgetting Peter..."

Piper dropped to a crouch, the beads on the hem of her dress rattling against her knees, beside Natalie. With a soft, slender hand, she brushed brown locks out of the mind weaver's face.

"Finish the session, Natalie. Finish it today if you must. The sooner the better. Colette and I will explain everything when we are to pay a visit tomorrow." When this did not seem to help, Piper whispered, "I will give you the letters. After the session, you are to give them all back to Peter."

At this, Natalie looked up, the tear tracks burning, as though hot stones had been rolled down her cheeks. "Why? Why give them back to him?"

"Remember when I asked for the rosemary you had in your room? Do you remember what I said about its healing properties that day in Winter Wells?"

Natalie shook her head, not understanding.

"The potion I made for you... Well, it was not for stress. It was for your memory."

The mind weaver waited for a better explanation. When Piper only stared at her, she asked, "Then what about the capsules? Were they not really to keep the nightmares away?"

Before Piper could think of an answer, the door opened, and they both looked over. Natalie knew she should feel embarrassed to be seen this way, but what did it matter if Peter knew her no other way?

He stood at the double doors, his eyes on Natalie. Slowly, he made his way closer and knelt down beside her. Piper slipped out of the way, perhaps to offer privacy, and moved to the farthest love seat, hands twisting on her lap.

Natalie took a breath when he looked into both her eyes.

"You said you had a gift for me, after all of this was over. You told me so at the manor in Willow Haven, before one of our sessions, when I promised to make the shadows disappear..."

He looked helpless for a minute, and then looked to Piper for help. Before Natalie could follow his gaze, he had stood up and swept his arm across the table, sending the tray of cups and cookies, tea pot and decanter to the floor, where it all shattered, spilling over the carpet, all over the hem of Natalie's dress. The mind weaver buried her face in her hands and continued to cry, while Peter continued breaking whatever he could get his hands on. The vase of orchids went flying across the room, spraying water and petals, followed by another burst of splintering glass.

He could not remember. Is that where this frustration came from? Perhaps she did something wrong. Perhaps she was not one of the best mind weavers known to date, but the worst. What if she ruined Peter? Ruined herself?

***

The maid had peeked her head in to see what the matter was, but Piper, cross-legged on the love seat, shooed her with a little hand motion. It was hard for her to watch Peter throwing things around while her best friend sat with her face pressed to her hands, like all of her hope had been shattered right along with the items in the room.

From her pocket she pulled a letter. It was sealed with dark blue wax, a lot like the others she had collected. But it caught Natalie's eye when she finally lifted her head. Peter had stopped toppling things over, and stood with his hands braced on the mantel of the fireplace. He looked over his shoulder and met Natalie's eyes before they both turned to Piper and the letter.

"This is the last one, you say, Peter?" Piper whispered.

He nodded and looked down.

A smile lifted one side of the witch's mouth a little solemnly while she held it out to Natalie. "Finish it, my friend."

The mind weaver took the letter from her and found a sudden determination in Piper's brow. She offered a little nod and stood up from the floor, brushing her crumpled skirts, and moved toward Peter, who met her halfway, clasping her hands. She dropped the letter as his memories blossomed in full color and detail in her mind's eye.

Mindless chatter at dinner parties. Sleepless nights. The pages of a marked calendar flapping in the wind. Peter walking the street in downtown Coldton, down the lane of willow trees toward the train station.

Smoke billowed across the square, and when it cleared, Flower was heading his way from the opposite direction.

He turned quickly and put a hand on her shoulder. Wan sunlight caressed her eyelashes, turning them golden. Watched her walk away.

Dropping his suitcase in a large, empty house. Newspapers shredded at his boots. Columns about the Gorman couple's boat crash. Rain dripping from verandas of chipped buildings, narrow cobblestone street straying into the morning fog, lamplights flickering.

A stout flint building with a dutch roof of slate.

Flower opened the door.

Peter said something, but it was lost in the sudden sound of a heart beating in quick succession. Her brows pressed in. "Have we met?"

A smile trembled on his lips. "I'm afraid I can't say we have."