I'm standing in a grass field, the blades intertwining with my bare toes. The night air is light and summery; warm without being overbearing. A thousand stars sparkle above me, each one trying to outshine its neighbor. Cicadas chirp from the trees off in the distance, and I breathe in the sweet smell of an ocean. As I take it all in, a nightgown swishes around my legs. I rub the material between my fingers, the pale pink silk slippery to the touch.
A pinprick of yellow light flashes in the distance. Then, another, just to my left. Another flash a few feet away. Another right near my hand.
Lightning bugs hover lazily around the field, bouncing their lights back and forth in a call and response. I lift my arms and let them dance around my fingers, each one leaving a gentle kiss as it passes. They begin to move as one, whooshing through the field in waves.
Then — they stop.
I feel the ground shift beneath me; something's off, and my body can tell right away. The hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end, and I can feel tension buzzing in the air like flies.
It's about all I feel. The world has become stagnant, the grass still. The cicadas have silenced their song, leaving only an eerie silence. The lightning bugs light up all at once, their glare blinding. I want to look away, but for some reason, I can't. It feels like I'm supposed to see this.
Caught in a trance, heart racing in my ears, I'm stuck waiting for something to happen. Anything to happen.
And that's when I hear his voice.
"Can't you trust me?"
"Carter?"
In the blink of an eye, the fireflies disappear. In their place hover thousands of spiders, their legs squirming and kicking in the open air. They hiss and spit, and even from a distance, I can feel the anger rolling off the cluster. Dropping in a swarm, they disappear in the grass, but the chill up my spine let's me know they're coming.
I spin on a dime and try to sprint, but my legs turn to lead. The dirt melts into mud, and my feet sink in the goopy mess. I fight to break free of the loose ground, but it pulls me down, further and further.
When I'm waist deep, the spiders reach me en mass, covering my arms, my neck, my face. They crawl along my eyes, through my nose, into my mouth, trapping in my scream. Over the chaos, the only thing I can hear is Carter.
"Can't you trust me?"
Jerking awake, I kick the seat in front of me. My breaths are shallow as I search the car frantically for any sign of the spiders. The feeling of them crawling down my throat lingers, and I cough from the sensation.
"Hey, do you need water?" Carter twists around from the front seat to see me better.
Apprehension coats my every nerve, made worse when I meet his eyes. Though some of the terror has ebbed away, details of the dream are still sharp in my mind. With his question still ringing in my ears, I can't shake a feeling of distrust. When he hands me a bottle of water, I make sure to avoid touching his fingers.
"It's good you're awake. We're here." He reaches over to Brynn's side of the car and starts collecting her things. A few of her toys get caught in the straps of the car seat, and Carter curses under his breath. I can't blame him for his frustration; we had a rocky start with the seat when we were packing up the car this morning.
It took him twenty minutes to get it attached correctly, and even then Charlie had to lend a hand. They resorted to shaking the seat at one point, though I failed to see how that would help. When I asked where Kerry was, thinking she'd be the best person to do it, Carter explained she didn't work for us anymore.
"Did she do something wrong?" I asked, hitching Brynn further up on my hip. I found it was easier to be around her when she's asleep.
"She was doing us a favor the other morning. We didn't need a nanny after you stopped working. You quit so you could stay home with Brynn," he said, still struggling with the seat.
I analyzed his answer long after Brynn was secured and we pulled away from the apartment. It just further proved how different I am from Mom; you couldn't pay her to stay home with me instead of going to work.
It gave me enough confidence to reach across the backseat and take Brynn's little hand. She clutched my fingers tight, even after she drifted off to sleep. I must've knocked out shortly after, because it's the last thing I remember about the ride. For someone who just slept through a three hour drive, I'm not feeling very rested.
As the panic uncoils from around my nerves, I realize the seat next to me is empty. Brynn isn't in the car anymore.
"We dropped her off at the house already," Carter answers before I can ask. He hops out the front, then comes around to open my door. It started raining at some point, and Carter struggles to keep the umbrella steady while helping me out car.
"Wait, where are we?" I've never seen this street before in my life — at least, not in the one I remember.
"Ah, can't tell you that. It would ruin the surprise." Carter leans through the passenger side window. "No need to stick around, Charlie. We'll probably be a while. Grab an early dinner, on us."
"Well shit, I'll be sure to order steak then," he jokes. Nodding a goodbye, Charlie drives away, leaving Carter and me on a random stretch of sidewalk.
"Not to burst your bubble, but are surprises really a good idea when it comes to brain injuries?" I ask, examining our new destination. The large manor house is all red brick, with stalks of ivy crawling up the sides. The snow- covered lawn is broken up by a long walkway, leading up to a set of white, marble steps. Carter treks forward, tugging me along with him.
"Trust me, this one's worth the risk." He smirks back at me once we reach the door, then rings the bell. It echoes through the house before the sound of footsteps makes its way towards us. Someone plays with the lock, and when it finally swings open, my heart jumps up to my throat.
"Even with a fucked up brain, you still look hot. How is that possible?" Chloe asks, leaning against the door frame.
"Chloe," I breathe, too stunned to come up with anything witty. I throw my arms around her neck, squeezing hard to make sure she's real. She returns the hug with equal enthusiasm.
"You still remember me, so that's a good sign. Granted, how could you forget someone so iconic."
Laughing through the few tears that slip through, I can't help but take note of her features. Carter's been the only person I've seen from the past, therefore the only time I've been faced with the age change. But looking at Chloe, it's weird all over again. Her face has more lines, though she's aged well. Her jet black hair is cropped short, close to the ear, framing her heart shaped face. She's curvier than before too, with more weight settling in her hips. It's a good look for her; she rolls her eyes when I say so.
"You tell me this all the time, but I still call bullshit. I'm making a commitment to the gym and I mean it this time." She gestures for us to follow her further into the house.
We head through the foyer and down a long hallway that ends in an open kitchen. Rain patters lightly against the windows, making the space feel cozy. All along the counters sit fresh plants, each one with a nametag. I read one as Carter helps me out of my coat.
" 'Leaf Ericson.' Cute."
"Ah, so you've noticed the children." Chloe takes the coats from Carter and hangs them in a closet off the kitchen. "Well, as close as we'll ever get, much to my mother's dismay. They're not as cute as the Brynnster, but we make do."
The smell of cookies wafts through the air, making my mouth water. With our coats hung, Chloe heads straight for the oven, playing around with the buttons before pulling out a sheet filled with chocolatey goodness.
"I knew to be prepared," she says as she drops the tray down on the stove top. She grabs a plate and scoops three cookies for me before heading to the fridge for some milk.
"You were expecting us?" I slide onto one of the barstools along the kitchen island. Carter stays back against the wall.
"You think you're coming to town and I'm not gonna know about it?" she asks, setting the snacks down in front of me. "I didn't sleep a wink after Carter called me last night. I cursed him out good for not calling sooner."
"It was quite the colorful conversation," Carter agrees in good humor, shaking his head at Chloe.
"I'm guessing that's when he filled you in on my condition," I say, picking at the cookies carefully. They're still too hot, and the chocolate burns my fingertips.
"Would you look at that? Critical thinking skills still intact too. You sure you're not faking all this amnesia shit for attention?" Chloe eyes me with mock suspicion.
"Only you could see through my plan," I joke back easily. Leave it to Chloe to make a serious situation seem light as a feather.
"Well, if this is for real, let's see if we can't get to the bottom of it." She grabs two cookies for herself. "Let's go sit in the living room."
"You two go ahead, I have a few calls I need to make for work. Try not to miss me too much," Carter teases.
"Somehow, I think we'll survive," I assure him. As I pass, I give Carter's hand a gentle squeeze. He returns the pressure and pairs it with a wink before taking my seat at the kitchen island.
Chloe and I end up in a living room filled with vintage furniture, accented by an ornamental rug that takes up half the floor. We set our cookies down on the coffee table, and I sink into the plush couch, careful to avoid the excessive throw pillows.
"Sorry about those," Chloe says, knocking one to the floor. "It wasn't my decision to buy a thousand pillows for one couch. They're supposed to match the Victorian theme of the house — whatever that even means."
"I'm surprised you even have a house, much less one with a theme. I never thought you'd stick around Susquehanna."
"Trust me, neither did I." She sips at her milk. "Don't get me wrong, I went out and tried the whole 'soul searching' thing. Moved to Seattle and ended up sharing an apartment with four girls just to make rent. After month three, I realized something."
"What?"
"I missed money," she answers honestly. "It was much easier to come home and work for my dad's insurance firm than roughing it out in the city. God, it sounds awful coming out my mouth, but this is just one of the few flaws that plague me."
"Might've mixed up your words there, friend. I think you meant to say many flaws."
"Don't make me kick you out in the rain. You know I will, and then it'll just be awkward."
I hold my hands up in surrender. Once I'm sure she won't follow through on the threat, I decide to do some prying. "So, if you didn't pick the theme of the house, I'm guessing a special someone did?"
"Happy wife, happy life, as they say." She holds up her left hand, flashing a ring that takes up half her finger. "I'm going on two years of marriage in October. Sounds crazy to my own ears."
"Do I know her?"
Chloe snorts into her milk. Instead of letting me in on the joke, all she says is, "Yes and no. She's in DC right now working on a campaign, but she'll be home this week. You can reacquaint yourselves then."
"Campaign? So you became a politician's wife after all." I'm shocked. If it's Jane, I might actually shit myself.
"Um, hell no. I've met plenty of politicians' wives, and they're all miserable," she says, rolling her eyes. "Wifey runs the campaigns, so it's a little easier to tolerate. At least I don't have to be involved."
"Sounds like a match made in heaven."
She laughs openly at that. "In a weird way, we are. She might be a headache sometimes, but she's my headache. Wouldn't trade her for all the Advil in the world."
My heart swells hearing that she's happy. She deserves it more than anyone. "I'm really glad to hear that, Chlo."
"Shit, so was my mom. I thought I'd never hear the end of her whining. You would assume she'd calm down once I got hitched, but she was talking about grandchildren before we got to the reception. I was hoping the plants might be enough, but she still sends me baby books in the mail."
I laugh, unsurprised. Whereas my mom has always been cold and distant, Chloe's mom would spend every moment with her if she could. I'm pretty sure they penned the term 'helicopter mom' after Mrs. Park.
"Speaking of weddings, I think it's time to take a trip down memory lane." Chloe heads over to an old dresser, then pulls out a colorful binder. She skips back over to the couch, unable to hide her excitement. "They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and boy do these pictures tell a story."
As soon as I read the cover, I catch her drift. Across the top reads "Amber's Basic Bachelorette" spelled out in sparkly pink letters. Below it is a picture of me in a cocktail dress, passed out in a trashcan. In the background, Chloe flashes the camera a wide smile, thumbs up combo.
"That wasn't even the end of the night. You woke up like, ten minutes later demanding another tequila shot."
"Jesus, what did you do to me?" I groan, cracking open the cover. The first pictures are relatively ok. It seems our night began at a restaurant and went south from there. By the third page, I've acquired three penis lollipops and am attempting to eat them all at once.
"I can't be blamed for this," Chloe insists, but she can't keep a straight face. "Fine, so it was technically my idea. You kept whining about not wanting a bachelorette, but I got you on board by the third tequila shot. It was just you and me, so we had to keep asking people to take our picture. I think we took a selfie with one of them."
Sure enough, I flip to a picture of us huddled close with a middle-aged man wearing a bowler hat. By the looks on our faces, you'd think he was Ryan Gosling.
"I don't think I've ever laughed harder than I did that night. It was one for the books, literally."
Paging through the album, I stop at each picture to see if it sparks something. I study one of us standing on a bar, the crowd around us cheering. Another is of Chloe camped out on a curb, stuffing McDonald's french fries down her throat. I can assume I'm laughing from behind the camera, but it's only that — an assumption. Even a picture of us splashing in the City Hall fountain brings back nothing, and that's been on our bucket list for years.
"I don't remember any of this," I say, defeated.
"To be fair, that might not be from the memory loss. You definitely blacked out after the seventh shot." She rubs my shoulder. "Don't worry, I've got plenty more books full of memories. We'll find something that clicks."
While Chloe goes back to shuffle through the binders, I flip to the last picture in this one, curious to see how the night ended. It's a shot of both of us squished in a diner booth that looks faded in the film. Makeup is smudged all over my face, and Chloe slumps heavily next to me. The sun's coming up in the background, giving away how late we stayed out. Something about the picture gives me pause, but it doesn't click until I look closer at the menus.
They're menus from The Pink Whale, Mark's afterschool job.
I assume he doesn't still work there, but Chloe will know either way. I've shown restraint not asking about Mark to avoid awkwardness with Carter, but there's no fear of that with Chloe. For the first time, I feel comfortable bringing him up.
"Do you have any of Mark? He's not answering my calls. I figure if I can't hear his voice, a picture is the next best thing."
"What?"
"Mark. Do you have any recent pictures of him?" I repeat, still dissecting the photo. I try using the window's reflection to check if he's the cameraman, but it's too blurry. Giving up, I take notice of how quiet the room is. Chloe's stopped shuffling through the albums, and when I glance up, she's staring right at me.
"He didn't tell you."
"Who didn't tell me what?" I take in her sudden pallor and hesitate. "What's wrong?"
Ignoring me, Chloe slams the drawer shut, then rushes over to collect our plates. Her movements are spastic, making the china rattle in her hands.
"I think there are more albums in the back closet," she says, her voice tight. "Just stay here, I'll be right back."
She strides back towards the kitchen before I can object, leaving me alone with a pit in my stomach.
A possibility I've been avoiding starts to set in. My skin runs cold as I recall the fight, specifically Mark's face as he kicked me out the car. He seemed like a stranger that day, but to think of him staying that way is unfathomable. Nothing's ever been big enough to tear us apart, but I can't deny Chloe's reaction. I don't think Mark's missed a single call from me before. In the last two days, he's missed seven.
Raised voices from the kitchen catch my ear and pull me out of my thoughts. I place the book on the coffee table, then work my way back down the hall. Their voices clear up the closer I get.
"Why would you do this? How could you bring her here and not tell her?" The water's running in the sink, but Chloe's not doing any dishes. She's staring Carter down with a look that would have me shaking. He has the sense to take a step back.
"I didn't want her to go through it again if she didn't have to," Carter says through clenched teeth. "I was hoping we'd get her memories back before—"
"Before what?" I ask bluntly, ready to cut the bullshit.
"Amber." Carter's head whips around to me. The bags under his eyes are even more pronounced in the fluorescent lighting.
"Just tell me." I might as well be speaking through a mouthful of peanut butter. I barely get the words out. "We didn't make up after the fight, did we."
"I can't," Chloe mutters, dropping her head in her hands. Then, much louder, "Damn it, Carter!"
Neither of them move. I'm picking up on the tension in the room, and I definitely do not like it. Someone needs to start explaining, now.
"Chloe," I plead.
When she looks up again, it's straight at Carter. "She's never gonna forgive you for this."
He's about to argue, but she doesn't give him the chance. Chloe walks over and grips my hands, the look in her eyes haunting.
"You and Mark didn't make up, but not because he was still mad."
My skin prickles when it doesn't add up. "So then why—"
"You didn't see him again after your fight. None of us did." Her voice catches, but she pushes through it. "That day was the last time any of us saw Mark alive."