The Memory Keeper

Chapter 20

Peter never showed.

Natalie had paced her office, her apartment, for hours, waiting for the door bell to ring. Every little knock sent her flying down the stairs, to discover it was only the creaking of the old walls, or the pipes in the walls. She did not want to chase him down with a letter a second time. But she could not let him abandon her, and it was certainly not just for his sanity.

With no Piper, or her dear Mr. Sheinfeld, Natalie could not help taking more than one capsule, which caused her to feel so dreadfully tired, she could not keep her eyes open by noon.

Days passed this way. She slept. She did not eat. And soon a numbness had crawled from her brain, to her heart, and eventually her very hands, so weak that when she at last tried to leave her apartment for lunch out in town, she could hardly hold her umbrella against the heavy drafts of wind.

Dark clouds curled over Coldton. Storms other than blizzards did not come this way. They always found themselves over Willow Haven or off the ocean of Pemawick Cove. It was unusual, but Natalie took no notice.

Alone at a table, she picked at a bowl of soup, unaware of the stares she received. Her hair was wind blown, eyes bruised, lips chapped. She knew it was about time to track Peter down, but something held her back. Deep down, she knew why he had not shown, and she was not ready to see for herself.

Peter would be curled up somewhere, trying to remember what he had forgotten. A photo or letter or fraction of memory will have been haunting him this whole time. It will not be like the last they met, at the ball when he told her he was obsessed with chasing Flower. No. This time, his eyes would be dilated, and there would be a quiver in his hands, unable to stop, always thinking, always searching. Maybe they waited too long. Maybe Piper's potion did not help.

On her way through the street, the clutter of chimneys creating even darker clouds above, she was stopped by the mail boy. He peddled over, soaked to the skin, and held a letter out to her. "For you, miss Gorman!"

Before he wheeled his bicycle away, over the slosh of puddles, he looked at her like he never had before. Like nobody ever had before. It made her feel like both a starlet and a criminal at the same time. She stepped under the veranda to a beauty shop and ripped open the letter.

She felt a claw around her heart.

***

The letter was dated back to only two days before her parents were pronounced dead, before her entire world shattered at her feet.

Dear Natalie,

I write to you from Winter Wells. There is a festival and it made me think of you, how you love local art and crafts. Your father and I were talking on the way down, how you do not enjoy your job at the chocolate shop. We know you do not like the idea of this, but you were destined for so much more. Your gift was given to you for a reason. And it does not matter that some people do not understand. That the only person who matters does not understand. But we are proud of you, and want you to embrace who you are. Just remember that, our daughter.

Love, Mom

She looked up to ask the paper boy why this letter was given to her so late, but he had already gone, vanished around the corner like he had never been there. Almost a year had passed by after this was written, and just now it found its way into her hands.

She thought of the dream. Her mother in the boat with the letter to her lips, then holding it out for Natalie to take. They needed her to have this letter, to be reminded of who she is. She put it in her coat pocket to keep it safe from the rain, then looked around, realizing what she was doing. Standing there under a dripping veranda, waiting for Peter and herself to just crumble in their separate corners, just because she could not do a thing for Piper.

The mind weaver realized, while marching to the train station, that there was nothing she could do now except try. So she started with Peter.

***

She stood outside of Peter's house, having asked someone in the neighborhood where she would find the Sheinfeld residence. The man had looked at her strangely, in her dark beige coat and hat, wind blown hair. She was an outsider, he knew, here for some sort of business purpose. Natalie clearly was not a witch, or a middle person. Which only left mind weaver, but there was no way anyone could know.

She knocked on the door and looked around. The rain had stopped, leaving everything it had touched at its brightest color. Still, her stomach ached while she waited. A horse and carriage rattled by the house, which was a tall flint thing enclosed behind a picket fence. She started to turn away, then realized the horse hoofs had stopped. From the corner of her eye, a couple of people stepped out of the carriage.

Pretending they were not there would not make them go away, but she pretended, anyway. The footsteps came, the fence door squeaked and clanked closed, and a few moments later, two shadows loomed on either side of her.

"You've done enough damage."

Natalie Gorman turned around. Standing there was a man and woman she recognized. Peter had remained beside them at the palace. It was then she noticed the woman's ice blue eyes, the man's dark blonde hair. They had to be none other than his parents.

"Damage?" Natalie echoed.

They made a hand gesture for her to leave. Their eyes were tired, not angry. She stood her ground, crossing her arms. "If you assume I've done enough damage, then you know who I am, and what I am capable of."

The woman leveled her gaze with Natalie's, who hoped her own blue eyes shone like fire.

"We know very well who you are, miss Gorman, more than you might think." She turned to her husband, looking as if someone had shoved a pail of water and brush into her hands and asked her to clean the Coldton palace one too many times.

"I am not here to hurt him. In fact, quite the opposite."

"You've done 'quite the opposite'," she said.

If Natalie had not noticed the way the woman's hands trembled, or the bruises under her eyes surely from restless nights, she would have felt the mocking tone like a stab. Instead, all she felt was curiosity, like this was not new to them. Like Natalie was not a stranger.

"He must come see me soon."

"We have hired mind weavers from Cape Colette to come and erase you for good, miss Gorman. Your work here is done."

Natalie stared at the woman as though she had just burned out all of her cabinets before her eyes. It was not being discovered by Colette that shook her heart so, it was losing Peter. The thought of becoming a stranger passing him on the street, those blue eyes looking straight past her, bloomed a pain so abrupt she felt her head spin.

If Piper were here, she would know just what to do. But Piper was not here. It was up to Natalie to convince them to let her see Peter one last time, and fix everything.

"He does not remember much," his father said when she asked. Surprisingly, his voice was soft, full of remorse. "If you ask him too many questions, he will hold his head and break the nearest object." He looked at Natalie as though she was the key to both his sanity, and insanity.

"Just one last chance to make this right," she said, hardly recognizing her own voice, which was so small and full of desperation, she did not feel it leave her throat.

Peter's parents looked between each other, and must have come to a misunderstanding, because his mother shook her head and pointed to the gate. "Absolutely not."

Deciding it would not be best to argue further, she offered a broken curtsy and turned away. She felt their eyes on her back as she slipped through the door of the gate and onto the sidewalk. It was not until she was around the bend that the tears came. Slowly, at first, embarrassment rising to her cheeks though nobody could see her. They slipped down her cheeks. She felt like a child who was not allowed to visit the candy shop. She ran her hands down her face, almost disgusted with herself. She should have had Mr. Sheinfeld taken care of before it got to this point. From pity to self-loathe finally came a moment of clear resolution. She would wait until the evening, then throw a rock at Peter's window the way she had seen Flower do in his memories.

Only unlike Flower, she would not give up on him.