Remember Me? (Book 1) COMPLETED

Thanksgiving

ERLAND

Betsy was waiting for me at the airport when I arrived. Since I didn't have any bags, we went straight for her car. A blast of frigid air hit us, chilling my neck, face, and whatever else I'd left uncovered. Kat's voice, warning me to wear more than a hoodie, rang in my ears.

"You have a good flight?" Betsy turned the key in the engine.

I looked over my shoulder to help her check for any oncoming traffic. "It was fine." I chuckled. "I survived."

She backed out of the parking and wove her way out of the airport traffic. Even though this was my second flight by myself, I surprised myself by the jolt of anxiety that shot through me once the wheels touched down in Pennsylvania. Maybe it was the slimy chicken they served on the flight.

"How's Mom?"

Betsy shot me a smile. "Best see for yourself when we get there."

I wanted to convince her to tell me, but if she was keeping silent, maybe it was for a reason. If it was something bad, she would've told Kat, right?

We seemed to pass a thousand streetlights before reaching the valet entrance to Betsy's apartment. I hopped out of the car in time to see Betsy hand the keys to a valet and enter the lobby. The hotel's grand lobby reflected the wealth I knew she had—at least she didn't boast like Rick.

How many times had Kat and I seen him pull up to Wayward in the latest Tesla? Kat hadn't gone up to the top floor since she'd been kicked out of the Committee, but I sneaked a peek when Stephanie was out getting coffee. The clean, modern lines were overtaken by gaudy paintings and chandeliers.

On the twelfth floor, Betsy stepped out of the elevator and fished her keys out of her purse. I followed her inside.

The apartment was a reflection of Rick's changes to Wayward, but Betsy had left her touch in every corner. The kitchen was outfitted with orange and red daisies, matching towels, and fall decorations like pumpkins and wreaths. My eyes fell to the oven, where a golden-brown turkey seemed ready to eat.

"Camille's on the balcony." Betsy opened the oven, and the scent the poured out made my mouth water. "I'll call you back in when everything's ready."

I nodded and turned to the far end of the spacious room, feeling my pace quicken as I reached the doors to the balcony.

There, the slim outline of my mother was silhouetted by the city lights. I was at her side in a moment and her arms were around me, squeezing me tight. So tight I couldn't breathe, but at least she had the strength now than when she was in a coma.

Hot tears escaped my eyes and I heard Mom's voice, low and soothing, "What's wrong, honey?"

I shook my head, brushing them away with the back of my hand. "I—I'm so sorry, Mom, about the accident."

Her eyes widened. "Erland, it—"

"I know you're gonna say it's not my fault, but it is. I shouldn't have distracted you when we were getting on the highway." How many times had I relived the moment in my head, all the mistakes, all the terrible guilt that keeps falling back on my shoulders?

Mom's hands went around my cheeks, forcing my gaze to her. "Listen," she said. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident." She brushed the hair out of my eyes and kissed my forehead. "I'm grateful I'm alive," she said. "It means God's not done with me yet, nor with you."

Her words were soothing, peaceful, and I found myself almost collected.

"I'm glad you're still here, Mom," I said, hugging her before sitting in the chair across from her. "And Kat is too. She would be here, but—"