Chapter 40
Ava
The halls went on and on. There were so many people. Anyone could be looking for me. Anyone could be Mom.
I kept my head down and didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Finally, I reached a big open section with a glass rail. Far below was the ground, with more people walking around.
Something dinged behind me. Wide doors opened. People went in and out. Arrows pointed up and down. My brain whirred. Then the word arrived. Elevator.
I raced inside as it closed. The doors bumped my bag and opened again.
Come on. Close. Close. Close!
Three other people were inside. One held a big vase full of red flowers. The other two stood close together. They paid no attention to me. I was still safe.
The elevator went down, down. My stomach felt strange, like it was lifting inside my body.
Then the doors opened to noise and a different type of air.
Here, people walked in every direction. There were so many smells. I didn’t know what any of them were, but they made my stomach rumble.
I walked swiftly to the middle of the space. I looked up and could see all the floors, including the one where I came from. I dashed away. I couldn’t have anyone see me from up there! Someone there knew my name. They had written it on the board for anyone to find, including Mom.
Mom was bad.
The sun blasted through enormous windows, a whole wall of them. I headed that way. People walked through doors that slid open by themselves. I rushed toward them and burst out to the other side.
The sky opened wide. It was pleasantly warm outdoors.
I clutched my bag and walked along the sidewalk.
There were cars everywhere, rows and rows of them.
Did I have one here somewhere? I sensed I could open a door and sit behind one of the wheels.
But I couldn’t picture what to do. And I had no way of knowing which one might be mine.
I walked for a while, the big hospital building far behind me, when my body started to hurt in several places. The back of my hand where the blood came out. The purple bruise near my eye.
And between my legs. Down there, it hurt more and more until I couldn’t walk anymore. It hurt too much.
A bench ahead had a lone man sitting on it. I collapsed onto the other end, pressing the bag tight to my belly. The pain eased some but throbbed in a steady rhythm.
A hospital was for sick people.
Maybe I shouldn’t have left. I could see the big building in the distance. I could go back.
Trust only this handwriting.
The man on the bench stared at me, his jaw working back and forth like he was going to talk. His beard was thick and wild, and his pants were torn at the knees. He leaned toward me. My fear of what he might do or say, that he might know my mother or tell her where I was, became bigger than my pain.
I launched away and walked a little farther until the pain got too bad again. I reached an empty bench and almost stumbled trying to sit down. Something was making me weak. I couldn’t keep going.
I stretched out to cover the entire bench, so no one could sit next to me. I rested my head on the bag and watched people walk by and cars move along the street. No one looked at me for long, their gaze darting away when they spotted me. The sun shone down, so I closed my eyes.
I lay there until finally, the pain lessened. I no longer felt like I would collapse.
I sat up and unzipped the bag. Something jingled. I dug along the side and pulled it out.
Keys.
But for what?
One of them read “Ford.” Another had only letters and numbers. A disk held them together, worn and rough around the edge. It was bright blue with a coffee mug on one side. I flipped it over.
Big Harry’s Diner. Good eats. 430 First Street.
Is this where the key fit?
I peered out beyond the sidewalk. What street was this? How could I tell?
Cars passed, the sun blasting off the shiny paint. The pain started to rise again, throbbing like a heartbeat.
Maybe I should go back to the hospital.
I went through more of the bag and pulled out a green bottle. The words were strange, sideways, but I could read them. Mountain Dew. I untwisted the top, and pale liquid spewed everywhere. I held the bottle over the sidewalk until it stopped.
My hand was sticky and wet. I licked it, and the taste was so good, so perfect, that I quickly brought the bottle to my lips.
The liquid was sweet and warm and made my stomach stop rumbling. I drank half of the bottle before I stopped for a breath.
So much better. I was still in pain, but I felt like I could go on.
I twisted the cap back in place and wiped my hands on my jeans. There was more to look at, including the important notebook.
I glanced around. A woman watched me closely, then turned her gaze to my book.
I covered it with a shirt from the bag. I couldn’t read it out here. It wasn’t safe.
I was about to zip the bag again when I spotted a small bottle. I stared at the label. “Ibuprofen tablets. 200 mg. For pain relief.”
Pain relief. I needed that.
I read the label out loud. “Take one pill every four to six hours. Two pills may be taken.”
I tried to open the top. It wouldn’t twist like the Mountain Dew did. I banged it on the bench, but that didn’t help. It was too tough. I wanted to cry. I needed pain relief.
I set the bottle down. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Car after car after car drove by. Another woman approached. She was talking to herself. I listened to what she was saying.
“Lila, we can’t accept that offer. It will put us upside down.” She huffed. “I won’t do it!”
Her tone made me shrink back against the back of the bench. Not her. I couldn’t ask her.
No one else was anywhere on the sidewalk.
My eyes pricked like they’d been hurt. I brushed my hands against them. Tears. I didn’t know crying could hurt.
I simply had to open the bottle. I had too many things that hurt.
I examined the lid. There were arrows and an image of a hand. I couldn’t understand what to do. I squeezed my eyes closed, so frustrated, then unexpectedly, my hands pushed down and turned, and the lid fell away.
They knew what to do. I just had to stop trying.
What else did my body know that I didn’t?
I shook two pills onto my lap. They were small and orange.
I put them in my mouth, rolling them around with my tongue. My teeth scraped against them, filling my mouth with a horrible taste.
I spat them into my palm, breathing hard again. Why was everything so difficult?
I opened the Mountain Dew and took another drink.
But the moment I lowered the bottle, my other hand popped the pills in my mouth. They went down with the rest of the drink.
I had swallowed them whole.
Magic.
I was magic.
I drank the Mountain Dew until it was gone and placed the empty bottle back in the bag. I managed to close the pill bottle and tucked it in next to it.
I glanced around. No one was coming. I could risk looking at the book.
I opened it in the middle. The pages had photographs. One of them was me, but I looked different. My hair was down, not in two braids. But it was definitely me. My nose. My eyes. I was surrounded by pots of flowers, most of them yellow. The blooms looked like stars with a funny round snout.
Standing next to me and the pots was a woman with a wrap on her head. Her skin was dark, while I was pale. She smiled, while I was serious. She was tall and substantial. I was small, like I was disappearing into the pots. Beneath it were written the words “Ava and Maya.”
The next one showed me with a man. He had straight, short hair and blue eyes. Our heads touched together as we smiled. This one said, “Ava and Tucker.”
A brother? A boyfriend?
Why didn’t I know?
I turned the page. This photo showed me with another man, gray tinting parts of his hair. This one said, “Ava and her father Marcus.”
I had a father!
Where was he?
Why didn’t he save me from Mother?
I pressed my hand to my thigh where I had seen the tattoo.
Mom is bad.
I glanced to make sure no one was coming and went back to the first page.
Mother stole the last book.
I can’t believe it.
How could she!
I knew things were missing. I knew it!
I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!
My breath came in pants, and I pressed my hand to my mouth.
I knew it.
Something felt wrong.
I wouldn’t have these words on my skin if something wasn’t wrong.
Another woman drew near to my bench, and I pulled the notebook to my chest to hide the words. Could she be my mother?
The woman kept walking, but the fear remained. Anyone could see me here.
I glanced over at the hospital. Did my mother put me there? Was that why I woke up so afraid? Was she why I hurt? Why I had a bruise on my face?
There was blood in my underwear.
Panic welled up. What did she do?
The building was too close. I had to get far away.
I stood up. I felt stronger. My stomach didn’t rumble. The Mountain Dew took that away. The pain was less. The pills might be working.
I shoved the notebook into my bag. I walked another block, careful to take it slow. But I felt better as more time passed. The ache between my legs lessened.
The cars got fewer as I moved away from the hospital. Soon, there were houses along the street. Then, a block full of tall grass and trees.
I darted into the trees and walked away from the road. I was safe here, hidden among the brush. I couldn’t see the hospital or even the street anymore.
I found a bare spot on the ground and unpacked the bag completely.
There were more clothes. A shirt with the words “Austin Community College” across the top.
Another clue, maybe. A pair of shorts. More underwear.
Socks. Then something curious. A small blanket.
It was pale blue with dinosaurs. The urge was strong to lift it to my face.
It smelled clean and fresh. My chest loosened. This was a good thing, something happy. I set it in my lap.
I removed the empty Mountain Dew. The keys. The notebook. I found two more small bags. One had a comb, a lip balm, a tube of toothpaste, and two toothbrushes.
Why two?
The other bag held several chocolate bars. I read the wrappers. Hershey’s. Twix. Mr. Goodbar. I tore one open. It had gone soft, but I gobbled it down. It tasted so good. I closed my eyes for a moment. I was okay. I got away. I had a book to help me. I got rid of my pain. And I ate something.
I was going to be all right.
I opened the notebook again.
So much has happened since that first entry in the notebook. So much. I kept it there to remind you to be careful. It always gets your attention, and the handwriting matches your tattoo. But there is a lot to know, Ava. Take your time.
I’ve organized and reorganized this information to help you reorient yourself to your life when you lose your memory. You can trust it.
There are people you need to know. Safe people.
Tucker. Dad. Gram. Maya. Big Harry.
I’ve tried over and over to put our life story into a form that will work. Sometimes you—or, me, I guess—are mean or scared when we come back after losing our memories. You don’t want to listen to anyone. You resist being helped.
I’m still trying to find a way to keep us safe when this happens.
But please read this. All of it. I learned not to put in addresses or phone numbers because things change. Life changes. One time you went to the most dangerous place of all by accident because of a location you found in this notebook.
I hope I’ve fixed it now.
Read, Ava. Sit and learn. Trust no one who talks to you, approaches you, or takes you anywhere until you have all the answers.
Find a safe place. Be careful of police or hospitals. Sometimes they send you where you should not go because that is what they have on record.
Learn everything first. You are here, inside these pages.
But you are also inside yourself. Your brain has disconnected your memories, but we don’t only remember with our minds.
We remember with smells, with tastes, with feelings.
With muscles that automatically do things we didn’t know we could do.
I looked at my hands. It was true. They had opened the pill bottle.
You can take photographs, Ava. You studied it in college. You can drive a car. You can do math in your head and flip an omelet even if you’re half asleep.
And you can love, even when you’re sure you can’t. When Tucker finds you, try not to be scared. One thing we’ve figured out over all these memory resets is that love and fear are divided by a painfully narrow line. Don’t resist Tucker. He is the one who has always kept you safe.
It’s time to read about who you are. I’m sorry there are so few entries from when we were young. Mother destroyed almost all of those. Some of this story you wrote yourself. Other parts were done by Tucker.
Keep this story, Ava. Protect it at all cost. It’s why words are tattooed on your body.
Trust only this handwriting.
This is the book.
Remember your life.