“You need some on the shelf out there, and we’re almost out at home.”
I loaded up my arms and went out into the store. It was a large place, and it fit in with the lake charm of the entire town. Loch Gen sort of looked like a big log cabin. The walls were all wood, the type that looked weathered. The ceilings were pitched, also covered with wood, and there were log beams that crossed the width of it. In between them, ceiling fans hung down, which I always kept on (set on low) for better air circulation.
The walls were decorated with old boat oars, the Maine flag, and some old Maine license plates. There was also a big, red metal lobster, but the paint was chipping. A few windows were scattered throughout the building. They didn’t look commercial; instead, they looked like windows you might find in a house.
My favorite part of the large store was the upstairs loft. It stretched just half the length of the building, and the wooden railings were open so from up there, you could look down over the entire place.
The narrow staircase to get up there was against the wall toward the back, and tucked beneath them was a small bathroom. Up in the loft area was my office of sorts. There was a desk, an updated desktop computer, and everything else I needed to essentially run the place.
The back of the store was lined with coolers where we kept a lot of the dairy and cold items. Near it was also the frozen section. The produce section was toward the front of the store, the aisles for most everything else in the middle. Toward the back, near the bathroom and stairs, we had a section of clothing and other Lake Loch merchandise. T-shirts, hoodies, hats, etc.
I was hoping to expand on the place over the next five years, bring in some new groceries and goods, but it was something that took time.
After stocking up the napkins, I went to the front and closed the front door that was still wide open. The watchful eye of my father followed when I stepped behind the long counter and checked the register (which was not old like Joline’s. I used an updated electronic one that took credit cards).
“I already booted it up and checked the drawer,” he told me.
“Thanks,” I said, still making sure it was all in order. Mostly, I was just avoiding him. I knew he was going to bring it up.
As much as I thought about Amnesia (she occupied about eighty percent of my thoughts these days), I wasn’t so keen on talking about her. I felt defensive. Protective. Wary.
“How’s she doing?” Dad asked. “Any memories yet?”
I thought of the dream she told me about, a conversation she shared with me in confidence, and how haunted and unsure of herself she seemed about the whole thing.
“No memories. None at all,” I said. “But physically, she’s doing better.”
Abandoning the register, I propped my elbows on the counter and looked at Dad.
I looked a lot like him—dark hair, square jaw. I got my height from him and also my work ethic. My blue eyes, though, those I got from Mom.
“You’re worried about her. Involved.”
“I’m not involved with her, Dad. I’m being her friend, something she needs right now.”
He sighed. “I didn’t mean romantically. But I think we both know you want it to be more than friendship. I meant you’re involved with her life, invested in her.”
“Of course I am.”
“You still think it’s her? After spending time with her, talking to her. You think she’s her?”
I looked up, meeting his eyes. “I know she is.”
Dad came forward, stopping just on the other side of the wide counter and resting his hands on the top. “Just because you want something to be true, son, doesn’t mean it is.”
I knew he wasn’t trying to be unkind. Or even pessimistic. He was worried. I saw it in the lines around his eyes and the set of his lips. I was sorry he was concerned. My mom, too. But it wouldn’t change anything.
“You haven’t seen her. No one has come to see her,” I said, angry.
Just because I knew where he was coming from didn’t mean I liked it.
“People are wary, son. You can’t blame them. This is an odd situation. People are afraid to get involved.”
“So in the meantime, Amnesia suffers for it. She’s already suffered, Dad, more than any of us know. Someone tried to kill her. She was abused.”
My father swallowed thickly, his eyes downcast. “Everyone feels really bad about what happened to that girl.”
“Amnesia,” I said, my voice rumbling with stone. “She asked to be called Amnesia. You know why?” I fumed, suddenly dumping out all the shit I’d been holding inside. “Because she thinks that’s all she is. A total memory wipe. She literally has nothing. I gave her my hoodie this morning because all she has for clothes is that goddamn hospital gown.”
“You better watch your mouth.” He warned, sounding fatherly. “We’re at your place of business. Anyone can hear.”
“Maybe more people should hear!” I went on. “She’s one of us! One of Lake Loch’s own. This town takes care of its own; that’s what this small town is about. But not right now. Right now, everyone’s tongues are wagging and everyone is curious, but no one wants to do anything.”
“I can see you’re upset.” Dad tried to reason.
I laughed. “I won’t turn my back on her. If I had been there before, she wouldn’t be sitting in a hospital room with nothing at all.” Guilt threatened to crush me. “Things would be so different.”
“Edward,” Dad said, his voice stern. “This wasn’t your fault. Your mother and I thought you understood that. We thought you’d finally begun to let go. But now she’s here, and you’re sucked back down. We don’t want to see you give up everything for someone who probably isn’t even who you want her to be.”
“Even if she’s not… doesn’t she deserve help?” I asked, my chest tight. I felt I was grappling at thin air, trying to find something to hold on to. Something solid and real.
Dad’s expression went soft and guilt flooded his face. “Yes. Yes, she does.”
“I want it to be her,” I whispered.
Dad covered my hand with his. “I know that, Eddie. But you have to know it probably isn’t her, and if it is, she’s not the girl you used to know.”
The doctor basically said the same thing. I knew it, too. But it didn’t stop me from being drawn to her anyway.
“I can’t even ask her. Or bring it up. The doctor said her mind needs time.” I confided.
“Your mother and I will stop by the hospital, visit her,” Dad said. “If she’s that important to you, then she’s important to us.”
“Really?” I was mildly surprised he was coming around.
“Of course. But you have to promise me something.” He met my stare. “Do not let this consume you. Focus on your work, your friends, your house. Don’t spiral down and let everything you’ve built crumble to nothing.”
“I won’t.” I vowed. I was stronger than he gave me credit for. Maybe that was just a parent thing. I didn’t know, and truly, I didn’t care.
He nodded. “All right then. I’ll go home and talk to your mother. I’m sure she’ll be in to get flowers or something for your… for, ah, Amnesia.”