You Will Remember Me by Hannah McKinnon (best sales books of all time txt) 📕

“No, I am,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. You took me a little by surprise.”

“I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy...”

Maya laughed, warm and kind, a hundred and eighty degrees difference from moments before, and I felt my shoulders melt away from my ears. “Well,” she said, “it was a little strange, to be honest, but in your defense, whatever someone puts on the web becomes public domain. I overreacted. I apologize.”

“You’re very gracious,” I said quietly.

“Not at all. But I’m curious, why exactly did you call me?”

I told her about how Jack had disappeared, how I’d found a book, called the library and got her name before working my way through Facebook to locate her at the Cliff’s Head. She listened without saying a word, which I found admirable considering how insane it sounded. “Can you tell me the name of the man in the photo?” I pleaded as I got to the end of my story, holding my breath as I waited for her answer.

“I’m confused,” she said. “I thought you said your boyfriend’s name is Jack?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I think he gave me a false name.”

“You’re kidding? What a piece of...well, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t—”

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Please, tell me what you know about the man in the photo.”

“Well, it’s not much,” she said, and I let out a little groan. I’d been hoping for a miracle and I wasn’t about to get one after all. “I’m pretty sure his name’s Gordon Jones, or Gordon James or something. I can’t quite remember, it was so long ago.”

“Where was Gordon from?”

“Hmmm... Australia, maybe? I’m terrible with accents,” Maya said. “I met him at our local beach one day, that’s when the picture was taken, actually.” She laughed in a what a funny coincidence way that made me bite the inside of my cheek. “You know, I’d always wondered what happened to my damn library book. He must’ve picked it up by mistake. I never saw him again.”

“Do you know where he was living?”

“No idea. Somewhere in Maine, I think, but he said something about a new job in Connecticut, or New York, maybe? I can’t remember. Perhaps you’ll find him on social media, the way you found me. I don’t think I connected with him, though.”

“Gordon Jones...or James,” I repeated. “Thank you, you’ve been really helpful.”

“My pleasure. Best of luck. I hope you find him, although if he gave you a fake name, who knows what he’s been up to. Tell him he owes me two bucks for the library fine.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know.” As soon as we hung up, I returned to her Facebook profile, intending on saving a copy of the image so I could share it with the cops. But as soon as I got to her photo albums, my brow knitted together tighter than before.

The picture was gone.

14

ASH

A few days had passed since my visit to Dr. Adler and the free clinic, but it would’ve been a lie if I said things had improved much. My brain was as muddled as ever, except for the time when Maya and I had played cards one evening. On a whim, I’d grabbed the deck from my bedroom, walked into the kitchen, slapped it down on the table in front of Maya and said, “Wanna play?”

My sister had grinned and rubbed her hands together, declared I’d better get ready for a serious thrashing. She’d been wrong, cursing me to hell and back as I instinctively remembered how to play poker, recalling all the rules, even calling her out on a few of them. By the end of the game she was shaking her head, laughing and begging for mercy.

“Brad taught you,” she said as I shuffled the cards, a feeling of contentment from the fact I’d remembered something spreading throughout my body, even though it was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. “He was an expert at the game, but you were twenty times better. And you never confessed, but we all thought you were playing for money in school. Secretly I think Brad was a bit proud of that, not that he’d ever have admitted as much to my mom.”

I’d fallen asleep on the sofa afterward and when I’d woken up Maya had teased me, saying it was something else I’d got from my father because he’d always dozed off before finishing the newspaper. Despite her good humor I could tell she was worried I’d overdone it, and she was unhappy about having gone back to work at the Cliff’s Head. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving me alone, despite my reassurances I was fine, and the next morning, when she’d dropped off what she called her “side gig”—key rings, bowls and other wooden trinkets she made—at the shop in town called Drift, she’d insisted I go with her, and I’d complied.

Today, though, after sleeping another nine hours straight, I was woken up by the phone. Somehow, I managed to recall Maya telling me she’d be at the restaurant, so I stumbled out of my room and got downstairs before the ringing stopped. It was Dr. Adler calling to reschedule our appointment because of an emergency, and once he’d confirmed the details and we’d hung up, I groaned and stretched, forced myself back upstairs and walked across the landing to the bathroom. Before I got there, sudden flashes of images hit me. In them, I was opening a door, not one of the oak ones in this house, but one that had been painted dark blue, with a brass handle rather than a silver knob. The picture faded and I took a step forward, but then the next image came, and it was so strong, so vivid, it almost brought me to my knees. Red-tinged water splashing onto a white tile floor. The shadow of a body lying in the tub behind the half-open shower curtain. My feet scrambled backward as my hands groped