Page 36 of Forget Me Not

I open my eyes to a startling light, the sun outside blindingly bright.

The rain must have stopped while I was asleep and I spend a few seconds listening to the birds chirping in the trees, the cicadas singing their song in the distance. The kind of slow, serene morning that seems somehow jarring after the violence of the storm that came before it.

I fling off the covers, the sweat coating my arms alerting me to the fact that the power is still out.

I glance over at the sink, the two sticky mugs sitting in the bottom prompting my memories of last night.

Liam had stayed for at least a few hours, the two of us polishing off the bottle as my eyelids grew progressively heavier, my body sinking deeper into the sheets.

Our conversation trickling into some semblance of small talk after the weight of that first question melted away.

“So, be honest,” I had said, finally getting around to talk of our hosts as our bodies tilted together in the dark. “There’s something a little off about them, right?”

“Off?” he had asked, studying me from above the lip of his mug. He had gotten more comfortable, too, resting easily against the headboard. Our outstretched legs lying side by side.

“Their relationship,” I continued. “Marcia and Mitchell. I mean, it’s a little strange.”

“How so?” he had asked, giving me nothing in return.

“Just the dynamics of it,” I pressed, trying to figure out how to word it all carefully.

Despite my earlier bout of honesty, I still wasn’t ready to admit to finding that diary, the illicit things I’ve been doing behind all their backs.

“The way they interact. She barely talks at all, especially when he’s around. ”

“Not all the time,” he argued. “Besides, things were different back when they met.”

“You mean, you think it’s just a gender role thing? Like Mitchell is the alpha and Marcia is expected to slide into place?”

“That’s not all that uncommon for people their age.” Liam shrugged, looking down at his lap. “Doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

“So, you don’t think he’s too controlling or something?”

He had sighed then, rolling his neck like he was quickly getting sick of the conversation.

“And she doesn’t seem, I don’t know, sick to you?” I continued, knowing my time was running out. “It’s never struck you as odd before?”

“Odd, sure,” he had said, draining the last of his wine before standing up, a silent cue that our evening was over. “Everything about their lifestyle is a little odd. But like I said, they’re private people. They do things their own way.”

“So, you’re not worried about her,” I pushed, still not ready to let it go. “You really don’t think there’s anything wrong.”

“No, I’m not worried,” he replied, placing his mug in the sink before walking to the door and turning around, tired eyes landing on mine in the dark. “And I really don’t think you should be, either.”

I slide out of bed now and tap at my phone lying dead on the table.

I know I won’t be able to charge it in here, the lack of power rendering it useless, so I pick it up and walk to the desk before slipping it into my bag.

Then I tuck in my notebook and laptop along with the diary before getting dressed, pulling my hair into a bun, and grabbing my keys from their spot on the counter.

I step out of the cabin, making sure to lock the door behind me. My surroundings still as I walk to my car.

I recognize the soft squish of mud beneath my shoes, the buzz of mosquitos in the damp air.

There was a full moon last night, the marsh already rising long before the skies saturated it further, and as a result, the whole place is flooded.

Salt water seeping into the yard as the river laps against waterlogged grass.

I reach my car and twist around, my eyes landing back on the main house behind me.

Mitchell’s red truck still parked in its spot.

My plan is to make my way into town today, maybe find a restaurant with Wi-Fi—a place where I can charge my phone and laptop and finally pick back up on my search—but then I hesitate, wondering if I should let my hosts know where I’m going.

Despite the weirdness of this last week, I still feel ingrained with that strange sense of duty.

A programmed politeness that inherently comes with being a woman in this world.

It somehow feels wrong, just leaving like this…

but at the same time, I know I have an excuse. Liam told me we weren’t working today.

Besides, even though it sometimes feels like it, it’s not like I’m actually forbidden to leave.

I unlock my car, easing into the driver’s seat.

Then I twist the key, listening as the engine sputters to life, a tingle of nerves beginning to emerge the second I begin the slow crawl down the drive.

It’s almost like I’m expecting Mitchell to come running out onto the porch, slamming his hands down hard on my hood and dragging me back, not letting me leave.

Still, I move forward, one eye on the house in the rearview and the other scanning the woods on either side of the road.

The place feels empty, oddly serene in the silence, and I exhale only once I reach the end of the drive, my car gliding to a stop at that old wooden sign.

I take a left off the property, my foot heavy on the gas and my knuckles white on the wheel. Then I look into the mirror one last time, watching as the sign grows small in the distance, the words GALLOWAY FARM fading away.