Page 2 of Our Moon (JACT #1)

“This is where you live?” I ask from the backseat, taking in the stone sign surrounded by colorful flowers that indicates we’ve now entered Pleasant Pointe.

“No,” Trevor says, looking at me in the rear view mirror. “This is where we live.”

I roll my eyes, “You know what I mean. ”

“Don’t think we fit the mold of the rest of the residents of this fine neighborhood, baby sis?” Alex asks with a sarcastic smirk.

“You’re like four minutes older than me,” I grumble.

He has used the “baby/little sis” line on me about thirty times in the past week alone, don’t get me started on the count for the month.

“It’s just that you’re in a rock band, right?

You said you went on tour and all that. I just didn’t imagine a couple of bachelor rock stars living here. That’s all.”

I look back out the window, taking in all the perfectly manicured lawns as we pass by, I swear one even has a “Yard of the Month” sign. There are kids riding bicycles and scooters, people walking dogs; it’s a picturesque summer day.

“It’s the house we grew up in,” Trevor finally says.

And I instantly. Feel. Horrible.

I have zero emotional attachment to the house we grew up in, can’t remember it, but they obviously do. I feel like I just crapped on one of their precious memories.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t know.” I look down at my hands, fidgeting in my lap. I have no idea what I’m doing, or what I’m going to do. See? This is me: entering the wild. With apparently no people skills whatsoever, especially empathy .

“It’s all good, Al,” Alex says in his usual carefree tone, instantly making me feel a little better.

Maybe that’s his twin power, relaxing me or something.

“Your room is exactly the way it was when you left it. We didn’t touch it.

I mean, I guess the cleaning lady probably dusted and maybe put up dirty clothes and whatever other grimy shit you had in there. You were such a pig.”

Trevor laughs at that. “Right, like you’re one to talk. The only reason we had to hire Myra in the first place is because even you won’t clean up after your pig ass.”

I smile at their banter. This is what the past few weeks were like. Even if I can’t relate and don’t know exactly where I fit in, I feel comfortable with and am entirely amused by my brothers.

I look out the window again as Trevor slows the car and pulls into a driveway.

The house ahead of us sparks no recognition in me.

Dr. Moody stressed that I may never regain my memory, but I also heard her when she said that certain things, like objects that stimulate the senses such as scents or sounds, may bring things back.

But the two story brick home with perfectly placed black shutters does nothing.

Honestly, I’m more than a little disappointed.

Trevor parks, and we all get out. I stand beside the beast of a vehicle and stare up at the house, willing a memory to come.

Are one of those windows mine? Did I learn how to ride my bike in this driveway?

Take my first steps just inside the front door?

Have my first kiss on the front porch? Have I even been kissed?

The emotions whirling through my head start to become too much and the anxiety Dr. Moody warned us all about begins to set in. My vision gets blurry, my hands start shaking and my breath is coming in pants. I lean back against the car and close my eyes.

Deep breaths.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

A hand touches my shoulder; another presses against my back. Safe. I feel safe. I begin to relax.

“You got this, baby sis.” It’s Alex. He moves his hand from my back to my waist and tugs me into his side. Relaxation is definitely his twin power.

Trevor squeezes my shoulder and with a small smile tells me, “Take all the time you need.”

I get my breathing under control and nod, “I’m okay. I’m ready.”

With my brothers flanking me, extending their strength and comfort like a warm blanket around my shoulders, I make it into the house.

The house is as modest on the inside as it is on the outside.

But I can immediately tell this is a home, not just a house, and not a crash pad or a bachelor’s paradise.

But a home that was built with love. I can feel that.

We enter into a gorgeous foyer with dark wood stairs matching the floors straight in front of us.

To the immediate left, there appears to be a small bathroom or closet, the door is closed so I can’t tell, and beyond that is an elegant living room with cream carpets, attached to a formal dining room that looks to have marble floors.

I suspect those rooms must have been our parents’ touches because I can’t see Trevor or Alex doing any kind of formal entertaining.

The interior design seems a bit more mature as well.

To the left of the stairs there is a walkway, through which I catch a glimpse of the kitchen, and I make a mental note to explore that later.

To the right of the foyer, there’s a television and game room with a gigantic TV, standard-size pool table, and some kind of arcade game.

It’s the only sign, so far, that a couple of bachelors live here.

“I’m going to get your bags from the car,” Trevor says and walks back out the front door.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room,” Alex takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. “We can do the tour later, figure you’ll want to get settled in first,” he explains. I nod and follow him up the stairs.

I silently take in the framed photographs lining the staircase.

It looks to be a timeline of our lives, starting with our parents’ wedding and ending with what appears to be my prom, with various baby, childhood and adolescent milestones in between.

I saw pictures like these in the albums the guys brought to the facility during our sessions.

The ones on the wall seem to only capture the highlights though.

“You okay?” Alex asks.

I hadn’t realized I had stopped at the prom picture. “Who is this I’m with?” I don’t remember seeing him in any of the albums.

Alex frowns, “That’s Blake. He was your boyfriend.”

Was?

“I had a boyfriend?” Funny, they never mentioned that before.

I guess they didn’t want to upset me. Did he break up with me after the accident?

What kind of guy breaks up with his girlfriend when she’s in a coma?

I zero in on the picture some more. He’s a nice looking guy, looks athletic.

Dark hair, dark eyes. Taller than me, though everyone is really. We look happy.

“That was from his senior prom. He was a year ahead of us. He broke up with you before he went off to college.” The frown on Alex’s face looks misplaced on his usually chipper appearance.

In the month that I’ve known him, I’m not sure I’ve seen any negative expressions on his face, other than sadness in our initial visits when even he couldn’t break through the force field guarding my brain.

“Oh. I didn’t go to my senior prom?”

“Nah, you weren’t dating anyone and had already been to three proms, so you said screw it, and hung out with the band instead. We had a gig that night for the non-prom folks. It was awesome.”

“I went to three proms?” Wasn’t I just the social butterfly?

Alex nods, seeming uncomfortable that I’m still asking about this. “You went to your junior prom, and Blake’s junior and senior proms.”

“We were together that long?” I had a relationship spanning at least a year and they never mentioned it? How could they have left out such a big chunk of my life in high school? They shared so much other stuff.

“You guys dated your sophomore and junior years.” He seemed to consider his next statement before speaking it, which is also very not Alex. “You were pretty messed up when he left you. That’s why we didn’t tell you about it. Didn’t want to open up old wounds.”

“How’d you know I was wondering about that? ”

He taps his head and grins, “twintuition.”

I smile and roll my eyes. “You’re such a goof.” I take one last look at the picture, and proceed up the stairs behind him.

“That’s yours, second one on the right. It’s smaller than the rest, but it’s got the biggest closet.

Apparently, that was essential.” Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, and I smile in return.

From what I’ve been told, I’m beginning to realize I was a tad bit spoiled, both by my brothers and my parents.

I step past him into the room. The carpet is shaggy and a deep purple in color, and the walls are painted a much lighter shade of the same color.

There’s a full-sized bed with a bookcase, headboard, a matching nightstand, wide dresser with a round mirror, and a narrow dresser with a hutch.

All have a shiny black finish. Band posters are hanging on the walls, along with a corkboard with miscellaneous things attached, including more photos.

I make a beeline for it. Pictures are worth a thousand words and all that.

Looks like there are some mementos tacked up there, too.

There are photos here of me, Alex, and Trevor.

There are also pictures of my parents, a few of Alex and Trevor with a couple good-looking guys I know must be their bandmates, and some of me and a girl I vaguely recall my brothers pointing out in my yearbook.

A few ticket stubs are scattered, some from sporting events but most from concerts.

I startle when I feel Alex’s presence behind me.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Who is that?” I point to the girl.

“That’s Lucy; she was your best friend. I think I pointed her out in our yearbook.” There’s that “was” again. He says it so nonchalantly that I wonder whether or not there’s a story there.

“Was?”

“Well, she kind of bailed on you. Not sure if you could call her a best friend anymore.” He shrugged. Again, so nonchalant. I wonder, do I have anyone left? Besides Alex and Trevor? My boyfriend dumped me, my parents died, and my best friend bailed.