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Back Memories in the Drift Save as PDF
Chapters (39)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  22. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  23. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  38. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  39. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I shrug, try to act like this information doesn’t shift the landscape of my memory. Still, I know where Whiskey Pete’s is located, and it’s only a short walk. “Oh, no, I’ll be just fine. Hard to lose my way around here, right?” I check my phone and slide the market reminder left to clear it, leave the pharmacy reminder up on my screen. “See you later, Hank.”

“Bye, Claire. See you tonight,” Hank says. I leave but the door to the market doesn’t close all the way, and I hear Hank speak quietly to Ruth, who murmurs something in return, and part of me wants to go back and demand to know what they’re talking about. But then the part of me that doesn’t want to acknowledge how little I remember wins and I walk away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It takes only a few minutes to get to the clinic. A warm breeze brushes over me, and I unzip my jacket, enjoy the warmer temperature. Up the hill and to my right stands the Buckner Building. I feel a pang when I glance up at the long stretch of concrete blackened by mold, shattered windows empty and dark. I’m even more like that building now. Once useful and moving forward and now forever frozen in time, a relic of my own past.

As soon as I enter the clinic, I’m met with the powdery smell of latex laced with Vicks VapoRub. Sefina is behind the counter, her straight black hair pinned up on the sides, arms crossed. “I hear you think I’m a lost cause when it comes to dancing. I’ll have you know that I am going to start practicing every free minute I get, and then I will challenge you to a Jazzercise dance-off.”

One of the reasons I’ve always loved Whittier—it’s as small town as small town gets. I went to college in Anchorage, and while I enjoyed the coffee shops and stores and learning how to be anonymous among so many people, I missed Whittier and the sense of belonging I’ve always felt here. I hold out my hands. “I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have a significant memory-loss issue, you know.” I smile.

She laughs. “Fine, you got me. But I’m still practicing.”

I scan my notebook. “So I think the headaches have been worse lately.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and”—I pause, scan the medical file I’ve brought along with me—“do you think it could have anything to do with the new meds I’m taking?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll put in a call to your doctor’s office, okay?” Her face softens. “Have you seen Tate again?”