He wasn’t the only one who’d gone. First it had been my mother, my stepfather and, finally, Ash. All of them abandoning me one by one. It had been a lot to cope with. I hadn’t managed well. For goodness’ sake, I still worked at the Cliff’s Head, and the restaurant was almost my second home now that I’d spent fourteen years there in some capacity or another. Half of my life. A somehow comforting yet equally depressing thought, and after Ash had left, I’d assumed I’d be there until the end of it, an old waitress hobbling about, full of regret.

“Let’s go inside,” I said, pushing the thoughts away. There were more pressing things to worry about. Ash was home now, that was what mattered. “We’ll figure things out, okay?”

Ash followed me as I unlocked the front door and stepped inside the house. I expected a sudden rush of memories to hit him, like I’d seen happen in the movies, but instead, Ash wandered around in bewilderment. He picked up a driftwood bowl I’d made, seemingly without having any idea it was one of my first-ever projects, and one he’d once fished out of the garbage, insisting it was great and I should keep honing my skills. Next, he glanced at the pictures on the walls, and still—nothing.

“Where did you get your clothes and shoes?” I said, pointing to his enormous sneakers and baggy jeans.

“I, uh, stole them from the trailer.”

“Did the trailer belong to a clown?” I said with a smirk and Ash half smiled.

“I feel like a ruddy clown. The last clown out of the clown car.”

“Ash,” I whispered, trying not to gasp. “Your dad used to say that all the time.”

A confused expression slid over his face, as if he were digging deep into the back of his mind but coming up empty. Fiona was right, he had some kind of memory loss, and I decided once he’d gone to bed, I’d research the possible causes until dawn, and then convince him to see a doctor, too. My brain knew this was Ash, there wasn’t a single doubt. The way he moved, talked, and his appearance. The beauty spot on the side of his nose was confirmation enough on its own and yet, the way he looked at me, he may as well have been a stranger. I worked hard to contain my excitement about him being home again, knew if I came on too strong, he might feel claustrophobic and overwhelmed. I had to pace myself, or better still, follow his lead.