A s the bus pulls up in front of Frankie’s, I see Sarah walking away with a white takeout bag. I’m so relieved as I run to her, calling out and waving wildly to get her attention.
Sarah glances over and smiles, then nods at me. “Hi,” she says cautiously.
She looks better than she did yesterday. Her hair is smooth and her eyes have been made up, but her jacket is long and conservative. It looks like something her father would approve of.
“Sorry I missed your text,” I say. “I’ve had a crazy morning.”
“It’s okay.”
“Have you talked to Harlin at all?” I can’t help but hope that he was worried when I left him. Maybe checked in with Sarah.
“The motorcycle guy?” she asks.
I pause. “Yeah.”
She smiles a little. “I always wondered what happened to him after he dropped out of St. Vincent’s. He was nice to look at.” She wiggles her eyebrows like I should agree. “Are you dating him?”
Devastation washes over me. Her expressions are so unfamiliar to me, so . . . cold. I almost can’t bring myself to ask.
“Sarah, you know who I am, right?” I ask in a small voice.
A look of guilt crosses her face. “Of course. We were in the same class, right?” She stops, darting her eyes around the sidewalk as a few people pass us. “I’m not going to St. Vincent’s anymore. My father thought a private tutor was my best chance to get into an Ivy League school next year.”
My heart sinks. I know damn well that Sarah doesn’t give a crap about Ivy League colleges. This is something she would tell a person she met at a charity ball. Something she would tell a stranger.
“I’m Charlotte,” I say, feeling my life drain out of me. “I’m your best friend.”
She steps back and laughs softly, probably trying to discern if I’m joking.
“Best friends? I think I’d remember that, Charlotte.”
“We’ve been friends since Ms. Cavanaugh’s seventh-grade gym class,” I say. “You forgot your swimsuit one day and were crying because you didn’t want to sit in detention alone, so I pretended to have lost mine so that I could keep you company.”
Her eyes widen. “How did you know about Ms. Cavanaugh’s class?” Her face is pale and I know that I’m scaring her, but I can’t stop. I want to remind her of how much I love her.
“And then we went to the junior prom in your dad’s BMW while everyone else took limos because you wanted to stand out. Matthew Bower was your date, but you didn’t like him because he was a wet kisser.” I laugh at the memory, remembering how often she recreated the disaster for me on the back of her hand or on her mirror.
“You’re starting to freak me out,” she says, moving away from me.
“And I was there at the museum when you drank a bottle of tequila to forget that you never feel good enough for your father. I was so scared for you. Harlin and I took you to the clinic and I needed to know you were okay.”
“Are you the one that dropped me off at the filthy free clinic? Are you a stalker or something?”
“No. I’m your only real friend.”
“Look,” she snaps, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper so as not to attract attention. “I don’t know you, and I don’t know what your deal is.” She looks like she’s about to cry and I’m not sure if it’s the fact that she’s scared or embarrassed that I know about the alcohol poisoning. But it’s not for the same reason I want to cry. I miss her. She’s standing right in front of me, and I’m missing her already. “Now I suggest you get out of here before I call the police,” she finishes, shooting a glance over my shoulder. I turn and see her driver get out and open the back door of the car.
There’s nothing I can do. There’s not one single word I can say that will make her remember me. So instead, I smile at her, wishing I could hug her one last time, but I don’t. I slowly back down the sidewalk.
“Take care of yourself, Sarah,” I say. She stares after me. “You’re better and stronger than your dad thinks. I’ve always known that.”
Her face crumbles a little at the statement, but she turns and hurries into the waiting town car. I watch as she drives away, out of my life.
When she’s gone, I walk slowly over to the bus stop bench and put my face in my hands. My fake face.
On the ride home, I stare out the window, wondering if I’ll see Onika this time. I don’t. But I know she’s not gone. She said she’d see me soon.
I replay images in my mind—mostly of Harlin and me. I ache for him. But I’m not me anymore, not on the outside. Even if by some small chance he does remember me, I can’t let him see me like this. I’ve lost him.
The bus stops at the corner before my apartment building. As I walk off I glance around to see if anyone is staring at me, noticing something’s wrong. But like every other day, they say nothing, notice nothing, and I’m glad that I’m not standing out.
I’m relieved when I finally get into my apartment. The smells are familiar and I nearly collapse on the sofa when I walk in. Even though Sarah forgot me, I know that Mercy hasn’t, not this soon. I call out her name, but no one answers. I decide that tonight I’ll share one last meal with my family and tell them I love them. Even if they won’t remember come morning.
I’m still on the couch when Mercy and Alex get home. They’re carrying grocery bags and laughing, but when they open the door, they stop and look at me.
“Do you need a hand?” I ask, jumping up.
Alex raises an eyebrow and looks between Mercy and me. “Um . . . hello, breaking and entering. Can I help you?”
My body goes cold. My heart stops. “What?” I ask.
Mercy snaps with her free hand. “Oh!” she says. “Did the agency send you? Are you my new girl? I’m sorry, honey. You just caught us off guard.”
I can’t answer as I stare back at my family. Alex is sizing me up, the way he does everybody, deciding if I’m cool or not. And Mercy is giving me the same warm smile she reserves for kids she thinks are unloved. But she loves me. She just doesn’t remember that.
“What’s your name?” she asks kindly.
“Charlotte,” I say, tears brimming my eyes.
“That’s a beautiful name. It’s my grandmother’s name,” she adds.
“I know.”
She tilts her head, wondering how I knew that, I suppose. Then she shoos Alex in the doorway before closing the door and walking toward the kitchen. She sets her bag down and then comes into the living room where I’m still standing, dumbfounded.
I really didn’t think she’d forget. I really didn’t believe it. “Where’s Georgia?” I ask, wanting to see her one last time too. Wanting to finish all of this.
“You know Georgia?” Mercy smiles.
“Figures,” Alex says from the kitchen.
“Oh, shut up,” Mercy tells him quickly. “Georgia is leaving us. She’s been placed back with her mother. Is that how you found us? Through her?”
I shake my head. No, Mercy. I never really got to know Georgia, not the way I should have. And I guarantee she doesn’t know me.
“Huh. Okay then, let me show you to your room so that you can get settled,” Mercy says and puts her hand on my shoulder. I can’t even speak as I follow behind her down the hall. When we stop in front of my doorway she turns to me. “You’ve already put your stuff in here,” she says, surprised. “Well, I’m glad. This is your home now, Charlotte.”
I’m surprised to see that my belongings are still here and I wonder what happens when I’m gone. I take another look around and notice one thing missing. All of my photos.
The pictures of Sarah and me that were taped to the vanity mirror are gone, although a faint outline of them still remains. The prom picture on my side table of Harlin and me is now just an empty frame. I miss him, miss everyone so much, but Mercy walks over and pulls me tight to her.
“Oh, honey,” she whispers in her thick accent. “You must have been through something.”
I’m pressed against her white uniform and the smell of detergent that I know so well, but she doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know me at all. I cling to her, my last touch of my mother. When I pull back I look at her.
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for everything, Ma.”
She smiles. “You’re sweet. And honey, I haven’t even started taking care of you yet.”
I nod, and then motion to the bed. “I think I’m going to lie down for a little bit, if that’s okay?”
“’Course,” she whispers supportively. “Your first night in a new place is always the scariest.”
If only she could remember that this isn’t my first night with her. Or my second. I’ve been with her since I was six. She is my only mother. I run to my bed and lie down and the minute I hear Mercy close the bedroom door, I sob. Cry harder than I ever have in my life. Because I just became an orphan. Again.