I read somewhere that when you remember something, you’re not really remembering the event itself. You’re actually remembering the last time you remembered it. Details fade. Colors become less vibrant. Voices get distorted. It’s like playing telephone with your own brain. Sooner or later, you won’t be able to picture things the same way as you used to but you’ll be none the wiser.

That’s what they mean when people say that time heals all wounds. Memories fade as quickly as any bruise or scar. Some take longer than others but, eventually, it all disappears because emotions, painful or otherwise, are only as present as the original event that made them.

So, we keep mementos and keepsakes. Tie a memory to an object, something real and tangible, and that memory becomes one with that object. It can be simple. A coin or a ring.

Or, for an average wanderlust like myself, postcards.

I sit at the kitchen table in my father’s house with all of them spread out in front of me. Each a photo of a landmark. I made sure to pick out postcards with some significance, some memory that I could easily tie to it and recall five, ten, or even twenty years from now. Some bad. Some good. All worth remembering.

I grew up between these postmarks. I learned how to talk to strangers in the big city. How to stretch every dollar. How to stay alive, even after the last penny was spent and all I could do to stay warm was laugh at myself.

But there’s still so much I don’t know. The education of Jovie Ross is far from complete.

I get up to refill my water glass and glance out the window above the sink. A tuft of brown hair pokes up and I lurch so badly I nearly drop my glass.

“Jovie? Is that you?”

I gawk at her. “Sara?”

She stretches on her tippy toes. “Can you let me in? I need to talk to you.”

I sigh with rolling eyes and set the glass down before walking to the back exit.

“What are you doing?” I ask her through the closed screen. “We have a front door, you know.”

She checks the bottom of her shoes for mud and leans down to swipe a dead leaf off her scrub leg. “Would you have answered it?”

“No,” I say, truthfully. “What do you want?”

Her head nods over my shoulder into the kitchen. “Please? It’s about Will…”

“Is he breathing?”

“Yes,” she answers.

“Cool. Thanks for the update.”

I move to close the door.

“He told me what really happened.”

My muscles lock as hesitation sets in.

“And then…” she sighs, “he kicked me out of his house and slammed the door in my face.”

“Wow. Sucks to be you,” I mutter.

“My brother has never talked to me like that before. But, in his shoes, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same. He was just protecting what’s his.” She pauses, pressing her lips together. “Can I please come in? I’d rather not discuss this outside.”

I study her desperate face and tone. It’s honestly fascinating, like watching a bird try to swim through jello.

“Fine,” I say, stepping back. “Make it quick.”

Sara opens the screen door and carefully wipes her shoes on the mat as she walks inside.

I plop back down into my chair at the table and quickly start stacking the postcards away.

“What are these?” she asks over my shoulder.

“Never mind.”

She keeps moving to the other side of the round table, taking the hint not to ask again but she can’t help but glance at the last few remaining postcards before I can get to them.

“Is Hank around?”

“No, he’s at work.”

She clears her throat. “So, I guess you and Will didn’t have that great of a Valentine’s Day.”

I set the pile to the side. “We never do.”

“But the dance was a smash. People really liked the band. Natalie told me that was all you…”

I glare at her, urging her to get on with it.

“Okay, Jovie…” she exhales, “there’s really no great way to lead into this so I’m just going to say it. You… your baby.”

“What about it?”

Her hands twitch at her sides. “If you hadn’t have lost it, would you have kept it?” she asks. “Even with the money I gave you to…?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

“Really?”

I grit my teeth. “I’m sorry, did you come here for any other reason than to humiliate me or to make me feel like dirt? Because I have better things to do…”

“I lost a baby, too,” she says, lowering her voice. “After Andrew. It was a girl.”

My heart clenches as she hangs her purse on the back of the chair and sits down across from me.

“Jovie, I know that I can be…”

“A massive bitch?”

“Difficult. Especially when it comes to Will. Our parents were always so busy and it was on me to look after him. I went too far with you. I was young and stupid and I’m sorry.”

“So, what?” I ask. “You discover empathy and, all of a sudden, it’s bygones?”

She hesitates. “I’m trying here, Jovie.”

I sit back to let her speak.

“We’re so secluded out here that we…” she scratches behind her ear, “we get so caught up in our perfect, little lives that we tend to forget that bad things happen and often to good people.”

I raise a brow. “Are you calling me a good person?”

“Well, I mean…” she scoffs, “on a scale of Charles Manson to Mother Teresa, you rank okay.”

“Oh.” I nod. “Neat.”

“I just mean to say that if you ever need to talk to someone whose been there before, I’m here.”

I look to the far corner of the kitchen. “I’ve kind of had a few years to digest it already, so…”

She gives a soft shrug. “The offer still stands.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Look, I know it’s kind of town policy to air my dirty laundry for all to see but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anybody about this.”

“Of course.”

“And please…” I pause. “Please don’t tell Will I’m here. I shut the car in the garage for a reason.”

She nods. “He won’t talk to me right now anyway. My calls go to voicemail, he ignores my texts. Talking to you was the last resort I had to get my brother back.”

I shake my head. “Probably going to take a lot more than a casual chat with me to do that, Sara.”

“I know.” She bites her inner cheek. “Jovie, I am truly sorry that you never got to meet your baby… but who knows how it works, you know? Maybe you will someday.”

I look at her, sensing real compassion from her for the first time. “Yeah. Maybe someday.”

She fidgets for a few seconds before standing up from her chair. “Anyway, I have a lab that I’m late for, so…”

“Sara.” She stops and turns back. “If you ever need to talk to someone whose been there…”

I let the rest of it fade off but she nods, understanding.

“I will,” she says. “Thanks.”

I sit still, glancing at her dark pink scrubs as she reaches for her purse. “Hey…”

She pauses. “What?”

I debate the question for a second before giving in. “Where do you go to school?”