The Memory Keeper

Chapter 27

The next day, Natalie showed up at Peter's house alone. Piper had called that morning, explaining she would be late.

In the mind weaver's hand was a brown paper bag, which she handed Peter as soon as she entered the room she was directed to by the maid. It was not the clock room this time, much to Natalie's relief. It was not that she did not adore the lovely clocks, but now that she knew most of them were made by Alice, during such a dark time in her life, the room would have been too thick to breathe in.

The room she and Peter would sit in today was large, furnished with arm chairs and love seats upholstered in dark red fabrics with bright gold patterns. The marble topped table in the center was adorned with orchids and a silver tray cluttered with cups, a tea pot, saucers, a decanter of brown liquid, and biscuits.

"Very fancy," Natalie said, trying to remind herself that Peter had not come to see her last night, that he had not stood in the rain or kissed the ring on her finger. It was hard to look at him without feeling a ball of soil in her chest, roots stretching through her throat and down to her stomach.

Peter opened the paper bag and pulled out a wrapped sandwich. The aroma of freshly baked bread, fried fish and warm cheese blossomed in the room.

"Your favorite, I think," Natalie said. "I just wanted to make sure you were eating." She did not want to say it, but he had been looking a lot thinner and paler as of late. The Peter she had met almost months ago, which felt like years ago, had looked a lot fuller, his skin warmer, almost freckled with sun.

He smiled toothily and unwrapped the sandwich. "Thank you so much, miss Gorman. That was awfully thoughtful of you!" He took a bite of the sandwich and closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the taste.

Natalie sat in the arm chair close to his and smoothed her skirt. She did not like that he did not call her by her first name. She did not like that she felt less like a friend and more like a maid.

More like a mind weaver here for one purpose alone.

She cleared her throat and tried to look interested in the rest of the room. A fireplace was ablaze in the far wall, and a large oval shaped mirror hung above the mantel, reflecting the windows that lined the long wall behind where Peter sat, each draped in sheer red curtains.

"Who decorated your home, Peter?" Natalie asked.

He looked up at her, licking fish oil from his thumb, and then glanced around. "I hired a decorator, but most of the furniture came from my parents' mansion, passed down to me and my... future bride." He scratched his eyebrow with his knuckle, then finished the rest of the sandwich.

Natalie felt the roots clamp her heart for a second, wondering if Flower was supposed to have been his bride. With nothing more clever to say, she only smiled, as though speaking with an ordinary client. "It is all quite lovely."

He looked at her with equal ordinariness. "Why, thank you."

At last she could not take it anymore, and stood up, plopping down right next to him, so close that when he turned to look at her, brow knotted, she could see her own reflection in his eyes.

"Peter, what is going on with you? Don't you know who I am?"

He tried to edge away a little, but the arm of the chair prevented further separation. "Of course I do. You are Natalie Gorman. My mind weaver." He shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. "What is going on with you?"

She felt the roots in her chest sprout thorns. "But I am more than that, aren't I? Why are you pretending you are not familiar with me? Don't you recall our visit to Willow Haven? That kiss at the sign post?" She felt the thorns poking at the backs of her eyes, and before she knew it, tears slipped down her cheeks. "I am here to help you forget Flower, not me."