Lorelie vs the Life of Summer Rose

Chapter 3

I don't hear anything Summer says to me afterwards. I stare at her blankly, her voice ricocheting inside my head but not processing, and she must interpret it as a sign I'm shutting down because she force-feeds me water straight after and then starts leading me up a hill by the wrist.

Summer. Rose. Inoue. I should have known. Although I'm not sure it would have made a difference to how I reacted, it makes me angry that I didn't pick up on it first— the wheat field, the cloudless, blue sky, her sudden but unsurprising appearance within the first few minutes of gaining my bearings. If I'm not wrong— which I'm not sure I would rather be or hope I am— I've been sucked into the world of Summer Rose's cheesy romance novel. I landed in her backyard. She found me because I was encroaching on private property, and I hardly doubt that it was a coincidence that it was her that I met first.

But how does that even work?

I'm in a book?

A door shuts behind me and I'm guided into a seat behind a tiny, oak dining table. There are two adults fussing in the background: a woman darting between a boiling pot on the stove and her daughter, pleading, as though she doesn't know which one to deal with first. A man rummages through the cabinets before flocking to another room. The whole time he's mumbling into his phone, something about a 'poor girl with amnesia on my farm'.

I'm in a book.

But what about my mum? My sister?

"Stay there," Summer's mother orders, pushing me back into my seat. I didn't even realise I was getting up. "I'll make you some tea. I have a kettle going already; it's no trouble at all. Someone will be here to see you soon, an officer. Oh, sweetheart. You must have had the most horrible time."

"I—"

"Don't force yourself." Her hands are warm and firm on my arms, rubbing them up and down, up and down. I'm going to be sick. Flashes of my mother's touch overwhelm me— the same heavy hand, the same gentle affection. I double over to the side and gag. "Oh no. Oh no. Quick, Summer. Get a bag."

"I'm okay."

"For precaution then," she says. "You never know what could happen. Nobody would blame you for it."

"I..."

"I'll pour you a cup of tea."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I hope you're in the mood for peppermint. That's all we have right now."

"Anything is more than enough."

Mrs Inoue nods once and squeezes my hands. I feel bad for making her worry, even though I know that if I were in her situation, I would probably be worrying, too. Or maybe I should be worrying more either way. It's hard to understand what I'm feeling when I barely understand what's happening. I'm both sick with fear and panic, frustrated, worried, head-poundingly confused, everything. I have no story to tell about why I'm here. When the police officers pull up to the farm they'll ask me questions and my answers will have no substance, because I'm not supposed to be here. Getting dropped in the middle of a field with no backstory, no context, no understanding means that my existence doesn't translate in this world; I don't exist. I don't have an ID. I don't even have a birth certificate. I don't even have insurance. What if they put me in an orphanage?

"I have a bag!" Summer hollers, darting down the rickety stairs of her house. I snatch it from her once she's close enough and fall into it, my stomach lurching into my mouth. Everything floods out: all the tension, the stress, the turmoil manifested into nausea. Putrid, endless nausea. It feels like my guts are being ripped out of my body from my face.