Fallen Memories - [8]

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Fallen Memories - 8

    The following Friday, Mom had successfully found and located a psychiatrist not too far from Southport. An hour’s drive, nothing to fret over, she’d said. The psychiatrist’s name was Elisud Gullow. I couldn’t determine whether or not Ellis was a male or female, but I was secretly hoping for the latter. Something about laying on a leather couch in front of an older male, telling him all of my thoughts and feelings threw me off. I didn’t know how others did it, but it was certainly not my cup of tea. To be upfront and honest, I wasn’t looking forward to seeing a psychiatrist once weekly at all. I’d tried to reason with Mom, but there was no getting around her surefire excuses.

    A couple of weeks, I told myself dutifully. I could stick it out for a few weeks, and once a thick measure of time passed, I could openly tell Mom that I was doing better than ever. And in those weeks, I’d have to perfect being “okay.” It wouldn’t take a whole lot on my part to convince Mom. I was more worried about convincing Elisud Gullow; he or she would be the one assessing me. They would be the one to send me off when deemed necessary.

    “I was thinking,” Mom said as we climbed into her car. “We could spend the weekend up in Maine for Labor Day.”

    “Are you planning on driving all the way up there?” Averting my gaze, I unfolded a pair of sunglasses and slid them on. I couldn’t afford to let Mom see the slowly fading purplish circles lining my lower lids. Over the course of the week, I’d spent more time reliving memories; I favored that over actually sleeping. Adam had just as much of a chance finding me in my own dreams as he did in my memories, but I couldn’t waste anymore time dwindling through useless dreams.

    It was stupid, I knew. A lack of sleep would soon lead to hallucinations, so on and so forth, but I had to do what I had to do. If Mom suspected I wasn’t sleeping well because of the psychological trauma my mind was going through, she’d make sure Elisud Gullow and I became surgically attached at the hip.

    One hand on the wheel, one eye on the road, Mom leaned down and felt around for her purse.

    “I’m going to run us off the road, for Christ’s sake, could you grab that?”

    Bending at the waist, I heaved her loaded purse into my lap and unzipped it.

    “Plane tickets?” I asked, holding them up for show.

    “My boss and his wife had plans to go to Maine for a honeymoon, but had to cancel as his wife came down with something atrocious. Thus, the tickets ended up in my hands.”

    I pushed my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose. “Why you?”

    “Let’s just say, I am a very good employee,” Mom said, a smidge of smugness lacing her tone. I didn’t care to ask her what she meant by that.

    “What exactly do you have planned?”

    “For Maine?” Mom glanced at me. “I figured we’d stay at a hotel along the coast, take a tour of some lighthouses and eat our weight in lobster bisque.”

    I had to admit, a weekend in Maine sounded promising. It couldn’t hurt to get away from Southport for a few days. By the way Mom was getting antsy in her seat, I knew we were getting close to Elisud Gullow’s office. I used the remainder of my time to figure out why Maine had such a familiar ring to it. I thought back to my dream, almost one week ago.

    Waterton, Maine. Where Colton and I had spent the duration of our thirty-two days together. Why we hadn’t stayed in Southport was beyond me, but I had to remind myself those places were only fragments of my imagination. It wasn’t as if I’d ever actually been to Waterton. For all I knew, Waterton didn’t exist.

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