Faded Memories | lp

Chapter Five

I've seen about four possible women that fit the description and picture of my assistant. It's not until I've reached the luggage area that a woman approaches me.

"Jo, sweetheart, it's me, Sonia, your assistant." She embraces me and I have no choice but to hug back.

"How are you feeling?" She asks after releasing me.

I shrug and say, "Tired."

"Have you remembered anything at all?" She asks. Concern spills through her voice.

Wishing to refrain from saying anymore than needed, I reply with, "No," a lie.

She helps me with my one bag and I follow her out of the airport. People's heads turn and watch as we walk by. Am I famous enough to be recognized?

I pull the sunglasses Liam gave me out of my purse and out them on, even though it's dark outside.

"Wait here." Sonia tells me. I have to choice but to wait where she left me. I don't know where I am, where I live, or how to get there. After a few minutes, a boy, probably around sixteen or seventeen, approaches me.

"Are you Jo Burgundy?" He asks. Poor thing is nervous, his voices wavers.

"Last time I checked." I say with a smile. He smiles in response. He swings his backpack off his shoulder and unzips it. He pulls out a book.

"I'm reading your book, and I was wondering if you could sign it..."

I nod and take the book in my hands. The cover is simple, a daisy in the middle of the page. The title is Open Doors and my name is printed in bold letters under the daisy. I open up to the title page.

Lovely readers,

Everywhere you look is an open door. When one door closes, a new one opens. Keep an open mind. Don't let yourself down, don't be too critical. Be yourself. I'll do me, you'll do you. Simplicity is key.

Jo

I can't believe I wrote that. It's actually good.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I ask when the boy hands me a pen he dug out of his backpack.

"Jonathan."

"Well, Jonathan. Keep your head up, because you're wonderful. Lots of love, Jo Burgundy."

He thanks me about a billion times before I ask of him, "Is the book good?"

"It's amazingly uplifting." He responds suspiciously. Sonia pulls up to the curb in a pearly white car.

"Bye, Jonathan." I wave before shutting the car door.

"I hate fans." She mumbles.

"Why?" I ask. They support me, so why frown down on them?

"You used to hate them, too. You just don't remember it." She says, as if that makes her comment right.

"They read my book, the least I could do is thank them." I say.

"The least you could do is nothing." She ends the conversation there.

After twenty minutes on the dark and deserted highway, I ask the question that's been bugging me all day.

"Have I ever talked about my mom?" I ask. I miss her. I don't know if I'm supposed to miss her or not, but I do.

"You used to, but you eventually stopped trying." She responds.

"Trying what?" I ask.

"To reason with her. It was easy to see she only came around when there was a benefit for herself. She's selfish, and you know it." Sonia says.