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Brooke said, “Do you want to see my memory box?”
For the first time since Josie had entered the house, she felt a surge of hope. “What’s your memory box?”
Brooke smiled. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. The place I keep all my memories. The ones I can’t hold onto since the accident. Usually, I forget where it is or he moves it but if I can find it, I can tell you the answers to your questions.”
“Sure,” said Josie.
She followed Brooke from room to room, watching her check various hiding places—inside cabinets and under furniture. There were only two bedrooms. One was empty. The other had a queen-sized bed and a single dresser. More Post-its announced the contents of each of its drawers. Finally, in the depths of the bathroom closet, at the back of a shelf markedPads and Tampons, behind two boxes of feminine products, she found a shoebox. She went back to the living room, but rather than sitting on the couch, she sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling the box in her lap. Josie squatted beside her to get a better look at it. The name “Brooke” was scrawled across the front.
Again, sadness pricked at Josie like a thousand tiny bee stings.
Brooke pointed to the name. “This is my name. Brooke.”
She carefully lifted the lid from the box. One by one, she took the contents out and placed them all around her on the floor. Photographs, a newspaper clipping, loose notes, and a diary. She tapped a finger against the newspaper article. Josie leaned in to see that it was the same one that had been left at the Toselli house.
“This is why I have trouble remembering,” Brooke said. “I remember a lot about the accident, even though he thinks I don’t. There’s something about the accident that I need to remember, though. Something important. Oh wait! I know!”
She stood and went back into the kitchen. There was a commotion. Pots clanging, silverware clattering. Moments later, she returned with a brown paper bag with handles. She set it in front of Josie and cleared away takeout menus from the very top of it. Beneath that were stacks of hundred-dollar bills. “Where did you get this?” Josie asked.
“From the accident lady,” Brooke said. “She came here—” She squeezed her eyes shut, face turned upward, pinched as though she had tasted something sour. After a few seconds, she opened them and said, “Twice!” She grinned triumphantly. “I remembered! The first time she came to talk to him, and I only saw her by mistake. That was a very bad day.”
She frowned, her eyes taking on a faraway look. Josie wasn’t sure if she was searching for the memory or if she’d found it—or fragments of it—and didn’t like what was there.
“What about the second time?” Josie asked.
“The second time?”
“The second time that the accident lady came here,” Josie reminded her.
“Right, right.” Brooke knelt down again and touched the stacks of hundred-dollar bills, running her fingers across them as if they held some kind of Braille. She said, “She gave this to me. Because of the accident. I can keep it. I’m supposed to give it to him, but I didn’t. He’s…mean and cruel and I need to get away from him. Do you think this is enough?”
Josie could barely take in a breath. “Enough for what?”
“To get away from him?”
“Oh, Brooke,” Josie said softly. “I can help you get away from him with or without money.”
Fear flashed across Brooke’s face. She looked back at the doorway. “Okay, but we have to be careful.”
Josie stood and took a quick walk back to the front door. There was no movement outside. Returning to Brooke, she took her phone out and pulled up a photo of Claudia Collins. “Is this the accident lady?”
Brooke frowned. “I’m not sure.”
Josie pointed to the stacks of bills inside the bag. “If I counted this, would there be thirty thousand dollars?”
“I don’t know.”
Josie turned her attention to the photographs. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she was sure Brooke would hear it. She hadn’t really needed confirmation since the pieces were all coming together in her head but there it was—if you looked hard enough. The man in the photos with a much younger, more kempt Brooke had thick glasses, long blond hair, and about a hundred extra pounds on his person. He looked very different now.
But his eyes were the same.
“Your husband is called Rafferty,” Josie said. “People call him Raffy.”
Brooke reached over and snatched up the photo of the two of them at their wedding. “This is him!” she said. “I am married. This is my husband.”
“Yes,” Josie said. “Do you know where he is right now?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t know. But I told you, my memory is bad.” She picked up the diary and handed it to Josie. “That’s why I keep this. I found it after the accident and started writing in it again so I don’t forget so many things. You read it. Maybe it says where he goes when he’s not here.”
