“The tires are new.” The old man pointed at the white wall tires with his cane. “My son was going to start rebuilding it, but he lost interest.”
Steve walked around and opened the trunk. It was in pretty good shape. Then he opened the driver’s door and checked the inside. There was a hole in the floorboard. The upholstery was in bad shape, and the headliner was falling down.
He looked over at the old man and asked, “Will it start?”
“Sure, here.” He handed Steve the key.
Steve climbed in, started it up, and after a rough start, the engine smoothed out. He left it running, got out, and lifted the hood. He and the old man bent over the engine, pointing at parts and discussing things that Summer didn’t understand.
She wandered back out the doors and looked around. There was a beautiful rose bush over in the garden between the house and the shed. Summer walked over and admired their beauty. She leaned down to breathe in the intoxicating fragrance.
As she did, she had a flash of memory. She was standing next to her mother, holding a basket, while her mother clipped some blooms and put them in the basket. Her mother smiled down at her, and she smiled back.
Summer took a step back, shaken. She tried hard to remember more. But it was gone as quick as it came. She felt like it was right there, just hovering beyond her reach. She stumbled back to the truck. Feeling dizzy and disoriented, she put her hand on the truck bed to steady herself and took a few deep breaths.
Steve and Mr. Powell came out of the shed. Steve pulled his wallet out of his pocket and began counting out bills into Mr. Powell’s hand. Then they shook hands and came back toward the house.
“You can turn your truck around back over in that grassy area, and you should be able to back right into the shed from there, son.”
“Yes, sir. That’ll work.”
“Can you get it loaded on your own?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got it. No problem.”
“Well, I’ll go back up on the porch and sit, if you don’t mind?”
“That’s fine, sir.”
“Ya’ll take care, then.”
“Yes, sir. You, too.” Steve turned back and noticed immediately something was wrong with Summer. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Just a little dizzy.”
Steve was around the truck in a flash. “You’re not about to faint are you?”
“No. No, I’m okay.”
“Here, sit in the truck.” He opened the door and helped her in. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m better now.” She smiled.
“Okay. This will only take a couple of minutes, and we’ll be out of here.” He closed the door, went around to his side, and climbed in. He started the truck and whipped it around into the grass. He opened his door, leaned out, and maneuvered the trailer back up to the shed. Then he got out and went into the shed.
A moment later, Summer heard the Ford start up, and then the truck was rocking from side to side as he drove the car up onto the trailer. He climbed out, and chained and strapped it down. A few minutes later, he was back in the truck with the bill of sale, and they were heading back down the drive.
They pulled onto the highway, and Steve looked over at her. “You okay?” he asked.
Her head was leaning back on the headrest. She rolled it to the side, looked at him, and smiled. “Yes. I’m okay.”
“What happened back there?”
She turned and looked out her window, not sure how to explain.
“Summer?”
She looked back at him. “I…I walked over to the rose bush…and bent down, and when I smelled the blooms…”
“Yeah?”
“I had a memory. A flash of one, anyway.”
“That’s great,” he said, turning to look at her, seeing her solemn expression. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes. I suppose. It’s just frustrating. I thought…I thought I was on the verge of it all coming back, and then…nothing.”
“Well, it’s a start. What was the memory? Can you tell me?”
“I was standing next to my mother. We were cutting roses to take into the house. For the dinner table, I think.” She frowned. “That’s all. It was just a flash.”
“Well, now that you say that, I have heard that scent is the strongest sense tied to memory. Like when you smell suntan lotion, and it reminds you of the time you went to the beach.” He smiled, glancing over at her.
She smiled back, but he could tell it was forced. “I suppose.”
Steve reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s just going to take some time. Your brain is healing. Your memory will come back. It’s already starting.”
She nodded.
“Cheer up. This is good news!” He shook her hand.
“Yes. Yes, it is, isn’t it?” She smiled at him, and this time it was real.
It was about noon when they arrived back in Helen. Steve parked a few blocks away from the town center, finding a gravel lot big enough for the truck and trailer. They entered the cobblestone alleyways from the back street and wandered through the shops, which were crowded with tourists now. They nibbled on samples of fudge and bought some to take back home. They stumbled upon a shop that only sold music boxes, and Steve bought one to take home to Jessie.
They came out into the square off the main street and noticed that there appeared to be an arts and crafts show going on. There were easels set up, and artists displaying their work all up and down the square. Steve and Summer strolled along, admiring the work. Watercolors, oil paintings, pottery, jewelry, there were all types of mediums displayed.
They stopped to look at some watercolors, and the woman sitting in the chair looked up. She looked to be in her mid-fifties. She had little reading glasses perched on her nose and about a half dozen strings of beads around her neck. “Well, it’s about time you came back!” she said, jumping up out of her chair and coming toward Summer.
Before Summer knew what was happening, the woman had her in a big hug. She looked over the woman’s shoulder at Steve with a look that told him she had no idea who this woman was.
The woman stepped back and took Summer’s hands. “Do you know I’ve sold all your paintings, but one?” And she pointed to a watercolor on display.
Summer turned and looked at the painting. It was a beautiful picture of wildflowers in a mountain meadow. It was like she was seeing it for the first time. She had no memory of it, at all. “I painted this?”
The woman looked at her strangely. “Yes, dear. I mean, you said you did. It’s one of the ones you brought me to try to sell for you.” Summer stepped closer to it. The woman turned to Steve. “This must be the gentleman you were telling me about.” She extended her hand. “Teresa Allen.”
Steve shook her hand as he and Summer exchanged a look over the woman’s head. A gentleman…in Summer’s life? Steve studied her. “Do you remember any of this, Summer?”
She just shook her head.
The woman looked from one to the other. “What is it, dear?”
“Miss Allen, she’s been in an accident, with head trauma,” Steve explained.
“Oh, my. Is she all right? I had no idea.”
“Yes, except…she’s temporarily…having trouble remembering things. Ma’am you see, the truth is she doesn’t even remember her name.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” the woman said, her hand covering her mouth. “How awful!”
“You’re the first person we’ve met that even knows her. What can you tell us about her?” Steve asked.
“But, but don’t you know her, young man?”
Steve explained how she came to his farm for help, and that they’ve been trying to figure out her identity ever since.
“Goodness!” the woman exclaimed. “Well, I only know you as CJ. See, look here, that’s the only way you sign your paintings. You did give me a card with your name and number on it, but I lost it. Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“CJ?” Summer repeated in a daze.
“Do you know if anyone had been looking for her?” Steve asked.
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Is there anything about her that you can tell us? How you met her? Anything at all would help.”
“Well, I met her here at the show they had at the beginning of the summer. She admired some of my work and said she wished she had the courage to display her own. I told her to bring me some of it, and if it was good, I’d try to sell it for her. You see I travel around to different art shows all around the Southeast. I’m at one most every weekend.”
“Do you know where she was staying?”
“Let me think. She said she was only here for the summer. She was renting something, I think. I’m pretty sure she said it was on the lake, or near it. I’m sorry, I can’t remember.”
“No. You’ve been very helpful. Look, let me give you my name and number. If you remember anything else, you’ll call us?”
“Why, of course. Here’s a pen. You can write on this notebook. I keep track of my sales in this, so I won’t lose it.”
Steve scribbled down the information. He looked up and noticed Summer was looking at the painting. He pulled out his wallet and asked the woman how much to buy it.
“Buy it? Why, honey, she’s the artist. Ask her. I don’t own it,” the woman explained, gesturing to Summer.
“We’ll be taking it with us, then. And thank you, ma’am,” Steve said.
“Wait! Wait, I have to give you your money. The money from selling your paintings.” She turned and took out a cash box from under her chair. She peeled off five hundred dollars and handed it to Summer. “Good luck, CJ.”
Summer shoved the money into her bag. “Thank you.”
They walked back toward the river.
Steve steered her into the first place he saw that looked like it served alcohol, the Little Bavarian Haus Inn and Tavern. A waiter asked if they wanted to be seated inside or out. Steve chose outside. They were seated at a table overlooking the river. There was a German Om-Pa-Pa band playing, complete in authentic costume.
“Do you always have a band?” Steve asked.
“No, sir,” the waiter replied. “Just during Oktoberfest, which starts about mid-September up here.” He passed them menus.
Steve told him that they weren’t sure they would be eating, but that he could start them out with a pitcher of beer and two shots of whiskey. The waiter took the menus back and left to fill their drink order.
“I don’t drink whiskey,” Summer informed Steve. “At least, I don’t think I do.” She frowned, looking out over the river.
“Well, maybe just this once, huh, babe?”
She looked back at him and nodded quietly.
Steve watched her, not sure what to say. He thought maybe he’d better wait until she had a few drinks in her, first. The waiter came with a tray. He set a pitcher on the table, two frosted mugs, two glass tumblers with about an inch of whiskey in them, and two glasses of ice water.
“Anything else, sir?” he inquired of Steve.
“No, thank you.”
When he left, Steve picked up his tumbler and Summer’s and handed hers to her. “Bottoms up.”
Steve downed his. Summer was still staring at hers. “Come on, babe. It’ll take the edge off.”
She brought it to her mouth and sipped. “Ugh! Oh, Steve, I can’t drink this.”
“You can’t sip it, darlin’. You have to swallow it down all in one big gulp. Come on, you can do it.” She downed it and began sputtering and coughing. “Here, quick, chase it with some water,” he instructed, handing her the glass of water and trying not to laugh.
She downed the whole glass, and then glared at him. “That wasn’t funny! Don’t you laugh at me!”
“Relax, Summer. Here have a beer.” He poured them both a mug.
She drank almost half the glass at once. After the shot, the beer went down like nothing.
“Take it easy,” Steve warned.
“Compared to the whiskey, the beer tastes like water,” she said.
“Yeah, well it’s not water.”
“I can still feel the whiskey, it’s burning its way all the way down my throat. My tummy feels kind of warm.”
“Oh, Lord!” Steve laughed. Then Summer laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in a long time,” he said, smiling. Turning, he picked up the painting from where he had set it against the railing. He held it up, and they both studied it. “This is very good. You’re very talented.”
“I can’t believe I could do something like that. I wonder if I still can?” she asked, chewing on her lip.
“Why, sure you can. Why wouldn’t you?” Steve reassured her.
Summer just tilted her head and gave him a look.
He put the painting back. “Does that stuff she said about a rental on the lake or near the lake, being up here for the summer, does any of that ring any bells?”
“No…no bells,” she said quietly and took another sip of her beer.
Steve was hesitant to even mention the part about the man. “Well, it’s a place to start. We’ll check every rental in this vicinity, if we have to. They have records of whom they rent to. And we know your first name is CJ, or at least your initials.”
“Yes, we could do that, couldn’t we?” she asked, perking up.
“Of course!” Steve assured her, drinking his beer.
“CJ?” She stared at the table. “I don’t feel like a CJ.”
Steve took another drink of beer and picked up the pitcher, refilling their mugs. “You don’t look like a CJ either.” He grinned, setting the pitcher back on the table.
Summer looked at him and giggled.
“Oh-oh, I think the whiskey is kicking in. Well, at least you’re a happy drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” she declared, and then hiccupped. They both burst out laughing.
“Well, I don’t care how you sign your checks, babe. You’ll always be Summer, to me.”
“Yes, I guess that name has sort of grown on me, too,” she replied. “Hey, Steve?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she confessed.
His eyes ran over her face. “You’re welcome, Summer.”
“I mean, taking me in and giving me a job, a place to live…”
“Well, I’ve kind of liked having you around,” he admitted.
“Really?” she asked with a grin. “Even when I make you mad?”
“Maybe not so much then,” he teased.
She smiled and looked down.
Steve turned to watch the band.
“Steve?”
“Yes?” he responded, turning back to look at her.
“I’m sorry for meddling in things…for thinking…”