More Than Memories by Kristen James

house what she would think and if she’d remember anything.
He pulled into the driveway and she hopped out, looking ready and not worried
at all.
     
     
    “Come on, slow poke.” She prodded in her
excitement until he finally grinned at her.
After waiting to see this place, she thought she’d be more nervous, but that
kiss and feeling him hold her made things feel okay. After he unlocked the
door, she let him lead the way inside and she slowly took in the front room.
The linoleum from the entrance gave way to thick, lush beige carpet in the
living room where overstuffed rich-colored sofas were arranged in a square to
create a room within a room. The sofas faced the fireplace, not an
entertainment center, she noted, and fine artwork hung on the far wall. Staring
at the empty end table in the corner, she asked, “Where’s the lamp?”
    “Lamp? Guess I don’t need one,” he said in an
off-hand manner.
    “But the rose?” Yes, there should be a rose
lamp there she knew.
    “I broke it, on accident, by knocking it off. I’m
sorry.” His voice caught on the last sentence and she finally looked at him.
With a jolt, it hit her that they were talking about the past. Her heart rate
picked up until she saw how sad he was over the broken lamp.
    “It’s okay, Trent ….” She had planned to say more
but her eyes found the pictures over the fireplace and stayed there, staring at
Trent’s high school prom picture – with her. She moved forward for a closer
look of him spiffed up in a tux, his chestnut hair long enough to show its
waves, a youthfulness in his eyes and slight dimples showing in his cheeks as
he proudly grinned. Her wide smile, painted love red, looked as radiant as his.
Her hair was pulled up in an elaborate mass of curls, some spiraling down her
back, some teasing the sides of her face. The dress was black and long with a
border along the top of soft green flowers. Tasteful, not too low-cut, and
classy. She looked young as well with her freckles and tan.
    When Trent stepped up behind her, Molly said,
“Such a happy couple.” She didn’t feel like she was talking about herself. Even
with the sparks flying between them and the feeling that they fit together, she
didn’t know about that long and happy past that seemed to exist.
    “We were.”
    Looking over her shoulder, Molly met Trent’s eyes.
She saw oceans of hurt in those endless brown eyes, and she couldn’t imagine
losing someone she loved so much. To make matters worse, he hadn’t known
whether she was dead, hurt, or running from him. Standing next to him, she felt
silly for the times when she wondered if something had happened between them to
make her run.
    Nodding toward the empty end table, he asked, “You
remember that, but not these pictures?”
    It seemed he didn’t want to ask if she remembered
them. She shook her head sadly, not wanting to hurt him with her answer.
    She moved on, toward the hallway, but didn’t make
it much farther when she saw the large picture frames holding collections of
snap shots in the different sized slots. Pictures of them at picnics, the fair,
gatherings with Alicia, and other friends. Trent’s parents were in a few, and
even her own parents were smiling down from the photographs.
    “You put these together.” He spoke softly, and she
saw now why he had waited to bring her into his home. They must have been
fairly serious if she’d been adding touches to his house. She turned the corner
to enter the kitchen, finding a tidy space without much clutter on the
counters. Not much of anything, really, no spice rack or decorations on the
walls.
    “Not big on cooking?” she asked.
    “I’m learning. I like to pull things out of the
freezer and pop them in the oven. Haven’t had much to spend my money on, so I
eat out.”
    Molly turned and leaned against the counter. “I
cooked a lot for my parents. When they were gone, I cooked for myself and my
friend Karen.”
    “You haven’t said much about her.”
    Molly