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Sammie met me at the bottom, tail wagging.
Bangs in the kitchen drew my attention, and I followed the sound with Sammie at my heels.
Dad had all the burners on and all the plates laid out for breakfast. He often made it on weekends before work, even in the sheer volume our family required.
Sammie padded over to the hobs and sat to attention, staring at the sizzling pans as his nose twitched repeatedly.
Already dressed in his uniform, Dad had a potion bottle in one hand, pouring the contents into a jug of orange juice. Several more potion bottles dotted the counter.
“What are you spiking breakfast with?” I sidled up to his juice station.
“Calming potion.” Dad popped the empty vial into a plastic bag that rattled when the vial fell inside. “Everyone’s going to wake up on the warpath today.”
“Huh.” He probably wasn’t wrong there.
I grabbed a vial, uncorked it, and downed it in one gulp. Dad eyed me as I tossed the empty vial into the bag.
After the past few days, a calming potion was long overdue. But given what I needed to talk to Dad about, it was even more necessary.
“Everything all right?” Dad asked.
“Give it a minute and everything will be just fine.”
I made my way to the window, where Flora’s live crickets and mealworms lived in adjoining plastic boxes.
“Dad, can I ask you something?” I said as I picked out a few of the juicer crickets and put them into a smaller container. “About Mum?”
“Mum?” Dad began flipping bacon on the stove. “That’s unusual for you.”
“Well…” How did I phrase this without raising suspicion? I rarely wanted to discuss Mum. I didn’t enjoy experiencing her through other people’s memories.
Unfortunately, there were few other ways to experience her anymore.
“Coming home has made me think about her a lot.” I grabbed the mealworm scooper and dumped a bunch into the container.
“What do you want to know?” Dad’s tone had an enthusiastic edge, but he tempered his volume.
Gods, did I make the subject of Mum so tentative that he was careful to handle the conversation like an armed explosive?
“I guess I’m confused about a few things,” I said. “You told me she showed up on the island with no memories. Didn’t you ever try to get them back with a spell or something?”
“She didn’t want to.” Dad poked the eggs with a spatula. “Whatever she had forgotten, she clearly thought it was worth keeping that way.”
I put a lid on the container and closed the boxes.
Hadn’t Mum had any curiosity about her memories? Why had she turned down the possibility of regaining them?
“Personally, I agreed,” Dad said.
I made my way over to the island counter with Flora’s breakfast. “Why?”
Dad put down the spatula and turned around, leaning against the counter as he folded his arms.
“I never told you this because I didn’t want you to have any… concerns, growing up,” he said. “But I didn’t just run into your mum wandering around the island. She washed up on the beach, badly injured.”
Idropped the container but snatched it out of the air before it could hit the ground.
“Washed up? On the beach?” I repeated.
