Forget to Remember

and then return to Chapel Hill. She got off the Interstate and drove along narrow country roads, reveling in the fact that nobody knew where she was. She discovered she enjoyed being by herself.
    The problem was, nobody cared. At least nobody she was related to. She did have some friends: Rigo, his parents, Frances, Mrs. Horton. Yes, Mrs. Horton might not be her grandmother, but she counted her as a friend. She couldn’t desert them. They were her connection to the real world. Without them she would be completely lost.
    She would have liked to keep driving all the way to Massachusetts, where she felt she had a connection. However, that wasn’t practical right now. Maybe on another trip.
    It became late enough that she decided not to make the drive back to Chapel Hill. She stayed the night in a small motel in southern Virginia, but the next morning she returned to Chapel Hill and drove directly to Mrs. Horton’s house. She saw Mrs. Horton and Audrey working in the garden. Actually, Audrey appeared to be doing most of the work while Mrs. Horton sat in a plastic lawn chair.
    Carol parked the car in front of the garage and was greeted by an exultant Butch, his tail wagging like a propeller. She rubbed behind his ears and walked along the path to where most of the garden was located in front of the house. She greeted the two women.
    “I was wondering when you were going to show up. I called the inn this morning but you weren’t there.”
    Was there a note of concern in Mrs. Horton’s voice? There were people who cared about her.
    “I took a little trip. Now I’d like to work in the garden and find out more about Cynthia, so when I go to England I can look for her. You told Paul I was going to do that.” Mainly, this would enable her to justify taking the money from Paul. She had discovered she had a conscience.
    “All right, but if you’re going to work in the garden you can’t wear those good clothes. Audrey will find you something appropriately old—although it might not quite fit you.”

    CHAPTER 13
    One thing Carol discovered from two days of working in the garden and talking about Cynthia was that she wasn’t a natural gardener. She didn’t know the names of most of the plants and flowers, and she didn’t have a feel for planting, watering, pruning, fertilizing—all the chores gardeners did. She suspected that rather than having a green thumb, she probably had a black thumb.
    She remembered, from somewhere in the recesses of her brain, what Thomas Edison was supposed to have said when a detractor chided him for all the failed experiments he and his staff had done while trying to invent a light bulb. He said he hadn’t failed. He had discovered 10,000 ways not to make a light bulb.
    Carol was learning some of the things she wasn’t, and some of the places she hadn’t been. She was sure she hadn’t attended either Duke or the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and she was positive she wasn’t a gardener.
    She liked having the rental car. It gave her freedom; with it she felt less dependent on the kindness of others. She didn’t like the restrictions that came with not having money. She must have had money once.
    As she drove to Paul’s office, she hoped he had done the things she had asked for. What if he hadn’t? Would she have the guts to turn him in for creating a phony driver’s license or faking a photograph to convince her she was who she wasn’t? Was he willing to take a chance that she wouldn’t rat on him?
    She found the small office building on a side street, just off one of the main Chapel Hill thoroughfares. She parked in the lot in front of the new-looking brick building. A newscaster she had been listening to on the radio gave the time as five fourteen. She was early. Well, better to be early than late.
    Paul’s office was on the first floor. She found his name on the door, opened it, and entered a small waiting room furnished with chairs and magazines. On the other side of a Plexiglas barrier she saw Rose standing beside what must be her desk, dressed in a business skirt and white blouse. She looked up at Carol and surprise registered on her face.
    Her voice carried through a speaking hole in the Plexiglas. “Carol…are you here to see Mr. Vigiano?”
    “He said to meet him here at five thirty.”
    “You’re not on his appointment schedule. He’s on the phone right now. I’ll give him a note saying you’re here. Then I have to leave. I have a class on