And sometimes there isn't.
Summer, 1993. Claire has been dumped in rural Indianola, Texas, to spend her whole vacation taking care of mean, sickly Grammy. There's nothing too remarkable about Indianola: it's run-down, shabby, and stifling hot, a pin-dot on the Gulf Coast.
Well, there is one remarkable thing, she discovers. Something otherworldly.
But if you leave Indianola, you forget about it... and if you stay, you have to live with it every day.
Because there's a confluence of energies at Indianola, a fissure in time and space, a gap in reality. Nothing is as it seems. And unless Claire can figure out this town--the talkative lizards under the pecan trees; the honey-sweet but terrifying girl next door; the cute daughter of a powerful family, who would answer Claire's questions if she had any answers; the pervasive sense of history coming unspooled, like a video tape--she might never leave.
Featuring a mindbending plot, heartfelt queer romance, brilliant writing, and intricate worldbuilding, Forget This Ever Happened is a lush and thrilling genre-bender perfect for the Black Mirror generation.
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Excerpt
Cicadas whine from their invisible hiding places in the trees. Claire repositions the standing fan so that it blows directly on her like a blast of static. She found the patio outlet this morning while she was sweeping grass off the cement, and now that’s it the middle of the afternoon she’s grateful. It really is noticeably cooler out here in the sea breeze than it is trapped inside Grammy’s house.
Claire has been in town for three days. Audrey’s driven her to the grocery store to buy a few toiletries she left at home, but Claire hasn’t had time to go swimming at the beach with her or really hang out. The chores Grammy mentioned on the first day take a lot more time than Grammy led her to believe. Already Claire has cleaned the house from top to bottom, in addition to cooking Grammy’s meals, helping her in and out of bed, and bringing her the little white pillbox three times a day. No wonder Grammy refused to hire a nurse. What she really wants is a maid.
At least Claire has this afternoon to herself. Finally.
She switches on her Walkman and arranges a sheet of stationery on the old encyclopedia she’s using to write on. She found the stationery in her bedroom, buried deep in the desk. It’s old, with swirls of blue flowers and a yellow tint to the paper. She thinks Josh will appreciate it. He likes old things.
Josh, she writes, leaving off the Dear because it sounds too girlfriend‑y. I’ve been listening to the tape you gave me. It’s great! I really
She stops and lifts her head and stares out at the empty backyard, keeping one hand pressed against the stationery so it doesn’t blow away. The music doesn’t quite cover up the hum of the fan. She doesn’t know how to describe this music. She has to make it clear that she appre-ciates it, but not that she thinks it’s too heavy or dark (which she kind of does).
She turns back to her letter.
like the fourth song (“Prelude to Agony”). The lyrics really speak to me.
She reads over what she wrote and feels revolted. She scratches out speak to me, digging the pen in so deep, the words completely disappear.
captures what it’s like to
Claire sighs. She thought it would be easier to write to Josh, since then she could think about what she’s going to say before she says it, but it turns out that she thinks too much. Maybe she ought to call him. But then Grammy would ask about the charges, and she’d probably tell Claire’s mother about them, and it would be a whole big thing and just not worth it. Plus, what if Josh doesn’t want her calling anyway? Defi-nitely not worth it, then.
The wind picks up, smelling of the sea. Claire can’t hear it over the music, but she can see it knocking the palm trees around. Something ripples in the grass—a shadow, a dark quick movement.
It stops.
During the summer of 2010, she attended the Clarion West Writers Workshop in Seattle, where she enjoyed sixty-degree summer days. Having been born and raised in Texas, this was something of a big deal. She was also a recipient of the 2010 Susan C. Petrey Clarion Scholarship Fund.
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