by Sosie Frost
“Uh…huh.” The receptionist grabbed a pen. “What’s your name?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here, I guess.”
“You don’t know your name?”
At least I could read the name they put on my ticket for the one-way trip to crazy town. “I have a name.”
“Would you prefer to be anonymous?”
“I think I am anonymous now. Or invisible. Can’t tell sometimes.”
She glanced at the baby. “Is…she yours?”
“Better be. They let me out of the hospital with her.” The joke wasn’t getting old, but it started to worry people. “I mean. Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Today I’m trying out variations of Rae.”
Now the pencil dropped. “Ma’am…if you aren’t meeting someone, and you can’t tell me why you’re here, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“I need a couple minutes to gather my courage. I’m making a big decision. This might change a lot of people’s lives.”
“Ma’am?”
“I’m just saying. Something like this? It’s…explosive.”
Now I terrified her. “Ma’am, I’m going to call the police.”
“Oh, they can’t help you.” I sighed. “Can’t help anyone.”
Her eyes widened. She dove for the phone, and I stopped her with a wave of my hand.
“I’m not crazy.” I wasn’t making a great showing of it. “One of your reporters reached out to me for an interview. But this is probably a bad idea. I’m sorry for wasting your time—”
“You must be Evie!”
A bouncy, bubbling, toothy-grinned blonde bounded from the offices and into the lobby. She waved the receptionist down.
“I got her, Anna. This is my exposé.”
Exposé?
The reporter took my hand before I had sufficiently checked it for baby drool.
“So, you’re my amnesiac!” She dragged me through the station. “I’m sure you already know, but I’m Cara Higgins.”
“Miss Higgins—”
“Cara, please.”
I swallowed. “Cara, I’m sorry. I think there’s been some confusion—”
“Don’t worry. You’re right on time. I’m going to pop you into makeup, and then we can sit down in front of the cameras.”
“Cameras?”
“I have about an hour before the evening reports start. We can knock this out in fifteen minutes or so.”
“But I don’t know if I’m ready to…” My tongue felt like it swelled. Or maybe my throat had closed. “This is all so fast.”
“The easiest way to get your story out to the city is through our broadcast. We are the number one trusted new source in Ironfield.”
“I understand that—”
“Three years running.”
“That’s fantastic, but—”
Cara led me through a dizzying maze of halls before twisting me in front of a closed door labeled makeup. She rapped on the wood and called to the attendant inside.
“My interview is here. We need her in front of the cameras in ten.”
Cara pointed at her jeans. “I’m going to change. They’ll lead you to the interview, and then we’ll do this thing.”
“I’m not sure—”
“You’ll do great. Well, I’ll do great.” Cara clapped, and the makeup artists flinched, rushing to the mirrors to begin their work. “We’ll find an intern to watch the baby.”
Whoa. I tightened my grip on Clue before the artist got too grabby. They led me inside, but I wasn’t ready for the barrage of powder and lighting and brushes toiling in my hair to adjust the curls.
“You’re interviewing with Cara?” The artist asked.
“I…guess so.”
Jesus, I was still in a hand-me-down shocking pink t-shirt with the word SWEET emblazed across the chest. And while I had no doubt my supply was pleasing, at least to my child, I wasn’t sure I should advertise it to all Ironfield.
“You’re so brave,” the artist said. “Very brave.”
“Cara said there’s a lot of viewers?”
“I couldn’t do what you’re about to do.” She brushed my hair aside and assaulted me with a powder. “Remember…smile.”
“Might be the only thing I can remember.”
“Everyone gets flustered. Just…try to keep breathing. You’ll survive.”
The encouragement was nice, but I still doubted that I did the right thing.
The blog felt anonymous. Safer. I could vet anyone who emailed me with the click of a button.
But this?
My face would be plastered across the evening news.
Anyone could see it. Anyone could ignore it.
Or he could watch it. See me. Find me.
And Shepard…
This was ridiculous. My stomach tied in knots and my common sense dashed against his rock-hard abs. One kiss from him, and I nearly lost myself. God forbid what might’ve happened if we had taken our indiscretions to full inhibitions three nights ago.
I couldn’t let one orgasm, some sweet words, and a half of a Hawaiian pizza distract me from what was most important.
No matter what that meant for me and Shepard.
The makeup crew led me and Clue to the arranged chairs for the interview. I reluctantly passed the baby to an intern, though Cara bustled into the room, pen and paper in hand.
“Good idea,” she said. “We’ll get the baby in the shot at the end.”
I flinched as the overhead lights flipped on and blinded us in whiteness. “Actually, Cara…I don’t want Clue—the baby—in the footage.”
Cara frowned. “Why not?”
“We don’t know who might be watching. Call her the baby. Don’t give a name or show her. I’d rather the focus stay on me…to keep her protected.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Nothing about what I did for Clue was ridiculous. “You leave her out, or there’s no interview.”
Cara exhaled. “Fine. But you know this is perfectly safe. We’ll screen any calls we get. If someone knows you, they’ll have to go through us first. We’ll put you in contact with them after they’re vetted.”
The knots untangled. A little. I nodded. “Good.”
“Excellent. I’ll ask you a couple questions…” She snapped her fingers. The sound crew nearly dropped their equipment, rushing forward to assist her however they could. An intern tip-toed to her side, offering her a sip of spring water from a straw. Cara smiled. The crew did not. “Relax. Remember to answer anything honestly. We’ll be done in no time.”
“I’m really not sure what I can tell you…”
She shushed me and turned to the camera, facing the lens with a viper grin and cold voice.
“I’m Cara Higgins, and this is an exclusive report that you will find only on WTEA, Ironfield.” Her eyes narrowed. “What would you do if one day you woke with no recollection of who you were, where you were from, or who might be missing you? Amnesia affects less than twenty people a year in the United States—and even rarer are the cases which last days, weeks, or, in Evie Doe’s case…months.”
The camera turned to me.
Fantastic.
Cara’s quick words lashed at me now, pinning me to the chair as if they’d stapled my microphone to my chest.
“Evie, you woke in the hospital four months ago with no memory of who you were or where you can from.”
“Yes?” I said. “That’s right—”
“And in those four months, nearly five by now, you’ve been struggling to recover your memory—a futile search—fruitless, if you will.”
Ouch. “I wouldn’t say fruitless…there’s…seeds around to collect, I just—”
“What have you done to search for your identity?”
“Uh…” I sucked in a breath. How did the lights get so hot already? “I, um, am working with the police. Waiting for a lead to come in about a missing persons case.”
“And hav
e the police helped?”
I nodded. “They’re doing their jobs.”
“Not effectively, it’d seem, if they haven’t found a single shred of evidence to connect you to the thousands of missing persons’ cases in this county.”
“I wouldn’t say that—”
“Did you know on any given day, nearly ninety thousand missing persons’ cases are active in the United States?”
Jesus. “No…I wasn’t aware of that—”
“So the police have done nothing.”
“Not…yet?”
“But they’ve been searching for nearly five months.”
“Yes.”
“And while they’ve wasted taxpayer money on a ridiculous wild-goose chase, what have you done to resolve this mystery…if it’s even a mystery at all?”
Wait. What the hell was happening?
The interns watched from across the set, heads in their hands. One motioned for me to smile. The others passed money around, betting on how much longer I’d last.
My chest tightened. “I’ve, uh, done a little research on my own. And, uh, I started a blog and recorded some of my memories. And I…” I gave a smile. “Came here to talk to you.”
“Only once your efforts had failed. Why didn’t you approach the media sooner? Did you have something to hide? Were you afraid someone would recognize you?”
Shit. This wasn’t what I hoped it’d be. “I’m sorry. I thought we were going to look for my family—”
“Your family hasn’t come to the media either.” Cara let the implication hang. “Miss Doe, I have to ask…what makes you think anyone is even looking for you?”
I didn’t need this. “Well, I have a decent voice and I can juggle, so if I can’t find anyone, at least The X-Factor will have my audition tape.”
Cara smirked. “Let’s talk about the baby. You have no idea who the child’s father is?”
Oh, that smarmy smile. “I don’t even know my own name.”
“Would you say the father knew you were pregnant when you went missing?”
That bitch. “Yes. He knew.”
“According to your medical records…you were struck by an…ice cream truck.”
That wasn’t a question, she just thought it was amusing. “I must not have heard the music.”
“Stuck down by a truck delivering sweet treats, hospitalized and in labor, with no identification. You didn’t even have a cell phone on you.”
The nurses had said they’d found a ten-dollar bill stuffed in my bra after the accident. No change, so the truck must have smacked me before I got my sundae. “That’s the mystery.”
“It’s an unusual circumstance.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“And the doctors are stumped, is that correct?”
“No. They diagnosed me.”
“With amnesia. An indeterminate ailment with little to no research which one could use to, perhaps, lie about their condition?”
“I’m not lying.”
“So you would say that you honestly have no memory, no idea who you are or where you came from?”
“I assume I didn’t pop out of a hole in the ground.”
Cara didn’t miss a beat. “So how are you surviving right now?”
“Breathe in. Enjoy it. Exhale. Repeat.”
“But you have no family? No money? No job?” She tapped her manicured fingernails on the chair. “So we are to assume you’ve taken charity and welfare?”
I weighed my options. I’d have smacked this bitch from one side of the studio to the other for a plea bargain. “Lachlan Reed’s charity, Family First, has been gracious enough to help me and the baby.”
“Even after five months?”
God, I hoped so. “Yes.”
“This is a long time to be without your family…” Cara tilted her head. “And so strange that no one would look for you, almost as if they didn’t realize you were in need.”
Was she insinuating I was faking this? Trying to defraud all the kindness I’d received?
“I hoped I’d have recovered by now. This is my…” I regretted saying it to a viper like her. “Last chance. I’m not sure how else I can find my family.”
“And what would you say to them if they were listening?”
Where are you? Why haven’t you found me? Why haven’t you been looking?
What do I do about Shepard?
“Come and get me.” I faked a smile. “All I want is a family.”
Cara signaled to the camera men, and the director cleared the stage. She leaned over and patted my knee. “See? That wasn’t so hard. I don’t know why all my interviewees complain.”
She had three seconds to remove her hand before I used it to bitch slap herself. “If I had wanted to get my ass kicked, I’d have popped off about the Monarchs in a Rivets’ bar.”
“Oh, people would ask these questions anyway.” Cara lit a cigarette and signed off on a paper from an intern. “I focus on what taxpayers care about—welfare and insurance frauds. Scams. You understand.”
“I’m not scamming anyone.”
“See? Now people know. They’ll focus only on your story now.”
I yanked my baby away from an intern. “They shouldn’t have doubted me in the first place.”
“After five months, Evie? Even the police must be suspicious.”
“The police have been nothing but helpful.”
“But the case isn’t solved.”
For the first time, it didn’t matter.
I might not have had a husband, but someone was there to rush me and Clue to the doctor.
I had a dinner date. A furniture builder. A baby cuddler. A man who could thrill me in ways I never thought I’d deserved.
The police had no leads, and my family hadn’t come to find me.
What did I do now?
Maybe it was time to abandon my past and all its tragedy—the drive-bys, the bad neighborhoods, the danger and stress and fear I’d relived through the few memories that flashed in my mind—for a chance to have a stable, happy, and safe future.
I faced Cara with a scowl. “Thanks for your help. When will this air?”
“We’ll fit it in sometime this week or next. Whenever we need some filler.”
Filler.
My life was just filler to her?
Maybe it was.
Maybe it wasn’t worth the search and the stress, the charity and the police man hours.
Maybe those memories of a dangerous neighborhood were right, and I was just some ghetto bitch who got lucky enough to escape.
But I wouldn’t know until I tried. I’d make this my last attempt to find out who I was. I had to know.
If only so I could begin or end my perfectly destructive relationship with Shepard.
13
Shepard’s knocking woke me up.
I could hardly read my phone. 12:15 AM?
Oh, hell no.
The chicken dinner I’d made for us had gone cold—which was probably a good thing since I wasn’t sure I cooked the bird all the way through. Unfortunately, the green beans had simmered for too long and they turned to mush in the pot. Garlic wasn’t supposed to burn to black, and the mashed potatoes were fifty percent butter.
Well, the potatoes were actually pretty tasty.
Too bad it was all for nothing. If Shepard thought my invitation for him to have a home-cooked meal meant show up five hours late and almost wake the baby he’d get a can of soup for dinner.
But he’d have to earn the damn can-opener.
I slid off the couch and stumbled to the door. “Shepard Novak, if you think I slaved over a hot stove and nearly singed off my—”
Shepard leaned against the frame. A fresh row of stitches mended a bad gash above his left eyebrow and a dark bruise spread under his eye. His cheek was roughed up, and be rubbed a scrape on his chin. His knuckles were bruised, torn, and swollen.
“Oh my god.” My heart surged into my throat. “What—are you okay?”
Shepard limped inside, a dry smirk on his lips. “Rough day at the office.”
“You didn’t call!”
“I know. I’m sorry. There was an…altercation with a suspect.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Got a beer?”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
I pointed him to the couch and retrieved a bottle from the six-pack I kept in the fridge for him. He needed more than a drink. I reached into the freezer for an ice pack. I couldn’t find one, but I did have a frozen package of breast milk. It seemed better than the hot dogs. I wrapped the vacuum sealed pouch in a towel and returned to him. He let me dab the cool cloth against his stitches.
He took my hand before I touched his cheek.
This wasn’t the first time I had tended to someone’s wounds.
“Oh my God, where’ve you been?” I leapt from the couch as soon as the door slammed shut. “I heard the news. Are you okay? There was gunfire!”
His shoes struck the entry wall, and he stumbled to the bathroom. The water turned on. He rinsed the dirt from his face.
And the sink ran red with blood.
“Oh, no.” I whispered.
He grunted and wiped his mouth. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t. “You just spat out a tooth.”
“Only a chip.”
This time. Just like last month was ‘only a fracture’ and the time before was ‘only fifteen stitches.’
“This is too dangerous,” I said. “You keeping doing this—”
“What choice do I have? Money’s tight. This will put food on the table.”
“Well, when you’re dead, I can set the table for one.” I pointed to my still-flat tummy. “At least for another six months. Then what?”
“Go to bed. I have to go back out.”
“You can’t! What happens if—”
“And what happens if I don’t go? More people get hurt. Can’t let that happen.”
“But what if you get hurt?”
His voice softened. “At least I have you to patch me up.”
“For how much longer?” I let the question linger. “God. I can’t do this anymore.”
My hand jerked away.
“What is it?” His furrowed brow tugged on his stitches. He hissed and touched the wound. “Evie?”
“I’ve…done this before.”
