“Mommy, who are these people?” Keisha asked.
Layla instinctively tightened her hold on her daughter.
“Where are our manners?” the man said with a hint of uneasiness. “My name is Hershel Peterson, and this is my wife, Martha.”
A chill went up her spine. Peterson?
Martha Peterson slowly looked at Keisha. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Keisha,” she mumbled and put her fingers in her mouth. She was a little shy around strangers.
“That’s a pretty name . . . and you have lovely eyes,” Martha said.
Keisha kept looking at the woman.
“What do you say, honey?” Layla asked softly.
“Thank you,” Keisha said slowly.
“We apologize . . . Ms. Miles. You just look like someone we knew long ago,” Hershel said. “The resemblance is amazing.”
“I see,” Layla mumbled.
“Hey,” Damien said as he approached them.
“Daddy, we met knew people,” Keisha said.
“I see that, pumpkin. Dr. Damien Miles,” he said happily as he extended his hand to Hershel.
“Nice to meet you,” Hershel said as they shook hands.
“I’m Martha.” She shook hands with Damien.
Peterson. No. Surely, there are loads of Petersons in Florida. Hell, in the country. Besides, they called me by another name. It’s just a coincidence.
“Great to meet you folks,” Damien said as he put his arm around Layla’s shoulders. “Where are you from?”
“We live in Orlando. We get vouchers to come to the park every once in a while. Since they’re such a good deal, we take advantage. No reason to let them go to waste,” Hershel said.
Martha kept stealing glances at Layla.
“Absolutely,” Damien agreed. “Do the vouchers include a stay in the hotel?”
“It does. We treat times like this like a mini vacation. We pretend that the kids are our grandchildren.”
Martha gave her husband half a smile.
“Oh, you have kids?” Damien asked
“Yes,” Martha said. “We have two sons.”
“And no grandkids,” Hershel added. “Those boys are stubborn bachelors.”
“They’re still young,” Martha said. “I still have hope. We better let you folks get going. This little darling is chomping at the bit to have some fun.”
Keisha shyly looked down at the floor.
“Well, maybe we’ll see you two later since you’re staying here,” Damien said.
“Perhaps,” Martha said.
“Have a good day,” Hershel said as he placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Let’s get something to eat, woman. I’m starving.”
****
The Petersons walked into the hotel restaurant. They quietly let the host walk them to a table. After the hostess set their menus down, she left.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Martha asked.
“About what?” Hershel asked.
“Stop it. That woman looked exactly like–”
“There’s a resemblance. I would think that’s what Lana would look like after twelve years.”
“Look like,” she scoffed. “I believe it’s her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It can’t be her. She’s dead.”
“No, she is – was — missing. Her body was never found. There’s a difference,” Martha countered.
“Either way, that woman was not Lana. It couldn’t have been. If it was, she would have recognized us.”
“It’s been almost thirteen years since she’s seen us. Hell, I get a good look at her every year at least once a year when I go through the albums.”
“All right. Why is she going by another name if she’s Lana?”
“I don’t know, Hershel,” she hissed. “Maybe she still has to hide from that awful man.”
“I’m surprised that you even care. You were furious when the boy called and said that Lana had dumped him for an older man because he had money.”
“Yes, I was mad at her, but not mad enough to wish death on her,” she retorted defensively. “After we’re finished eating, we are going upstairs to call Alec.”
“The hell you are,” he said loudly.
“Shh, keep your voice down.”
“Martha, I’m putting my foot down,” he said sternly. “You are not calling that boy and telling him your suspicions. He hasn’t been the same since . . . You’re not doing it. I won’t see that boy hurt anymore, especially over some . . . coincidence.”
She remained silent.
“Martha, do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly.
“Are you two ready to order?” the waitress asked as she approached them.
“We’ll need more time,” they answered in unison.
Chapter 15
The voices came to her in the darkness, whispering different things. But one thing they hissed was the same. Lana . . . Lana . . . Lana.
Layla shot straight up in the bed as she heaved. She was hot and sticky. Damien snored loudly beside her. He didn’t snore unless he was really tired. Creeping out of bed to keep from waking him, she went to the bathroom. She turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on her face.
Lana. It could be a mistake like she thought when she first met the old couple. But considering that she couldn’t recall most of her life, she had to be sure. It would be the most radical thing she has done concerning her mission to discover her past, but she figured the worst that could happen was being cursed out.
She carefully walked back into the bedroom and grabbed her robe and a pair of black-and-white flip flops. Then she carefully walked into the sitting area of the Swan Suite. Damien’s snores were muffled by the closed bedroom door.
Layla gathered her courage and then picked up the room phone and dialed the front desk.
“Walt Disney World Swan and Dolphin front desk,” the clerk answered.
“Um, yes, can you ring . . . Hershel and Martha Peterson’s room, please?”
“Let me look up the name, ma’am. One moment, please,” the clerk said.
****
The ringing phone jostled Martha awake. For a minute, she thought she was back home. Sometimes the boys called at odd hours. Her eldest lived in Oregon. There was a three-hour time difference.
Martha reached for the phone with her eyes half open. “Hello,” she answered hoarsely.
“Mrs. Peterson?” the woman whispered.
It wasn’t one of her sons. She opened her eyes wider. “Yes.” She cleared her throat.
“This is Layla Miles.”
“Who?”
“Layla Miles. The woman you and your husband met this afternoon. You thought I looked like someone you knew.”
Martha propped half her body up on her elbow. “Yes.”
Why is she calling me?
“I was wondering if you could meet me in the lobby in ten minutes?”
“What?” she whispered loudly. She looked over at the clock.
“I know it’s late, but–”
“Late?” she hissed. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I really need to speak with you. I promise I won’t keep you long.”
If anything, Martha was curious. “All right, I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
“Thank you,” Layla whispered.
“Bye,” Martha said and hung up. She could feel Hershel stirring next to her. She slowly pulled the covers back and started getting out of bed.
He coughed and then smacked his lips. “Who . . . was on the phone, hon?” he mumbled.
“Wrong number,” she said.
He groaned lightly and slowly drifted back to sleep.
****
Layla sat in an armchair as she kept an eagle-eye on both elevators in the lobby. She didn’t want to risk getting fully dressed in fear that she would wake Damien. She had thrown a thin, blue robe over her pastel blue pajama shor
ts and tank top. She was still a little warm from her dream, so she left the robe open.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.
Martha Peterson emerged with a peach scarf over her sponge rollers. She was wearing pink satin pants pajamas with a matching robe. The robe was open.
Layla stood as the old woman approached her. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Let’s go outside,” Martha said.
They walked together out the glass doors.
“I have to say, Hershel would skin me alive if he knew I was meeting you in the dead of night,” Martha stated as she dug in her robe pocket.
They walked up the sidewalk.
“I know it’s inconvenient, but it would have been difficult for me to get away from my family tomorrow.”
“It’s all right,” Martha consoled as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Gives me a chance to get in a cig.” Martha lit the long slim and put the pack and the lighter back in her pocket. “Hershel and the boys would yell this place down if they knew I still sneaked two cigarettes a day.”
“Well, I won’t tell them if you don’t tell my husband I snuck out of the room while he was asleep.”
“Deal. In the sixties, smoking was cool. Everyone smoked. That was before the damn surgeon general’s warnings and the age limit.” She took a puff and exhaled the smoke like it was better than anything she had ever experienced. “So, tell me about yourself.”
Layla was so stunned by the questions she stopped walking.
“It’s not out of the question, I would think. After all, I have a right to know something for wandering the grounds after two a.m.”
Layla nodded. “Well, I’m a housewife. Been a housewife for about four years. I have a daughter and a husband. He’s a neurosurgeon.”
Martha started to walk again. Layla followed suit.
“That’s your official bio, honey. I want the bio that made you call me in the middle of the night for a meet up.” Martha took a drag from the smoke.
She took a deep breath. “Four years ago, I woke up in a clinic outside of New York City with no memory of my past or even my name. My fiancé, who is now my husband, filled in some blanks, but we had only known each other for a year. He practically knew nothing of my childhood or my parents – well, my adopted parents, because they had died before I met him.”
Martha stopped in her tracks.
Layla stopped too and looked the woman in her eye. “I was in some sort of car accident. I don’t remember what happened to put me in the hospital with a broken leg and a sprained neck. While I was there, I found out I was pregnant. Once I was completely healed, Damien wanted to get married before the baby came. So we did. We lived in DC for a while, then we moved to Tampa last year. I have started seeing a therapist to help me recover my memories. I’ve had some breakthrough, but nothing overly detailed about what happened that made me lose my memories in the first place.”
Martha stared at her with furrowed brows. Then her eyes shifted to the left. “Let’s sit on that bench.” She started walking toward it.
They both sat down. Layla could hear the sound of the water in one of the five hotels’ pools. The lights around the hotel were bright and illuminated the palm trees around the building.
“Do you . . . know me?” Layla asked hesitantly.
Martha took a hit off her cigarette as she looked at Layla. She blew out as she leaned back on the bench. “Now, sweetheart, you need to think long and hard before I answer that question. Think about your life now. You have a husband and a little girl. What I tell you could change you and their life forever,” she said as she stared out at the grounds. “Do you really want to know that badly?”
Layla heard the seriousness of her tone. This woman did know her before. But what could she say that could affect her family? If anything, she wanted to know as a precaution. What if she had done something that could hurt her family in the long run? This was harder than she thought it would be. She swallowed. “Yes, ma’am. I want to know. . . I need to know.”
Martha slowly nodded. “I’ll tell you what I know. The answer to your first question is yes. I know you. You were my son’s college sweetheart. You two met during your sophomore year.”
“Alec,” she whispered with shock. Martha Peterson was Alec’s mother.
“So, that much you do remember?”
“It– He came back to me during a therapy session . . . and I met him . . . at a charity event Damien and I hosted,” she admitted with nervousness.
Martha’s head snapped to look at her. “So, he’s seen you?”
“Yes, he admitted to me that he knew me from long ago at the charity auction. Then he walked away. His friend, Bruce—”
“Bruce saw you too?” Martha exclaimed.
“Yes, he’s not your son too, is he?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “He’s been Alec’s best friend since their freshman year in college.”
“Oh.”
“Go on.”
“Bruce gave me his number. After a few days, I called him, and we met at a park outside of the city. He wouldn’t tell me anything specific, but he gave me . . . a necklace. It was a heart-shaped pendant with a diamond.”
Martha nodded. “Yeah, it sounds familiar.”
“Mrs. Peterson, please tell me what you know about me. I can’t keep wondering for the rest of my life.”
“I’ll start at the beginning,” she began and took a drag from her cig. “Halfway through Alec’s second year at Howard, he called us. He said that he met a girl at an after-party. It was homecoming. They had won the game, and . . . you showed up with your girlfriends at a frat house that was hosting the party for the football team. You two had gone on several dates and decided to be exclusive. He had asked if he could bring you home a week before Christmas to meet us.”
“Did I?” Layla breathlessly asked.
“Yes,” she said. “You two swam in the pool and had a splendid time. You spent several days with us before going back to DC to spend Christmas with your family.”
“Pool? So, you lived in Orlando back then?”
“Oh yes. We’re still in the same house.”
Layla couldn’t remember that for the life of her.
“You came down that summer, too. Spent a month with us. Alec had given you the necklace by then. You showed it to me. I think he gave it to you for Valentine’s Day. You two seemed so much in love. Then you two started your junior year.”
“Wait. I attended the school, too?”
“Yes, Howard University. Alec wanted to major in Criminology, and they had an excellent program. His daddy’s indirect influence. Hershel was cop. He’s been retired for six years now. Anyway—”
“Wait. Did you know my major?”
“If I did, I forgot. But I remember you were really good at math. Anyway, things were going along fine. You came down again and spent Christmas Eve and day with us. You got to meet Alec’s brother and our extended family. I got loads of pictures. They’re at home, of course. I never got into the computer and fancy cell phone stuff. You two started your second semester, and then things went wrong. I don’t know how or where you met him, but you met an older man. I don’t know all the details of that, but I do know that you broke up with Alec to be with this guy. You were enthralled by his expensive lifestyle. So much so, you dropped out of school and left Alec behind to move to New York. Broke my boy’s heart.”
Layla just realized that she was listening to Martha with her mouth open. She was totally stunned. “I . . . I . . . I had no idea. My god.”
“I’m sure it’s a lot to absorb, but it’s the truth,” she said and took a long hit off the smoke and tossed it in the bushes. “He was depressed for a while. A while later, he started dating another girl. Then three months later, it was another girl. Then another. Then he graduated. I never got to meet any of those girls. I guess he wasn’t that serious about them.”
“Who was the man that I left Alec for?”
“Before I tell you, you should know something. That man was bad news. You were all right with him for a while, I guess. But what I do know for sure is that something went wrong after a few years. You had hunted Alec down online and contacted him through social media, begging for his help. You two set up a meeting. He came for you in New York, took you to a place that he thought was safe. He had to leave you there with other agents for a while. The next thing he knew, he got a call from one of his colleagues that you were gone, and the agents who were guarding you were dead. The only trace they had of you was an abandoned, wrecked car.”
“Agents?”
“The FBI. Alec is an FBI agent. Bruce is, too. They enrolled in the academy together after they graduated.” Martha pulled out her cigarettes again and lit another slim.
“This is nuts!” Layla shouted. “This sounds like some twisted . . . soap opera.”
“Tell me about,” she said and sucked on the cigarette. “But I assure you, it is the truth. I have no reason to lie to you, Lana.”
“Lana. Why do you call me that?”
“Because that’s your name. Lana Murphy.”
“Who told you that?”
“You did. Alec did. You’re Lana Murphy.”
“How did I end up with the name Layla?”
“I don’t know, honey. That sounds like something that you should ask your husband,” Martha suggested and puffed on the cig.
A dreaded thought entered her mind. “This man that was bad news. Was it . . . was it my husband?” Layla asked nervously.
“No. I don’t know how Damien came into your life. Once again, that’s something you need to find out on your own because he has lied to you . . . or someone lied to him about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t adopted. You were brought up in a proper home with your real parents. I spoke to your mother on the phone once,” she said and took a puff of the cig.
“You knew my mom?” Layla asked frantically.
“I wouldn’t say know know. I spoke to her over the phone once when you spent Christmas with us. She sounded like a nice woman. I felt so sorry for her when Alec called her and said that you had disappeared . . . presumed dead.”
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