“No, uh, that’s not what I meant. I...I think you know him.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Her pleasantness had disappeared, her voice now sounding wary and firm. “I don’t know a Jack Smith.”
“Are you sure? He’s my boyfriend, and he went missing almost a week ago. I...I know this’ll sound strange, but I found you on Facebook. I was going through your posts—”
“Excuse me?”
“—and I came across one of your photos. You’re in a black-and-yellow bikini, and you’re with a man. Brown hair, beauty spot on—”
“Hold up. Did you say you went through my Facebook photos?”
Shit. “I know how crazy this sounds, believe me, but I need to know if this man—”
“You really shouldn’t be snooping.”
“But if you could take a quick look at the photo—”
“I can’t help you.” The phone went dead.
“No!” I yelled. “No, no, no!”
I’d found one lead—one—since Jack disappeared, and I’d blown it. Maya Scott thought I was a psycho, and who could blame her after I’d told her I’d gone through her photos? I considered my options, decided the best one was to take a screenshot of the picture, send her a groveling message and explain what I needed, and why. But as I swiped back to her photographs, my phone rang. The number was blocked, but I answered anyway.
“Hello, Lily? It’s Maya Scott. You just called me.”
“Oh, thank God,” I said, my voice breathless as I sank into my seat. “Thank you for calling back, I’m sorry—”
“No, I am,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. You took me a little by surprise.”
“I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy...”
Maya laughed, warm and kind, a hundred and eighty degrees difference from moments before, and I felt my shoulders melt away from my ears. “Well,” she said, “it was a little strange, to be honest, but in your defense, whatever someone puts on the web becomes public domain. I overreacted. I apologize.”
“You’re very gracious,” I said quietly.
“Not at all. But I’m curious, why exactly did you call me?”
I told her about how Jack had disappeared, how I’d found a book, called the library and got her name before working my way through Facebook to locate her at the Cliff’s Head. She listened without saying a word, which I found admirable considering how insane it sounded. “Can you tell me the name of the man in the photo?” I pleaded as I got to the end of my story, holding my breath as I waited for her answer.
“I’m confused,” she said. “I thought you said your boyfriend’s name is Jack?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I think he gave me a false name.”
“You’re kidding? What a piece of...well, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t—”
“It’s okay, it’s fine. Please, tell me what you know about the man in the photo.”
“Well, it’s not much,” she said, and I let out a little groan. I’d been hoping for a miracle and I wasn’t about to get one after all. “I’m pretty sure his name’s Gordon Jones, or Gordon James or something. I can’t quite remember, it was so long ago.”
“Where was Gordon from?”
“Hmmm... Australia, maybe? I’m terrible with accents,” Maya said. “I met him at our local beach one day, that’s when the picture was taken, actually.” She laughed in a what a funny coincidence way that made me bite the inside of my cheek. “You know, I’d always wondered what happened to my damn library book. He must’ve picked it up by mistake. I never saw him again.”
“Do you know where he was living?”
“No idea. Somewhere in Maine, I think, but he said something about a new job in Connecticut, or New York, maybe? I can’t remember. Perhaps you’ll find him on social media, the way you found me. I don’t think I connected with him, though.”
“Gordon Jones...or James,” I repeated. “Thank you, you’ve been really helpful.”
“My pleasure. Best of luck. I hope you find him, although if he gave you a fake name, who knows what he’s been up to. Tell him he owes me two bucks for the library fine.”
“I’ll be sure to let him know.” As soon as we hung up, I returned to her Facebook profile, intending on saving a copy of the image so I could share it with the cops. But as soon as I got to her photo albums, my brow knitted together tighter than before.
The picture was gone.
14
ASH
A few days had passed since my visit to Dr. Adler and the free clinic, but it would’ve been a lie if I said things had improved much. My brain was as muddled as ever, except for the time when Maya and I had played cards one evening. On a whim, I’d grabbed the deck from my bedroom, walked into the kitchen, slapped it down on the table in front of Maya and said, “Wanna play?”
My sister had grinned and rubbed her hands together, declared I’d better get ready for a serious thrashing. She’d been wrong, cursing me to hell and back as I instinctively remembered how to play poker, recalling all the rules, even calling her out on a few of them. By the end of the game she was shaking her head, laughing and begging for mercy.
“Brad taught you,” she said as I shuffled the cards, a feeling of contentment from the fact I’d remembered something spreading throughout my body, even though it was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. “He was an expert at the game, but you were twenty times better. And you never confessed, but we all thought you were playing for money in school. Secretly I think Brad was a bit proud of that, not that he’d ever have admitted as much to my mom.”
I’d fallen asleep on the sofa afterward and when I’d woken up Maya had teased me, saying it was something else I’d got from my father because he’d always dozed off before finishing the newspaper. Despite her good humor I could tell she was worried I’d overdone it, and she was unhappy about having gone back to work at the Cliff’s Head. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving me alone, despite my reassurances I was fine, and the next morning, when she’d dropped off what she called her “side gig”—key rings, bowls and other wooden trinkets she made—at the shop in town called Drift, she’d insisted I go with her, and I’d complied.
Today, though, after sleeping another nine hours straight, I was woken up by the phone. Somehow, I managed to recall Maya telling me she’d be at the restaurant, so I stumbled out of my room and got downstairs before the ringing stopped. It was Dr. Adler calling to reschedule our appointment because of an emergency, and once he’d confirmed the details and we’d hung up, I groaned and stretched, forced myself back upstairs and walked across the landing to the bathroom. Before I got there, sudden flashes of images hit me. In them, I was opening a door, not one of the oak ones in this house, but one that had been painted dark blue, with a brass handle rather than a silver knob. The picture faded and I took a step forward, but then the next image came, and it was so strong, so vivid, it almost brought me to my knees. Red-tinged water splashing onto a white tile floor. The shadow of a body lying in the tub behind the half-open shower curtain. My feet scrambled backward as my hands groped for the banister. I didn’t know what I’d seen, or what it meant, only that I had to get away. Now.
“Maya?” I called out, retreating from the bathroom door, holding on to the railing so hard, I thought it might snap between my fingers. “Maya? Are you home?”
The house remained quiet, not a single noise save for the tick-ticking of the clock on my bedroom wall, and the air only carried the faint smell of coffee. My panic lessened as I went downstairs and checked each room for my sister before putting on my sneakers and going outside. The door to the garage was open, and when I saw Maya moving around, I headed over. The temperatures had risen during the past few days, bringing with them the promise of a long summer, and the air was filled with the smell of sea
salt and the sound of rustling leaves. All of it seemed so normal, and what had just happened in the house began to fade into the background.
Maya was at the back of the garage, dressed in her standard outfit of black jeans and T-shirt, standing over a piece of driftwood the size of my leg. Purple earbuds firmly in place, she swayed to whatever she was listening to, running her hands over the wood, her lips moving without making a sound. Because I wasn’t paying enough attention, my foot caught on a frayed, faded orange rug and I stumbled, almost crashing into the shelf full of neatly arranged tools and supplies. Maya looked up and pulled out an earbud, her face breaking into a smile.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Her grin faded a little. “You okay? You’re really pale.”
The red bathwater images pushed and shoved, once again making sure they were the only thing I could think of. “I remembered something...at least I believe so. I’m not sure.”
I ran a damp palm over my hair. This was impossible, trying to sort out reality from dreams, fact from fiction, truth from confabulation. How could I live like this? Weren’t we humans, at least in part, the sum of our experiences? Without a firm grasp on my history, how was I supposed to move on? How could I know, or have any kind of trust in who I was?
Maya walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. “Tell me what you saw.”
“A blue door with a brass handle. I think it was a...”
“Bathroom.” Maya exhaled deeply. “Wow, of all the things to come back...” She grabbed my hand and led me to a green bench at the back of the room near some open framing, where she made me sit down and gently said, “You’re remembering what happened to your mom.”
“Rosalie?” I said, the name still strange and unfamiliar on my tongue.
“Yes. When she committed suicide...you found her. In the bath at home. Her wrists...”
“Christ,” I whispered. I’d found my mother, veins slashed, bleeding out in the family bathroom. It must have been terrifying, life-defining, something I’d surely wanted to forget. “That’s one thing I wish my brain had made up.”
“Me, too.” Maya rubbed my hand as she looked at me with her huge eyes. “You never talked about it much, you found it too distressing. God, I wish you could leave it behind.”
I shook my head. “I’ve already told you. I’ve got to take the good with the bad, and at least real memories are coming, bits and pieces of them, anyway. I mean, this thing with my mum...obviously it’s horrendous, but it’s also significant, surely, even if the entire memory didn’t come back.”
“Thank God. But you have to be patient. And you need to rest.”
“I am resting. I’ve barely been out of bed for more than five minutes. How the hell am I supposed to ever get back to work, feeling like this?” I looked at her. “Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to be at the restaurant?”
“This afternoon.”
“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn you told me last night you’d be working this morning.”
“Maybe you got mixed up? I’ve got to go back to Drift in a while, drop more stuff off before the weekend rush.” She smiled. “Come with me. It might help take your mind off things.”
I thought of going back to the house, where I’d no doubt do nothing other than wrestle with the revelation about finding my mother. It was an easy decision. “You’re on,” I said. “Lead the way.”
A while later, Maya had parked on Main Street and disappeared into Drift with a box of her pieces. When she’d asked if I wanted to join her, I’d passed, preferring to spend the time alone to mull things over. Barbara was on the nosy side, and last time she’d let slip she was penning her debut novel, and I had no intention of letting her use me as a character study.
The sun beat in through the window, warming my chest, and as I closed my eyes someone tapped on the glass. I turned my head. The redhead whose phone I’d attempted to steal at the petrol station stood a few feet away, smiling at me. I searched my brain for her name, remembered it was Fiona and opened the door to get out.
“Hi, Ash,” she said, her smile broadening still. “How are you?”
“I’m all right, thanks,” I said with a nod, adding, “I’m doing okay.”
“That’s great. What about your memory? Any better? Did you see the doctor?”
I sighed, leaned back against the car and shoved my hands in my front pockets as I told her about the different tests and suspicions of retrograde amnesia. “Not much has come back, I’m afraid. The odd flash here and there.”
“Well, that’s something, though. It might not be perfection, but at least it’s progress.”
I looked at her. She seemed nice, gentle and concerned, the exact opposite of her brother, Keenan, who thankfully hadn’t made another appearance at the house. Weighing my options, I decided to take a gamble on her empathy. “Maya told me about Celine and Kate.”
Her eyes widened. “That must have been...a shock for you,” she said carefully.
“Yes, honestly it was, because I don’t remember either of them.”
Fiona winced but recovered quickly. “I’m sorry, Ash. This must be incredibly difficult. Did Maya...did she tell you about them?”
“A little,” I said. “She showed me some pictures, too. I’m sorry Celine left town. You must miss her.”
“Every single day. But she’s out there somewhere, no doubt still stubborn as a mule.” She shook her head. “Mom used to say, ‘That girl can do anything if she puts her mind to it,’ and it looks like she was right. There’s no way I’d have had the courage to walk away from my father the way she did. She was very brave. But I still wish things had turned out different. You two would have been great together, although you and Kate were, too.”
“You knew Kate?”
“Of course,” Fiona said, nodding enthusiastically. “We met when she was out running and I was, well, trying to. Getting fit was a New Year’s resolution, except it was June by then, and I could barely walk up the stairs without needing an oxygen mask. But in all seriousness, we got talking and the next thing I knew, she’d taken me from couch potato to running five miles without breaking a sweat.” Her eyes glistened and she dabbed at them quickly. “She was an amazing person. Kind, funny, generous...for whatever reason her favorite thing was knock-knock jokes.”
“I wish I could remember. I’ve only seen a couple of pictures.”
“This might help.” She grabbed her phone, fingers flicking across the screen. “I took this on Kate’s birthday a few years before...”
She didn’t finish her sentence and I leaned in as Fiona brought up a video. In it, Kate sat at a table with a sparkly pink birthday hat on her head, grinning from ear to ear, her long brown hair swishing as she clapped her hands, oohing and aahing as a giant, sprinkle-covered chocolate cake complete with lit candles was set down on the table in front of her. I stared at the screen, hoping for this one thing to make everything else fall back into place but, once again, nothing happened.
As I tried to get a better look, a familiar voice said, “Happy birthday, babe,” and cake bearer Keenan bent over and kissed Kate on the lips.
“Shit,” Fiona said, pulling the phone away, her face reddening. “I forgot about that part.”
“It’s all right, Maya mentioned they dated,” I said as she grimaced some more, giving me an apologetic shrug, and I decided to push for a bit more information. “She didn’t mention how long for, though.”
“About a year, on and off, when she first moved to town.” Fiona slid her phone back into her pocket. “But she left him, and a few months after that she started seeing you. She really cared for you, and you seemed to, I don’t know, click, I suppose, way more than she and my brother ever had. Don’t get me wrong, I love Keenan and all, but you saw how he acted at the gas station. Sorry about that again.”
I wondered if I should mention his house call, decided not to. “Not your fault.
”
“Thank you. Anyway, sometimes you can tell when a relationship will work just by looking at the people, and you and Kate had that je ne sais quoi, if you’ll pardon my lousy accent.” She laughed, a warm sound that made me smile. “Look, I’d better get going. Stop by the Harbor Inn anytime if you need to talk? Maybe I can help fill you in on things.”
After she’d left, I felt I had a better, at least partial understanding of why Keenan hated my guts and some of the tension I’d been holding on to evaporated. His girlfriend had dumped him, but instead of having the insight to dissect what he might have done for her to leave, he blamed me. I frowned. Was it possible he’d hurt Kate in retaliation for her leaving him? Was his attempt to put her death on me his way of throwing off people’s suspicions about himself? I wanted to run after Fiona and ask her opinion, but it would be a step too far. Blood was thicker than the proverbial water, and I had no intention of testing that particular theory on the streets of Newdale in the middle of the afternoon. But if Keenan showed up at the house again, this time I’d have some of my own ammunition to fire back.
15
LILY
This had not been a good few days. First, the cops had released Jack’s apartment, and had told me that Sam, to whom I hadn’t had the guts to speak since I swore at him on the phone, had called someone in to change the locks. That meant it was time for me to get Jack’s things, and when I’d finally summoned the courage to return to his place for what would likely be the last time, I’d tried to wrap my heart in a thick layer of self-preservation because without it, I’d never have made it up the first few stairs.
I worked swiftly, picking Jack’s belongings up from the floor and stuffing them into his backpack, suitcase and boxes, and as I did so, I allowed myself to mull over the conversation with Maya again, as I’d been doing ever since we’d hung up. The more I thought about it, the more anomalies there were. Maybe it was wishful thinking or me clutching at an entire straw factory, but I was certain there’d been a slight waver in her voice, a tremor when she’d said the man in the photo was called Gordon Jones or James, some random guy she’d met once and who lived in a different state. Her delivery had almost been too slick, too convenient, and she’d either set the photo to private or deleted it from Facebook altogether. Whichever, she’d done so while we were still talking. If it—he—meant nothing to her, why the rush? Why bother at all? Adding all these details together, my gut feeling and instincts all whispered Maya Scott was hiding something.
You Will Remember Me Page 13
