Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9)

by Heather Wardell

  He clears his throat. "Kate. Donna, I mean. You live in Ottawa..." He has to clear his throat again before he can say the rest.

  "With your husband."

  Chapter Ten

  Jake starts to head into the police station but I freeze on the sidewalk. He looks back then holds out his arms and I throw myself into them.

  "I can't do it," I say into his shirt. "I can't."

  He squeezes me tight. "Maybe when you see him you'll remember everything."

  I shiver and finally admit what I've been afraid of for ages. "What if I ran away for a reason? Maybe he's bad."

  Jake holds me in silence for a moment then tips my face up. His eyes are worried now, but he says, "If you married him, there's something good about him. You're too smart to marry a complete loser. So let's go meet him and find out what's good."

  I still don't want to go but I know I have to, so I nod and let him open the door for me. As I pass through, I say, trying to lighten my own mood, "I wish she'd called an hour later."

  Jake gives a half-laugh. "Me too, gorgeous. Trust me. Next time I turn off the phone."

  I look back and smile at him and he winks at me, but we both know there won't be a next time. We're never going to finish what the cop interrupted. We can't. I'm married.

  I can't get my head around it. How can I be married?

  The cop at the front desk calls the one we've been dealing with, and she comes over and says, "Jake, Donna, congratulations. I'm so glad we got everything straightened out."

  Is that what this is called? I nod, unable to speak, and Jake says, "Thank you so much for your hard work."

  She smiles. "You're most welcome. I'll take you to see Donna's family."

  I perk up at this. I can't wait to see how Ethan looks all grown up, and though my parents will seem old it'll be great to see them too.

  The cop escorts us down a hallway, points at a door, and says, "Here you go. Keep the room as long as you like." She smiles again and leaves us.

  My heart begins jumping around in my chest like it's trying to escape. I feel the same way.

  Jake doesn't need me to tell him I'm freaking out; he gives my hand a squeeze and whispers, "I know. But I'm with you. It'll be okay."

  I try to smile, then hold his hand tightly and pull open the door with my other hand.

  He takes a step forward into the room and I go with him though my legs are shaking.

  The two people inside leap to their feet. An old lady with thin but fluffy white hair and a puckered face, and a tall blond man in a dark suit with a pale purple shirt and deep purple tie.

  No way this is Ethan. This guy's too old, at least a few years older than me, and his eyes are blue instead of Ethan's brown. He has to be...

  "Donna," the man says, with such relief in his tone that my eyes prickle with tears. He looks like he hasn't been sleeping well. I don't know him, but he knows me and he's been worried. Terribly worried. "God, honey, are you okay?"

  I nod but don't speak. I can't think of anything to say. I just keep staring at him. My husband. He's not cute, really, but he's coolly handsome. Professional. He looks like a lawyer or a banker.

  I don't recognize anything about him.

  The old lady gives a sniff, and for a second I think she might be trying to hold back tears but I glance at her and realize she's staring at my hand in Jake's.

  "Mother, don't," the man says without looking at her, then he steps forward and holds out his hand to Jake. "I'm Ryan. Ryan Merrill. Thank you for taking care of Donna." His words are awkward but full of sincerity.

  Ryan Merrill. That's why 'Merrill' didn't feel right to me. I married into it.

  Jake gives my hand a squeeze then releases me so he can shake hands with Ryan. "Jake Boyd. I'm glad I found her when I did."

  Ryan turns to me. His eyes are full of relief and love and a deep sadness too, and I wonder if my disappearance hurt him that much. Something did, that's for sure.

  "Donna," he says softly. "Do you remember me?"

  I wish I could say something else, but I have to mumble, "No."

  He closes his eyes for a second and his mother says, "Donna dear, of course you do. He's your husband," in a voice that somehow manages to be sweet while still implying she wishes Ryan had never met me.

  Ryan turns and stares at her. "We talked about this. Donna's memory will come back eventually and she is not to be nagged about it. Are you losing your memory?"

  I can't see Ryan's face, but whatever look he's giving his mother seems to be working because she raises her chin and says, "Of course, dear, whatever you say," and closes her mouth like it's been snapped shut with a magnetic clasp.

  Ryan turns back to me and I say, "Where are my parents? And Ethan?" They must have been worried too. Why aren't they here?

  A frown flickers over his face. "Honey. You should sit down."

  I want to run. Want to run so badly I can feel my muscles trying to leap into action. But Jake puts a hand on my shoulder and gently guides me forward and I make it to a chair with his warm hand giving me strength.

  He takes the seat beside me, with Ryan and his ostentatiously silent mother across from us, and says, "Maybe I should go."

  I turn to him, not caring about the others. "Please don't. I need you." Another sniff from my mother-in-law but I don't look at her. "Jake. Don't."

  He leans forward. "He's your husband. You're safe now."

  I want to say, "I'm only safe with you," but it'd be too cruel to Ryan.

  He, however, clears his throat and says, "Jake, I'm fine with you being here. You've obviously taken good care of Donna and it's no surprise she doesn't want to be alone with us. Unless you have somewhere you need to be, it's probably good for Donna for you to stay. Give her some comfort."

  I can't imagine a less comforting situation than sitting across from my husband and disapproving mother-in-law next to the man I begged to undo my bra less than an hour ago, but Jake nods and says, "I didn't want to be in the way. But I'll stay," and I'm so relieved. I don't know these people, even though I should.

  Ryan clears his throat again. "Donna. You asked about your parents and brother."

  I want to tell him to call me Kate. I don't feel like Donna any more. But it's my name so I just nod.

  "Well, Ethan's an English teacher in Frankfurt. He doesn't know you've been missing. I thought it better not to tell since he wouldn't be able to come here anyhow because of school."

  My baby brother lives in Germany? That must be why my parents aren't in the room with us. "My parents live there too, I guess?"

  Ryan takes a deep breath and says, "Oh, Donna," as he sighs it out.

  I feel sick at his obvious discomfort, but even sicker when he says, "Honey, they passed away five years ago."

  Horror fills me. "They did?"

  He nods. "Your dad had a heart attack and your mom died of cancer three months later. I'm sorry."

  Both my parents were only children, and my grandparents all died when I was a kid. I'm alone except for Ethan, my twenty-five-year-old brother who is still ten in my mind and lives in on the other side of the world. And Jake. And the husband I don't know. And my grouchy mother-in-law.

  I might be thirty-two, I might remember being seventeen, but when I drop my head to the table as the emotions overwhelm me I have only one thought: I want my mommy.

  Jake slips his arm around my shoulders and I swing around and throw myself on him. "It's all too much. Everyone's gone, everyone's changed, I don't know anything. Jake, I want to go home."

  He squeezes me, but though he's holding me I can feel him disengaging from me. I think he liked me a lot, he certainly wanted to sleep with me, but he's going to hand me back to Ryan without a fight and that just makes me cling to him tighter.

  "Donna! Right in front of Ryan. How dare you?"

  "Mother," Ryan says, "for the last time, I am begging you to be quiet. She's forgotten! Jake is the only person she knows right now. Of course she's turning to him. It only makes
sense."

  He's saying the right things but I can hear stress in his voice and I realize he doesn't like Jake touching me. I don't remember him, but I don't want to hurt him, so I pull away from Jake and take a deep breath. "Sorry. It's just so weird."

  "I understand," he says then looks around at the institutional room we're in. "The surroundings probably don't help. Why don't we all go to Starbucks and talk?"

  Jake glances at me and we share a tiny smile. He hates Starbucks, thinks it's too expensive and too pretentious.

  Apparently I married a guy who likes it.

  *****

  Getting out of the police station and finding the nearest Starbucks and getting drinks takes a while, but when I'm finally settled at a table between Jake and Ryan with the mother-in-law I'm pretty sure I've never liked studying me over her tea I wish it took even longer. I don't want to talk to these people. I want to go home with Jake.

  I want him to make love to me.

  Just the thought of it sends a shiver through me and Ryan says, "Are you cold?"

  I shake my head, glad he can't read my mind. "It's probably just the caffeine rush."

  He smiles at me. "Or the sugar. You don't-- didn't usually drink things like that."

  I look at the whipped cream topping my peppermint mocha. "Why not? It's delicious."

  The old bat across the table unfolds her wings and pokes her own stomach. "Have to stay in shape, Donna. You mustn't let yourself go. Ryan's too handsome for that."

  I can't think of a thing to say to this. Ryan is good-looking, yes, but one mocha won't make me fat, and even if it did he'd love me anyhow. Right?

  "Mother, she's fine. Donna looks great. Different, but great."

  I forget about his mother. "Different how?"

  "Well, your clothes aren't your usual style." He skims his eyes over the purple sweater and jeans Jake bought for me. "I usually see you in your suits for work. I do like what you're wearing, though."

  "Plus she's not wearing her wedding rings."

  I glance at my bare left hand. "Did I lose them?" I hope not, but I definitely wasn't wearing them when I woke up with Jake.

  Ryan shoots his mother a 'thanks for nothing' look. "No, you left them at home." He reaches into his pants pocket. "I have them here."

  He awkwardly passes me a small black velvet box, and I open it though I'm not sure I want to then blink at the three large diamonds in the wedding band and the considerably larger but not overdone solitaire diamond of my engagement ring. I can't imagine nicer rings. "Platinum, right?"

  "That's what you wanted. We'd gone looking for rings before I proposed and you loved these ones."

  Donna and I apparently have the same taste in jewelry.

  Ryan holds out his left hand, adorned with a wide platinum band set with three diamonds. "We match," he says, obviously trying to lighten the whole 'Donna ran away without her wedding rings' mood.

  "Put them on, dear."

  I don't acknowledge my mother-in-law's words. To Ryan, I say, "I don't think I'm ready to wear them on my left hand." The flicker of pain in his eyes hurts but I know I had to tell him. I can't wear wedding rings for a man I don't remember. "Would you rather I wear them on my right or just hold onto them?"

  His mother mutters something but I keep looking at Ryan until he says, "If you're okay to wear them on your right hand, I'd like that."

  I nod and slip them on. They fit perfectly but seem so heavy somehow. Not physically, but emotionally. They may not be on my wedding-ring finger but they are so clearly wedding rings and they're a symbol of our love. The love I don't feel, don't even remember feeling.

  Ryan clears his throat and changes the subject. "The other different thing about you is your hair, of course. When did you color it?"

  The dye's been fading but my hair's still darker at the ends than at the roots and obviously he can tell. I look into his eyes and slowly shake my head. "It was like that when I got here."

  "Ah. Well, it was blonde when I left you that morning."

  "Tell me about that," I say. "What happened before I left? Do you have any idea what made me go, or why I can't remember anything?" I'm scared to ask, and more scared when I see he's afraid too. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I just need to know."

  "Of course you do." He takes a long sip of his coffee, then says, "By the way, this is your favorite coffee. The Starbucks dark house blend. We have it every morning."

  I glance at Jake, who gives me a smile and says, "So you do drink coffee. I didn't corrupt you."

  I smile back. "Apparently not." I turn back to Ryan, who's smiling politely though he can't know what Jake means, and tell him that I insisted I never drank coffee.

  "Well, you do. Did." He sighs. "I'm sorry, I keep saying things wrong. I know you've forgotten everything but to me it's just how the world is. I can't make myself say this stuff in the past tense."

  I swallow hard. "It's okay, I understand." I feel like I should add, "We'll be back to normal in no time," but I can't. Will we? I have no idea. Instead, I say, "You can use present tense if you want. I don't mind."

  He puts his hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. "Thank you. Thanks for understanding this is weird for me too."

  His hand feels wonderful on mine, strong and warm. What it does not feel, unfortunately, is familiar.

  Jake shifts in his chair and I feel bad for him. I should probably let him leave but I don't want to be here without him.

  Ryan withdraws his hand. "Okay. Here's what I know." He stares into his coffee cup as if it holds the answers, then takes a sip before he says, "You were having trouble with... the treatments were..."

  He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, and terror sweeps me. Am I sick? "What kind of treatments?"

  "Let me, Ryan. Honey, you--"

  "No!"

  We all freeze at the anger and pain in the word. I was thinking it, not wanting to hear the story from her, but I wasn't the one who said it.

  "Mother, no. It was my decision. I'll tell her."

  She leans back in her chair. If a picture dictionary needed an example of 'injured innocence', she'd be the ideal model. "Fine, dear. I just wanted to help. But go ahead."

  Before he can, I say to her, "What do I call you? What's your name?"

  "I'm Claire, honey. But like I said after your mother died, I'm your only parent now so you can just call me Mom."

  A flash of pure rage hits me. This she-beast is not and never will be my mother. Did I really give in to that? Did I call her Mom because my real mother died? How could I have been such a coward?

  I take a breath to respond, then jump as both of my knees are grabbed at once. Jake on one side and Ryan on the other, my two men are giving me strength and warning me not to engage in battle with her.

  She's no doubt way better at it than I am.

  I clear my throat. "Okay." To Ryan, I say, "Tell me. Please."

  He gives my knee a gentle squeeze then lets go as Jake removes his hand too. Ryan looks deep into my eyes. "Donna, you suffer from clinical depression."

  I wait for shock to hit me but it doesn't. The depth of the sadness I'd been feeling. I knew it couldn't be what everyone felt, knew my pain went deeper and cut harder. "Okay."

  He blinks. "You're not surprised?"

  I shake my head. "I've had some issues with sadness while I've been here. Jake's friend gave me some herbal remedies which seemed to help but didn't make it go away. I buy that I'm depressed. So what drugs was I taking to treat it?"

  "We were past that. They didn't help." His eyes sad and solemn, he says, "You were having electroconvulsive therapy."

  Jake sucks in a quick breath. "Shock treatments? Like in 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'? That's supposed to help?"

  I don't know this cuckoo's nest thing, but Ryan clearly does. He snaps, "Nothing like that," then admits, "But it's the same principle, and it does help. It's done differently now, though, with anesthetic and muscle relaxants. They gave you a short seizure, then you came o
ut of the anesthetic with no memory of the procedure itself or the time around it."

  "Back fifteen years?"

  Ryan shoots Jake a quick glance then refocuses on me. "That wasn't supposed to happen. You were forgetting, yes, forgetting the time around the procedure, but they said that was normal. You were supposed to have eight treatments, but after the fifth you had a really rough time. You didn't want to do any more but..." He swallows hard.

  "You talked me into it?"

  He's obviously uncomfortable but to his credit he doesn't look away. "The doctors said it would get better. So, yes, I convinced you to do it, and you went for the sixth treatment on March third then vanished."

  I think out loud. "That would explain why I don't remember how I got to Toronto. But how did I manage it, as confused as it sounds like I was?"

  He sips his coffee. I wait, already recognizing a pattern: when he doesn't want to talk, he drinks coffee instead. I need to know, though, so I wait without pushing him. Finally, he sets the cup down. "You've always been a planner. You changed the time of the appointment so I couldn't go with you then took a taxi away from the hospital afterward. You went home, where I guess you dyed your hair although there were no dye bottles or anything in the house afterwards so you must have thrown them out somewhere else, then you got another taxi to take you to the train station. We found both taxi drivers and they said you were clutching a notebook and kept opening and reading it."

  "My plan?" I whisper, pain sweeping me at the idea of my other self desperately trying to keep from forgetting her escape route.

  "I think so."

  "You didn't think maybe she'd go to Toronto?"

  Ryan looks at Jake and shakes his head. "She doesn't know anyone here. She had a good friend who used to live here but she moved to Alabama a few months ago so there'd be no reason for Donna to pick Toronto."

  I frown, something percolating in my mind. Ryan articulates it for me. "Yes, that was stupid of me. It appears you forgot Janice had moved. You might indeed have been looking for her, since you were found not far from where she used to live."