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

by Heather Wardell

  I flinch. "Call me Kate. Please. I don't know who Donna is yet."

  He nods. "I will call you... Spartacus."

  I have to laugh. "Why, exactly?"

  "Why not?"

  I settle onto the couch with my leather pouch and roll my eyes. "Fine. I'll call you... um... damn it." I can't think of anything fast enough.

  He laughs. "'Damn it' is a weird name, but whatever you say, Spartacus."

  I giggle, then sober as he moves my sculpture of his hand out of the way. "I guess I won't get to finish that."

  "Why not?" He uncovers his own sculpture. "Ryan will be here to see you on the weekends, but we can still hang out during the week, can't we? You can come over any time and work on it."

  Part of me wants to ask Ryan for permission on this front, and the rest is infuriated at the thought. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Good. I'd like to see it done. Okay, let me check out this stuff."

  "Got it."

  A peaceful silence ensues while Jake moves around his sculpture and I explore the pouch. It turns out to be more of a purse, both a wallet and a phone case, and probably expensive given how lovely and soft the leather is. I set the phone aside and check every pocket and card slot, finding a few things that don't seem to mean anything and several things that might.

  First, my own business card. Donna Merrill, founder, Merrill Media Consultants. It's strange for me to see it, but carrying my own card isn't that weird except that there's another pocket in the wallet that holds ten pristine cards. This one was folded in half and stuffed down under where the phone lived. On the back, in my handwriting, I see "Bruce Williams, 14-73-13". It can't be a birthday, since none of the numbers could represent a month. Locker combination? And who's Bruce?

  Great, more questions.

  I pick up the phone and start a list of questions to get answered. I have tons, but rather than type them all in I start with "Bruce?" and figure I'll fill in the others as I go.

  The second weird thing in the wallet is a slip of paper, probably from a fortune cookie, which reads, "Live with grace." It's a nice sentiment, but why carry it around? I consider adding it to the list of questions but figure it's just something that touched Donna.

  Finally, I have a photograph that appears to be of nothing but fur. It's pretty fur, all different shades of brown, but why take a picture of it? This I do add to the list, because Ryan might recognize the fur and know why I have the photo in my wallet.

  I lean back and sigh, and Jake says, "Found anything good?"

  "Some guy's name and a bunch of numbers, a fortune cookie fortune, and a picture of fur."

  He raises an eyebrow at the last, and I show him the picture.

  "Yup, looks like fur. Anything good in the phone?"

  "Just going there now."

  It doesn't take long. Nothing in the notes application except my newly added list of questions. The email program hasn't been set up, maybe because Donna's emails would be too full of juicy celebrity details to risk having on an easily-lost phone, so I add the account Jake helped me create. Donna's calendar is full of meetings for work and her charity, but I'm glad to see an appointment every Friday afternoon for a massage. It's good she's been doing something to relax and have fun, since everything else seems to be work-related.

  The contacts program holds a few names but I don't recognize any except Ryan and my brother. I shoot off a quick email to Ethan, since there's no phone number listed for him, letting him know my ECT wiped my memory and asking if we can talk on the phone sometime soon. Maybe he can tell me more about me and Ryan.

  The only thing of any interest is the Bubbly Words game. Ryan didn't think she played it, which seems weird. It's hardly the kind of thing she'd need to hide, unless maybe she thought Ryan would tease her for it. But what would it matter if he did?

  I start it up and am soon searching the screen for a word. When I find "apple", I tap the bubbles for each letter and the word vanishes, giving me ten points. Not bad. I keep going, and realize I probably have played it a lot. I'm quick and efficient at moving around the screen searching for words, and I almost never miss when I try to tap a letter.

  After a while, Jake says, "So?"

  "Just playing Bubbly Words. It's fun. But otherwise, nothing cool here except Ethan's email address."

  "So write to him. Maybe he'll know more about your husband."

  There's a faint hint of a sneer in his voice at the last word. "Jake, come on. Ryan seems okay."

  "Sure. If you like polished preppy boys. But I guess you do."

  The sneer is now fully developed, and I find myself half out of my seat before I know it. I have to get out of--

  Wait. Why am I running away? He doesn't like Ryan. I couldn't have expected him to. So what's making me want to flee?

  My face must be showing my confusion because Jake drops the tone when he says, "Kate, you all right?"

  I shake my head slowly. "Every time I get upset, I try to run away. Have you noticed?"

  "You were going to run now? Because of what I said?" He comes over and kneels in front of me. "I'm sorry. It's just strange, all of this. I don't want to like him and I don't want you to like him, but he's your husband so you should. But I don't like that either."

  I sigh. "I don't like any of this either, Jake. And I don't want to run away any more."

  But I'm lying. I do want to. I want to be entirely alone, somewhere that nobody could ever find me. I want to be alone where I can be me, without anyone else's influence.

  Could I ever run that far?

  Chapter Thirteen

  At eight-thirty the next morning, as I nervously discard yet another outfit, my phone makes a 'bong' sound. Ryan has sent me a text message.

  Is the Starbucks at King and Yonge okay instead? I'll explain when I see you.

  It's a little further away but not much, so I send back that I'll be there no later than nine-fifteen and try on another three outfits before settling on jeans and a simple dark teal sweater. I want to look good, but not like I tried too hard. Even though I did.

  Jake smiles when I eventually come out of his room. "You look nice. Relaxed."

  "Yeah, right."

  His smile widens. "Okay, fine. You do look good, though. Tense, but good. By the way, I'll stay out for the day so you and Ryan can come get your stuff any time after ten or so without me here."

  I hug him hard. "You don't have to do that, but thank you."

  He squeezes me. "You're welcome. Please keep in touch, okay?"

  I look up at him, surprised by the nervousness in his voice. He could be taking this opportunity to get rid of the weird amnesiac but instead he's afraid I'll get rid of him. "I promise. You can't get away from me that easily."

  He laughs. "Glad to hear it. Now get out of here."

  When I arrive at Starbucks a few minutes after nine, I see Ryan standing outside waiting for me, holding a briefcase and wearing tan pants and a button-down shirt nearly the same color as my sweater beneath his open black leather jacket. We smile at each other and he says, "You wore lots of beige before, but I think I like this color better on you."

  I'm wearing the beige bra and underwear I was wearing the night I met Jake, but I don't think Ryan and I are at the 'discussing lingerie' stage yet. "Thanks. Shall we go in?"

  We order a bagel each for breakfast, and the coffee he says we always get. He adds two sugars and a small dash of milk to his and tells me I usually add one packet of sugar. I do that, and once we've found a table we both take a sip at the same time then give the same satisfied sigh together.

  Then we laugh together.

  He sobers first. "It's so weird, you know. Sometimes, like right then, you're so perfectly Donna, and then you do something like tell my mom you're calling her Claire which Donna never did even though she desperately wanted to, and then I guess you're Kate instead."

  "I guess so."

  I want to ask him which one he likes better but I'm sure it won't be me. How could it? So instead I say, "Why di
d we come here instead of the other Starbucks?"

  He gives me a twisted smile. "Promise you won't tell?"

  "Of course."

  The smile straightens out and his eyes sparkle as he says, "My mom won't be able to find us here."

  I laugh at his obvious pride in sneaking away. "I thought she said she wasn't coming."

  "No, I said she wasn't. I wouldn't put it past her to show up, and I wanted it to be just us today."

  Just us. Just me and my husband. My. Husband.

  "Is that okay? I thought it would be better."

  His words tumble over themselves and I realize he's taken my silence for disapproval. "I think it's a great idea. It just kind of hit me again, that we're married. Even though I don't remember you."

  He nods slowly and reaches into his briefcase. "Why don't we try to change that?" He pulls out a wedding album.

  Nervousness spills through me but I say, "Good idea."

  "We had a small wedding. Just family and a few friends. I went through this last night and figured out a good order."

  He pulls his chair around beside mine and flips back and forth between slips of paper he's put in the album's pages. He's obviously trying to ease me into the whole thing, and I appreciate it. There are my parents, looking proud and happy although of course older than I remember, and his mother with an expression like someone's stabbing her with a pin but she's trying to smile through the pain. Ryan tells me his father died when he was a teenager. Then he shows me Ethan, so terrifyingly grown up. And this was six years ago. He'll be even older now.

  Ryan takes a deep breath. "Ready to see us?"

  I'm not sure, but I nod.

  He flips to the last page marker, and I look down at the two of us, arms wrapped around each other, glowing with happiness and what is clearly love. I'm wearing a pale pink strapless dress, with a sleek bodice and a poufy skirt that looks like it was made for dancing and twirling, and I have matching roses in my hair and in the bouquet at my feet. Ryan's black tuxedo fits him perfectly, and his pale pink tie somehow manages to make him look strong and manly.

  "Wow," I breathe, then I can't think of anything else to say.

  I stare at the picture for a long time before Ryan says, his voice rough, "Ringing any bells?"

  I shut my eyes and shake my head. "I'm sorry."

  He takes a firm hold of my shoulder, making me open my eyes and turn to him. "You don't need to apologize to me. Not now, not ever. I should be apologizing to you. You lost your memory because I made you do the treatment."

  The pain in his voice and his eyes sends a matching pain through my chest. "You thought it was right. The doctors said it was. I don't blame you."

  He sighs. "Maybe you should. You knew it was messing you up and I wouldn't let you back out. If I'd listened to you, you'd still be fine."

  "Was I fine? Really? Happy? Having a good life? A joy to be with?"

  He winces, and I say, "Thought not. You did what you had to do. This was a freak accident. And maybe my memories will come back. The doctor said they might, right?"

  He nods. "And he found you a therapist here who can see you this afternoon. If you're free. So yes, the same doctor who said you wouldn't suffer long-term memory loss from the ECT said your memories might come back. Yes. But somehow I have my--"

  I hold up a hand before he can finish. "We will not have doubts. Got it? I will go to the therapist and I'll work hard and I will get those memories back."

  I have to. Because I want to feel the kind of love I see radiating from myself in my wedding picture. Because I want to know what it's like to be loved as deeply as my groom clearly loves me. Because the idea of never retrieving fifteen years of my life is too much to bear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After breakfast, Ryan and I go out to find me a short-term furnished apartment. He likes the sixth one we see. I preferred the third, but he thought we should keep looking since it wasn't in the best neighborhood. True, but it was bright and airy and colorful and I felt comfortable in it. The sixth one is okay too, although I don't like it as much because it's all neutral colors and the windows are smaller, but since he really likes it and it's closer to Hannah's place I don't put up a fight.

  Once the papers are signed, we go to Jake's to pick up my stuff. While I didn't think Jake should have to leave his place, I'm glad he did. It would be too weird to have him there. I still like him and I don't want the two of them together if I can help it.

  We leave everything in my new apartment, and Ryan promises to bring me some of my clothes from Ottawa when he comes back next weekend, then we head onto the street and he says, "I'll show you where MMC is in Toronto. That might help."

  "MMC?"

  He smiles. "Sorry. Merrill Media Consultants. Your company."

  My company. I'm still having trouble getting my head around that. "Tell me about it, okay?"

  He does, as we take the subway then walk for a few blocks along Queen Street. Apparently I maintain a large team of consultants in Ottawa and smaller groups in Montreal and Vancouver and Toronto. We specialize in media presence for celebrities, singers and movie stars and the like, helping them decide what they should say and how they should say it, and especially guiding them when they're involved in some sort of scandal.

  "I must have some great gossip," I say when he's finished, then wince. "I mean, at the time. When I remembered. You know."

  He pats my shoulder. "I do know. And you did but you tended to keep it to yourself. You only occasionally told me stories, when they were too good not to share, but you definitely didn't tell anyone else. You keep secrets really well."

  He looks sad. Of course he does. His wife planned how to escape from him and he had no idea she was going to go.

  "Sorry," I say awkwardly.

  He turns to look at me. "Why?"

  "For keeping too many secrets."

  He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head, giving me a forced smile. "Didn't we talk about you not needing to apologize to me?"

  I scratch my head and try to look clueless. "I don't remember. Did we?"

  He looks alarmed for an instant then gets it and rolls his eyes. "Very funny. But seriously. No more. Anyhow, here's your building. Want to go in?"

  I shake my head at once, looking up at what was clearly once a lovely old house before it became office space. "I'd feel weird. And what if someone recognized me?"

  He nods. "True. Well, if someone comes out I'll say we have a meeting and we'll take off, so don't worry about it. Just take all the time you want from out here, okay?"

  I run my eyes over the building, top to bottom and side to side. It's gorgeous, and I'm glad my other self picked it, but I know nothing about it. There's not even a prickle of recognition inside me.

  At last, I shake my head. "Nothing."

  He pats my shoulder. "No worries. You didn't spend much time here so I guess it's not a surprise this didn't work. Something will, though."

  I hope he's right.

  "Ready for lunch?"

  I am, so he leads me toward a restaurant he knows a few blocks away.

  As we walk, I say, "So what's happening with my business now? Is it still running?"

  He nods. "You had very few clients yourself, since you needed the time to monitor everyone else. Your assistant Nadine is the only one at MMC who knows you disappeared. I didn't want to risk your business by telling too many people but I also didn't want to risk it by telling nobody. She's completely trustworthy so I knew I could tell her and not have anyone else find out."

  I'm confused. "But wasn't my disappearance on the news?"

  "No. You have a private detective on retainer, who helps you out when your clients need something or someone investigated, and I had him looking for you."

  "Why didn't you tell the police right away?"

  "I couldn't chance what that might do to MMC. If you'd just gone away to clear your head for a bit or something I didn't want to splash your name everywhere. I knew you'd intende
d to leave, since you set up the plan so carefully, so I wasn't worried you'd been abducted. The detective is great so I figured he'd find you in no time. He searched Vancouver for you and got nothing, and that worried me, then late last week he suggested that maybe the ticket was a fake. I'd never even thought of that, so at that point I had to get Mark Keyes involved."

  "Who?"

  He shakes his head. "Sorry. He's a cop you've worked with in the past to keep your clients' mishaps out of the papers. He found out the Vancouver ticket was faked and then started searching other databases until he found you yesterday morning. And I took the rest of the day and today off work and here I am."

  Yes, you are. "What do you do?"

  "Small firm acquisitions. We watch for little technology companies with great ideas and buy them out. I'm a lawyer."

  I'd been right when I first saw him. "Okay. And is MMC okay now? Without me, I mean?"

  "Nadine had your clients transferred to other consultants and informed them that you'd taken on a new client and needed to work with him full-time but that their new consultant had been hand-picked by you. She got them calmed down and willing to stay with the company, and told the other consultants some story so they wouldn't wonder where you were. She's great at that sort of thing. Very soothing. The consultants largely worked independently, so they're just carrying on with that."

  So it doesn't matter that I left. The business runs fine without me.

  When I say this Ryan shakes his head at once. "It'll keep going at the same level, yes, but only because you did so well training those consultants. Without you, it'll stagnate. When-- if--" He shakes his head again. "Sorry. Let's just say, it won't continue to grow without you. You are the soul of that place."

  "But I don't remember how to train them."

  He gives me a grim smile and I realize he's thought of this already. Even if I move back to Ottawa and take over my company again, I won't know how to do anything. But all he says is, "As your dad always said, 'We'll jump off that bridge when we get there.'"

  Dad did always say that, so I laugh. Ryan laughs too, and begins telling me about the restaurant we're approaching. I know he's changing the subject, but I'm ready for that so I let him.