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

by Heather Wardell

  We have a surprisingly relaxing and friendly lunch together. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that, since Donna ran for a reason and Kate doesn't know what that reason was. But so far I can't believe he's the cause of Donna's depression or her flight.

  Lunch complete, my husband and I head to the therapist's waiting room. When she leans out of her office and says, "Donna Merrill?", Ryan gives my shoulder a squeeze and says softly, "Good luck. I hope you like her."

  I don't. She has this way of saying something and then peering at me over her wire-frame glasses, which I suspect she wears to give her something to peer over rather than because she needs them, that makes me think she doesn't believe anything I say.

  We're nearing the end of the story as I know it, and she says, "So, you met Ryan for breakfast this morning. What did you do afterwards?"

  "Looked at wedding pictures and then went out and found me an apartment."

  "Here? In Toronto?"

  Again with the peering, and I say as innocently as I can, "Yes, why not?"

  I know why not. She's thinking I should be moving back to Ottawa with Ryan. I can't, though. Jake was a stranger but I didn't have much choice. Now I do have a choice and I won't go live with a different stranger.

  "Why not indeed? If you're happy with this arrangement, and Ryan is too, then..."

  She trails off and I say, "We are happy. Yes," trying to sound convincing.

  She doesn't push me. Instead, she says, "Tell me about the apartment. How did you pick it?"

  If I never get back the memories of my career, maybe I'll take up psychology. Get someone to ramble about their day and make three hundred bucks an hour. Not bad. I sigh. "Ryan's hotel recommended a rental agent and--"

  "Why did you sigh?"

  I frown. "I didn't."

  She peers at me, showing more interest than she has so far. "You did. I asked how you picked the place and you sighed before you answered. Why?"

  "I don't know. Look, you're the pro here, you tell me. All I know is, I'm tired and confused and married to a guy I don't know and probably about to slip back into depression at any time and I don't remember anything!"

  She leans back in her chair, nodding as if I've said something profound.

  I push my chair back and stand. "You know what, this is pointless. Forget it. I'm out of here."

  I'm nearly at the door when I think of poor Ryan in the waiting room. I'd told him he didn't need to stay, especially since he was leaving Claire alone all day, but he simply said, "You're my wife. I'm here." If I come out and give up, already, before barely half an hour has passed, it's not fair to him. Or to me, since if Doctor Ferraro's half as effective as she is annoying I'll get my memories back in a week.

  I sigh, and turn around. "Yes, this time I did sigh."

  "You're coming back?"

  Her voice is as neutral as plain white rice, but it still annoys me.

  "Of course I am."

  "Why?"

  I drop into my chair again, an armchair with a crocheted afghan draped over the back and worn patches on the arms. Though I don't want it to, sinking into it feels comfortable. Like I'm in the right place. "Because I'm not a quitter."

  She gives me a single nod. "Glad to hear it. Tell me, how are Jake and Ryan alike?"

  I blink. "Aren't we supposed to be getting my memories back? How will this help?"

  She peers and waits.

  My sigh this time is pure exasperation. "Okay, fine. They're both guys, obviously. Both blond, but Jake has brown eyes and Ryan's are--"

  "How they're the same first, please."

  "They both have eyes?" I shoot back, annoyed.

  She surprises me with a quick grin. "Trust me, this is going somewhere. Keep talking."

  "Fine. They're both tall, both worried about me, both pretty good-looking."

  She waits, but I can't think of anything else.

  "Okay. How are they different?"

  I finish my comment on their eye color, and she says, "Good. Can we go deeper than just physical appearance?"

  I'm glad she says this, because I was trying to figure out how to say that Jake seems cuter to me than Ryan does without being mean to my husband. Ryan's just so corporate, and I like Jake's casual style. But I have to like Ryan better. Don't I?

  "Well, Jake is an artist. A sculptor. From what I can tell Ryan doesn't have an artistic bone in his body. But Ryan's definitely more ambitious than Jake. Ryan's older, though, so maybe that's why. He told me at lunch he's thirty-nine."

  "And you're thirty-two. And Jake is?"

  "Thirty."

  She nods then throws a question at me, one that might as well have spikes all over it. "Who do you like better?"

  I can't speak. It's all jumbled up in my mind.

  "Talk me through it." Her voice has gone gentle. "I can't imagine how this is for you, truly. Tell me what you're thinking about them both."

  I wrap my arms around myself, feeling cold. "I just met Ryan yesterday. I thought I'd recognize him but nothing about him seems familiar. Jake does seem familiar, because I've known him about six weeks. When I met Ryan and needed comfort, Jake gave it to me, which was nice of him. But Ryan sat there and let Jake comfort his wife because he knew I needed it, and I think that was nicer." I shake my head. "I'm not sure Jake would be mature enough to do the same in reverse."

  "How familiar is Jake?"

  I don't understand the question. "I told you, I've known him for--"

  "You'd still rather I call you Kate, right?"

  I nod. She asked me at the beginning, saying that my receipts would be for Donna Merrill because that was how my insurance company knew me but that she'd call me anything I wanted. I am Donna but I feel like Kate.

  "Kate, let me level with you. The timing of your memory loss is strange, as is your finding Jake. There are millions of people here and yet you found yourself with him. Isn't it possible you were running to him as much as from Ryan?"

  "No," I say at once, before the question even sinks in. But then it does sink in and I have to think it through. Is it possible? Did Jake know exactly where to find me? Was I having an affair with him? Did I maybe even love him?

  I don't love him now, but then I don't love Ryan either and my wedding picture makes it clear I did.

  "No," I say again, with much less confidence. "I don't believe that. I wouldn't have cheated on Ryan. I wouldn't do that."

  She nods slowly and looks about to speak but I step in before she can. "And besides, the timing isn't odd. The ECT treatment is known to cause memory loss."

  "But rarely back as far as yours, especially after you'd had five other treatments. Kate, I think we'll find you've forgotten those particular years for a reason."

  Fury tears through me. "Are you saying I forgot them on purpose?"

  "No. And yes. You didn't decide to forget them, not consciously. But on some level, you wanted the memories of those years gone forever."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening unpacking."

  I smile at Ryan. "Will do. I hope you and Claire enjoy the movie."

  He rolls his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me. If I'm lucky I won't throw up halfway through. I shouldn't have eaten so much for dinner."

  Claire, monster that she clearly is, has insisted that Ryan take her to see "Run Screaming 3", widely considered to be the nastiest slasher flick ever made. Ryan said I could come too, but I'm too afraid Claire might attack me in the theater.

  "Yeah. Well, good luck."

  We stand looking at each other, then he reaches out and gives my shoulder another of his awkward squeezes.

  My heart melts. The poor man. His wife's been missing for weeks, and then this stranger returns in her place, looking like her but not being her. But he's putting aside his own feelings and doing everything he can to help the stranger, me, feel relaxed and happy. What a sweetheart.

  Before I can decide whether I
should, I reach out and wrap my arms around his neck.

  He stiffens then pulls me close. His embrace doesn't feel familiar, but it doesn't feel bad either. Being in his arms feels good, actually. Safe.

  We hold each other for a moment then he releases me and steps back. "Thank you. Thank you for trying to get to know me."

  I look up, surprised at the emotion in his voice. He sounds near tears, and I don't think he's the crying type. My throat tightens in sympathy. "Of course I'm trying. I want to." To lighten the mood a bit, I add, "I mean, you're not an ax murderer, are you?"

  He laughs. "No, but that stupid movie will probably make me one."

  I give a fake shudder and he says, "See you tomorrow, Donna. Take care."

  "You too."

  I head into the subway station and though I don't look back I can feel him watching me go. He didn't want me to go alone, suggesting instead that he take me to my new place in a taxi, but then I'd have felt compelled to let him come inside and help me unpack and I really don't want to. In my memories I've never lived on my own, and this is my chance. I want to make my apartment my home all by myself, and I also need some peace and quiet to get my head around all that's happened.

  He seemed disappointed but said he understood I needed some time alone, even though I was careful not to use those words in case they hurt him. He always seems to understand what I'm thinking and feeling, and yet again I wonder what made Donna run. It seems that Ryan would have understood and not made her keep going to the treatments if she'd really explained how she felt. But she must not have thought so.

  I need to find out what she thought.

  I arrive on the subway platform just as my train pulls away, so I take out my phone to again search it for clues. I haven't found much in it yet, but since Ryan says Donna always had the phone with her there must be something.

  There's a little red number one beside the application store icon, so I go in there and look around until I find out that the number means there's an update available for Bubbly Words.

  Jake told me to always read the description of an update so I'd be sure I wanted it, so now I read about how Bubbly Words has more words in its database, a new nighttime mode so it doesn't hurt your eyes in the dark, and...

  I frown.

  The secure area has been enlarged to a maximum of one megabyte.

  What secure area?

  Since I'm at an open-air subway station rather than underground my phone's network is still active, so I start downloading the update then immediately wish I hadn't because now I can't open Bubbly Words until it's finished. I don't want to play, obviously. I want into that secure area. Did Donna know about it? Most likely. I haven't found any of Donna's secrets and I want to. Maybe they're hiding in Bubbly Words.

  That guy's name in my wallet. Bruce something. I meant to ask Ryan who he is but I forgot. After checking for the guy's full name, I send Ryan a text message.

  Do you know Bruce Williams? His name and some numbers that might be a locker combo are in my wallet. Just wondered why.

  I could also ask him about the weird picture of fur, but I decide not to, not yet anyhow. It just doesn't feel as important as the numbers somehow. One bizarre question at a time.

  A subway train arrives, but Bubbly Words isn't finished downloading so I stand back and let the train leave without me. By the time the next one arrives the phone's busy installing the new version so I hop aboard and find myself a seat.

  The subway rattles along, and I lean back and think about my therapy session. Could I have forgotten on purpose? Why did my memories vanish back to when I was seventeen? Why not sixteen or eighteen or even twenty-one? Doctor Ferraro seems convinced the dates are important. They could be. Or it could be entirely random.

  Ryan didn't meet me until I was twenty-four, so I'm not surprised that when I asked about my teenage self he couldn't tell me whether I might have been running from some painful memory. Ethan would know about our childhoods, and about my teen years, but he hasn't answered my email yet. I hope he does soon. I need to know what happened when I was seventeen that I didn't want to remember.

  Assuming, of course, that Doctor Ferraro isn't wrong. It could be simply coincidence.

  The train moves out of a tunnel into the darkening night, and my phone dings to signal a text message.

  Bruce Williams is a country singer MMC represents. Nice guy. About seventy-five years old. Give me the numbers and I'll ask Nadine.

  I text back the numbers and a thank you, then notice with delight that Bubbly Words is ready for me.

  More than ready, as it turns out: despite everything I can think of the program refuses to let me into any secret area. It's not that I can't give it the right password: I can't even make it ask me for one. The thing's locked down tight.

  Locked just like my memories.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "So what did Jake think of your apartment?"

  I look away from the overflowing buffet, surprised by Ryan's unusually snarky tone. "He hasn't seen it. I texted him to tell him where it is but that's all."

  I reach for a plate to fill with the delicious-looking food but Ryan says, "Come here a second," and tugs me out of line.

  He knows I'm hungry. I told him so when we met at the mall to buy a present for his mother's upcoming birthday before we went for brunch, so why won't he let me eat now?

  Because he has bigger fish to fry, so to speak. Once we're in a corner away from the crowd of fellow diners, he says, "Jake. Did you guys..."

  I know exactly what he means and I feel certain I have to pretend not to. "Did we what?" I say. "Come here? No, we never did. Why?"

  He steps a little closer and I know he knows I'm not confused. "I've been trying not to do this but I need to know. What happened between you two?"

  There's pain in his voice but also something that's nearly anger, and it angers me right back. "Why? What does it matter?"

  His head snaps back as if he's trying to dodge a swing. "Of course it matters. You're my wife."

  "I didn't know I was married," I say, and his eyes flash with a sudden rage that's frightening to see. He's been so sweet all the way along. Is this what Donna saw before she left?

  He must be able to tell he's scared me, because he drops his eyes, hiding that fury. "I'm sorry, it's just... look, I need to know. Did he have sex with you?" His voice cracks on 'sex'.

  I search his face. It's easier since he's not looking at me. He looks tired, even more tired than when he arrived on Thursday, and I realize he really does need to know. He hates the idea of anyone else being with me, and he's afraid it's happened. No doubt it's been bothering him since Jake saying "My pleasure" made him wonder exactly how much pleasure Jake had with me. "Ryan."

  He looks up, the anger replaced by apprehension.

  "No."

  His eyes close for a moment, then he opens them. "I'm glad."

  I should probably leave it right there but I can't. He might find out eventually and then it'll be worse because I didn't tell. That's how people react to secrets, right? "But we were close."

  He swallows. "How close?"

  I can't give him details, tell him I was whimpering and writhing beneath Jake's shirtless body on his bed. That's simply too cruel. "It would have happened Thursday night. If the cop hadn't called when she did."

  I can see him trying to take this in, but all he says is, "Ready to eat?"

  I'm not as hungry as I was, for some reason, but I don't want to continue this conversation either so I nod and follow him back to the buffet line.

  His back and shoulders are stiff, frozen, as I trudge along behind him while we fill our plates, and he never looks back to see if I'm there. I could run away and he wouldn't notice.

  At the end of the line there are pitchers of various juices. I reach for the pineapple juice, and Ryan puts a glass down in front of me and says, "Don't spill any."

  Fiery anger tears through me. I look down at the glass and pour the juice fast, fighting to h
old the pitcher steady though my hands are shaking, and continue to pour until it overflows before Ryan can stop me. Then I set the pitcher down, use some nearby napkins to clean up the mess, and walk away to our table with my glass and plate.

  He sits down across from me. "What the hell was--"

  "Exactly. What the hell was that? 'Don't spill any'? I'm not a child, Ryan. Don't treat me like one. If you're mad about what I did with Jake, I can understand, but you have to understand I didn't know you existed. Talk to me if you're upset, don't give me the cold shoulder then lecture me. If that's how you treated Donna it's no wonder she--"

  I cut myself off. At the beginning I was saying what needed to be said, but I absolutely do not need to finish the sentence. He's already made it clear he blames himself for Donna running away so why hammer him with it?

  His eyes are rivaling our plates for wideness, but to my surprise instead of getting angry with me he nods slowly. "You're right. I won't do that again. I'm sorry."

  Not only is he not mad, he seems... proud of me.

  My God, my husband is a weird man.

  *****

  Ryan and I chat casually as we eat brunch, my rebellion with the juice pitcher behind us. I want to ask him about the secret area in Bubbly Words, but since he didn't mention it before he either doesn't know or doesn't want me to know. Nothing I can do about the former but if he does know I might be better off finding a sneakier way to bring it up.

  He swallows his last bite of food and says, "I'm heading up for seconds. You coming, or are you okay?"

  "I'd love another juice but otherwise I think I'm full."

  "Got it." He smiles at me and leaves.

  I should spend the time while he's gone figuring out what I still need to know, but instead I find myself watching him move around the buffet. He's a good-looking man. I thought before that Jake was cuter, and he probably is cuter, but Ryan is far more powerful, more pulled-together, and his aura of success is drawing me like how the juice I spilled got sucked into those napkins.

  He turns around suddenly and smiles at me.

  My cheeks warm and I look away. I didn't mean for him to see me staring at him.