Before You Were Mine

by Heidi Lowe

  I couldn't lie and say I was sad to see him go, even though he'd made me laugh on a few occasions. They were too few, and he was too much of an enigma.

  "Where will you be going next?" I asked, more curious than I should have been.

  "I'm making one more stop, then heading back home." He didn't seem to want to elaborate.

  I got up and hugged him – a farewell hug that should have lasted two seconds tops. When I went to break away I found that I couldn't. He was putting far too much into the embrace.

  When he finally let me go an unusual, inexplicable feeling came over me. Deja vu. It was like...like we'd hugged before, though I knew that wasn't the case.

  His eyes were wistful when he looked at me, before he turned and left the room.

  "Good riddance!" Mrs Howlett said behind me. "He saved me the trouble of throwing him out."

  One large bowl of sweet popcorn, a scary movie, a warm evening, and two lovers who couldn't get enough of each other. It was such a cliche when we dipped our hands in at the same time, eyes fixed on the screen, and ended up grabbing each other's hand.

  I chuckled, leaned in and kissed her. Her kiss, although returned, didn't have the same enthusiasm in it. That was how it had been for days. She didn't kiss me the same, and looked sad when we made love. I'd asked her once what the matter was, and she'd insisted everything was fine. I'd avoided asking again for fear that I wouldn't like her answer.

  Was she pulling back, having second thoughts about us? I wanted to believe that wasn't the case, but very few explanations fit.

  I set the popcorn aside and snuggled up to her, kissed her neck, sniffing in her sweet scent, ignoring the carnage taking place on the screen.

  "We shouldn't," she said, drawing away. Her lack of real resistance was telling: she wanted me, yet didn't want me at the same time. Maybe because we were in the guesthouse and Mrs Howlett could have walked in at any moment.

  "I love you," I purred into her ear. "In case you'd forgotten, I just wanted to remind you."

  "I know." Her voice sounded choked up, as if she was about to cry. In the relative darkness her expression wasn't visible, but I knew she was upset. "And I love you. I want you to remember that, no matter what happens."

  What an odd thing to say.

  "What's going to happen?" I asked.

  "Nothing. I don't know, anything. It's just a figure of speech. Let's watch the movie."

  That was her way of telling me she didn't want to fool around anymore.

  I tried not to take it personally that she was rejecting me, but seeing as it had been like this for five days, it was hard not to. I just figured she would confide in me in her own time, so I didn't push her. Even someone as beautiful as Tiffany – both inside and out – had bad days. A bad week in her case.

  I ate the popcorn in silence, watching the screen but paying little attention to the movie. I could sense that something was bothering her, that she wanted to tell me something.

  Then the doorbell rang, and she never got the chance.

  "Are you expecting anyone?" Tiffany said, pausing the movie.

  "No. Maybe Mrs Howlett is?" Unlikely, seeing as it was a quarter to nine and no one ever came to see Mrs Howlett, at any time of the day.

  I got up to answer the door, Tiffany trailing behind me as back up. I did feel a lot safer with her close.

  "Jimmy," I said, startled to see him again. He'd moved out just a few hours prior. "Did you forget something?"

  With the light from the foyer cast on him, his vexed expression was as clear as day. And when his eyes drifted over my shoulder to Tiffany, that vexation increased tenfold.

  He barged past me, making both me and Tiffany shriek.

  "What do you want?" I demanded, terrified that he was about to attack us. There was something bloodthirsty about the way he looked at us. "I'm going to call the police if you don't–"

  "You haven't told her, have you?" This was aimed at Tiffany, who looked just as clueless as I felt. "You're keeping something like that from her so you can continue living this sick fantasy of a happy relationship."

  The color drained from Tiffany's face. I looked at her, unsure of what was happening.

  "W–what...h–how do you know–"

  "Because I sent it!" he screamed. "Yeah, five days ago, that was me." He looked as though he would pounce on her, tear her to pieces. Rabid.

  Tears coursed down her face, her sobbing coming quietly.

  "Tiffany, what's going on?"

  "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, ignoring my question.

  "You know who I am. Why don't you tell her. Tell her you've been lying to her for five days – every day since you got that letter."

  Now her sobbing was louder. The light on the stairs flicked on, and I heard Mrs Howlett's heavy, purposeful steps descending.

  "What's going on down there?"

  "Nothing, Mrs Howlett. Tiffany has something to tell her friend. Don't you, Tiffany?"

  "I'm sorry," was all she kept saying to me, shaking her head over and over. "I'm sorry, Abby."

  "Her name isn't Abby, it's Lara!" He bellowed, face red with fury. "Lara Susanne Murray, accountant from Seattle. And wife to..." Here he got choked up, the rage seemingly dissipating, only to be replaced by sadness, bringing him close to tears. "Wife to James Murray...known as Jimmy by his friends..."

  Now he was looking at me, looking at me as I pressed a hand over my mouth, the penny finally falling.

  "I sent that...bitch a letter five days ago, showing her proof of your identity, pictures of our wedding day, proof of your life, and she kept it from you."

  "It wasn't like that–"

  "No? How was it?" he said, enraged once more. "I watched you pretend to be good, to be holier than thou, and you failed the ultimate test. You're just as selfish as everyone else."

  She had no words to defend herself, so she wept instead, refusing to look at me.

  Lara Susanne Murray. The name rolled around in my head, searching for a connection. I was Lara Murray from Seattle. None of this sounded familiar or real.

  "Tiffany, is what he's saying true?" I needed to hear it from her; I knew her, I didn't know him, no matter who he claimed to be. She was my girlfriend; he was a stranger claiming to be my husband.

  When she refused to look me in the eye, even as I grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to force her, I knew it was true.

  I let go of her. "How could you keep something like this from me?" The floor of my stomach felt like it had fallen out. My body went numb. Then I turned to Jimmy – James. "Both of you?"

  "I wanted you to remember me on your own," he said.

  Now I was crying too – in anger, despondence, confusion. I headed for the stairs. "Just go, both of you!" I shouted as I raced up the stairs, past Mrs Howlett.

  TWENTY-THREE

  My cellphone buzzed on the nightstand. It had been ringing and ringing for days on end, from various people, none of whom I wanted to speak with, least of all Tiffany. A glance at the screen revealed it wasn't her this time, but the reception desk at the hospital. My bosses were wondering where I was, seeing as I hadn't turned up for two shifts. What was the point now? They were expecting to see Abigail, but that wasn't who I was. That wasn't who I'd ever been.

  I wiped the dust from the magnifying mirror on the chest of drawers, and stared at the stranger gazing out at me. The first time I'd seen my reflection, after the accident, I hadn't recognized myself. Over time I'd come to know my face well, know Abigail. Now, I was right back to being a stranger. Lara Murray, no matter who she was to everyone else, was no one to me. Her name, her history, her love story, they were unfamiliar.

  I burst into tears, something I'd been doing a lot lately, and didn't know how to stop. Why couldn't I remember her? I'd been Lara a lot longer than I had been Abigail, and yet I couldn't remember anything about her. For the first time since leaving the hospital, regaining my memory had become my main priority. Because now there was a life to remember – a family
who loved me. For the first time, there was a lot at stake.

  A light tap at my door dragged me from my reflection. Seconds later, Mrs Howlett tried the door, found that it was locked.

  "Abigail, I appreciate that you want to be alone, but I'd feel a lot better if you didn't lock yourself in for most of the day, not speaking with anyone."

  I unlocked the door and let her in. She looked around the room, as though looking for a bottle of pills or some other apparatus with which I would off myself.

  "I'm fine, really."

  "Oh, love, you've been crying." Without my permission, she smothered me in a hug, which, I was surprised to find, I never wanted to end. I needed it, a motherly hug to make all the pain and uncertainty go away.

  "What am I supposed to do? I've been trying to figure out my next move, but I don't know what it is. Nothing makes sense anymore."

  We sat on the edge of the bed.

  "Where's your head now?"

  I shrugged. "I'm angry, hurt, confused. I want to break something."

  "That's understandable."

  "They both kept it from me, but she...she betrayed me. Her betrayal is much worse. She's the woman I love. We're supposed to be honest with each other."

  "She had her reasons, I'm sure."

  "I don't care!" I growled. "I had a right to know as soon as she found out."

  She didn't dare argue with that. I was right and she knew it. Tiffany had screwed up, and I had every right to my anger.

  We sat in silence until she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and pushed it into my hand.

  "What's this?" I said, unfolding it.

  "Jimmy wanted me to give that to you. It's the address of the b&b he's staying at."

  I stared down at the writing scrawled on the paper.

  "He knows you're going to have questions. He says he'll wait there as long as it takes."

  No matter how I felt about the situation, I had to see him, to get answers.

  "I guess I'd better go see my husband." The word sounded alien to my ears, felt strange on my tongue.

  Ten minutes later, dressed and ready to face the truth, I opened the front door to step out, and bumped into Tiffany.

  "I told you I don't want to talk to you right now," I said, glowering at her. My heart was breaking seeing the tears trickle down her cheeks. I'd been making her smile for weeks, but now this was all she'd been doing. Maybe we would have been better if we'd never met, never fallen in love.

  "I know that, but you have to let me explain." Her voice was desperate, her usually perfect hair messy and unkempt. Her eyes were puffy from the crying, but also possibly lack of sleep. I know I'd barely gotten any myself.

  "You keep saying that, but I'm not ready to talk to you. Just go home." I stepped past her, but she grabbed my arm.

  "This is not fair, Abby."

  "That's not my name!" I screamed at her, though regretted it immediately. She jumped, recoiled like I was about to attack her. "My name's Lara Murray. And I'm going to talk to my husband, you know, the one you kept a secret from me." I watched my words cut her like a knife, knowing how painful it would be for her. I wanted to hurt her, to share some of my pain.

  "I'm sorry," she screamed back. "You told me you didn't want to know. I know what I did was selfish, but I was going to tell you, you have to believe that."

  "Yeah, when, huh?" I squared up to her, got right into her face, gave her the meanest look I could muster. But being that close to her, breathing in her scent, her lips only inches away, the passion still flowed between us. Even now, I wanted her. Making love was the last thing that should have been on my mind, but my body ached for hers.

  "I don't know. I was scared...scared of losing you."

  I rolled my eyes, her spell over me broken. "It wasn't your call to make. Now go home."

  I didn't look back as I stormed off, because if I had, she would have seen the tears running down my cheeks.

  "I don't bite, you know," Jimmy said from across the room. He had the bed, while I'd opted for the threadbare armchair, the farthest distance from him I could manage. As far as I was concerned, he was still a stranger.

  I took in his features: the shape of his lips, his eyebrows, the tiny, almost invisible scar on his cheek, his 3-day stubble. I'd seen his face many times, but never truly studied it. Now I wanted to see the man Lara Murray had fallen in love with enough to marry.

  "How'd you get the scar," I said, pointing.

  He rubbed it. "Skiing accident. Aspen."

  "Was I there?"

  "Yeah. And after that, you didn't let me back on them." He laughed. "I was no good at it anyway."

  I didn't laugh. I couldn't. These stories, none of them were real to me. What if this was all some elaborate scheme of his to get me here?

  It was as though he was reading my mind, because he got up, pulled a little box out of his drawer, then set it on my lap. "I have pictures. Proof."

  He sat back down. I ran my hands across the box but didn't open it.

  "After you went missing, and you didn't turn up at your father's place, I assumed you'd left me for good. We had a fight before you went, and I thought for sure I'd gone too far. That's why it took me so long to come looking for you."

  "What was the fight about?"

  He shrugged. "I said something insensitive about your mother. It was stupid of me, just slipped out."

  "Did we fight a lot?"

  He regarded me for the longest time without breathing a word, until, "You want to know if we were happy? That's it, right?"

  He seemed to know me, know what I was thinking, feeling. He must have always known.

  "Why don't you open that box and see for yourself?"

  I did. There were dozens upon dozens of pictures of me, of us, on holiday, on our wedding day, surrounded by other happy, smiling people. No children, though, which came as a relief to me. The guilt of having moved on from him, essentially cheating on him, was bad enough without the added guilt of leaving kids behind.

  I studied the picture of us cutting the wedding cake, sharing a kiss just for the camera. We were a picture perfect couple, more happy than any I'd ever seen. That much was obvious.

  Then I looked up at him, eyes filled with tears. "But how could you just sit back and watch me fall for another person, knowing I was your wife?"

  Everything made sense now. The way he looked at me, his profound dislike for Tiffany, the pent-up rage he fell into whenever I mentioned her name or he saw us together. If he still loved me the way he did in those pictures, it must have torn him apart inside.

  "What was I supposed to do, Lara?" He tossed his hands in the air, started pacing the room. "The guy I hired to find you, he didn't tell me you were seeing someone. And the doctor I consulted about your condition advised me not to try to force your memory. Said I should wait. I did my best to, but..." He didn't finish.

  It was too much for him, seeing me with Tiffany. Had he heard my plans to move in with her? Did he know I'd fallen in love with her?

  "I'm sorry I did that to you," I sobbed. The words sounded empty, insufficient. My disappearance had disrupted his life, but it was my relationship with Tiffany that had twisted the knife in, caused lasting damage.

  He said nothing, just slumped back onto the bed.

  "What kind of person was...am I?"

  "Everyone loves you where we live. The neighbors, your coworkers, your clients. They all respect you."

  "Coworkers?"

  He nodded. "You're an accountant, and a very revered one at that, at the firm of Cross and Fritzsche. You've been there for six years. Started there straight after completing the CPA exam at twenty-six."

  "I'm thirty-two? An accountant?" I shook my head slowly, letting the news sink in. "Not a piano teacher?"

  He laughed. "Before you got here, you hadn't touched a piano in over eighteen years."

  This news shocked me most of all. How could that be? The piano was my life now. What would have caused me to stop playing?

/>   "Why?"

  Suddenly he seemed unsettled. "Well, you used to play with your mother, but when she died, you couldn't bring yourself to play without her. Said it was too painful."

  My mother was dead. She was the woman from my dreams, or were those memories?

  "H–how did she die? Was she sick?"

  He nodded. "She had a rare disease that eventually broke down her immune system. She caught an infection while in the hospital. She died when you were thirteen."

  As Abby I didn't know her, but I had been mourning her ever since I hit my first key in the hospital, and later through my dreams.

  I rummaged through the box and found what I was looking for. The picture was older than most of the others. Taken when she was well. My mother, the woman from my dreams. She was so beautiful before the disease claimed her.

  "What about my father? You mentioned him before." I picked out another wedding photo. It was me and an older gentleman, who had his arm around me. We had a likeness, though his face was rounder, and my features were more angular.

  "He's still alive. Still lives in Tucson, Arizona, where you were born. That's where you were going when the accident happened. I've been keeping him informed of your well-being. He can't wait to see you again."

  It was all too overwhelming. I took a breath, and another, and another. This was crazy!

  "And your brother, Luke. Your nieces and nephew. Your friends. Everyone's waiting to see you again."

  "I can't go back yet. Not while I'm like this."

  "I know." He got up, knelt before me, and placed a hand on my thigh. It felt strange there, and a huge part of me wanted to shove it away. Husband or not, his touch was alien. Still, I left it there. "Whatever you want to do, I'm here for you. I know you, I've known you for eight years. But I understand that you need to get to know me again, remember what we mean to each other."

  "Thank you," I said.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Don't try to force yourself to remember, your memory will return in its own time. Doctor's orders. He'd said it upon discharging me from the hospital; and a few days after seeing Jimmy, seeing my life displayed in photos, he said it again at my checkup.