by Edie Claire
“Yeah,” Teagan murmured uncharitably, “I bet you did.”
Jamie’s eyes opened. She sat up. “I did not screw around with my wait staff!” she said defensively. “I knew my damned job.”
Teagan’s conscience began to prick at her. A little.
“I just had trouble earning their respect at first, that’s all,” Jamie continued. “It was a rocky start, but I’m pretty sure things got better.” Her tone turned pensive. “They must have, because I can see myself being happy there. I looked forward to work. But then—” She hesitated a moment. When she spoke again her voice was uncharacteristically insecure. “There’s something else too, Teag. It’s the same vague, bad feeling I’ve had ever since I woke up in the hospital. The closer I get to remembering the present, the more I feel it. It’s not like one particular thing that happened. It’s more like something was bothering me. Something... something awful.”
Teagan stole a glance at the passenger seat. Jamie’s brow was furrowed, her hands clenched. Her eyes gazed blankly ahead of her. She nibbled at her still-puffy lower lip.
“Tell me,” Teagan urged.
Jamie groaned and rubbed her face in her hands. “I can’t!” she said with frustration. “I think a part of me doesn’t want to remember.”
They rode in silence for a while. Teagan pulled into a gas station and filled her tank. Her hands were unsteady. She wasn’t used to being angry, at least not at a friend. Ranting and raving over social injustices was different—that felt good for the soul. Her anger at Jamie for having intentionally caused grief to her marriage was justified, no doubt, but it was considerably less satisfying.
She needed to let it go.
Don’t look at whether the choice is right or wrong, she quoted to herself from her training. Just try to understand where it’s coming from.
She got back into her car and buckled up again. “You never told me,” she asked without preamble, “what you remembered about foster care. What it was like growing up with other families, after having been with only your mother before.”
Teagan felt Jamie’s eyes studying her as she pulled back onto the road. “What’s that got to do with anything?” Jamie asked. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”
“Yes,” Teagan responded. “Deal with it. Answer the question.”
There was a long pause. Then Jamie merely shrugged. “Foster care wasn’t horrible. In a lot of ways, I was lucky. All my placements were families; I never wound up at a shelter or in a group home. I was never abused in any way. It was just bad luck I had to move so much. One of my foster fathers got transferred out of state. One younger family had a premature baby of their own with huge problems, and they couldn’t handle the fosters anymore. One couple hit retirement age and got out of the biz altogether. Another woman decided she only wanted younger children. They were all decent. They just weren’t home.”
And none of them loved me.
The words were unspoken, but as they lingered in the chill air, Teagan’s conscience pricked at her again. Aside from Jamie’s mother, who had ever loved her? If Jamie had extended family, they had obviously not offered to take her in. She had aged out of the system at eighteen and been on her own ever since. She seemed to have no adult female friends. Her romantic relationships, Teagan chose not to dwell on. But it should come as no surprise that Jamie didn’t know, or understand, what a two-way street even looked like.
Teagan shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She herself could afford to love, because she had always felt secure. There had always been someone who loved her unconditionally. But Jamie had only Jamie. Was it any wonder she put herself first?
“That’s it!” Jamie exclaimed suddenly, startling Teagan so much the car lurched. There was no restaurant in sight; they were merely cruising down the Parkway North toward the city.
“What’s what?” Teagan asked.
“The city!” Jamie said gleefully, pointing at the skyscrapers whose profiles were just now coming into view. “You could see the city from our windows! Gorgeous, sweeping views of the rivers and the stadiums. Customers always wanted the tables by the windows!”
Teagan smiled. “You mean you were up on Mount Washington?”
Jamie smiled back. “I’m sure of it.”
Teagan set her course for the mountain ridge that loomed high above Pittsburgh’s “Point,” where the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers meet to form the Ohio. Her spirits rose. They could hit almost all the nice restaurants in that area with one cruise down Grandview Avenue. Surely Jamie would recognize the right place when she saw it.
***
Jamie’s heart thudded in her chest. Despite her looming apprehension, the sight of the La Veduta had buoyed her spirit with an almost childlike excitement.
“The name’s Italian, but we served all sorts of food,” she prattled to Teagan as they approached the staff entrance. They were making their way carefully down a steep ramp to the side of the aged, yet grandiose building, which was perched precariously on the sharp slope of Mount Washington’s city face. Teagan had lucked into a prime spot of on-street parking only two blocks away, but new snow had started to fall again, and Jamie couldn’t move nearly as fast as she wanted to.
“I hope someone’s here at this hour,” she continued. “There isn’t always, but the general manager sometimes comes in on Sundays to catch up on paperwork. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” She reached the nondescript entrance, gave the doorknob a perfunctory try, then rang the service bell. Anxious beyond words, she leaned forward and laid her ear against the cold metal door.
She heard footsteps. “Someone’s here!” she said excitedly, jumping back so quickly she nearly collided with the silent figure of Teagan behind her. Whoever it was, Jamie knew, would be looking through the peephole first. Management took security very seriously.
As the locks began to click open, Jamie felt a new flash of anxiety. Did she really want to meet the general manager? She could picture a thin, sallow man with a pointed nose and absolutely no sense of humor informing her of her duties and berating her for her alleged mistakes. But she also remembered that he had been fair... and he’d had the good sense to hire her in the first place. What was his name? She braced herself.
The heavy door swung open with a groan. The sight of the man behind it filled Jamie, quite unexpectedly, with joy. The muscular torso, bald head, multiple earrings, and impish blue eyes were a slam dunk, even for her ailing brain. “Richard!” she exclaimed, as her memory of both the sous chef, and his name, came back in a rush that was dizzying. She must have swayed a little, because she could feel Teagan’s hand suddenly clasp her upper arm, supporting her.
“Jamie?” he responded, his gaze sweeping down over both her frumpy clothing and her cast with a look of surprise. His voice rang with friendly greeting, but confusion creased his brow. “What happened to you? What the hell are you doing back here today?”
Jamie grinned and pushed past him to enter, motioning for Teagan to follow. “What the hell am I doing, period? That’s a better question.”
Richard shut and bolted the door behind them. Then he turned to Jamie with a smirk. “Darling, there’s no one alive who can answer that question.”
Jamie smirked back. Richard. God, she adored the man. He had been her first friend here. And she had paid him back by helping to set him up with the man of his dreams—the florist who supplied La Veduta. The two had moved in together over Thanksgiving.
Her body warmed, and not just from the marginal heat in the hallway. Her memory was coming back. It was coming back beautifully.
“Why are you here?” Richard repeated. “If I’d known you were coming I wouldn’t have wasted half my day doing your job for you. And who is your overly protective friend?”
Jamie cast a glance at Teagan, and was surprised to see the social worker glowering at Richard with suspicion. “This is Teagan,” Jamie introduced, feeling a rare surge of sentimental pride. “She and I have been friends forever.”
“You don�
�t say,” Richard said slyly, nodding to Teagan. “Under the circumstances, that’s quite an accomplishment.”
“Oh, stuff it,” Jamie retorted gaily. “Is my office unlocked?”
“Probably,” Richard answered as he followed her down the hall and around the corner. “Preston was here, but he went out a minute ago. Where’s your key?”
“No idea,” Jamie quipped. She opened the unlocked door and stepped over the threshold into the tiny, cluttered office. Her pulse pounded with elation.
My office. MINE.
She had been the boss here. Almost. At least when the general manager wasn’t around. She had managed the wait staff and the valets, smoothed over issues with guests, managed inventory, worked with the chefs to keep the kitchen on track...
“FYI,” Richard said pointedly, “Preston’s plenty pissed he had to cover for you on Thursday. Where the hell were you? Did he get the dates wrong, or did you?”
Jamie’s happy reminiscence came to a sudden, shuddering halt.
After an awkward moment of silence, Teagan stepped forward. “Maybe I can explain. Jamie received a head injury last week, in addition to the broken arm. For a while, she couldn’t remember who she was or where she worked. She’s getting better, but we’re still trying to piece a few things together. You said you were expecting her at work on Thursday?”
“A head injury?” Richard turned to Jamie, his face a mask of concern. “What happened, love?”
Jamie felt a flush of warmth in her cheeks, even as the horror of struggling for air within a stifling blanket hovered ominously just outside her thoughts. Someone did care.
“She’s not allowed to talk about the details yet,” Teagan interjected.
Jamie turned with a frown. If Teagan was thinking that Richard had anything to do with the assault, she was off base by a mile. He was tall, strong, and had tattoos, sure. But he was a total sweetheart. She opened her mouth to say so, but Teagan cut her off with a warning look.
“You said you were expecting her on Thursday?” Teagan repeated, her manner all business.
Richard looked from one woman to the other with a confused expression, then sank down on a corner of the general manager’s desk. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “She was marked off for a four-day weekend—we weren’t expecting her back until Tuesday. But she was supposed to be here Thursday. When she didn’t show, Preston figured there must have been some confusion about the dates. It wasn’t like Jamie to be AWOL, and her phone was off—we figured that had to mean she was on the plane already.”
“The plane?” Jamie repeated sharply. Something dark flirted with the edges of her consciousness, but when she tried to grasp it, it disappeared like smoke. Her brain was only teasing her.
“Yes, angel,” Richard said with sympathy. “You were going on a vacation. You were outrageously excited about it. Never mind that you wouldn’t tell your nearest and dearest coworker a single thing about it. I knew it was big. My money was on a whirlwind weekend in Europe. I did catch you looking at pictures of castles in a travel magazine.”
It was Jamie’s turn to sink down on a desk. She was pretty sure she landed on top of a stapler, but that didn’t seem important. “Europe?” she repeated dumbly. “With... with a man?”
Richard’s eyebrows arched. “Can’t see you going any other way, my dear. Can you?”
“Did you know who she was going with?” Teagan asked sharply.
Richard turned and looked at her, then cast a questioning glance back at Jamie. “Do you really not remember? Do you want me to talk about it?”
Jamie smiled at his sensitivity. Teagan was playing quite the tigress; it was nice to have two people on her side, even if they didn’t trust each other. “Yes, please,” she answered weakly. “I have to know. And no, I don’t remember.”
Richard blew out a breath, then settled himself farther back on the desk. “You’ve been seeing this mystery man for the last—oh, I don’t know—six weeks, maybe? I don’t know who he is because you wouldn’t tell me. You wouldn’t tell anybody. I suspected he was a customer here, but if so, you never let on in front of the staff.”
Teagan let out a sound suspiciously like a groan. Jamie could sense her frustration, but her own response was oddly the opposite. She was glad Richard didn’t know. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know.
To know... what?
“Why would Jamie want to keep the man she was dating a secret?” Teagan asked.
Richard kept his eyes on Jamie. His expression was sympathetic. “She wouldn’t say,” he explained. “But I had my suspicions.”
Jamie wanted the conversation to stop now. The general manager could be back any minute, and she didn’t want to run into him. He would be furious with her for skipping work on Thursday, and she had no interest in defending herself right now with some lengthy sob story. Her personal affairs were none of his business. She walked around to the other side of the desk, pulled open a drawer and dug through its miscellaneous contents to the back right corner, her fingers fishing for her extra set of keys. Eureka.
“And what did you suspect?” Teagan asked.
Jamie slipped the keys into her coat pocket.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Richard responded, sliding his eyes over to Jamie with a wry expression. “Methinks my blond beauty was dallying with a married man.”
No!
Jamie straightened with a start, slamming the drawer shut with a bang. Her body flushed with heat. Her mouth opened to protest, but no words came out.
The silence that followed was deafening.
It was Teagan, at last, who broke it. “And what made you think that?” she asked stiffly.
Richard’s expression was all remorse. “Heavens, Jamie, don’t get so upset! It isn’t murder. Of course, it was less than you deserved, and I did suggest as much, but you refused to even talk—”
Jamie’s voice returned. “I do NOT date married men!”
Richard recoiled as if a wind had blown him. “All right, love. Don’t go popping any vessels on my account! You know perfectly well I’m not going to judge you. It just fit the usual pattern, that’s all. The secrecy, the expensive gifts—”
“Expensive gifts?” Jamie sputtered, her insides burning. What Richard was saying wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be true. She didn’t date married men. Ever. Why should she? She could have any single man she wanted. Her mother had fallen in love with a married man, and where had it gotten her? Deserted, broke, disowned, and pregnant—forced to waste the best years of her own too-short life raising a child without a father.
“I don’t take ‘gifts’ from men! I don’t take anything from anybody!” she protested hotly.
The dark mass of foreboding that had dogged Jamie for days hovered suddenly closer. It was thicker, more ominous.
Stifling.
Get away from me!
Richard had risen from the desk. His face was ashen. “I’m sorry, Jamie—I’m sorry! Never mind me, I’m just spouting the daily drama. What do I know?” He turned to Teagan with a pleading look. “Has she seen a doctor?”
“Several,” Teagan answered, her voice sounding, for some reason, as unsteady as Jamie’s own.
What was wrong with everybody?
“There’s a chance that the man she was with is responsible for causing her injuries,” Teagan explained. “The police are trying to locate him. Do you have any idea who else they might talk to? Did Jamie have a roommate or another friend who might know his name?”
Richard shook his head. “She had her own place. I don’t know about any friends outside work. I didn’t know about you.”
“I’m a social worker at Northside General,” Teagan began. “I know Jamie from a long time ago. Do you happen to know...”
The voices in the room seemed to fade in and out of Jamie’s hearing as the gray mass closed in on her, transporting her to another time, another place...
Expensive gifts.
Olive-skinned hands slid over her head from behind. They were
strong hands, virile hands. Between their fingers sparkled a bauble... gleaming silver, shining stones. She glanced down at her neck to find it bejeweled like a princess’s. The hands slid back over her bare shoulders, caressing now. Her eyes caught sight of another gleam. A golden ring, on the left hand’s fourth finger—
“Dammit!”
Both Teagan and Richard stared back at Jamie.
“Damn what, exactly?” Teagan asked.
“Damn—” Jamie faltered. Her energy was gone. She felt suddenly empty, light headed. “Just dammit,” she said miserably, sinking back into her desk chair.
“We can leave anytime you’re ready, Jamie.” Teagan offered.
And go where?
“Yeah,” Jamie answered weakly, “whatever.”
Richard scribbled something on a piece of paper, handed it to Teagan, then moved to stand beside Jamie. “I’m terribly sorry, love,” he said sincerely, laying a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “I do hope you’re feeling better soon. I’ll tell Preston you need a medical leave. It will do until you’re ready to call him and explain everything yourself. In the meantime, I swear, if I think of anything that can help the police catch this bastard, I’ll be all over it. Nobody messes with Richard’s women!”
Jamie felt moisture welling up behind her eyes. She rose from the chair and—though she was fairly certain she’d never done so before—clasped her favorite sous chef in a hug. The look on his face when she released him confirmed his surprise.
“Poor baby,” he said gently. “You have been through it, haven’t you? You take care of yourself, all right? And by the way,” he lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “Those new contacts are totally hot.”
***
Teagan rapped her knuckles restlessly on the surface of the preset dining table at which she was seated. She was watching Jamie stare out the panoramic windows of La Veduta’s private banquet room. Jamie had insisted on walking around every corner of the empty restaurant, trying to get her bearings, while Richard went back to work. But for the last five minutes she’d done nothing but stand and stare, not saying a word.
