I’d like to think I’m a good person, but I have no way of knowing for sure. I don’t remember my real name, where I’m from, or if I have any family. I must have friends somewhere, but the only ones I recognize are the ones I’ve made in the two years since the new me was born—every memory before that has been wiped away. I don’t remember how I got the crescent-shaped scar on my knee or why the smell of roses turns my stomach. The only thing I have is here and now, and even that feels tenuous. There are some things I do know. I like chocolate ice cream better than vanilla, and I love to watch the sunset paint the sky in vibrant orange and pink at dusk. And I love taking pictures. I think it’s because I feel more comfortable behind the camera and looking out. Looking inward is too painful when there’s nothing much to see.
We’re celebrating my engagement on this beautiful September day, and I’m surrounded by people who say they love me, but who is it really that they love? How can you truly know someone when their entire past is a mystery? Gabriel, my fiancé, is sitting next to me, looking at me in an adoring way that makes me feel warm all over. He’s one of those people whose eyes smile, and you can’t help but feel good when he’s around. He is the one who is helping me discover the parts of myself that feel authentic. I take pictures. Gabriel tells me that I’m an amazing talent. I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I love doing it. When I’m behind the camera, I’m me again. I know instinctively that this is something I’ve done and loved doing for a long time. It’s the thing that has saved me, given me a living, and led me to Gabriel. He’s actually giving me my first break—a show at his family’s gallery—in October. Soon, they’ll be my family too.
The clinking of a glass gets my attention. It’s Patrick, Gabriel’s best man.
“As you all know, this clown and I have been friends since we were six. I could stand here all day and tell you stories. But since both our sets of parents are present, I’ll spare you the gory details and just say that we’ve had our share of good times and laughs, and our share of trouble. I never thought he’d settle down, but the minute I saw him with Addison, I knew he was a goner.” Patrick lifts his glass toward us both. “To Addy and Gabriel. Long life!”
My eyes scan the restaurant and land on Darcy. Her glass is lifted, but her smile seems forced, and her eyes are sad.
We all raise our glasses and sip. Gabriel’s sister, Hailey, is my maid of honor, but she cannot regale the crowd with stories of our shared past because, like Gabriel, she’s only known me for six months. Despite the festive mood around me, darkness descends again, and I feel hollow. Gabriel seems to sense my mood shift and squeezes my hand under the table, then leans over and whispers, “You all right?”
I squeeze back and force a smile, nodding, willing the tears not to fall.
Then Gigi gets up and takes the microphone from Patrick.
“I may have only known Addison for a couple of years, but I couldn’t love her any more. When she came into our lives, it was the biggest blessing we could have asked for.” She looks at me. “You’re like a daughter to us, and Ed and I are so happy for you. To new beginnings.”
I know she’s trying to make it right for me, but it’s hard to toast to new beginnings when they’re all I have. I do it anyway, because I love her too, and because she and Ed try to be the parents that I don’t have. Ed will give me away at the wedding, and while I’m grateful to have him, I can’t help but worry that I have a father somewhere wondering what happened to me. That’s what makes it so impossible for me to fully embrace anyone with my whole heart. What if my parents are out there somewhere mourning for me, agonizing over what’s happened to me or thinking I’m dead? Or even worse, what if there is no one looking?
The doctors have told me that I have to be patient. That memory is a tricky thing. The more I try to force it, the more elusive it becomes. I have no real clues to my identity, no identification, no cell phone containing pictures or contacts. My body, on the other hand, shares some clues—the jagged scars that tell their own story—just not to me.
Julian Hunter had been melancholy all day. Another wedding anniversary coming up in a few months and only memories of happier times to comfort him now.
“Tell me again about the day you and Mommy got married, Daddy.” Valentina snuggled closer to Julian and rested her head against his chest. She smiled broadly at him, her green eyes fringed by thick lashes that were as raven black as her hair.
He leaned down to kiss the top of his seven-year-old daughter’s head. The familiar feeling of loss swept over him again, but he swallowed and began. “It started out as a beautiful November day filled with sunshine. We got married right here in the house—in the grand living room. Mommy wouldn’t let me see her or her wedding dress before the ceremony. She said it was bad luck.”
Julian smiled as he remembered how adamant Cassandra had been, insisting upon staying apart the morning before the ceremony. “You don’t really believe in bad luck, do you?” he’d asked her, and she’d looked at him, her eyes wide, and said she was just being cautious. Julian considered himself a rational man of science, and his career in medicine had shown him that luck had nothing to do with the course of people’s lives. But he’d decided to humor her.
“Daddy, keep going.” Valentina pushed against him.
“Right. So . . . it was a very small wedding, with just a few of our friends and your grandfather. A young music student from the university played her cello as Mommy came into the room and walked toward me.”
“Did she look beautiful?”
“Yes, Valentina. She looked very beautiful.” An image from that day filled his head. Cassandra standing for a moment at the arched entrance to the room, in a high-necked, long-sleeved sheath that skimmed her slender figure and then fell straight to the floor. She smiled, her eyes meeting his as she walked down the aisle. When he noticed a white gardenia in her long black hair, he was touched by her loving acknowledgment of the flowers he’d given her the night he proposed.
“More, Daddy,” Valentina urged.
“That’s enough for tonight, sweet girl. It’s time for bed.” He gently rose from the sofa, but his daughter remained seated.
“No, please. Can’t I stay up a little longer?”
He reached down and wrapped her small hand in his, pulling her to her feet. “Afraid not, little one. What would Mommy say if she knew I was keeping you up past your bedtime?”
Valentina’s expression darkened. “Mommy wouldn’t care. If she cared, she would come home.”
Julian had no answer for his little girl. He’d tried to explain it to her so many times, but the problem was that there was no explanation.
He thought back to the last time he’d seen Cassandra, and the familiar ache of loss and regret filled him. They’d had their problems like any couple, of course. She could be mercurial and moody. He didn’t like to think about the night they’d had their worst fight, both of them spewing angry words neither could take back. Afterward he’d thought all was lost, that he’d have to raise Valentina alone. But then, miraculously, everything turned out okay. For a while, anyhow. Now, two years later, and not a trace of her. It was unbelievable, really, as if she’d vanished into thin air. But he believed with every fiber of his being that she would be found. It was the only thing that kept him going. Well, that and Valentina, of course. She was the image of her mother, with Cassandra’s face and hair, but her lips were Julian’s, full and generous.
Now he steered his little girl to the stairs, and together they climbed to the second floor. “Teeth brushing and then a very short bedtime story,” he said to her.
“Two stories?” she asked as she walked over to the white bookcases that filled one wall of her pink bedroom.
“Don’t push your luck, little one. It’s late.”
After the bedtime ritual was over and he’d kissed his daughter good night, Julian headed reluctantly to his own bedroom. As he entered, his eyes went right to the antique dressing table, where all of Cassandra’s lotions and perfumes sat just as she had left them, next to the jeweled hairbrush he’d given her on their first anniversary. He walked over and picked it up, raising it to his nose. He imagined he could discern her scent, but he knew he was kidding himself. Placing the brush back on the table, he moved to one of the large closets—her closet—and opened the doors. All of her beautiful clothes hung neatly, untouched since she’d disappeared. He couldn’t bear to get rid of her things. That would mean she was gone for good.
“More tea, sweetheart?” Gigi asks me as she closes her fingers around the ceramic pot.
“Yes, thank you.” I slide my mug closer and look at the strong fingers as Gigi pours, the nails short, professional and unpolished, the way a nurse’s hand should look—proficient and assured. But the rest of her is all warmth and comfort, from the womanly curves and red hair swept up in a soft and loose bun to the blue eyes that always have a sparkle in them.
Sitting at the wood farm table in her and Ed’s cozy kitchen always makes me feel cared for and protected.
“Last night was wonderful, Addy. You and Gabriel are so perfect together. Ed and I are thrilled for you.”
She looks so pleased, but all at once I’m feeling the same thing in my stomach that I felt last night—a fluttering anxiety, as if my insides are twisting around each other. I hold my breath, trying to subdue the pulsating, and smile back at Gigi. “I’m very lucky,” I say.
“You need to remember that Gabriel’s the lucky one too. Right?” Gigi’s eyes tell me she knows what I’m thinking. That as someone with no past and no family and barely a career, I have little to offer Gabriel. He is a smart and successful man, popular, well-liked, and from an amazing family. Blythe and Ted Oliver, his parents, opened their gallery in Philadelphia’s Old City soon after they married thirty-two years ago. Blythe is an artist and Ted is in charge of acquisitions. The gallery’s specialty is contemporary art, and often the two of them travel, searching for new and promising artists, while they leave the day-to-day management to Gabriel and his sister Hailey. They’re a close family who make it obvious that they love spending time together. Their dinner conversations are animated and lively, with the topics ranging from art to social issues to world events. For me it’s like watching a tutorial on what it is to have parents and siblings, and I always wonder what my own family might be like. Do I have any sisters or brothers? Did we enjoy each other the way Gabriel’s family does?
And then I put myself in Blythe’s place. How would I feel if my son were marrying a woman with no past? No health or genetic information. No clue about her own background. I would wonder if there were any mental health problems in her family, or addiction, or . . . or . . . I would have myriad questions that couldn’t be answered. Blythe and Ted must surely have the same questions. How could they not?
“Addison.” Gigi’s stern voice startles me, and I raise my eyes to hers. “You’re brooding, and you’ve got to stop this. It’s clear to us that Gabriel and his family love you. You’re a lovely woman—kind and caring. Not to mention that you’re also smart and beautiful.” She smiles at this. “But seriously, you can’t keep thinking of yourself as this poor little stray that doesn’t deserve happiness.”
“I can tell myself that all day, Gigi, but it doesn’t make me believe it.” I shake my head. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand what it’s like to have no past, no memory of who you are.”
“You’re right, honey. I don’t know how it feels. But you’ve got to stop beating yourself up about it. You didn’t deliberately choose to forget everything.”
“But what if I did? Maybe I did something so awful I wanted to black it out.”
“You didn’t do something awful. And people don’t choose amnesia. It happens as a result of something.” Gigi throws her hands out, palms up. “A head injury or some type of trauma. Something.”
I sigh and rub my forehead. “I know I’ve asked you this a hundred times, but can you remember anything from the night Ed brought me here? Something I said or did that seemed unusual?” I knew it was a useless question. I don’t even know why I asked.
How many times had I relived every detail of that night two years ago? I was drained, dragging my feet, limping, and feeling as if I would pass out if I had to go any farther. My throat was closing like it was filled with dust and grit, making it hard to breathe. I needed water desperately, and I knew I had to do whatever I could to make someone stop.
I made my way to the road and stumbled along the shoulder until I was unable to walk farther and put my thumb out for the next vehicle that passed. I’m not sure how long it was until I saw the headlights of a big rig coming toward me. It went right past me, and all the air whooshed from my lungs like a balloon deflating, and I felt tears run down my cheeks. And then, miracle of miracles, he stopped, backed up, and reached over and opened the passenger door.
“You need a ride, missy?” His deep voice washed over me like a balm.
“Yes, please,” I said, shivering.
“Hop in,” he said, reaching his hand out to help me up the steps on the passenger side.
I shut the door and wrapped my arms around myself, and he continued to study me. “You okay?”
I looked down at my ripped pants and the dried blood on my hands. My head was pounding, and when I reached up to touch my forehead, my body jolted in pain. “I’m fine. Could I . . . do you have any water?”
He reached into a compartment next to him and grabbed a cold bottle, handing it to me, before he started driving. He kept his eyes on the road and didn’t say anything right away. Then, “Where you headed?”
I thought a minute. I had no idea. “Wherever you’re going,” I said.
He gave me an odd look. “I’m heading home to Pennsylvania. I’ve been on the road ten days.”
“Pennsylvania. That sounds good.” I looked out my window at the tall pine trees we were passing and then turned to him. “Where are we now?”
“New Jersey.” He frowned and looked at me strangely, then back at the road. “You have people in Pennsylvania?”
“I’m not sure,” was all I could get out.
“I know it’s none of my business, but hitchhiking is very dangerous. Do you realize the things that can happen? Especially to a young woman?”
I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach. Was he about to tell me that I’d made a mistake getting in his truck? I said nothing.
He must have realized he’d scared me because he put a hand up. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. I belong to an organization that tries to stop people from being hurt.” He glanced over at me again and looked concerned. “You don’t look too good. Kinda pale. I can swing off the highway and get you to a hospital. No problem.”
My stomach tightened as panic welled up inside of me. I was terrified but had no idea why. “No, please. I’m okay. Really. Please. Don’t stop.”
He rubbed his chin for a moment. “Okay. But when we get to Philadelphia, you get medical attention.” Ed told me later that he’d continued to drive against his better judgment, but there was something in my voice that made him keep going.
I sighed, relieved, and leaned my head against the window, closing my eyes. I felt myself drifting off to sleep when Ed’s deep voice startled me.
“What’s your name? You from around here?”
My name? I had no idea. I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to concentrate, but my brain felt muddled and hazy. Taking a deep breath, I decided to tell him the truth. It was going to come out sooner or later anyway. “I don’t know. The thing is . . .” I stopped and inhaled deeply again. “The thing is, I don’t remember anything that happened before I was walking along the road, holding my head.”
“You mean you can’t remember how you got hurt?”
“I mean I don’t know who I am. I have no memory of anything except walking and getting into your truck.”
Ed let out a low whistle. “You have amnesia?”
“I guess so.” I didn’t have enough energy to talk anymore. “I’m really tired,” I said. “Do you mind if I just rest for a little?”
“Sure. Why don’t you jump back into the sleeper? You’ll be more comfortable there.”
Maybe if I had been in a more coherent state of mind I would have hesitated, worried again that he might be a threat, but I was exhausted. Bone-tired. I craned my neck and looked around behind my seat to see a big bed inviting me to stretch out. When he pulled off the road, I crawled onto it and wiggled under a soft green blanket that smelled like fresh evergreens.It felt comforting and warm against my body, and for the rest of the ride I slept like the dead.
When we got to the house, Ed woke me. “Hey,” he said, as he gave me a gentle poke. “Wake up. We’re here.”
I lifted my head, squinting at the bright sunlight that streamed through the windows and ran my tongue across my teeth, which felt gritty. Ed helped me down from the high truck bed, and I noticed that the trailer was missing from the back of the truck. I looked at him in confusion.
“Had to drop off my load. You slept right through the stop,” he told me, taking my hand. “Let’s go inside and get that head looked at.”
We went up the walk to the house, a white one-story Cape with navy blue shutters and flower boxes at every window, separated from the large garage by a big yard with lots of trees. Pink and cornflower-blue blossoms spilled from the containers, and there was something about the house that said welcome. Before we reached the small porch, the front door opened and a petite woman with a shock of red hair held her hand out to mine and said, “I’ve been waiting for you two. I’m Gigi. Come on in.”
“Hi, honey,” Ed said, giving her a quick hug as we entered. “This is the young lady who needs our help.” I realized that while I was asleep, Ed must have called his wife to warn her he was bringing home a disoriented hitchhiker.
Gigi wasted no time, taking me into their spotless kitchen and sitting me on a chair. She began examining my head and then turned to Ed and said something I couldn’t hear. “We need to get you to a hospital, just to be on the safe side,” she said, this time to me. “This doesn’t look too terribly awful, but I can’t see what might be going on inside. They can run some tests to get the full picture.”
It hit me then how hungry I was, and I realized I had no idea when I’d last eaten. As if reading my mind, Gigi put a cup of tea and a buttered English muffin in front of me. “You need to eat something first,” she said, patting my back gently. I knew right then that this was a woman I wanted to have in my life, whatever that meant.
I wish Gabriel were coming with me to his mother’s tonight, but he thinks it’ll be good for me and Blythe to be alone and get to know each other better as we discuss wedding plans. I know she tries to make me feel comfortable, but I still find her intimidating, and the half-hour drive to Chestnut Hill from Gigi and Ed’s only serves to heighten my anxiety. I falter for a moment as I pull into the driveway. The strange thing about amnesia is that you forget facts but not skills, so I may not know who I am or if I’ve ever owned a car, but I remember how to drive. I put the Kia in park, turn off the engine, and grab from the passenger seat the folders that Blythe requested I bring. They’re filled with photographs from bridal magazines that she’s given me, instructing me to clip out any images I like.
I envisioned a small, intimate wedding with only Ed and Gigi, and Gabriel’s immediate family, perhaps a few of their closest friends, but things seemed to go in another direction as soon as we told his parents last month that we planned to get married. We had just finished dinner at their house and were all sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee, and when Gabriel made the announcement, I saw the color drain from Blythe’s face. Ted smiled, though, and said, “Well, well, I thought this might be getting serious. Congratulations, son.” And then he looked over at me. “Welcome to the family, Addison. I’m happy for both of you.”
Blythe recovered quickly and smiled. “Have you chosen a date?”
“We want a simple wedding. The sooner the better.” Gabriel looked across the table at me. “Right, Addy?”
“Right.”
“Well,” Blythe said. “I can understand your wanting to be together as soon as you can, and I think small weddings are lovely. But maybe Addison and I could talk a little more about it before you make a final decision? Would that be agreeable to you?” she’d asked, looking directly at me.
And so here I am tonight with the folders, a little apprehensive as I walk from my car to the house but hoping that we can agree on a small, low-key affair. She’s waiting in the open doorway as I reach the covered porch, wearing a pair of flowing white pants with a turquoise tunic. Her only jewelry is a pair of gold hoop earrings. She looks both elegant and casual, and I marvel at the ease and grace of her manner. “Addison,” she says, smiling brightly as she pulls me into a hug, and I breathe in the scent of her perfume. “Come in, darling,” she says, letting me go. As she closes the door, one of the folders falls from my hands.
“Sorry,” I say, and bend down to retrieve it.
“Oh, great, Addison. You’ve brought the pictures. Thank you for bringing over some ideas.”
“Of course, I was glad to.”
“Grace has put out a lovely tray of shortbread cookies and chamomile tea in the sunroom for us,” she says, leading the way.
Maybe I’ve been in a home this grand in the life I don’t remember, but I’m still awestruck whenever I come to Gabriel’s family home, a gracious stone building complete with a separate carriage house. One day, when we’d been seeing each other a few months, Gabriel took me on a tour of the house while his parents were away for the weekend, and my jaw dropped to see the rooms, each more beautiful than the last. The vast living room has three separate seating sections, a grand piano, and a wall of elegant French doors that lead to a terrace overlooking the swimming pool. The library is a reader’s heaven, a quiet retreat with dark-green walls, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and oversize leather sofas and chairs. My favorite room, though, is the sunroom, a bright glass-walled space with a domed ceiling, filled with plants and flowers that make you feel like you’re outdoors.
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