“And Coopersmith’s, of all places,” Marcie went on, a note of disgust overshadowing her cheery tone. “Low blow. This is our restaurant. We’ve had birthdays here, work parties, anniversaries.
Could you be any tackier?”
Hank squeezed between his eyes.
Mom said quietly, “I picked the restaurant, Marcie. I didn’t realize it had special meaning to your family.”
“Don’t talk to me,” Marcie snapped. “This is between me and my dad. Don’t act like you get any say in this.”
“Okay!” I said, pushing up from my chair. “I’m going to the restroom.” I sent my mom a quick look, hinting for her to join me. This wasn’t our problem. If Marcie and her dad wanted to go at it, and in public, fine. But I wasn’t going to sit here and make a spectacle of myself.
“I’ll join you,” Marcie said, catching me off guard.
Before I could figure out my next move, Marcie looped her arm through mine and propelled me toward the front of the restaurant.
“Mind telling me what this is all about?” I asked when we were out of earshot. I shifted my eyes between our linked arms.
“A truce,” Marcie stated pointedly.
Things were getting more interesting by the minute.
Things were getting more interesting by the minute.
“Oh? And how long is it going to last?” I asked.
“Just until my dad breaks up with your mom.”
“Good luck with that one,” I said with a snort.
She let go of my arm so we could pass single file into the ladies’ room. When the door fell shut at our backs, she did a quick check under the stalls to make sure we were alone. “Don’t pretend like you don’t care,” she said. “I saw you sitting with them. You looked like you were going to vomit out your eyes.”
“Your point?”
“My point being we have something in common.”
I laughed, but my laugh was of the dry, humorless variety.
“Scared of taking sides with me?” she asked.
“More like wary. I’m not particularly fond of getting stabbed in the back.”
“I wouldn’t stab you in the back.” She flicked her wrist impatiently. “Not on something this serious.”
“Note to self: Marcie is only a backstabber on trivial things.” Marcie boosted herself onto the sink’s ledge. She was now half a head taller, looking down on me. “Is it true you can’t remember anything? Like, your amnesia is real?” Stay cool. “Did you drag me in here to talk about our parents, or are you really that interested in me?”
Lines of concentration formed on her forehead. “If something happened between us … you wouldn’t remember, right? It would be like it didn’t happen. In your mind, anyway.” She watched me closely, clearly intent on my answer.
I rolled my eyes. I was growing more irritated by the minute. “Just spit it out. What happened between us?”
“I’m being completely hypothetical here.”
I didn’t believe that for a second. Marcie had probably humiliated me in some grand way before I’d vanished, but now that she needed my cooperation, she hoped I’d forgotten. Whatever she’d done, I was almost glad I couldn’t remember. I had a lot more on my mind than worrying about Marcie’s latest offensive strike.
“It’s true then,” Marcie said, not exactly smiling, but not frowning either. “You really can’t remember.”
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t have a comeback. Lying, and getting caught in the act, would say a lot more about my insecurities than just being up-front.
“My dad said you can’t remember anything from the last five months. Why does the amnesia stretch back that far? Why not just from when you were kidnapped?” My tolerance had reached its limit. If I was going to discuss this with anyone, Marcie wasn’t first on the list. She wasn’t on the list, period. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going back to the table.”
“I’m just trying to get information.”
“Ever consider it’s none of your business?” I said, my parting shot.
“Are you telling me you don’t remember Patch?” she blurted.
Patch.
As soon as his name fell from Marcie’s lips, the same haunting shade of black eclipsed my vision.
It vanished as quickly as it came, but left an impression. Hot, unaccountable emotion. Like an unexpected slap to the face. I momentarily lost the ability to draw breath. The sting radiated all the way to the bone. I knew the name. There was something about him….
“What did you say?” I asked slowly, turning back.
“You heard me.” Her eyes studied mine. “Patch.”
I tried but failed to keep a blush of bewilderment and uncertainty from trickling into my expression.
“Well, well,” Marcie said, not looking as pleased as I would have expected for catching me stripped and defenseless.
I knew I should walk out, but that elusive flare of recognition caused me to hold my place. Maybe, if I kept talking to Marcie, it would return. Maybe this time it would hang around long enough for me to make something of it. “Are you going to stand there and ‘well, well ’ me, or are you going to give me a hint?”
“Patch gave you something earlier in the summer,” she said without preamble. “Something that belongs to me.”
“Who’s Patch?” I managed at last. The question seemed redundant, but I wasn’t about to let Marcie race on ahead until I was caught up—at least as much as I could be. Five months was a lot of ground to cover in a quick trip to the bathroom.
“A guy I dated. A summer fling.”
Another potent stirring within that felt eerily close to jealousy, but I shoved the impression away.
Marcie and I would never be interested in the same guy. Attributes she valued, such as shallow, unintel igent, and egotistical, didn’t pique my interest.
“What did he give me?” I knew I was missing a lot, but it was a really far stretch to think Marcie’s boyfriend would have given me anything. Marcie and I shared none of the same friends. We weren’t involved in any of the same clubs. None of our extracurricular activities overlapped. In short, we had nothing in common.
“A necklace.”
Savoring the fact that for once I didn’t have to play defense, I gave her a gold-medal smirk. “Why, Marcie, I could have sworn giving another girl jewelry is a sign that your boyfriend is a cheat.” She tilted her head back and laughed so convincingly, I felt that same uneasiness settle back into my gut. “I can’t decide if it’s sad that you’re so completely in the dark, or funny.” I folded my arms across my chest, aiming for a subtle show of annoyance and impatience, but the truth was, I was cold on the inside. A cold that didn’t have to do with temperature. I was never going to escape this. I had a quick and terrible feeling that my run-in with Marcie was only the beginning, a subtle foreshadowing of what lay ahead. “I don’t have the necklace.”
“You think you don’t have it, because you can’t remember it. But you have it. It’s probably sitting inside your jewelry box right now. You promised Patch you’d pass it along to me.” She held out a scrap of paper for me to take. “My number. Call me when you find the necklace.” I took the paper, but I wasn’t going to be bought that easily. “Why didn’t he just give you the necklace himself?”
“We were both friends with Patch.” At my look of deep skepticism, she added, “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”
“I don’t have the necklace,” I repeated with finality.
“You have it, and I want it back.”
Could she be any more persistent? “This weekend, when I have some free time, I’ll look around for it.”
“Sooner rather than later would be nice.”
“My offer, take it or leave it.”
She flapped her arms. “Why do you have a stick up your derriere?” I kept my smile pleasant, my way of giving her the finger. “I might not be able to remember the last five months, but the sixteen years before that are crystal clear. Including the eleven we’ve known each other.”
“So this is about a grudge. Very mature.”
“This is a matter of principle. I don’t trust you, because you’ve never given me a reason to. If you want me to believe you, you’re going to have to show me why I should.”
“You’re such an idiot. Try to remember. If there was one good thing Patch did, it was bring us together. Did you know you came to my summer party? Ask around. You were there. As my friend.
Patch made me see a different side of you.”
“I came to one of your parties?” I was instantly skeptical. But why would she lie? She was right—I could ask around. It seemed foolish to make such a claim when the truth was so easy to prove.
Apparently reading my thoughts, she said, “Don’t take my word for it. Really. Call around and see for yourself.” Then she pushed the strap of her purse up onto her shoulder and sashayed out.
I hung behind a few moments, gathering my cool. I had one equally bewildering and aggravating idea bouncing around in my head. Was there any possible way Marcie was telling the truth? Had her boyfriend—Patch?—cracked years’ worth of accumulated ice between us and brought us together?
The idea was almost laughable. The phrase I’d have to see it to believe it danced in my head. More than ever, I resented my faulty memory, if for no other reason than it placed me at a disadvantage with Marcie.
And if Patch was both her summer fling and our mutual friend, where was he now?
Leaving the restroom, I noticed Marcie and her mother were nowhere in sight. I assumed they’d asked to be reseated, or made a statement to Hank by leaving altogether. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.
As our table came into view, my stride slowed. Hank and my mom were holding hands across the table and gazing into each other’s eyes in a deeply private way. He reached out to tuck a runaway strand of hair behind her ear. She blushed with pleasure.
I backed away without realizing it. I was going to be sick. The biggest cliché, but painfully accurate. So much for dousing Hank with his wine. So much for morphing into a diva of epic proportions.
Changing course, I ran for the front doors. I asked the hostess to relay the message to my mom that I’d called Vee for a ride, then hurried into the night.
I swallowed several deep breaths. My blood pressure stabilized, and I stopped seeing double. A few stars glinted overhead, even though the western horizon still glowed from the recent sunset. It was just cool enough to make me wish I was wearing an extra layer, but in my rush to leave, I’d left my jean jacket hanging on the back of my chair. I wasn’t going back for it now. I was more tempted to go back for my cell, but if I’d survived the past three months without one, I was pretty sure I could handle one more night.
There was a 7-Eleven a handful of blocks away, and while I considered the possibility that it wasn’t wise to be out alone at night, I also knew that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life cowering in fear. If shark attack victims could get back in the ocean again, surely I could walk a few blocks by myself. I was in a very safe, well-lit part of town. If I wanted to force myself to break through my fear, I couldn’t have selected a better location.
