Page 18 of That's Not My Name

Wayne sets his keys on the wood island, holding his arms wide. “It’s not much, but we can make do while the floors are being fixed, huh?”

Again I’m struck with a sense of familiarity. I don’t know if it’s him or this cabin, but something feels…normal about this, and my nerves settle a bit more.

“Yeah, it’ll work,” I say.

“That’s my room,” he says, nodding toward the one with the bare mattress. “This one is yours.” He walks to the third door and turns on the light.

I look to Bowman and he nods, so I cross the space. I lean on the doorframe and peek inside. The room is small, but not exactly a closet. A twin bed fills one corner. Wayne stands beside a wooden desk that’s covered in old books. Mostly weathered Christian fiction and Chicken Soup for the Soul books. I don’t think those are mine.

A nightstand sits by the bed with a lone lamp on it. An inspirational poster hangs on the wall above the headboard, with a beach and bold pink letters that say “Don’t Worry, Be Happy…”

Well, that’s coming down immediately.

“What do you think?” Wayne asks, brushing dust off the books. “We won’t be here forever.”

I shrug. It’s a room with a bed when a couple hours ago I thought I’d be sleeping in a police station. I have no complaints. “Looks fine to me.”

Wayne waves us out toward the kitchen. We shuffle back to the main room, and he turns to Bowman. “What do you say I grab that birth certificate and we wrap this up? She looks like she’s about to drop.”

Bowman eyes me. “Sure. Where’s the paperwork?”

“I’ve got it right here.” He slips into the first bedroom and emerges with an accordion file folder. He sets it on the island and pulls out a paper, setting it on the counter.

There it is. Mary Ellen Boone. Born 10:56am, on October 11th in Newberg, Oregon. It’s stamped with the Oregon seal. He slides my Social Security card toward Bowman too.

Bowman examines the documents, and all the muscles in his shoulders loosen. I can practically see the transition from potential perp to cooperative father. He looks at me.

“We good?”

He nods. “As soon as I run all this information through the system from the car. Do you want to wait here or with me?”

I plop down on the sofa and every bone in my body sags. God, I’m so tired. “Here, please.”

“Okay. We’ll be right back. Mr. Boone?”

Wayne gives me a wink and leads the way. They disappear out the front door.

I’m only sitting a minute before my chin droops toward my chest. I zone in and out, so much I don’t know how long they’re out there, but at some point, the front door opens and Wayne comes back in wearing a giant smile. “We’re in the clear, kiddo.”

Bowman steps in behind him. “Everything checks out, Mary. These documents are genuine, and I’m confident we’ve figured out who you are. I’m comfortable leaving you in your father’s care if you are?”

I look around the cozy cabin. Wayne may feel like a stranger, but the logical part of my brain tells me he’s not. The evidence is overwhelming. I’m fairly certain the alternative is the hospital or state custody, so really, it’s no choice at all.

I smile. “Yeah, I’m good. I don’t want to go anywhere else tonight.”

“Me either,” Wayne says. “You need some sleep and maybe some food. If you’re up to it?”

The bathroom door calls to me. “Actually, all I want is a shower and sleep.”

“Of course. Towels are on the shelf above the toilet. I’m sorry we don’t have any of your clothes.” He nods toward the dirty, disheveled stuff I’m wearing. “They were all in your car, so I’ll have to find something for you to wear.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”

Bowman reaches out and puts a business card on the arm of the couch. “On that note, I’ll let you both settle in. Mr. Boone, I’ll be in touch when we find the car, and Mary, call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll check in again soon.”

I smile and take the card. “Sounds good.”

He shakes Wayne’s hand and leaves.

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