Page 52 of That's Not My Name

Wayne rifles in his back pocket and pulls out his faded wallet. He flips it open. There’s one of those little photo sleeves in there. The top picture is a baby wrapped in a green blanket—me, I’m guessing. He flips to the one behind it, tugs the picture from the sleeve, and holds it out to me with a smile. “Is this who you remember?”

He has a picture of her? Of the mom I couldn’t remember? And he waited untilnowto show it to me? Excitement churns my mostly empty stomach at the idea of having a real, confirmable memory, and I swipe away the last of the tears, composing myself. I pull the photo closer and squint at the two people standing in front of a giant fireplace in a fancy building. The mantle is covered in red and white flowers, andthe couple in front of the fireplace wear giant matching smiles on what’s clearly their wedding day.

Wayne is easily recognizable, though a lot less gray. He has the same sharp cheekbones, and his arms are wrapped around a pale woman in bright white satin and lace.

A woman with long, honey-blonde hair and huge blue eyes.

I blink at the photo, closing one eye, then the other. I imagine her face with a torrent of thick dark brown hair, freckles, but it’s like cramming the wrong piece into a puzzle. No matter how I twist her thin delicate features, I can’t make her into the woman on the red sofa.

I must have gotten it wrong.

“Well? Is it her? Do you remember?” Wayne asks, intently.

I smile to hide my tornado of emotion. He looks so hopeful. I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, that’s her.”

His grin splits his face. “See? What did I tell you? Be patient and it’ll all come back in time. Was I right, or was I right?”

I cement my smile in place, but I’m still as stone. “You were right.”

He nods to himself and moves back to his chair, humming a song under his breath. I slide my hand over to the remote and click play to fill the silence.

I need a minute—or ninety—to figure out what I’m feeling. Sadness that I got it wrong? Anxiety about consistently “misremembering”? But why do I feel more dread than disappointment?

Details from the last four days tangle in my mind, a mix of comforting, supportive fatherly gestures…and mistakes. Wayne cleaning out the pharmacy of first aid stuff and tampons to make sure I had everything I needed. Wayne buying the wrong-sized clothing. Wayne showing up at the precinct in a full panic, looking for me. Wayne telling me I’m allergic to eggs. Wayne supplying a birth certificate, witha smile on his face. Admonishing me for wearing a V-neck—You can’t remember. You don’t know the rules.Leaving clean, dry clothes outside the bathroom our first night here.It must have been the strawberries…

Soon the credits for whatever movie I played fill the screen, and I absently start another one.

Wayne laughs. “Legally Blonde? Are you trying to torture me?”

I blink at the screen, surprised to see Elle Woods snort crying as she’s dumped over dinner. I glance over my shoulder at the clock on the stove. It’s almost midnight.

I don’t want to be awake anymore. Or in this room. Or in my head.

I hit the pause button and stand. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I’m exhausted, the Benadryl drowsiness like a distant, energetic memory. “Um, no, you’re off the hook tonight. I’m going to bed.”

He nods. “Okay. Sleep well, my Mary.”

My name rings in my ears again.

“Goodnight,” I mumble, trying to ignore how he watches me cross the room.

He doesn’t so much as blink until I close the door. And for the briefest second, I consider locking it.

Ireallyneed to get a grip.

FIFTEEN

DREW

“What the hell are you doing here?” Roane growls. He stalks around the desk and shoves his chair back. “And how long have you been in my office?”

He relaxes when he checks his computer screen and finds it on the password page.

I shrug. “I don’t know. A few minutes? I came to talk, but you were busy with Autumn, so I waited here. Should I have listened to your conversation instead?”

He sits at his desk with a huff. “Next time, wait to be asked in.”

I give him a mock salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

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