Page 6 of That's Not My Name

I don’t know what to say. How can my supposed father be standing right in front of me and I still can’t remember him?

“I’ll prove it,” he says. “I can prove who I am. I have pictures on my phone.”

Pictures? I inch sideways until I’m out of the conference room. The promise of clues draws me forward. Mr. Boone pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes a few times. I creep up behind Officer Bowman as he turns the phone to show us his screen.

Sure enough, it’s me. Same stranger from my reflection, same girl he described at the door. Dark brown chin-length hair, green eyes, freckled nose—though my face looks different when it’s not so bruised and swollen. In the photo, I’m sitting on brick steps, smiling at the camera and sticking out my tongue. He swipes again and I’m with a group of kids my age on the dock of a lake or pond. He swipes again and I’m younger, sitting in a restaurant, surrounded by gift bags stuffed with pink tissue paper. There’s a rainbow-sprinkle-covered birthday cake in front of me with a giant 15 candle dripping pink wax. I smirk at the camera, sitting beside the man standing in front of me now. In the picture, Wayne grins for all he’s worth.

Nothing about these photos feels familiar…except maybe the candles? I can’t figure out if it’sactuallyfamiliar or if I’m so desperate for a connection that my brain is fabricating one.

But it’s me in these pictures. That’s hard to argue with.

“You really don’t remember anything?” the man asks.

He looks so upset I almost want to pretend I do, but that wouldn’t help anyone. When I don’t say anything, he shakes his head. His sadness slipping away, replaced with something like…determination?

He holds out his hand. “I’m Wayne Boone,” he says. “And you’re my daughter, Mary Boone. You’re seventeen. You’re loved very much, and…I’m so happy I finally found you.”

I look at Officer Bowman. He nods, so I tentatively reach out and shake Wayne’s hand. His skin is soft, and his hand is warm while mine is made of ice.

“How about we sit down and sort this out,” Bowman suggests, subtly maneuvering himself between us again. “In the conference room?”

I nod and shuffle back to my chair. Wayne sits across the table from me, and Bowman sits to my left. I stare openly at Wayne. He has a weathered look about him. The skin on his cheeks is rough, like it’s been permanently chapped from the wind, but he’s clean shaven. His features are all sharp: cheekbones, the line of his nose, the angle of his jaw. It looks like someone chiseled him out of granite and someone forgot to smooth the edges.

He smiles at me and some of the hardness lifts.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Officer Bowman says, tapping his notebook with his pen. “How did you get separated from your daughter?”

Wayne leans forward, his forearms pressed to the table. “Our house is undergoing some renovations. All the floors are being replaced. So rather than tiptoe around subfloor, tools, stacked furniture, and dust the whole time, me and Mary decided to stay at my fishing cabin for a few weeks while the work is being done. I packed up my van, shepacked up her car, and we were supposed to meet there. She never showed up.”

I stare at him. Nothing sounds right, but it doesn’t sound wrong either.

“When was this?” Officer Bowman asks.

“We left our house at around four this afternoon. It’s an hour’s drive. We live in McMinnville. I got to the cabin first, obviously, and by five thirty it was getting dark and I started to worry. I called her phone but she didn’t pick up. So I started looking for her.”

“Where’s the cabin?” Bowman asks.

“On Ridge Road. Up the mountain from here.”

Bowman nods like he knows where that is. “That’s close to where I found her, walking down the mountain.”

The forest flashes in my mind. The darkness, the clawing branches reaching for me… I glance down at my scratched hands. I want all of this to be over.

“You found herwalkingdown the mountain like this?” The alarm in Wayne’s voice is palpable. He gestures at my fucked-up face. “Did anyone see what happened to her? Where is her car?”

“Nobody’s called in about a vehicle. She was on foot and already injured when I found her.” Wayne looks like he’s about to ask more questions, but Bowman holds up a finger. “Now hold on. Let’s get through your statement, before we get off track. What happened after you left the cabin to look for your daughter?”

Wayne fidgets in his seat, clearly unhappy he can’t ask more questions. “I retraced the route we took, first around the mountain and then all the way back to McMinnville. I checked the turnoffs and convenience stores and gas stations. I called the hospitals, but nobody had admitted her. I even called you guys. Twice. Nobody answered thephone. I’m only here now because I noticed the light on. I’ve driven through town a million times tonight.”

Officer Bowman frowns. “I’m sorry about that. We’re a small station, and too rural to be manned around the clock. Normally the building is closed by six, and night shift is all patrol. I’m only here because of her,” he says, smiling at me. “You should have called 911. They would have dispatched someone to help you or called me into the office.”

Wayne sighs. “I should have.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

He looks…wrecked.

“It probably wouldn’t have made a difference,” I say quietly, and both of them look at me. “No matter who you called, I was unconscious in the woods. If you drove up and down the mountain and didn’t see me, what would the police have done differently? I still would have wandered into the road when I did. Nobody could have prevented this from happening.” I gently touch the swollen skin under my eyes.

Wayne looks at me. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

---