Page 74 of Everything We Left Behind

Aimee set down her fork with a loud clatter. “Ian, don’t.”

Hugh cleared his throat and dipped his head. His hands were loose fists alongside his plate.

Ian looked at his wife. “It’s a fair question, and one we all want to know.” He looked around the table.

Natalya flipped her hand over on my thigh and grasped mine. I gave hers a squeeze. This was it, the reason we came. It was time to lay it on the table, literally.

“I’m sure you’re aware of my condition.” I spoke to everyone, but kept my gaze level with Ian’s. “I can remain like this, as Carlos, for the rest of my life. Or, I can revert to my original identity as quick as a finger snap.”

Natalya made a low noise in the back of her throat when I snapped my fingers for effect. I stroked my thumb across her knuckles.

“Aimee told me a little about what happened to you.” Catherine’s gaze shifted briefly to Aimee. “What can trigger you to be ... oh, I don’t want to use the wordnormal... ugh, which I just said. But what can make your identity revert to James?”

“It’s different for each person, and usually when that person is ready to deal with the trauma that caused the fugue. Really, though, anything can trigger me to surface. Familiar surroundings, visiting with family and friends.”

“You’re taking a risk coming here,” Hugh stated.

“Yes,” Natalya immediately said.

“Which makes me wonder why youarehere.” Ian folded his arms on the table edge. “You were darn adamant last December. You didn’t want anything to do with your former self.”

“I don’t trust anyone in the Donato family. Including James,” I added, sneaking a glance at Aimee. She exhaled a choppy breath and stared at the barely touched food on her plate.

“You shouldn’t trust them,” Ian agreed.

“If I revert to James, I lose every memory of my sons. James won’t know them, he wouldn’t have asked for them, and he may not want them, yet he’ll still be their father. I can’t ask anyone in the Donato family about James and the type of man he is. Will he be a good father? Is he a decent human being? Or, is he like his brothers? Can I trust him to raise my sons?”

Ian leaned back in his chair. “Thinking about what you’re dealing with messes with my head. No offense.” He held up a palm.

“None taken.”

Catherine reached over and laid a hand on my forearm. “James was nothing like his brothers. We adored him.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. But I have questions.”

“I can’t do this.” Aimee rose quickly. She tossed her napkin on the table and shoved back her chair. Ian grabbed it before the chair back hit the buffet cabinet.

“Excuse me.” Aimee left the room.

Ian watched her go. When the front door opened, he stood and, excusing himself, quickly followed after her. The door slammed behind him, rattling the dining room window.

Through that window, we watched Aimee and Ian argue on the front lawn. Their arms flailed in exaggerated gestures, mouths moved, chests heaved, and faces turned red and stern.

“Do something, Hugh,” Catherine said.

“Like what?” He stuck a forkful of salmon in his mouth, manipulated a bone through his lips, which he set on the edge of his plate. “Ian’s got a handle on this.”

Outside Ian fisted his hair, elbows raised. He walked in a tight circle.

Catherine sighed, a mixture of concern for Aimee and exasperation with Hugh. Aimee started to cry. Ian tried to comfort her and she pushed him away.

“Hugh,” she snapped, “you’re her father.”

“And he’s her husband. There isn’t any way I’m getting in between that.” He jabbed a fork at the window.

I folded my napkin. “We shouldn’t have come.”

“Nonsense,” Catherine said. “You’re family. It’s that we never expected ... your being here ...” She sighed. “We’re just surprised, that’s all.”

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