Burying Water

  She pauses. “This isn’t the first time he’s hurt her.”

  I shake my head. “It’s just never been this bad before.”

  “What about her family? Won’t someone be looking for her?”

  I shake my head a second time. “She doesn’t have anyone but me. Us.”

  My mom shares a look with my dad, who leans against the patio door, his face as drawn and tired as the rest of ours.

  “There are things that you cannot know, Meredith.”

  She answers him with a glare. Apparently that’s been their main method of communication since my dad told her who she was struggling to save, right before he put a gag order on her. She still has no idea who Alex’s husband is—his associations. She’d never sleep again and she sure as hell wouldn’t ever let me out of her sight. My dad’s not willing to put that kind of stress on her.

  “Look, Mom. If she starts remembering things, I’ll tell her everything—I promise.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  The entire drive back to Sisters after my dad’s phone call, Alex’s words kept springing into my head. By the time I pulled into my parents’ driveway, I was sure this had to be an omen. “If she has a chance to start over fresh, then we should let her have it. That’s what she wanted. A fresh start. This might be it. You did say this is psychological. So maybe this is her instincts, burying everything she doesn’t want to remember.”

  “But that would also mean she doesn’t want to remember you, Jesse,” she says softly.

  Maybe she doesn’t. I don’t know what Viktor knows, or why he did this, but I have to think it has something to do with me. Maybe Alex would rather be free of me, too.

  I keep that worry to myself as my mom shakes her head absently. “I just don’t see how this can work. Or how it will end well. I mean,” she frowns, “she had deep feelings for you. I saw it the second she walked through this very door. Just being around you may bring everything back.”

  “Then I won’t be around her.” It kills me, just saying that, but if that’s what it takes, then I’ll stay away.

  “And you certainly can’t pick up your relationship with her.” My mom’s voice takes on that stern tone that she rarely uses. “It’s one thing for your father and I to deceive her, but there’s no way you can carry on like you did without telling her the truth.”

  Would she even want that? If she doesn’t remember me, if she didn’t feel trapped and utterly alone, would a girl like her fall for me a second time? I grit my teeth against the possibility that the answer is no. “I’ll stay away from her, I promise. I’ll stay in Portland.”

  “Does this husband of hers know about you two? Does he even know who you are?”

  “No.” I steal another glance my dad’s way. We agreed that Mom doesn’t need to know about the work I did for him, or about the probably stolen car I’m driving. My dad hit the roof when I admitted that. “Just give this a chance, Mom. Please. She may remember everything in a few weeks’ time, but at least she’ll have a bit of peace until then.”

  “I don’t know, Jesse.” My mom rests her forehead in her hands. “What if she wants to press charges against her husband?”

  “Then I will help her,” my dad says. He and I both know what that means. Right now, my dad can control the investigation. He can keep it low profile. But a deeper investigation and charges would mean potential disaster for him and me. It might uncover all kinds of things, including my ties to her. What if Viktor admitted to it all, including where he dumped the body? How, then, would anyone explain the fact that the body was found somewhere else? By Sheriff Gabe Welles. The father of the guy who was having an affair with the victim, the accused’s wife?

  More than likely, Viktor wouldn’t admit to a damn thing. But what he would learn is that she survived, that she was clearly moved, and that my father happens to be the guy who found her.

  It stirs up way too many questions that my father can’t answer without either perjuring or incriminating himself for his part in all this. I don’t know if he grasped the full extent of these consequences when he picked up that radio to call it in. I have a hard time believing he didn’t. He’s never been one to make rash decisions.

  Maybe Alex was right. I guess when it came time, I really could count on him.

  “And if, by some chance, she still doesn’t remember anything three months down the road?”

  “Wouldn’t that be the best thing for her? You don’t want her ending up like Ginny Fitzgerald, do you?”

  “Ginny’s a special case,” my mom argues, her lips pursing with wariness. “But realistically, the hospital won’t carry the financial burden forever. Where does Alex go when they release her?”

  “I have some ideas.” Gabe gazes out the patio door, his shoulders sagging as if burdened by a weight.

  His eyes locked on the Fitzgerald garage.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Water

  now

  I can’t stop staring at the grassy clearing, bathed in late-day sun and smattered with purple and yellow wildflowers. A perfect setting for a lazy stroll, or a picnic.

  Or, apparently, to leave a person to die.

  “It was dark, and there was snow everywhere, but . . .” Jesse’s gaze drifts over the field, his eyes blinking rapidly. “This is where I found you. I still can’t shake that memory.”

  I’ve listened to Jesse unload invaluable information—day by day, from the moment we met until the agreement he made with Meredith and Gabe to keep me in the dark—for hours.

  Catching little flickers, little feelings.

  Like bits of things on the verge of escape.

  It’s as if I needed to see the overall picture before I ever had a chance to begin fitting together all the tiny pieces of this thousand-piece puzzle.

  “So, I was moving to Sisters anyway?”

  Jesse swallows hard. When he speaks again, his voice has turned gruff. “That weekend. You were going to leave him a letter and then walk out the gate. I’d be waiting for you at the end of the road, where the cameras wouldn’t catch my car, in case he checked the footage.”

  “And I told you it was Viktor’s baby? Why would I lie?”

  Viktor.

  The name presses against its confines in my brain. The more I hear it, the more I think it, the closer it is to breaking out. The one demon that I probably want to remain in the steel trap.

  “You didn’t lie, technically. I never asked you. I just assumed it was and you didn’t correct me. We used condoms every single time and I figured you were on birth control. But I never asked. The first night we were together, you were so upset. I just tossed the condom without checking it.” He shrugs. “It must have torn. But I don’t know.”

  “But why wouldn’t I just tell you? If I cared so much about you, why wouldn’t I want you to know?”

  He shrugs. “You said something to me one night about not wanting me to feel trapped, and how if it wasn’t working out, not to feel obligated. I think you didn’t want me feeling like I was stuck. That pretending it was Viktor’s baby would give me an out.”

  So Jesse thought it wasn’t his kid, and yet he was still willing to take me away from that mess.

  “And my husband found out that I was pregnant with someone else’s baby.” It’s still not making sense. “But how did he know? How did I know it wasn’t his?”

  Jesse bends down to pluck a flower, to twirl it in his fingers like I’ve seen his sister do. “I’ve never been sure of what Viktor knew, or what caused this. I figured either he found out you were leaving him or he found out about us. As for how he knew that the baby wasn’t his . . . My old roommate, Boone, called yesterday. You met him at Roadside, remember?”

  I nod. If what Jesse tells me is all true, then that guy is the other reason why I’m standing here today. Now I know why he was acting weird around me. I think I owe him a hug, at least.

  “I never bothered telling Boone that you were pregnant before. But I told him yesterday. The first t
hing he said was that it couldn’t be Viktor’s because the guy couldn’t have kids.”

  I frown. “How on earth would he know?”

  Jesse rubs his forehead, like he doesn’t want to admit the rest. “Boone’s been fucking around with a girl named Priscilla, who Viktor knew very well.” He doesn’t need to elaborate. “According to Priscilla, Viktor refused to wear any protection with her, because he assumed she was one hundred percent his and he knew for a fact that he was one hundred percent sterile.”

  Priscilla . . . Priscilla . . . “Pink.”

  He pauses, regarding me with a smirk. “Yeah. She used to wear bright pink lipstick.”

  The word association game may work after all.

  Nodding slowly, I play my responses back in my mind. Baby = Impossible. That’s why I said that. Because it was impossible for me to have a baby with my husband.

  Jesse simply stares at me through those intense eyes, for so long that I have to drop my gaze. “So, we were going to have a baby together?”

  “Yeah, we were.”

  Despite everything, my heart swells with that knowledge. “This is all just . . . crazy.”

  He kicks a stone lying in the grass. “Trust me, I know. It was so hard—first to stay away, and then, when I moved back, to still stay away. You kept saying things and doing things that you’ve done before. I was sure you were going to wake up and start remembering. Half of me wanted you to so we could pick up where we left off, but the other half was terrified that you wouldn’t want me anymore. None of us thought your memory problems would last this long. I almost told you a hundred different times, but then I thought you might not ever talk to me again.” Wet eyes plead with me. “Please don’t hate me, Alex.”

  Alex.

  So weird. Can I ever be his Alex again?

  “And don’t hate my parents. They only went along with it because I told them it’s what you wanted, and that was after days of fighting.”

  “But how could this be what I wanted?”

  “I can’t explain it. It sounds so stupid when I try to explain. I wish you could just remember.”

  A painful knot pops into my throat. “So do I.”

  He hesitates. “Do me a favor? Close your eyes for me.”

  Without a second’s thought, I do. That’s the thing about Jesse. I’ve trusted him from the beginning. Even now, after all of this, I still trust him.

  I sense him stepping in close and I swallow.

  “That night on the side of the road, in the pitch black, you stood this close to me.” I feel his breath against my mouth. “We’d never met, you couldn’t even see my face, and yet you leaned in and kissed me.” He skates his lips across mine, so tenderly. Almost cautiously. It sends shivers across my back and makes me believe for a moment that we’ve never kissed before.

  “And you asked me if I was happy in my life. You asked, if I could just escape my bad choices—”

  “And start over fresh, would I?” My eyes flash open as the words slip out of my mouth unbidden. “It was raining,” I whisper, an image of the faceless stranger from my dream appearing in my head. Not the one who threatened me.

  The one who saved me.

  It was Jesse.

  I gasp, tears of shock and excitement and relief welling in my eyes. “I remember that. I remember you.”

  His strong arms rope around my waist, pulling me tight to his body. Part of me wants to push him away, but I don’t have the strength to do anything but melt into his chest, accept his comfort, and cry softly against him.

  Droplets land on my forehead that I know aren’t mine. “I was afraid I’d lose you; that what he’d done to you would take you away from me forever,” he explains in a husky voice, ripe with emotion. “I couldn’t handle the idea of that.”

  A long, quiet moment stretches out, my sobs the only sound in the vast open field.

  And then a new worry blossoms. “What about him? Is he really not looking for me?” Do I want Viktor to keep thinking I’m dead? Do I want him to get away with what he did? It’s probably the safest option. What would he do if he knew that I survived?

  Jesse steps back far enough to see my face, his hands finding their way to either side of my jaw. “This past April, Viktor was racing his Aston Martin around the slick roads and lost control. He crashed it into a telephone pole.” He pauses. “Viktor is dead. He got what he deserved.”

  I don’t know exactly why, but that news buckles my knees. Jesse’s arms dive down to catch me by the waist, pulling me back into his chest.

  “That’s when you moved back, isn’t it?” When Jesse pulled up behind Ginny’s old broken-down truck. And rescued me.

  I close my eyes and let him press his forehead against mine. “I just couldn’t stay away from you for another day.”

  “Where do we go from here?” I hear myself whisper. I doubt I can stay away from him either.

  Jesse’s grip around me tightens, as if he’s unwilling to let me go. Ever.

  “I think I still wore Velcro-strapped shoes the last time I was in this house,” Jesse muses, gazing over the shelf of horse figurines. There must be fifty of them.

  “It hasn’t changed. Just a little more cluttered,” Gabe admits, sifting through stacks of papers on the kitchen table. For what, I’m not sure.

  I fold my arms over my chest, taking in the boxes and bags. In case of the end of the world, Ginny could hole up here for weeks. “How is she?”

  “No change.” Meredith sits down in the very chair that Ginny occupied last night, the creak from its worn frame cutting into the awkward silence.

  We’ve shared a lot of quick gazes and two-word answers since Jesse drove me home from the field where I was supposed to have died five months ago. Where the old me did die. I’m so tired—both emotionally and physically—from the last twenty-four hours, and yet I doubt I could sleep.

  Meredith picks the unfinished quilt off the floor, where it had fallen when the paramedics moved Ginny. Stretching it out on her lap, she frowns. “Huh. I’ve never seen this before.” Holding it up for us, her finger touches the low branch on the right-hand side. “Do you know why she did this?”

  I smile, taking in the tiny green leaf bud that sits there. “No.” It’s my secret with Ginny. I’ll take it to my grave.

  “Here it is.” Gabe lifts a manila envelope up from the dining room table with my full name—Water Fitzgerald—written across the top in block letters and a stamp that reads “Tilden Law Office.”

  Jesse and I share a frown.

  “I ran into Ward Tilden a few days ago. He told me that Ginny’d been in there to revise her will,” Gabe explains, handing it to me.

  I tear it open. Sure enough, it’s dated last Wednesday, the day that Ginny went into town.

  Jesse leans over my shoulder to read with me as I scan the pages. It’s a fairly straightforward legal document.

  That says Ginny is leaving everything to me.

  The house, the farm, the 1,018 acres of land, the Felixes.

  Everything.

  I feel the color drain from my face. “Wait . . . but . . . I didn’t expect this, or want it. That’s not why . . .” That’s not why I loved Ginny like she was my family.

  “We know.” Meredith smiles, a tear rolling down her cheek. “And so did she.”

  “So, Ol’ Mr. Fanshaw showed up on my doorstep today.” I pause.

  And wait for the old woman to sit up and start ranting about being swindled out of her land. But she remains still, her eyes closed, her face peaceful. The same way she’s been for the past week. I’ve visited her every day, sitting here for hours until my voice grows ragged, relaying everything that Jesse has told me, as well as small things that I think I remember, and all the tiniest flashes that have stirred my subconscious over the past few months. All the things that have started to make sense now.

  Jesse has sat with me every night on the porch swing—along with Felix the dog, parked at my feet—and highlighted all the ways that I’m the same perso
n.

  And all the ways that I’m now so much stronger.

  I can’t be angry with him, or Meredith and Gabe. Maybe I should be, maybe I need my head examined by Dr. Weimer yet again, but I’ve been through too much to be angry about something that they did with only my best interests at heart. And I believe they really did have my best interests at heart.

  Jesse . . . My blood still races when I see him throw a leg over the fence. My chest still swells when I think about how much he must care for me.

  And my heart now aches when I think about how much he risked for me.

  He saved me long before the night I almost died; that much I’m sure of. Maybe one day I’ll remember exactly how.

  I take Ginny’s weathered hand in between mine. The heart monitor catches a blip—three beats that are much faster than the rest—before it slows.

  And then stops.

  One long, everlasting beep cuts through the room and a giant ball forms in my throat.

  “It’s time to go see your big white oak in full bloom again, Ginny.”

  I watch Jesse park beside Ginny’s big, yellow truck from my perch on the concrete steps outside of the hospital. I guess it’s my big, yellow truck now. Everything of Ginny’s is technically mine, a concept I haven’t given any thought to.

  All that’s been cycling through my head since I called Jesse is how much I need him here.

  Here, right now.

  Here, in my life.

  Just as he always seems to be.

  Here. For me.

  He runs up the steps two at a time to take the seat beside me, his body wedged next to mine. The Hart Brothers work shirt he wears smells of fire—a comforting mix of burnt bark and leaves. I close my eyes and inhale deeply.

  It reminds me of all those nights together by the woodstove, wrapped up in a wool blanket. The ones I can remember as Water and the ones I can’t as Alex. But I know that smell.

  It’s Jesse, and it feels like warmth, like contentment. Like love.

  We sit in silence as the sun drops down behind the mountains.

  And then I slip my hand into his. “Let’s go home.”

  To exactly where I’m meant to be.