Chapter Twelve
TWELVE
Faye sat on the bench in the lobby of the police station and tried not to appear nervous. Greg was somewhere in the back room with Eric getting his fingerprints taken, and it was taking forever .
In the process of waiting, her mind wandered. She envisioned Greg, the con man, sneaking around Magic Mud Pottery while she was sleeping, opening a dozen credit cards in her name. She imagined that Greg was innocent of all charges, but that the fingerprint analysis had revealed his identity. She foresaw his family arriving to Magic Mud Pottery, his perfect wife, his four beautiful redheaded children...before her mind drifted to having sex with Greg. His hands trailing her body. His massive form on top of her as he plunged an equally impressive beast into her willing body...
Seeing someone walk by, she resigned herself to less steamy thoughts. It had all been a fantasy, anyway.
Finally, Eric emerged from a hallway. Greg wasn’t with him. Faye rose from her seat.
“Well,” Eric said, finally. “I have good news and bad news.”
Faye frowned. “What does that mean?”
“The good news is—” Eric paused dramatically “—that your friend Greg appears to be totally clean. He has no record, at all. Clean as a whistle. Spotless record, in fact. Not even an unpaid parking ticket.”
Faye could hardly contain her excitement. “That’s great news!”
She no longer had to worry about going home and closing all her bank accounts.
“Now, before you get too excited,” Eric said, “I want to be clear on something. The fact he has no record doesn’t mean he’s not a criminal. It only means he hasn’t been caught, yet. You understand the difference, right? He could still have bad intentions towards you, your business...your livelihood.”
“I understand,” she said swiftly.
“But otherwise—” he shrugged and threw his hands up “—I have no idea who he is.”
“Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “Does that mean...”
“He’s not in any file. I even went back and ran his information through a few lesser-known databases, and nothing. I’m sorry, Faye. I was really hoping I could help you out on this one. Get this Greg character out of your hair. But unfortunately, I’ve exhausted the channels I have available here.”
The entire police station began to spin around her. Because it didn’t make sense. Surely, Greg must have been in the system somewhere. One of those childhood programs run in the eighties to fingerprint children in case they went missing. A new fear arose, which quickly replaced any thought of Greg being a con man.
He was a golem.
The evidence formed like a lineup inside her mind. His red hair. His perfect freaking body. The way he did chores and assisted with her magical rituals. The fact he had no history, no backstory, no memory. Because he wasn’t a man, at all, but some supernatural creature she had summoned from some other dimension...a creature that would eventually come to destroy her and everything she loved.
Yet even as she thought these things, she realized how absolutely batshit absurd it all sounded inside her brain.
Because golems didn’t exist.
They were folklore. Fiction. Just some made-up Jewish story. She was being ridiculous, seeing monsters where there were none, turning into her mother. Her hand wandered up to her mouth, where she began to chew on one finger, a nervous habit she had developed in childhood to self-soothe when her mother couldn’t meet her needs. Now, as an adult, it appeared during times of high stress. She needed to get a damn grip.
“So, what do I do now?” she said, half talking to herself.
“I suppose you still have options,” Eric said, listing them off. “You could start investigating who he is yourself. Put out flyers. Ask around town. See if anyone knows him. I’m happy to also put out some feelers on my end, too.”
She stopped chewing on herself. “I would appreciate that, Eric.”
“But, Faye.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to overstep any boundaries here, and I appreciate that you hit this guy with your bike and you felt you owed him something...but don’t you think you’ve done enough for Greg at this point? Don’t you think it would be better for both of you if you just hand him off to a social worker?”
It would be better for her, definitely.
But it wouldn’t be better for him.
She placed herself in his massive size thirteen shoes.
He deserved better than to be treated like a criminal. Or a golem. He was a decent, and kind, human being who deserved to be protected. Everyone deserved to know that someone in this world would have their back.
She wouldn’t leave him.
Even though she knew that eventually, he would leave her.
“Where’s Greg now?” she asked.
“In the back,” Eric said, pointing towards double doors.
“Does he know?”
“I told him the basics,” Eric admitted.
Her heart broke for him. She imagined Greg sitting somewhere, all alone, wondering where he was, wondering when he would be able to go home. All at once, she forgot about him being a golem and simply wanted to go to him.
“I really appreciate your help today, Eric.”
“Of course,” he said, touching her arm. “And I’m assuming I’ll see you at the Say No to Hate Rally next Sunday?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, before adding, “Also, Miranda voluntold me to be there early to help with setup.”
“Great,” he said, before a flush of red appeared on his cheeks. “Because Shulamit asked me to give a speech, and I was hoping you’d be there. I could use the support, honestly. I’m not exactly a guy who likes to be the center of attention.”
“Oh, Eric.” Faye touched her heart. “Of course I’ll be there.”
They hugged, and his arms lingered around her. She found herself breathing him in, grateful for his friendship, for his protection. The affection she had for him felt both stable and real, and she began to wonder if she had been wrong, all those years before, rejecting Eric and his advances...before she pulled away from him, and went to collect Greg.
Greg didn’t feel great that afternoon.
Sitting on a bench outside a series of offices within the police station, he stared up at the fluorescent light blinking annoyingly above him. He wasn’t sure what it was about the last four hours that had made him feel so off-kilter. Only that he felt raw. Like turning the water too hot before getting in the shower, it scalded him.
He still didn’t know who he was.
In his four hours of waiting, he had grown hopeful. He had come to believe that Eric, these helpful police people, would solve the mystery of his story. Instead, it was even worse news. The fingerprints they had taken had not yielded one single clue.
But now, there were new words in his head. Words he had not learned from Faye or her books, but from Eric. Like the possibility of Greg being a con man. Like the way Eric mentioned, more than once, that he and Faye had dated. And even though Eric kept smiling at Greg—promising all the ways they would “get this thing sorted”—nothing about their interactions in the back of the police station felt friendly.
Maybe she didn’t tell him because she felt he wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t blame her. After all, he couldn’t remember if he had ever been in love. Or engaged. Heck, he couldn’t even remember if he’d ever had sex.
He assumed he had, based on the instinctual feelings that arose inside him whenever Faye was around, but without knowing for certain, he felt almost like a nonentity. A non-person. The whole world had a past. They had people who cared about them and loved them. But sitting on a police bench surrounded by strangers, Greg had never felt more alone.
He didn’t know what to do, or where to go next, when he saw Faye coming down the hall. She was wearing a surprisingly wide smile, practically beaming, which should have made him happy. It usually made him happy. But he just couldn’t seem to work his way out of the pit he had found himself at him. Everything felt dark. Dank. Depressing. That was the word. He thought about giving up.
Faye must have understood, though. She always somehow managed to intuit his deeper meaning—because her feet slowed upon approach. The carefree smile she was wearing faded entirely. She sat down on the bench beside him, and a long silence settled between them.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
The knot in his stomach caused him to choke. “Yeah.”
“I can’t even imagine,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t even imagine how disappointed you are right now.”
“I thought maybe...maybe I would find someone...”
Greg swallowed, trying to find the words. But this time, there were just too many floating around inside of him. There wasn’t a way to take this intensity of feeling—all the sadness and pain, all the loss that he was experiencing—and boil them down into simple sentences. The frustration he had been dealing with since being diagnosed with amnesia returned, and from there, twisted into hopelessness.
“We’re not done fighting, Greg.”
“But—”
“Look,” she said, taking both his hands inside hers. “I am not giving up, okay? We are not giving up. Yes, we’re disappointed at the results we found out today. But there’s still so much more we can do. Now that you’re feeling better, now that your language skills have improved, we can begin becoming more proactive. We can make flyers, talk to people around town... We’re going to get you home, Greg. We are absolutely going to find your family. This isn’t the end...this is just an early chapter in a very long book.”
He met her eyes directly. “A book?”
She nodded. “Old Jewish saying, ‘God made man because he loves stories.’ And that’s all this is, Greg. That’s how stories work, with ups and downs, false peaks, and wild climaxes. We took one path, and it led us to a dead end. But we are not at the end of this book, okay? We are just at the beginning of figuring out who you are, and I promise... I will be with you, every step of the way, until that happens.”
He believed her. Even though he didn’t completely understand her. Even though he still had so many questions, about himself, about her , about who he had been and what had brought him to Woodstock, and the way a person can lie to you without speaking any words...
Until all he really wanted was the comfort of one safe place and a person he knew.
“Faye,” he said desperately. “Can we go home now?”
She didn’t hesitate. She rose from her spot and, searching for her car keys in her pocketbook, twisted towards the exit. “Okay then,” she said, as if it were a simple matter. “Let’s go home.”
“I like this photo where you’re smiling,” Faye said.
Greg stopped cutting hard kosher salami and glanced back towards Faye. She was sitting at her computer, working hard to finalize the flyers they would be using in their search to identify him. Above an image of him smiling, wide and toothy, were the words, Do You Know This Man?
Greg cocked his head sideways. “You don’t think I look...weird?”
“Weird?” Faye asked curiously. “No. Not at all.”
He couldn’t help but think it. Staring at the image of himself on the screen, his mouth seemed far too wide for his face. Like someone had built a six-foot fence between his ears. He never realized how many teeth he had. “Maybe,” Greg offered up, “I’m just not used to...looking at myself.”
Upside, it seemed his language skills were getting better. He still had occasional pauses in his speech, but he had moved on to almost full sentences and complete thoughts without too much problem. The books were helping. The baladur cakes, too, it seemed. And Faye. He wouldn’t be doing half as well as he was without her serving as his caregiver.
“Hm,” Faye said, and then exchanged the photograph with another image. This time his lips were closed, pressed together in a thin line. The lines on his forehead furrowed intensely in the direction of the lens. “Well, what about this one?” Faye asked.
He couldn’t help but compare himself to the mug shots he had seen all over the walls of the police station. “I look...scary.”
“You do not,” Faye exclaimed, before on second thought grimacing in the direction of the computer. “You know what, let’s just stick with the one where you’re smiling.”
“Good call.”
Faye returned to her flyers, while Greg finished making dinner. Bringing over a charcuterie board full of hard kosher salami, he knew he had fixed the meal just the way Faye liked it. With rye bread, and two types of mustard—one grainy but sweet, one spicy enough to burn the skin off the roof of your mouth. He preferred the spicy one himself.
“Oh,” Faye said, as he slid down next to her. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
“You were busy.”
“I know,” she said, gathering up items to make a small sandwich. He watched her pop one into her mouth before her eyes went wide. “You know what would go great with this right now?” He didn’t know. “Wine.” She ate another piece of salami.
“Do you...have?”
“Oh,” she said, wiggling her fingers towards the front closet. “I have five boxes of the best and most expensive kosher red wine overwhelming my front closet. Haven’t seen the floor of that closet in three years, in fact.”
Greg didn’t understand. “So, why don’t you drink it?”
“It’s a long story. Complicated, too. I did break into the stash recently, but that was a whole drama. I’m taking it as a sign from the universe that I should never drink again.”
Her cheeks flushed red.
“They were from my wedding,” she said quietly. “A few years back, I was engaged to be married.”
He thought back to the name scribbled all over her self-help books. “Stuart?”
“Stuart,” she admitted, and popped another piece of salami into her mouth.
She went on to explain it. How they had been together for seven years. How he had dumped her on a snowdrift in Lapland. How she had come back to their shared apartment in Manhattan to find he had absconded completely.
“He left me to call everyone, you know?” Faye said, shaking her head. “All two hundred and twenty-six guests...and tell them that the wedding was off. And every single one of them asking the questions, ‘Why? Why, Faye? What did you do wrong? What happened?’”
She shivered, as if the memory still injured her. And it broke Greg’s heart. Faye deserved so much better than to be betrayed by all those people she loved.
“Anyway,” she said, returning to herself, “it’s been three years, and I know, I know... I should either drink the wine, or give it away. But, for whatever reason, I can’t seem to let go of it. I suppose that’s always been my downfall in life. I hold on to people who should be let go.”
Greg had heard enough. If Faye wanted wine, he was going to get her some.
“What are you doing?” Faye asked.
“Getting you wine.”
He went to the front closet, opened it up...
Haman’s hat.
Faye hadn’t been kidding. He could barely make out the coats and jackets shoved haphazardly behind five large wine crates.
“I know,” Faye said, burying her head in her hands. “It’s a disaster zone.”
“Only one way to fix that then.”
He reached in and pulled out a bottle of wine before waving it in her direction. Faye lifted her head. “You know what,” she said, finally. “You’re right. Let’s drink some damn wine!”
The next bit, Faye had to help him with. Finding her way to a drawer in the counter, she pulled out a strange-looking torture device. “Wine opener,” she explained, and then showed him how to use it. The cork popped open, and Faye went to pour two glasses.
“Sniff,” she said, bringing it up to her lips, “and sip.”
“Sniff and sip,” he repeated.
Greg took a sip. It was good. Kind of acrid-tasting, though. He much preferred her magical teas. But when he looked over, Faye had her eyelids closed in sheer delight. “Oh God,” she said, slumping into her chair. “I forgot how good that was.”
“You like red wine?” he asked, sitting back down beside her.
“This isn’t just any red wine,” she said. “This is basically the best kosher red wine that money can buy. It was going to be a really nice wedding. What do you think of it?”
He stared down at his glass. “Okay.”
“You must have been a beer drinker,” she said. She put her glass of red to the side, nodding to the salami. “You’re not hungry?”
“Actually,” he said, treading carefully, “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”
“That sounds awfully serious.”
He nodded. “Why did you think I was a con man?”
“Oh,” she grimaced, “that.”
“Eric mentioned it.”
He had learned about being clear with your needs in the self-help book he was reading, but he could see by the way splotchy red patches were suddenly forming all over her face that she was feeling under attack. This was normal with adult children. A form of self-preservation. It was important to make her feel safe.
“I’m not mad, Faye,” he said gently. “I understand. I’m a stranger. I have no...backstory. No history. And based on what you have shared with me regarding your mother, and your ex-fiancé, I understand the need to protect yourself. You have a right to protect yourself, to ask questions, to ask me anything you would like. But I would like to know...if there is a way I could make you feel safer.”
She was quiet for a long time. “I don’t think so.”
He nodded, affirming her feelings. “Still, I would like to try.”
“I know.”
Silence passed between them, before Hillel—waking up from his nap—finally tapped down the stairs. Greg gave the little guy a snack, and then the dog settled himself on the couch to watch Faye and Greg continue their conversation.
“He really does like you,” Faye said quietly.
“I like him.”
Her eyes floated back to his. They drifted there together. Until finally, Faye felt safe enough to share her story with him. “I didn’t actually think you were a con man until Eric showed up and put the thought into my mind. Honestly, my biggest concern when we first met was that you were the person who left the flyers.”
“And that would be bad.”
“That would be very bad,” she admitted. “There’s no room in my home or my business for anti-Semites.” He made a mental note of this fact. “But then, we were getting along, having no problems. You were so perfect, and wonderful—”
He caught on the word. “You think I’m perfect?”
She shifted. Stopped. “More perfect than me.”
She always did that. Put herself down. He swore, she was incapable of accepting a compliment. It was like holding up a mirror to someone, telling them all the ways they are beautiful, only to have them say see ...then point out each flaw, line, and scar.
“I like who you are, Faye.”
She scoffed, like she didn’t believe him. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Always manage to say the right thing.”
He considered her question honestly. “I read your self-help books.”
She laughed outright. The room fell silent once again, and he was suddenly fully aware of the heat in her body, the way her thigh and her arm were pressing up against him. It caused his own skin to flush red with hot desire in return.
“So,” Faye said, raising an eyebrow. “What else did Eric tell you?”
“He also mentioned that when you moved to Woodstock...you dated.”
“He told you that?”
“Honestly,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “it didn’t feel very friendly.”
“Freaking Eric,” she said, shaking her head, “I should put a binding spell on that tongue of his.” A silence shifted over the space. “I’m so sorry, Greg. I’m sure Eric didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. He must have just assumed...that since you were living here, you were privy to that information. I’m sure it was just an honest mistake.”
He wanted to believe her, but there was still something about Eric that rubbed Greg the wrong way.
“I’m grateful for your honesty, and clarity,” Greg said. “And for what you have shared with me so far. I hope that one day, you’ll feel comfortable enough...to share the rest of your story, too. I know we’re focused on figuring out who I am, but I would like to understand you better. In the meantime, I will continue doing what I can...to make sure you feel safe.”
Her eyes softened. “I appreciate that, Greg.”
He became aware of how close they were sitting. How their legs and their arms—even their breaths, the pace of their chests shifting up and down—moved in perfect rhythmic timing with each other, until his eyes wandered from a freckle sitting at the roundest bit of her cleavage and up to her lips.
The urge appeared again, to kiss her, to take her in his arms, to feel her body pressed up against his, two souls merging. An ache so strong, so powerful inside of him, he found himself leaning forward. Faye did the same, one hand landing on the top of his thigh, causing that flash of desire to turn into a full-kiln burn...
Hillel dropped his chunk of hard kosher salami onto the floor. With one loud kerplunk , followed by a scramble off the couch to save his treat, the spell was broken. Faye quickly shifted back to her computer screen, adjusting her hair, her dress...while Greg stood up, and just as speedily adjusted himself.
“I suppose we should get back to these flyers,” Faye squeaked, her voice trilling into a high pitch nervously.
“Right,” Greg said, looking at the ceiling. “Flyers. Anything else I need to do?”
“Nope,” she said, her eyes pinned to the monitor. “Tomorrow, we’ll start handing them out around town, beginning our investigation. Just like one of those detectives in my crime novels. Samantha Beacher always solves the case, you know? And in this case, we already know you’re not a criminal. We know you’re not a bad guy...so, we’re making good progress. Great progress, in fact! No doubt, we will get you out of here...and back home in no time.”
She wasn’t looking at him. Greg took the hint. Her walls firmly erected once again—the near-kiss between them rightfully interrupted. He left Faye to finish the flyers while he headed upstairs to start a new book. Because he needed to take his mind off Faye, and the heat still raging unquenched in his body, and because only a man with a past could have a future with a woman.