Chapter 29
Tuesday
Loch has not said a word about the file since he gave it to me three days ago.
He’s caught between worrying about me leaving and hoping I’ll stay. Me too. I wish I could reassure him either way.
I hate that I can’t tell him I won’t go, but that would be a lie. I have another life out there waiting for me to discover, people I knew from a former identity in Rhode Island.
Rhode Island . . .
How can I be from somewhere only a few hours away, yet no one recognizes me, or misses me, or bothers to file a report? Nothing makes sense, and I’m tired of living in the dark.
I walk into the bedroom and pull the file from the nightstand drawer. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I flip it over a few times as the gravity of what’s inside starts weighing heavy on my heart.
Shouldn’t I be thrilled and over-the-moon elated that I’m finally getting the answers that no one else could find? That is, no one else but Loch.
Bracing myself, I take a breath and flip open the file. My gaze darts from the photo to the name to the address, and this is only page one. I close it, now well aware of the implications of what I hold in my hands.
Céline . . .
I stand and walk to the window. The snow isn’t pretty anymore. It’s turned to slush after the wavering temperatures couldn’t decide if they wanted to go up or down. I’m just as confused, so I understand.
Céline. Not Tuesday.
Schroder. Not Westcott.
Nothing about the former feels familiar, but I do find myself smiling over the latter because it’s who I’ve become. It’s come to feel like safety to me, including his family. And of course, Loch. I love the tie to the man who’s given me everything from a roof to his heart, and now my identity.
Céline. Céline. Céline. It’s not an entirely foreign feeling if I were going off vibes.
“Céline.” I say it out loud to see if it feels right.
“It’s a beautiful name.” The warmth of his voice coats me like the first time we met. He didn’t have to show up that morning at the hospital, but he did. Like he is now, knowing the consequences might not be in his favor.
I turn back to see him in the doorway. “I thought you were at work?”
“I’m supposed to be.” But he’s here for me. As always.
“I didn’t mean to punish you.”
“The situation is punishing, not you. We’re just caught up in it.”
I go to him, dropping the file on the bed and embracing this man who loves me for who I am. When his arms come around me, I melt against him, needing this more than I thought. The past few days have tortured my soul, but now I see how much it’s affected his soul as well. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be. I do. I messed up when I hid that file from you.” He kisses the top of my head, then says, “I’m sorry, Tues . . . I mean Céline.” His body tenses when he realizes what he just said.
I look up and wait to catch his gaze. “It’s okay to call me by my name. Tuesday. That’s who I am with you.”
“You’re Céline without me, though, and it crushes my soul that you’re forced to choose between two lives.”
“I don’t have to choose. Not yet.” I sigh and release him before returning to the file.
Sitting on the bed, I’m drained of the enthusiasm I once had for this part of the healing process.
Here I thought the concussion was a concern.
No, it’s the amnesia that’s winning. “Do you want to open it with me?”
“Do you want me to?” he asks, crossing the room to sit by my side.
“You deserve to know, too.” I look into those caramel eyes. “You’ve been my support up to this moment, and I’m not letting that go now.”
Rubbing my leg, he nods. “You got it.”
The file is easier to open this time. Maybe because I know there’s no use in pretending it doesn’t exist, or perhaps because I already know my name, which felt like the biggest reveal. But really, his being by my side gives me strength.
I flip it open and smile at the photo. “It’s weird to know that’s me but not, like I’m looking at a twin that’s not quite identical.”
He traces along the arm of the woman in the photo. “That’s who I met in the coffee shop. Everything perfectly in place.” He glances at me with a small smile on his face. “She used her hands a lot.” Tapping me on the nose, he adds, “But you use yours more.”
“It’s so strange how I’m two different people living separate lives in two worlds.” I look back at the photo. “Maybe that’s why I’m not missed. Maybe she’s still out there living her life. Best life judging by the fancy clothes and jewelry.” I laugh, though it’s light.
“I think I got the best version.”
I know he’s giving me a sweet compliment, but tilting my head, I rest it on his shoulder.
“I’d have to agree.” But to me, this side is the best because he’s a part of me.
Lifting back up, I flip the page to see a copy of my birth certificate.
“Céline Vivienne Schroder. French and . . .?” I glance at Loch again like he’s my personal Wikipedia.
“German?”
“Huh. French mother and German father. Fascinating.” When I see my birthday, I say, “April first,” and can’t stop myself from laughing. “Joke’s on me.”
“You’re twenty-seven.”
“I am.” I grin as I double-check the year on the paper and purse my lips. “That’s so weird. I didn’t feel a day over twenty-five.” I laugh because, at this point, it’s only information. None of these details feel like who I am these days.
I flip through a few more documents, including a bank statement. “Oh my God! Is that my money?”
He picks up the paper and studies it. “Holy shit. You’re rich.”
I should feel happy, and maybe in a way, I am, but this is too surreal to comprehend. “Guess I can pay you back, after all.”
Chuckling, he says, “It’s not your money I’m after.”
“What are you after?” Please say my body. Though if he says my heart, I’m okay with that as well.
“I’ll show you later.” Hubba. Hubba.
Before we get sidetracked, I say, “For some reason, I don’t feel like Céline did much of anything other than maybe shop?” I look down at my body. “She also did some intensive working out for this body. I can’t seem to find the same motivation.”
He bumps me. “Don’t be so hard on Céline. She was probably doing the best she could.”
“I keep going back to what Lark said during my checkup. About my brain trying to protect me from my past.”
“What do you think that’s about?”
“That would be the million-dollar question or, should I say, the multimillion-dollar question if I’m referring to that bank account. Either way, I wish I knew the answer.”
The last page contains a photo of what I assume is the house where I lived. “It’s big.” Thinking back to how I thought the Westcotts’ Beacon home was a mansion, this home would shadow it. I say, “Really rich.”
I close the file and angle it toward Loch. “You know what I’ve been dying to know?”
That brings the smile I was hoping to see back to his face. “What?”
“At home, you drink your coffee black, but how do you like your coffee at a coffee shop?”
He stands. “Not as complicated as yours.”
“Oh.” I perk up even more. “How do I like my coffee?” I add only a dash of creamer here, but he’s got me curious about what I ordered the day we met.
“Hate to disappoint you, but I can’t remember. It was a lot of this, some of that, and more who knows what. Complicated.”
That’s something else I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Loch left. I even saw it on the video, but he returned to help when he saw me get attacked. I stand and press the palm of my hand to his chest. “There were so many bystanders that day who did nothing, but you did. You came back for me.”
“I always will.” He kisses my forehead. “What happens next?”
“I guess I’m going to Rhode Island to visit my past.”