Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(38)
“Nice ride,” Jessie said when Ben Morrison opened the door for her, and she slid into the passenger seat.
“It’s the wife’s car. Mine isn’t so nice. No air-conditioning and an engine that hisses at stoplights.”
“Sounds a lot like my car,” Jessie said with a laugh.
He merged into traffic.
She unzipped her backpack, pulled out the yearbook, and placed it on the back seat.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She looked at his profile. “What’s really going on here?” she asked.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
She exhaled. “Never mind. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Forget I said anything.”
“You still have doubts about me—don’t you?”
“I guess I do.”
“You sound upset.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed right now. I could end up in jail for shooting a man in self-defense. I need to find a missing girl with schizophrenia. I have an injured dog at home that hates me and a niece who just told me she wants to be a private eye when she grows up.”
“There’s more, isn’t there? Come on,” he said. “Go ahead and get it all out.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely. The whole point of driving together was to get to know each other.”
“Okay, fine. I’m just not sure I have time for this. I’ve spent the last ten years going over and over Sophie’s last day. I was there when they were doing ground searches in a vast field not too far from here, uniformed officers and volunteers poking long sticks into rock and terrain. I was more afraid of finding her dead than not finding her at all.”
Thinking about her sister always brought her back to that empty spot inside of her—a lonely, dark cave filled with sorrow.
“And later?” Ben asked.
“When the searches stopped and the cameras disappeared,” she continued, “I felt differently. Sophie, it seemed, had vanished into thin air. I was heartbroken and numb, but also more determined than ever to find her. I became obsessed to the point that it was all I ever thought about. Year after year I continued the search. Eventually the trauma and stress from getting nowhere began to take their toll. And only recently did I realize my obsession was also affecting Olivia.” She took a breath. “Every day I was inadvertently reminding my niece that she’d been abandoned. Not only by her mother but by me. I think that’s why she no longer refers to Sophie as her mother.” As she stared out the window, she added, “I finally decided to start focusing on Olivia and her needs. I began to believe that maybe Olivia and I could find a way to move forward together. And then you popped into our lives, and here we go again, taking another ride on an endless train to nowhere.”
He said nothing.
“And it doesn’t help,” she said, now that she’d opened the floodgates, “that I have no idea who you are or what your true agenda is. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if your amnesia is something you hide behind. A convenient wall you can use to conceal your ugliest secrets or any part of yourself you might be uncomfortable with.”
“What are you basing this on?”
“Everybody and their cousin is hiding something,” she blurted, unable to rein in her frustration. “Parker Koontz, a seemingly outstanding citizen, shoots blanks at me. Why? Leanne Baxter might have been withholding information for ten years. Why? Then you come along, a crime reporter with amnesia, convince her to talk, and the timing just seems a little too convenient.” She studied his profile while he drove. “I can’t help but wonder if you’re hiding something, too.”
After a long bout of silence, he said, “You’re the first person who’s ever accused me of being a fraud. My amnesia is real. I have no memories of my parents, who passed away when I was a teen. My older sister, the person one would think might have known me best, won’t have anything to do with me. She told me we were never close, and it was better for her if she kept her distance. I would do anything to have a wall where I could simply reach over and pluck the memories back at random.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessie said, sensing genuine sincerity. “That wasn’t fair of me to accuse you of deceit.”
His shoulders relaxed. “You’re not a trusting person. I could see that during our first meeting. And yet you came with me anyway.”
He was right. He’d called, and she’d jumped. Maybe that was how it would always be. Sophie first. Everything else second.
“You’re right about one thing,” he said after a while. “This is about me. Seeing your sister’s image on television and feeling . . . knowing we had met before did something to me. It made me realize that there was hope and that maybe my memories would begin to return after all these years.” He released a long breath. “But this is about you, too. When I watched that show, I heard the desperation in your voice when you talked about what it was like to have a family member disappear—the not knowing, always wondering. Imagining the worst does something to a person. And in that moment I hoped maybe we could help each other.”
TWENTY-ONE
Jessie and Ben exited the car and then walked side by side toward the entrance of the Wild West. The place was well hidden, not far from trails for hiking and horseback riding amid foothills and waterfalls. The building looked like an old Western saloon with a wide boardwalk that flanked the dusty, unpaved parking area. A couple of hitching posts completed the look.