Sarah felt much better after their late lunch. Jake hadn’t said anything while they ate, and for that she was grateful. She needed a break from the constant onslaught of questions. A lot had happened in the past few days. She needed to process the odd facts that had come back to her and see if they made any sense. She started to clear their plates, but Jake waved her back.
“I’ll clean up,” he said. “You sit. Save your energy for the big stuff."
“Thanks.” She watched him take care of the food and dishes with quick, quiet competence. There was a confidence about his movements, as if he were used to taking care of himself -- which she supposed he was.
She wondered what his life had been like before they met. Aside from his job, she knew next to nothing about him.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Thirty-three,” he said shortly as he rinsed off a plate and set it on the counter to dry.
Which made him five years older than her. “Where did you grow up? San Francisco?"
“Yes."
“What did you like to do in your free time?"
Jake walked back to the table, looking none too pleased by her questions. “Why do you want to know about me? It’s not going to help you remember your life."
“Probably not, but I’m curious. And you never know -- something you say, something you shared with me before, might spark a memory."
“You’re reaching, Sarah."
“Okay, so I just want to fill in some blanks. Are you going to talk or not?"
Jake sat down with a sigh. “You never used to be so nosy."
“I didn’t?"
“No. You weren’t one of those women who wanted to know every last thing about me. I thought at the time how lucky I was."
“But you don’t anymore."
He shook his head. “Because now I understand that you didn’t ask me about my life so that you wouldn’t have to answer questions about yours. You said, ‘Let’s keep the past in the past,’ and I said, ‘Sure, why not?’ I had no idea that you had so much to hide."
“What about you? Were you hiding anything from me?"
The odd look that flashed through his eyes surprised her. And when he said, “Of course not,” she didn’t believe him.
“Jake?"
“I didn’t have a great childhood. I don’t like to talk about it. I’m not hiding anything.” He frowned. “Fine, here’s the abbreviated version of my life. As I told you before, my parents divorced when I was ten and Dylan was seven. My mother left, and my father raised us, so to speak. He wasn’t really around that much. He was a businessman, an investment banker. Everything for him was about numbers and bottom lines. He didn’t have patience for anything that didn’t add up. He had high expectations that were impossible to meet, especially for Dylan. He was rough on my brother. He made life impossible for him. Every night the dinner table was a battlefield."
“So you tried to make things easier,” she ventured.
“It didn’t work. My father and brother couldn’t get along, and to be honest my father was a bully. He’d go after any sign of weakness. Even when Dylan was just a little kid, my father would taunt him about his failures, if it was missing a ground ball at second base or marking the wrong answer on a math quiz. Sometimes I’d try to distract him by doing something even worse."
Sarah leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “Like what?"
He shrugged. “Anything, spilling something on the floor -- he hated that -- turning on the TV when we were supposed to be studying.” Jake stared down at the floor. “Whatever."
“You are totally lying,” she said. “You didn’t do those things -- Dylan did. You just tried to take the blame for him."
His head jerked up. “That’s not true."
“I don’t think it’s in you to screw up. You have this innate sense of right and wrong."
His gaze burned into hers. “When it comes to you, yes."
“When it comes to everything,” she countered. “Even if you tried to mess up to distract your father, I bet you didn’t do a very good job."
“Okay, we’re done."
“No, no, wait,” she pleaded, realizing she’d shut him down. “Okay, I’ll buy your story."
“It’s not a story."
“Tell me the rest. Please."
He drew in a deep breath and then said, “Things got worse for Dylan when I went away to college. My father kicked him out of the house when he was sixteen. Dylan wound up coming to live with me. He slept on my living room couch for two years in an apartment I shared with a few other guys. I got him signed up at the local high school and that was that. He was my responsibility."
“Your father didn’t try to get Dylan to come home?"
“Hell, no. I think he was happy we were both gone. He threw some extra cash at me until Dylan was eighteen, and then he said he was done supporting either one of us."
“Your father sounds like a harsh man."
“Cold as ice."
“It’s no wonder you’re such close brothers. I’m sure Dylan would do anything for you.” Their tight relationship also explained why Dylan was so protective of Jake when it came to her.
“We’d do anything for each other,” Jake amended.
She gave him a thoughtful look. “I came between you, didn’t I? You said something about that before."
“Dylan didn’t trust you, but I wouldn’t listen to him. He’d always been a cynic about women. He never got over my mother walking out on us. He went crazy when you moved in with me, and especially when you got pregnant. He pressured me to ask you more questions, to make sure I knew who you were before I married you. But I didn’t want to ask you questions. I didn’t want to rock the perfect boat we were on. So I blew him off. I told him to get out of my life if he couldn’t be happy for me. I didn’t see him again until the day you disappeared. He came back as soon as he heard you and Caitlyn were gone."
“You chose me over your brother. I’m amazed."
“It just goes to show how insane I was. But Dylan was right. I was wrong. I should have done everything he said.” Jake drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “In my job, I focus on every detail. I know how important it is to have a foundation that’s strong, that won’t cave in; otherwise nothing else matters. But in my personal life, with you, I screwed up. I didn’t worry about building a foundation. I didn’t care about the details. Our relationship was built on shifting sand, and look what happened. It collapsed. Why was I surprised?"
She didn’t know what to say. She was still stunned to know that she’d been able to rip apart such a tight bond between brothers. Jake must have really loved her. And she must have loved him, too. But if she had loved him, why had she let him send away the brother he adored? Jake must have told her before how he had practically raised Dylan. She had to have known how close they were.
“Did I know at the time that Dylan disliked me?” she asked. “Did you tell me about your conversation with him?"
“Not completely,” he admitted. “You knew a little, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings."
Because he had a big heart, she realized. He’d protected his brother and he’d protected her. Jake was a good man. Why on earth had she left him? There had to be something he wasn’t telling her about their relationship.
“What did we fight about?” she asked.
Jake stared at her. “Nothing."
“Seriously?"
“You weren’t a fighter. You didn’t complain. You didn’t argue about anything."
“Wow. I sound like an incredibly boring doormat of a person. Why did you like me?"
Jake sighed. “You weren’t a doormat. We didn’t fight because we were in sync. We liked the same movies. We read the same books. We were never bored with each other. We didn’t talk about a lot of personal stuff, but we talked about everything else. And you have a great sense of adventure, Sarah. You once read an article about all the public stairways in San Francisco. There are three hundred and something of them, by the way. You decided that we would find all of them and climb them. And we did. I had grown up in the city, but I’d never seen it before, not until I met you.” He paused. “You made me stop and feel the sun on my face. It sounds stupid, but I’d never done that."
No, because he was a goal-obsessed person, and right now he was chafing with impatience at having to tell her things about their past when all he really wanted to do was find Caitlyn.
“Thanks,” she said simply. “It’s nice to know something about myself."
He shrugged. “Whatever it takes."
The muscles in his face tightened, as if he regretted the small confidence they’d shared. She doubted she would get anything more personal out of him. But she didn’t want their conversation to end. She felt as if every word he spoke was lightening up the darkness in her head. “This is helping,” she said.
“Why? Are you starting to remember?"
“The memories feel closer."
“What does that mean?"
“I don’t know, Jake. Just keep talking. Tell me about your mother."
“I don’t talk about her."
“But why did she leave you behind? Don’t mothers usually get custody?"
“She obviously didn’t want custody,” he replied. “I think she was so beaten down by my father over the years that she just couldn’t keep fighting. She used to drink, take sleeping pills. I’m sure she was trying to escape from my father."
“Did he abuse her?"
“I never saw him physically hurt her. I even remember some good times. But one day they were just gone. And then so was she. She wrote us a long letter and that was that. Over the years she did sign her name to a few birthday cards or Christmas presents, but that was basically all the contact we had with her."
“It seems strange that she would just leave you like that."
“Really? It seems stranger to me that you would think it was strange,” he said pointedly, his gaze burning into hers. “Obviously you had no problem walking away without a word."
Sarah felt the sting of his accusation. She didn’t like how closely his mother’s story seemed to parallel her own. Frowning, she asked, “Did I know this before about your mother?"
“Oh, yeah, you knew. It apparently didn’t matter to you. Or maybe you realized that leaving me without a word was the perfect way to kill me without actually taking out a gun. I didn’t think you had it in you to be so cruel."
His tone was vicious, but there was as much pain as anger in his words. Her eyes began to water, and she felt as if she were on the verge of crying again, but she couldn’t cry, because Jake would think she was pretending, trying to get his sympathy, when in fact she felt like crying because of what she’d done to him.
He was right. It was unbelievably cruel to replay his mother’s departure. She had hurt him so badly, this man she had supposedly loved enough to live with and have a child with. How could she have done such a thing? She didn’t feel inside like the tough, cold bitch he described. Yet how could she deny the facts?
“I think I hate myself as much as you hate me,” she murmured.
“That’s impossible.” Jake’s face was grim, his mouth taut, the pulse in his neck beating hard and fast. He jumped to his feet so fast the chair toppled over backward. “We’re done with this conversation. Whatever we had is gone. I want it to stay that way."
It was his last, belated statement that made her realize how conflicted he was about her. She was almost afraid to ask, but somehow the words came out. “Do you mean it’s not completely gone?"
“Well, it is for you, isn’t it?” he countered.
“Maybe it’s not. Maybe when I remember who I am, I’ll remember that I’m still in love with you."
He stared at her for a long moment. “I did love you, Sarah,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I thought you were the perfect woman, only you turned out to be a figment of my imagination."
“What we had together was real,” she argued.
“No, it wasn’t. Everything you said was a lie."
“Not everything. I’m a real person, even if my name keeps changing. What I like to eat is the same."
“So Sarah Tucker and Samantha Blake and God knows who else like Mongolian beef and chicken fried rice. Who cares?” he snapped.
“I do, because maybe who I am down deep is the same, too.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I feel a lot softer than the person you describe. I feel as if I’ve been hurt, too, like the pain is really big, and if I let it out, it will be too much."
“Do you want me to feel sorry for you?"
“No, I want you to understand."
“Understand what? At the moment neither of us knows the truth about you. You can’t explain your actions, and I can’t understand. That’s where we are, Sarah. You have to find a way to get through the block in your head. If it’s fear and pain, you have to battle through it."
“I don’t know how to do that."
“Yes, you do. I watched you climb three hundred and seventy-two stairs with shaky, exhausted legs and a determined spirit. You know how to make it to the top. You’re not a quitter."
“I’m afraid,” she murmured. “I’m scared of finding out that I left you as cruelly as you said I did, that something terrible is happening to my daughter while I’m locked up in this lost world in my head. I’m terrified that whoever is trying to kill me will succeed if I don’t remember him before he finds me again.” She began to tremble and shake, and she couldn’t seem to stop. She was so cold. She felt so lost. And maybe she hadn’t felt like quitting before, but she did now. The mountain facing her, filled with doubts and lies, seemed insurmountable.
After a moment Jake came over to her, hauled her to her feet and into his embrace, pressing her head against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She inhaled the scent of him and her body began to warm. As the long, silent minutes passed, she leaned on him, absorbed his strength, and for the first time since she’d woken up in the hospital she felt safe.
At some point their embrace changed. She became acutely aware of Jake’s heart beating against her chest, the points where their bodies touched, the way their hips fit together, their legs entwined. Jake stroked her back, creating a line of fire that ran down her spine.
His breathing changed, quickened. She wanted to move, but she couldn’t possibly take a step away from him. Her body went from relaxed to tense -- but it was a different kind of tension, a different kind of need.
Jake put his hand under her chin, forcing her head up so she would have to meet his gaze. “Damn you, Sarah."
She sucked in a quick breath at the look of raw desire in his eyes. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered.
“Hell, no,” he agreed as his thumb ran roughly around the edge of her mouth.
Her lips parted. She hadn’t meant it as an invitation, but he took it as one, crushing her mouth with his own in a harsh kiss that was a mix of anger and passion. She didn’t know where one emotion began and the other ended. She just knew she didn’t want the kiss to end. But it had to end. It needed to end.
Jake pulled away first, his breathing ragged, his eyes glittering. He gripped her arms, his fingers tightening so hard she could feel their imprint on her skin. Then he moved her away from him and released her, taking a couple steps back, putting some distance between them. For long moments all they did was stare at each other. Then Jake turned on his heel, stomped into the bathroom, and slammed the door.
She let out a breath, sinking down on her chair as she heard the shower go on.
Had he always kissed her like that? No wonder she’d gone to bed with him so fast. Her entire body was on fire. But she’d almost made a huge mistake. She couldn’t make love with Jake. She didn’t know him. He was a stranger to her now.
But the problem was... she felt as if she did know him. Her body recognized him, even if her mind didn’t, and her heart wanted to reach out to his. She felt an emotional connection as well as a physical one. And Jake felt something, too.
Despite everything she’d done to him, he still wanted her -- and he hated himself for it. She knew his shower would be long, cold, and punishing.
For several minutes she just sat, breathing in and out, trying to calm down, but she could still taste Jake on her lips, feel his hands on her arms. At last she had a memory of him, a very recent memory, and it was overwhelming.
Finally her heart settled into a reasonable beat, and she forced herself to concentrate on what she needed to do next. Without Jake’s presence she tried to relax, visualize herself in the place she had called home for the past few months. There had to be a clue to her life somewhere in this apartment. She’d slept here every night. She’d eaten at the table, cooked in the kitchen, watched her baby sleep in the crib. Her gaze swept back and forth across the room.
Something bothered her. Something played at the back of her mind.
The details were off. Was it in the arrangement of the furniture? Was there a crooked photograph? Was there something about the way the curtain hung over the window? She walked slowly across the room, turned, and came back again. The floorboard creaked beneath her feet. She stopped and took another long look around the apartment.
What had Jake told her before?
That when she was taking pictures, her mind always went to the odd detail that made the photograph more interesting.
There were three small throw rugs on the floor that gave some color and life to the worn brown carpet. One was in front of the apartment door, the other in front of the kitchen door, and the third by the window.
Why wasn’t it in front of the bathroom door? It would have made more sense to put it there.
She walked over to the window and knelt down, then in one fluid motion picked up the rug. She’d done this before, she thought. There was a heater vent hidden under the rug. Why would she put a rug over a heater?
She reached into the slats of the vent and pulled the metal piece up, once again feeling that odd sense of déjà vu.
Putting the metal grate aside, she peered into a small, dark hole. Reaching in, she took out a pile of cards and rocked back on her heels to see what she had. She laid the cards out on the floor, shocked to see that they were driver’s licenses, each one with a different name, a different address, but all with the same face -- hers.