| |
I passed the written test to get my learner’s permit, and on Friday afternoon, I was in the driver’s seat of the school’s driver’s ed car with Laney as my passenger. The class included a few hours of driving with an instructor, so we were on a newly paved road with several long, slow curves on the outskirts of town. I drove carefully, adjusting through a long left turn. That particular turn even had one of the few hills in Central Florida. Midway through the turn, I saw a car crest the small rise, coming toward us. It was halfway in our lane. I could see the driver looking over her shoulder at something in the back seat. Kids, probably.
Sweat dripped down my neck, and I frantically tried to remember what the manual had said I should do in this situation. Why, oh why doesn’t that woman look forward?
“Slow down, Faye,” Laney said. “Get close to your side. Use your horn.”
I obeyed, gripping the wheel with both hands. The horn seemed especially loud to my ears, but the woman didn’t look up. Was she deaf, or what? The car kept coming toward us in our lane. In a tight voice, I asked, “What now?”
“Swerve to the shoulder. Now.”
I swerved to the shoulder, but then I overcorrected and swerved back into the road, nearly crashing into the other car. “Go right, right!” screamed Laney, holding on to the dashboard and jamming her foot on the brake on her side of the car. I jerked the wheel back again, and we careened off the road. The car bumped through a stand of weeds, then under the spreading limbs of a large oak tree covered with Spanish moss, and hit the tree trunk with a deep thunk. I was thrown against something hard. Everything went black.
* * *
THE NEXT THING I KNEW, it was dark, and something wet was running down my face. I tried to reach up to feel what it was, but somebody—I couldn’t see who—had hold of my arms and was shaking me. Then I realized it was a strange grown-up lady, and she was sitting beside me, yelling, “Faye. Faye.” She seemed really upset, as if she’d been crying. I wondered, in a woozy sort of way, if it was me she was yelling at and why she was calling me Faye. That wasn’t my name. She had to have me mixed up with someone else.
Another grown-up lady was outside the car, banging on the window, a wild look in her eyes. I didn’t know her, either. I rolled down the window. In a small voice, I asked her, “Where am I? What happened?”
“I’m sorry. I guess I accidentally ran you off the road. You’re under a tree. Can you move? What hurts?”
I shook my head, trying to figure out what was happening. “Everything hurts. Where’s my mama?”
The outside lady looked confused, but the one sitting next to me spoke. “Sweetie, I’m Laney. Remember?”
“No. Where’s my mama and daddy?”
“They’re back at your house. Now feel around your body and tell me what hurts.”
“Ow, my foot hurts bad. It’s stuck. I can’t get it out.” I was about to start screaming, but the lady tried to calm me.
“It’s okay, Faye. Maybe your foot was caught when we crashed. You stay here. I’ll go for help if I can get this door open.”
“Faye? Who’s Faye?” I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. My daddy liked to read me that book before I went to sleep at night. I was very, very small.
“You are, of course. You must have hit your head in the accident. Just stay still. We’ll get help.”
My mouth could barely form words, and I spoke slowly and carefully. “My name’s not Faye. It’s... Pilot. No, that’s not right... I forget. But it’s not Faye. Why are you calling me Faye?”
“I think you hit your head, sweetie. Just sit still. I’m going to see if I can get out of the car while this lady goes for the ambulance. Understand?”
I mumbled something. The outside lady helped the inside lady out of the car. And then the outside lady left. The inside lady, the one called Laney, walked around, wobbling a little.
I sat still, trying to remember my name. Pilot wasn’t quite right, but I knew it was something like that. Why couldn’t I remember my own name? Why had that lady called me Faye?
The next thing I knew, some men dragged me out of the car and into an ambulance. At the hospital, a doctor checked me out and told me I’d bruised my foot when it got caught under the accelerator, and I had a big lump on my head. I would have to stay at the hospital overnight so he could keep an eye on me.
Everybody asked what happened, but I couldn’t remember. I felt like I was on a boat, rocking, rocking. When I closed my eyes, I was sure I was going to fall out of the boat and into the water, so I held on tight to the railing.
Laney came in and told me that a lady had accidentally run us off the road.
I didn’t remember that. I stuck out my lower lip. “Where are my daddy and mama? I want them. Now.”
Laney said they were on their way.
My bed was rolled into a different room. Another doctor came in. “I’m Dr. Whittaker,” he said before holding up two fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”
I giggled. “Two.”
Then he asked, “Can you tell me what year it is?”
I didn’t know what he was talking about. I shook my head, but only a little, because every movement hurt.
“Do you know where you are?”
“A hospital?”
“Do you know which one?”
“No.” I stuck my thumb in my mouth and wouldn’t answer any more questions.
He said, “That’s all right. You did fine. Now, I want to take a test to study your brain waves. All you have to do is lie still and breathe.”
I lay still and breathed. After the test was over, he said everything looked fine, but I probably had a concussion. I didn’t know what that was, and I was too scared to ask. Nothing made sense. I closed my eyes and tried to remember my name.
After a while, two people I didn’t know came into my room and hugged me. I pulled away from them. “Who are you?” They weren’t familiar at all, and I was close to screaming again.
The man stepped back, but the woman bent over me and asked, “Don’t you know us, Faye?”
“I’m not Faye, I’m... Pilot.” That was close enough to my name, even though I knew it wasn’t quite right. In my Alice in Wonderland voice, I asked again, “Where are my mama and daddy?”
The people turned to Dr. Whittaker, who leaned over me. “These are your parents. Don’t you know them?”
I shook my head, but not too hard because I had a huge headache. Tears streamed down my cheeks. The doctor asked the people to leave, and I calmed down a little when they went out of the room. He started filling out a sheet of paper and asked without looking at me, “How old are you... Pilot?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure.”
He held my hand for a minute before he said carefully, “Pilot, you’re a little confused right now. But I promise you’ll get better soon.”
I asked, near tears, “Are my mama and daddy okay? I shook them and shook them, and they wouldn’t wake up.”
“Yes. I want you to rest now, and you can see them when you wake up.” He gave me a shot. It hurt, and I almost cried, but then I got really, really tired.
* * *
WHEN I WOKE UP, A WOMAN was sleeping in an awkward position in a chair beside my bed. My head felt a little better, but I was sore all over. After a few seconds, I recognized her. Laney.
When I moved, she woke up and smiled. “There you are. You slept for three hours. How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” I smiled because I had gotten hit by a truck-sized tree.
She smiled back. “What should I call you?”
“My name, of course. Faye.” I had a vague memory of telling somebody my name was something different. Something like Pilot. But that couldn’t be right. I shook my head. It hurt but not as much as before.
Laney said, “Your parents are here. Bud and Sue. Do you want to see them?”
I hesitated. I felt as if something had gotten jarred loose in my brain, but it didn’t yet have a home. Before I could answer, the doctor came in. He did another exam, asking me how many fingers he was holding up. I got that right.
Then he asked, “What year is it?”
This time, I was sure. “It’s 1968.”
“And how old are you?”
“Sixteen.” Such dumb questions.
He asked in an even voice, “Do you remember when I asked you some of the same questions before you went to sleep?”
“I think so. Sort of.”
“Do you remember what you told me then?”
I shook my head.
“You said that the people waiting outside weren’t your parents. Do you remember that?”
“Maybe.” Even though I couldn’t pull the memory up clearly, I knew there had been some truth in what I was saying. I just couldn’t figure out what it was.
He patted my hand and stood up. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better. We’ll do some more tests, and I’ll let you know what we find. Meanwhile, would you like to see your parents?”
“Yes.”
The doctor left after giving Laney a pointed look. She stayed in her chair. My parents came in. Mom’s eyes were red and puffy as though she’d been crying, and she gave me a big hug. Dad leaned over and kissed my cheek then sat down in a chair and opened the newspaper. Mom’s voice sounded strained. “We were so worried about you. And then when you didn’t recognize us, I didn’t know what to think.”
I tuned her out and tried to figure out what had happened. The memory was hazy, but I almost remembered something that kept skittering just out of reach.
After a few minutes, I couldn’t hold my eyes open. “I need to take a nap now.”
“Sure, sweetie,” Mom said. “Your dad has to get home, but I’ll stay the night with you.”
Laney said goodbye, promising to be back in the morning and that she’d let Francie know I was okay. Both she and Reese had called a bunch of times, worrying about me, but they weren’t allowed to talk to me yet. I was so tired that I barely heard what she said.
* * *
IN THE MORNING, DR. Whittaker discharged me, but he said he wanted to see me in his office on Monday to go over the test results and check on how I was doing. As Mom and I gathered my things, a police officer walked into the hospital room. It was Detective Hunt, one of the men who’d caught Francie and me at Benny’s house.
When she looked at his badge, Mom jumped as if she’d been shot. I jumped, too, terrified that he was going to give away that we’d already met. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to remember me. He asked some questions about what happened and then said, “The wreck wasn’t your fault. The other driver got a ticket for reckless driving. Her insurance will pay your medical bills.” As he walked out, he said, “Drive carefully.”
“Let’s go,” Mom said, her hands shaking like palm fronds in a heavy breeze. She didn’t even wait for the nurse to take me out in a wheelchair, just led me to the elevator and through the front door. The thought of getting back into a vehicle, especially so soon after the wreck, made me want to scream and cry—or run back into the hospital and hide under the bed. Of course, I couldn’t do that, and my legs were too wobbly to walk home. I forced myself to get in on the passenger’s side, and I braced my feet against the floor in case we wrecked. Mom drove carefully, but the pavement rushed past much too quickly, and I felt sick to my stomach.
To distract myself, I asked Mom, “Were we ever in a car wreck when I was little?”
She glanced at me. “I’m surprised you remember that. It was a long time ago. Your dad slid on some ice and ran into a tree.”
“But were the two of you knocked out?”
“I’m not sure. Briefly maybe. You weren’t hurt, though. The radiator was messed up, and we had to get the car towed to a garage. Do you remember that?”
“I... I’m not sure.” Something didn’t feel right about what she was saying. Her voice sounded strained, and I thought her eyebrow was twitching. But I didn’t trust my perceptions. “Was the accident in this truck?”
“No, I think it was in our old Plymouth car. You must have been four or five when we had that wreck. The Plymouth never ran right afterward. We kept it for another year or two before we gave up on it and got the truck. Do you remember it?”
“Not really.” I paused. “Mom, did I ever have a nickname? Something like Pilot?”
She laughed. “Why would we ever call you Pilot? No, your dad calls you Punkin a lot. Could you have gotten mixed up?” Glancing at me, she said gently, “The doctor told us you were confused and thought your name was Pilot.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. But you’re going to be fine.”
Fine looked like a long way away from where I was. But I appreciated that she was trying to make me feel better.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, FRANCIE came to visit. I asked her to walk with me around the orange groves. I was limping a little but not much.
She asked, “How’s your foot?”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt so much today.”
“Do you think you’ll still be able to run?”
I balanced on the good foot and circled my bad ankle around. “Yeah. But it might be a day or two.”
“What about the marathon?”
“My head hurts a lot, but the rest of me will be okay in a few days, I think. It shouldn’t be a problem to make up the time I lose.” I glanced back at the house to make sure Mom wasn’t around. “I need to talk to you about something else.” I hesitated then rushed in. “I think my parents aren’t my real parents. And...” I winced, knowing she would think this next part was crazy. “I think my real name is Pilot, or something like that.” She didn’t respond right away, so I said, “What’s more, I think I remember different parents.” She still didn’t speak, so I was forced to ask, “What do you think, Francie? Could that be true?”
“You hit your head, right?” Her voice was kind. When I nodded, she said, “People get mixed up after a concussion. My cousin Brant got a concussion when he was playing football, and he couldn’t walk straight for a week. He couldn’t even remember what year it was. Maybe that’s what happened to you.”
“The doctor said the same thing. I’m not sure what to believe. I’m starting to think that something is seriously wrong here.”
“Did you ask your mom about all this?”
“I asked her about another wreck, and she made up a story that wasn’t true.”
“How do you know it wasn’t true?”
“Because a muscle above her eye twitches when she’s lying. And her voice sounds funny, like she’s talking through a balloon or something.”
Francie sighed. “This is all pretty weird. Let’s say your memory is right. What, exactly, do you remember about those other parents?”
“Ever since I’ve been running, I’ve had pieces of memories come up during and after I run. It’s almost like a snapshot is set in front of my eyes and then snatched away. Has that ever happened to you?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Not at all. I think about how hungry I am and what I want to have for supper or which boy I think is cute. That sort of thing.”
So something was definitely strange about me. I’d thought so. Were these really memories, or just spells, as my Mom insisted when I asked about them?
I described the woman I had been drawing. “I think she was the mom I expected to see at the hospital. When the other one came in, I was really scared because I figured something bad had happened to my real mom. And this fake mom was taking her place. Sort of like a horror movie or something.”
“What about your other dad?”
“I can’t picture him. But I’m pretty sure he’s not Bud.”
“Huh.” We walked up and down the rows of orange trees. “I keep wondering what Sherlock Holmes would do in this situation. But nothing comes to mind.” She sighed. “Do you remember anything else about these people, your real parents?”
“Not much. But remember on my birthday when I told you about a birthday party when I was little? I was four, I think. The other mom wiped cake off my face. It definitely wasn’t Sue.”
Francie rubbed her chin and looked thoughtful. “Didn’t you tell me that sometimes strange thoughts come into your mind, and you get these fake memories?”
So Francie didn’t believe me. Maybe she was right. I groaned, and my head started hurting again. I didn’t feel like arguing with her. “Yeah. Maybe I’m really crazy.” Sometimes I did feel as if I were going crazy. Other times, I thought I was sane and my parents were the crazy ones.
We threw dried oranges at a bunch of vultures that were perched in a tree. They flew away, flapping their giant wings, and white poop dripped down the tree. We laughed and started back toward the house. Francie said kindly, as if speaking to a three-year-old, “You aren’t crazy. But if Bud and Sue aren’t your real parents, how do you think you came to be with them?”
I’d thought about this constantly ever since the accident, so the words burst out of me. “I think I’m adopted. There’s a million possibilities of how it could have happened. Maybe I was so bad that my real parents couldn’t handle me. Or they were so poor that they had to give me away. Or they were spies from another country, and they had to escape in a hurry. I think I remember that my real mama had a foreign accent. Maybe they died, and these people adopted me. Or there was another car wreck, a different one from the one Mom talked about. I can’t remember how it happened, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. For some reason, nobody will tell me what really happened. It’s driving me crazy.”
Francie looked away. “I can’t imagine you ever being so bad that your parents would give you away. So that one’s out. But they could have been poor. Remember reading about poor houses in English class? Lots of people used to be so poor they had to put their children in orphanages. Do you remember anything like that?”
I shook my head, wondering where this was going.
“Lots of people are in car wrecks, so that might be it.” She sounded thoughtful. “But if your real parents died, I would think you’d have been adopted by some family members, not strangers. So if your parents haven’t said anything about it, I doubt that was it.” She paused. “But... spies. I like that one. Maybe your parents were Russian, and they were friends with the Smiths. They managed to give you to them before they left the country. And that’s why you move around so much—so the FBI won’t find you. Ooh.” She poked me in the ribs. “Do you remember any Russian words?”
“No.” I knew she was teasing me, but I didn’t tell her that we moved around so much because my dad was running from the law for other reasons.
She said, joking, “Make sure you keep running. Maybe some Russian words will come back to you.”
She was trying to cheer me up. I teetered on the verge of being irritated that she didn’t believe me, and I tried to think of how to respond. “I want to show you something.” I took Francie inside, and we went into my bedroom, where I pulled out our family photo album. “Look. There are pictures of me as a baby, and then none until I’m in school.”
She thumbed through the pages. There were only three baby pictures of me. In one, I was wrapped in a blanket and being held by my mom, in another, I was splashing in a kiddie pool, and in the third, I was wearing a pretty dress. The photos were in black and white, and they had faded over the years.
“Aw, you were so cute,” she said.
“Yeah, but they could have been any baby. And that’s all there are until I was in first grade. See.” I pointed out the huge gap between my baby pictures and the ones that were clearly of me. I had added all my school pictures to the album, along with the others that Mom had snapped of some of the places where we’d lived. “Why aren’t there any pictures in between?”
“I don’t know. It’s a little strange, I admit, but there’s probably an explanation. And a gap of a few years in pictures is hardly enough for you to think you were adopted. You should ask your mom about it.”
“I have asked her. She doesn’t answer.”
“Well, ask her again.”
“Okay.” This was going nowhere. I closed the album and placed it back on the shelf.
Francie said, “You’re looking sleepy. Why don’t you take a nap? I’ve got to go anyway. By the way, Reese is planning on coming over in a little while.”
She was right about me needing a nap. My head felt like a toy that needed winding. After I slept for a while, I’d be happy to see Reese. I hadn’t told him about the problems with my parents, but I enjoyed hanging out with him. It was nice to do normal teenager things, like playing board games or talking about sports. Or kissing when my parents were out of the room.
As I was falling asleep, I realized that I hadn’t asked my parents if I could go to Boston. There was no way I could bring it up right then, with everything else going on. I’d deal with that when I felt better, assuming that Laney was even willing to take me since I’d wrecked the driver’s ed car.