by Edie Claire
She reread the article from the beginning, attempting to do so with fresh eyes, focusing on the family who had died. Elizabeth and Carl Macdonald. They had been traveling from their home in Nashville, Tennessee en route to Branson, Missouri. Country music lovers, perhaps? Laney skipped ahead to reread the subsequent articles. There was no further information about the couple or their infant, which was not hugely surprising. Local papers cared about local people.
She replaced the scrapbook on the shelf and shuffled through the cold, dark hallway to the kitchen, where she’d left her laptop charging on the table. She plopped down in a chair and turned it on, then waited impatiently while the aged electronic chugged back to life. Still sitting in the dark, she pulled up the search engine, found the name of the primary newspaper in Nashville, and clicked through to its archives. Unfortunately, the listings she wanted weren’t public, requiring her to sign up for a free trial subscription. But after creating yet another login ID and password and then searching for several more minutes, she located the information she sought. It had appeared in an interior page of the paper’s Sunday edition, dated May 15th, 1994.
Local Family Perishes in Missouri Tornado
Three of the four fatalities caused by the F3 tornado which struck the town of Peck, Missouri just before noon on Friday have been confirmed as local residents. According to family members, Carl A. Macdonald, 32, of Belle Meade, and his wife Elizabeth, 28, were traveling through the area with their sixteen-month-old daughter Jessica Nicole on Highway 60 en route to Branson, Missouri when the funnel cloud struck. The remains of the couple were found separately in an adjacent field late Friday afternoon; the remains of their young daughter have not been located as of press time. Authorities are uncertain whether the family attempted to remain in their vehicle or…
The newsprint swam before Laney’s eyes. Sixteen months? Sixteen months was not an infant! She skipped over details of the tornado, looking for more personal information.
Carl and Elizabeth Macdonald, originally from Toronto, Ontario, are Canadian citizens. The couple relocated to Belle Meade in August of last year when Carl took a position as Senior Managing Director of the newly opened Nashville office of Whitney Mayer, a Toronto-based investment banking firm. Funeral services for the family are expected to be held in Toronto; no local services are scheduled.
Laney stared at the blobby typeface until the serifs blurred. She wouldn’t, couldn’t absorb its meaning. By itself it proved nothing; it meant nothing. If she kept digging she was bound to find some proof that would satisfy her.
She dove back into the newspaper archive and searched for further hits on the couple’s names. They must have had proper obituaries somewhere. After much frustration, pursuit of useless bunny trails, and another sign-up for a free trial that she would have to remember to cancel, she at last found what she was looking for in a daily paper from Toronto, Ontario. The article was dated May 27th, 1994.
Expat Family Laid to Rest After Perishing in US Tornado
Services will be held tomorrow at 1:00PM at the Mission Funeral Home for Toronto natives Carl A. Macdonald, 32, Elizabeth Tremblay Macdonald, 28, and their daughter Jessica Nicole Macdonald, 1, all of whom perished in a tornado that struck the town of Peck, Missouri on May 13th as they were motoring through the area.
Carl A. Macdonald, son of the late Reginald C. Macdonald and Sarah Alvin, of Ottawa, had relocated his family last year to Nashville, TN where he was employed by Whitney-Mayer, the locally based investment banking firm for which his father-in-law, Gordon Tremblay, currently serves as President and CEO. Elizabeth is survived by her parents Gordon and Joan Tremblay as well as by her brother, Richard G. Tremblay, all of Toronto.
Visitation will be held at…
Laney’s gaze fell to her lap. There were no pictures. No descriptions. The names on the page were just that… names. The article told her nothing, really.
Yet her heart pounded against her ribs, and her stomach roiled. The names did mean something. Carl, Elizabeth, Jessica, and herself… they were all ordinary human beings who had been minding their own business one second and were swept off the ground by 160-plus mile per hour winds the next. Had the four of them all swirled around in the funnel cloud together? Had Laney seen, with her own frightened toddler’s eyes, the doomed Macdonald family spinning and flailing and screaming right alongside of her? Was the memory of that nightmare locked inside her still, impossible to access, yet impossible to purge?
How could she ever know? How could anyone?
Two little girls had gone up in that tornado. Only one had come down alive.
Only one.
An imagined scene sprang to life behind her eyes: a small, pink granite headstone iced with a thick layer of Canadian snowfall. In memory of our beloved, it said. Jessica Nicole Macdonald. But in the frozen ground beneath, there was nothing. No coffin, no remains. Three faceless grandparents and an uncle stood nearby, mourning a life cut pitifully short, disquieted by the knowledge that the tiny, delicate bones would forever lay elsewhere, unacknowledged, on foreign soil.
Laney’s hands shook above her keyboard.
Where was Jessica Nicole Macdonald?
“She’s dead,” Laney whispered hoarsely, assuring herself. The conclusion was practical and reasonable. It made more sense than any possible alternative. There was no clear evidence to the contrary. It was almost certainly true.
Was that good enough?
Laney tried hard to think straight. She would like to believe that she could let it all go — be satisfied with the lack of evidence on hand, move on, and eventually forget. But she knew herself too well. The nightmarish “memories” playing out in Gran’s addled mind might have almost no chance of being true. But what chance could Laney justify ignoring, when the lives of other people besides herself could be affected? One in a thousand? One in ten thousand? One in a hundred?
She blew out a breath of resignation.
None. There was no chance she could accept. The issue would be settled only after she had proved conclusively that she was, indeed, Laney Carole Miller. And — thank God for modern technology — the means of doing so was within her grasp.
She launched into another computer search, collected the information she needed, and set to work. An hour later, she had a parcel sealed and ready to mail to the laboratory. It contained the necessary paperwork, a cotton swab from her own cheek, and several strands of hair carefully selected from the copious quantities still lingering in her mother’s hairbrush. It would take about three weeks, the company claimed. Then she would receive an email, and the nightmare would be over. Whatever nonsense her Gran came up with afterwards Laney could easily, safely, and happily ignore.
As she set the package down by her purse, she surprised herself with a genuine smile. Then she wolfed down a stale piece of pumpkin bread, headed upstairs, and took a very long, very hot shower.
Chapter 10
Tofino, British Columbia, Present Day
After an equally awesome afternoon session of surfing at Chesterman Beach, Jason dropped off his houseguest at Tofino’s premier whale-watching establishment, then drove on to the hospital. The boat tours didn’t run this time off year, but Ben had already connected with the owner and wanted to talk marine mammals, so he and Jason had split up with plans to reconnect for dinner later in the evening.
Jason was anxious to check on Laney again. He had been thinking about her all afternoon, wondering how she was doing. And every time he caught himself thinking about her, he wondered why. There was something about the woman that fascinated him, even beyond his curiosity over her mysterious past. Was it her brash midwestern accent? Her utter lack of social pretense? Her reckless defiance of wind and weather? All were new to him, and all intrigued. He could explain himself no better than that.
He approached her room fearing that she might still be alone in the dark, wincing and bored. He was surprised to discover her door standing open and tense voices echoing into the hall. He stopped at
the doorway and looked in to see her fully dressed in jeans and a sweater, transferring items between the suitcase and backpack that were laid out on her bed. “I have no choice!” she said flatly.
The senior staff nurse on the opposite side of the bed sighed with frustration. “I wish you would at least wait until the doctor can come speak with you. We have procedures for—”
“I’m sorry,” Laney interrupted firmly, zipping up her suitcase. “But I have to leave. Now.” She hoisted her backpack onto her thin shoulders and turned around. She started at the sight of Jason.
He tried not to do the same. She looked awful. Or rather, he could tell that she felt awful. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes were squinted with pain, and her complexion was practically green.
“Jason,” she said absently. “I forgot you were coming. But I’m glad you’re here. Could you possibly give me a ride to that room I rented?”
The nurse blew out another breath and pushed past him. “See if you can talk sense into her,” she muttered as she exited. “I’ve got to call the doctor again.”
“Don’t bother,” Laney said to one of them. Possibly both.
Jason stepped inside the room. Laney was clearly in no shape to be hauling luggage around. She seemed unsteady even with the modest weight of the backpack on her shoulders. “Of course I can give you a ride. But what’s the rush?”
She backed up to lean against the bed. “I had a visitor just now,” she said dryly. “They call them ‘Patient Financial Counselors.’ Her job was to inform me that as a non-Canadian, I am entitled to receive emergency health services in British Columbia. I am also obligated to pay every damn cent out of my own pocket.”
“Oh,” Jason said awkwardly. Foreign tourists often assumed that since Canada had a national health service, emergency care, at least, would be free to anyone who got injured here. It wasn’t unusual for unwitting foreign nationals to run up huge bills in the provincial hospitals.
“They’re talking to me about payment plans,” Laney muttered. “It will take me forever to work off what I already owe, and they want me to stay another night? Well, I don’t have that kind of money. I’ve got to take care of Gran.”
She rose to her feet again, swaying a little in the process. Jason readied himself for a save, but tried not to show it. He had enough experience with women to distinguish those who appreciated having doors opened for them from those who would smack your hand off the knob, and Laney was definitely one of the latter. “Are you sure you—”
“Yes,” she said tiredly. “Can we go now? I have to get out before the doctor comes back or they’ll charge me for another consult.”
Jason grabbed the handle of her suitcase before she could reach it. “May I?” he asked politely, genuinely afraid she would pass out if she attempted it herself.
Her uncomfortably forced “thank you” confirmed her feelings about male chivalry. He let her lead the way outside, but followed close enough to catch her. “Take a right at the end of the hall,” he instructed. She couldn’t possibly know the way to the parking lot, but he suspected she’d rather wing it than ask. He continued to give unsolicited directions as they made their exit through a gantlet of disapproving glances, many of which were directed at Jason.
“Thanks for that,” she said dully as she settled into the passenger seat of his Civic. Jason watched to make sure she could shut her own door, then loaded her bag in the trunk and got behind the wheel. “Hope I didn’t get you into trouble, too,” she said.
“No problem,” he insisted. It might indeed be a problem, since Steve was a good friend and one of the medical assistants was on his A-list for an uncomplicated night on the town. But his sympathies lay with Laney. He was fairly certain that whatever bills she racked up, she would indeed pay, no matter how long it took her. Given that the doctor had said that what she mainly needed was rest, her self-discharge didn’t seem unreasonable to him.
He pulled out of the hospital parking lot and headed through town back to the highway. The winter sun had just set, and the town’s lights began to twinkle as his fellow merchants prepared for happy hour and the dinner rush. He stole frequent glances at Laney, amused by her obvious interest in her surroundings. Her eyes were still only half open, but she took in the various gift shops, surf shops, bars, restaurants, tour offices, and museums as if there would be a quiz later.
“I’d think a beach town like this would be completely dead in the winter,” she commented.
Jason chuckled. “If you saw it in the middle of July, you’d think this was dead. Summers are absolutely insane by comparison. But for the surfers and the storm watchers — and some hikers, too — winter in Tofino is pure magic.”
As they headed out of town and onto the tree-lined highway, she leaned forward to look up at the sky. The lingering colors of sunset glinted through the trees on the west side of the road, even as the moon began to rise overhead. “I think I’d prefer the winter myself,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes opened fully now. “I’ve never experienced an oceanic climate. Everywhere I’ve lived has been humid subtropical. Meaning hot and humid in the summer, bitterly cold in the winter, and swinging wildly everywhere in between.”
Jason said nothing. He liked listening to her voice. Much of the time she’d spoken before, she’d been in pain. Now she sounded almost happy. The further they drove into the forest, the more animated she became, practically pressing her cute little nose against the window.
“I can’t wait to see these trees in the daylight,” she mused. “I always thought of the Pacific Northwest as being nothing but gray… gray clouds, rain, and cold water. But I underestimated the evergreens. I bet it’s more colorful here now than it is in Missouri or Oklahoma. All we’ve got this time of year are naked branches.”
“But you have snow, right?” Jason interjected. “A little white must liven things up.”
“Missouri usually has a fair amount of snowfall. But lately it hasn’t materialized. It’s been warmer than it should be on average, but at the same time, we’ve had more unusually frigid cold snaps.” She glanced over at him, briefly, then returned her gaze to the trees. “Don’t get me started on climate change. You don’t have that kind of time.”
Jason chuckled. As a surfer and lifelong outdoorsman, he had a fair amount to say on that subject himself. “Maybe later.”
“How much longer till we get to the ocean?” she asked excitedly. “Is the hostel very far from the beach?”
His smile broadened. “The Pacific Rim Surfing Lodge is on the beach.”
Her head snapped around. “I can’t afford that!”
He laughed. “Give your pre-concussion self some credit, will you? You did your research. For a single traveler, my lodge is the most affordable accommodation in the area.”
“How can it be?”
He smirked. “Exceptional management? The lodge is my pride and joy, you know. We book months ahead year round. You were lucky I had a cancellation or you wouldn’t have gotten the room you did. I also rent surf equipment and teach lessons, if you’re interested. When you’re better, of course.” She was turned sideways looking at him, and he wished he could study her face. But the truck in front of him was braking erratically, and he preferred not to give his passenger a second concussion.
“That’s impressive,” she replied. “I’m anxious to see it.”
The truck pulled off the road, and Jason turned his head. She was smiling, looking very much like the joyful, carefree child in her pictures. “I’ve looked forward to seeing the ocean for so long,” she said wistfully. “I can’t believe it happened yesterday and I don’t remember it!”
“I’m sure it will all come back to you soon,” he assured.
Her smile disappeared. “I might remember everything up until then, but my understanding is that the last few hours — or at least minutes — before the head slam tend to get obliterated for good.”
“Well then, a redo is definitely in order,” Jason said encouragingly. “As for the
rest of the hour before, don’t sweat it. From what I understand, you spent most of that time either sitting on a bus or walking in a downpour.”
“I’ve walked in downpours many times,” she said absently.
Jason turned onto his access road. He wished she would smile again. “I hope you like the lodge. It’s pretty rustic inside, but the beach access can’t be beat. If all you need to regain your memory is a little rest and relaxation, it should definitely fit the bill.”
“I’m not sure what it will take,” Laney answered grimly. “I keep getting the feeling that a part of me doesn’t want to remember.”
Jason’s brow furrowed. “Why do you think that is?”
Laney wouldn’t meet his gaze, but continued staring out the window. “Because every time I feel like I’m getting close to remembering, I get this sense of panic. It’s weird. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
Jason sat quietly, thinking. He was warmed by her candor, and he wanted to say something comforting, something helpful. But nothing came to mind. It was all he could do not to pepper her with questions to satisfy his own, inexplicable curiosity. But he didn’t have the chance to do either. In the next beat, she squared her shoulders and forcibly cast off her melancholy.
“Never mind,” she proclaimed. “I’ll figure it out. It’s just a matter of pushing through it.”
He admired her chutzpah. As if it wasn’t enough to be injured, clueless, recently orphaned, alone in a strange place, and financially strapped, she had to contend with some mysterious, unknown fear as well? “Well, if you need any help at all, just ask,” he offered as he steered the car into his parking spot. “You want to take your stuff in first, or would you rather—”
Her car door was already open. “Ocean,” she interrupted. “That way?” she pointed around the near edge of the building.