by Pamela Bauer
“Because you can’t remember who you are does not make you Christie Anderson,” he stated firmly, as much for her sake as for his.
“But I could be,” she said with a spark of hope in her eyes.
“No, you’re not Christie. She died, Faith.” He kept his voice firm and deliberate. “Six months ago while sailing her small boat. The St. Louis County coroner signed her death certificate.”
“You said they never found her body,” she reminded him.
“Because they don’t find any bodies in Lake Superior.” His voice rose as his frustration increased. He didn’t want to believe any of what she suggested could be true, nor did he want to remember that only a few hours ago he’d wondered about the very same possibility.
“But you have to admit that theoretically speaking, she could be alive,” Faith persisted.
“I don’t want to speak theoretically.” He was a man who worked with facts and figures. His world was concrete. “It isn’t good enough for my daughter. Theories could break her heart so badly that I’m not sure the damage could ever be repaired. Until we sort this out, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t see Megan.”
“I don’t want to hurt Megan, but you can’t expect me not to be curious about my identity. Until today, not a single person has recognized me. You’re the first one who has said I remind him of somebody else.”
“You do look like someone I once knew, but there’s a difference between resembling someone and actually being that person,” he argued.
She cocked her head to one side. “You said you hadn’t seen Christie in a while. Can you honestly look at me and be one-hundred-percent positive I’m not her?”
He wanted to say yes, but the truth was, he did have a nagging sliver of doubt. He didn’t want it to be there, but it was. It was why he said, “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll contact the attorneys who handled Christie’s estate and get their advice on this matter. Does that sound fair to you?”
She nodded. “It won’t take long?”
“No. I’ll do it today.”
“All right,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’d better get my coat. Dr. Carson should be here any minute.”
He nodded. “Before you go, can I ask you a couple of quick questions?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“How do you know your name is Faith if you can’t remember who you are?”
“The night I was found I had no identification on me, only a braided leather bracelet with the name Faith on it.” She pulled back the cuff of her sleeve and showed him her wrist. Hand painted in pink were the letters F-A-I-T-H. “Everyone assumed it’s my name.”
“It could have religious significance,” he suggested.
She ran a finger over the narrow band of leather. “It could, but it’s a lovely name, don’t you think?”
She looked up shyly at him with those blue eyes and he was charmed by her innocence. “Yes, it’s lovely,” he answered, thinking more of her face than her name.
“You have another question?”
“How is it that you ended up working here at the hospital?”
“The doctor who found me on the side of the road used to be on staff here. He suggested I do volunteer work until my memory returns. I earn my room and board by helping his wife out around the house.”
“I see. Then you don’t know what your occupation is?”
She shook her head. “What did Christie do for a living?”
“She was a dancer.” He didn’t think she needed to know about the exotic part. At least not yet.
She thought for a moment, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing. Then she said, “I don’t think I know how to dance.”
He looked her up and down one more time and thought he’d like to see her try.
AS HE HAD the previous night, Adam decided to sleep at the hospital in Megan’s room. Not that he expected to get much rest. They’d wheeled in the same uncomfortable convertible chair he’d used the night before and Megan still had a monitor next to her bed beeping intermittently.
However, it wasn’t his physical discomfort or the hospital distractions that kept him awake. It was the relentless stream of thoughts racing through his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Faith and the startling information she’d told him.
As soon as he’d arrived at home he’d pulled out Megan’s photo albums to see how closely Faith resembled Christie. As much as he wanted to say they weren’t the same person, the snapshots of Megan’s mother could have been pictures of Faith.
It was too preposterous to even contemplate that the two women were one and the same, yet it was exactly what he did think about as he tried to get to sleep. All the logic in the world couldn’t keep him from concocting the most absurd reasons for Christie to have faked her own death and disappeared from the lives of those she loved.
It didn’t matter that as soon as he’d left the day-care center he had phoned the attorney who had handled Christie’s estate and had been told the chances of her surviving the drowning were slim to none. Everything the lawyer said should have convinced Adam that Faith wasn’t Megan’s mother. It should have, but it didn’t because Adam had seen and spoken to Faith. The attorney hadn’t.
“If this woman has only had amnesia for the past few weeks, how could she be Christie?” the lawyer had asked. “The accident happened last September. Where would she have been for over five months and why wouldn’t she have contacted Megan?”
Adam could have given him one of the farfetched scenarios he had come up with, but he knew he would only sound like someone who’d watched one too many B movies. Besides, they were rhetorical questions that the lawyer didn’t expect Adam to answer.
“Everyone in town knew Christie loved Megan,” the attorney had reasoned. “It would take a lot for you to convince me she would ever abandon her own daughter. She wasn’t that kind of person.”
Adam wished he could state with the same confidence as the attorney that he knew what Christie would or wouldn’t have done, but the truth was he hadn’t spent enough time with her to get to know her at all. They’d spent one night together. Less than twelve hours. It had been enough time to make a baby, but not enough time to discover who she was. Most of what he knew he’d learned after her death from a lawyer and a six-year-old.
His thoughts returned to the night they’d met. He’d followed her out of the bachelor party calling after her, “Hey, it’s a great night for a cruise down the St. Croix. I’ve got a yacht if you want to go.”
That had raised an eyebrow on her pretty face. “A yacht?”
She hadn’t believed him, but then why would she? Not many college students had a boat moored at Marine on St. Croix. “I designed it myself,” he’d boasted, then had proceeded to use the same words he’d heard his grandfather use to lure customers at boat shows.
It had worked. She’d said she would go with him to see his boat on one condition—that they take her car. He hadn’t argued and within minutes they’d been on their way to the marina.
Once there, he discovered she knew more about boats than any other woman he’d dated. That was because she’d grown up in the small town of Silver Bay on Lake Superior where her father had been the captain of an iron-ore freighter and her brother had been in the merchant marine. She’d told him that she planned to return to the North Shore once she got her life back on track. Adam had wanted to know why it had gone off track, but she’d said it wasn’t important how it happened. All that mattered was that she was now going in the right direction.
When he’d questioned whether stripping was the right direction, she’d told him that it was the best way to make a lot of money in a short amount of time. “Not all of us are born with a silver spoon in our mouths,” she’d said in a derisive tone.
Then he’d been the one on the defensive, making sure that she knew he wasn’t some rich kid who’d taken her to his father’s yacht. He’d given her a brief history of Novak Boats, emphasizing that it was only because
of hard work and long hours that it was a success.
He’d never had a problem charming women and this time was no different. She’d spent the night with him and the following morning he’d awakened with a hangover and the realization that he was alone on the yacht. She’d gone, leaving nothing behind except a small scrap of paper with her phone number on it.
He hadn’t called her. After his friend’s wedding, he’d left for a summer internship in California and gotten busy with life. He hadn’t thought of Christie again, until the lawyer had called with the news that she’d named him as Megan’s guardian in her will.
They were memories Adam thought he had buried in the back of his mind. He’d brought them out briefly when he’d learned of Christie’s death, but he’d had no trouble returning them to their rightful place. Now that he’d met Faith, they’d resurfaced again and were refusing to be put away.
And he doubted he would be able to put them back in their place until he had proof that Christie and Faith were not the same person. For his peace of mind as well as his daughter’s, he needed to know the truth. The attorney said there were two alternatives he could pursue. One was to contact Christie’s brother, Tom, and have him come to St. Paul and meet Faith. Unfortunately Megan’s uncle had been called out of town and would be gone for at least six weeks, so Adam knew he would have to use the second method. A DNA test.
Adam was familiar with DNA testing. When he’d been notified that he was Megan’s father, his own attorney had recommended he be tested to make sure what Christie had stated in her will was true, that he was Megan’s father. His DNA had been a match.
Now a lab test could be used to see if Faith was Christie—and Megan’s mother. With a simple swab of the inside of a cheek the relationship between a child and her parents could either be established or denied. All Adam had to do was convince Faith to take the test and wait three to five days to get the results.
To a man who hated waiting for anything, three to five days seemed like an eternity. He wanted the matter resolved. He wanted his daughter to stop fantasizing about having a mother again. Most of all, he wanted peace of mind. Proving Faith the baby rocker was not Christie was going to bring that to him.
CHAPTER FOUR
FAITH LAY AWAKE in her bed, wishing she could stop replaying the conversation she’d had with Adam Novak. She fluffed her pillow and turned over for what had to be the hundredth time, refusing to look at the clock. She didn’t want to know how late it was. Sleep would eventually come. It always did, no matter how troubled her thoughts were. The past few weeks had proven that.
Only, tonight was different from any of the other nights she’d spent at the Carsons’. Her insomnia wasn’t due to the fact that she couldn’t remember her past, but rather the possibility that she could be about to find it. She’d been given a ray of hope that a force existed strong enough to crack the darkness that held her memory in its grasp. And all because of a little girl who’d needed surgery at the hospital.
Megan Novak. The thought of the six-year-old crying for her mommy made her heart ache. She remembered how the girl had begged Faith not to leave her after surgery. At the time Faith had thought she was simply frightened, but now she realized it was more than fear that had Megan reaching out to her.
If Megan were her daughter—and Faith knew that possibility was a slim one—she would find one giant piece of her memory puzzle. Unfortunately she would need a lot more pieces to understand what had happened to cause her to be found far away from the North Shore where Christie had disappeared.
Although Faith hadn’t admitted it to Adam, she knew it was unlikely that she was Megan’s mother. Adam believed that the authorities were right, that there was no way Christie would have survived the boating accident last autumn. It was that very aspect of the situation—the fact that they hadn’t found a body—that gave Faith a spark of hope that she could be the missing woman. Her heart, however, refused to believe that she could ever abandon her own child. As much as she wanted to solve the mystery of her identity, she didn’t want to be the reason why an innocent child like Megan had been forced to suffer such grief.
After much tossing and turning, Faith’s weary body finally succumbed to sleep. She awoke several times, her slumber interrupted by disturbing dreams. At Dr. Carson’s suggestion, she’d placed a pencil and paper next to the bed in the event that she might find clues to her past from the images passing through her mind while she slept, but so far her notepad was empty with the exception of one word. Outcast.
She’d written it down not because of anything she remembered dreaming, but because of the feeling she always had when she awoke—as if she were being excluded from something. Faith questioned whether that feeling was associated with the content of her dreams or if it was simply the result of having no memory of her past. Because her amnesia made her a stranger to her own life, denying her access to people and places, she often felt like an outsider to her own thoughts.
That morning, she was wakened by a dream. This time she could recall the content and quickly reached for her notepad and pencil. She jotted down the words and images flashing through her head. Megan. Baby. Doll. She wrote as fast as she could, but the pictures faded quickly and before she knew it the dream was nothing but a blur.
Eager to talk with Dr. Carson to see if he thought there was any significance to what she had remembered, she scrambled out of bed and hurried downstairs only to find Marie was alone in the kitchen. “Is Avery still asleep?”
“No, he’s gone. He had an appointment early this morning,” Marie answered. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
The question made Faith aware that in her haste to talk to the doctor she hadn’t pulled on her robe and slippers. She stood barefoot in her nightgown, her hair tousled from sleep.
“I had a dream,” Faith said with a sense of urgency. “One that I could remember.” She held up the piece of paper on which she’d jotted her notes. “I thought I should tell him about it…you know, to see if it has any significance.”
“You mean any clues to your past.” Faith nodded and Marie said, “I’m afraid I don’t know as much on the subject of dreams as Avery does, but I’m willing to listen if you want to talk about it.”
Faith did want to talk about it, and since Marie had become her friend, she didn’t hesitate to say, “I’d like that.” Feeling the cold floor beneath her feet, she shifted from one foot to the other.
Marie noticed and said, “Why don’t we go into the living room and I’ll turn on the fireplace? We’ll be much more comfortable there.”
Faith agreed, then followed her into the adjoining room where with the flick of a switch, Marie made gas flames dance in the brick fireplace. Then she reached for a lap robe that had been draped over the back of the love seat and gave it to Faith, motioning for her to take a chair near the hearth. “This should keep you warm.”
Faith tucked her feet beneath her as she sat down, thanking her hostess as she covered herself with the soft woolen robe. “I can’t believe I actually remembered something from a dream.”
Marie took the wingback chair next to her. “It sounds as if you think it may be important.”
“I’m not sure. It really wasn’t much, but I did write down what I could remember when I woke up—just like Avery told me to do. Unfortunately the images faded quickly.”
“Dreams have a way of doing that,” Marie commented, leaning closer to her. “Now tell me about yours.”
She glanced down at the notes on her paper. “I was holding a baby. Actually, I was rocking it.”
“Were you at the child-care center?” Marie asked.
“I’m not sure, but I think I may have been because it’s the only time I rock babies, and Megan Novak was there, too.” She paused, rubbing her fingers across her brow as she struggled to remember more details.
“Go on, dear,” Marie encouraged.
“Megan asked me if she could see the baby, but when I pulled back the blanket, it wasn’t a baby in my arm
s at all. It was a doll. A faceless doll. And when Megan saw it she began to cry.” She shrugged. “That’s it. That’s all I can remember.”
The look Marie gave her was intent. “No other details? Clothing, furniture, time of day?”
Faith shook her head. “I think Megan wore a hospital gown, but I’m not sure.”
When Marie didn’t say anything for several moments, Faith asked, “Do you think the doll could be a real baby? My baby?”
“And she didn’t have a face because you can’t remember her?” Marie accurately followed the direction of her thoughts.
“It would explain why Megan cries when she sees the doll.”
Marie’s brow wrinkled. “Why do you say that?”
“If Megan is my daughter and the doll represents her as an infant, then it’s only natural that she’d be upset that I don’t remember her,” Faith reasoned.
Marie was quiet for a moment, her eyes thoughtful while she contemplated the possibility. “You might be right,” she finally admitted. “Or it could be that your subconscious is simply trying to sort through everything Adam Novak told you yesterday. After all, you only had this dream after he told you about Megan’s mother.”
Faith nodded pensively, aware that Marie made a valid point. “You’re saying if Adam hadn’t told me about Megan mistaking me for her mother, I might not have had the dream at all.”
Marie’s voice softened as she said, “That’s not what you wanted to hear, is it?”
She shook her head again. “I keep looking for signs….” Faith struggled to keep her disappointment from showing.
Marie reached across to place her hand on Faith’s arm. “I know how difficult it’s been for you these past few weeks. You want answers, but I’m not sure you’re going to find them in your dreams.”