“Stay here for a little bit, okay, buddy?”
Edgar settled down on the backseat, his head resting on his front legs.
“Such a good boy.”
I gave him a Nylabone to gnaw on, cracked the windows so he’d have enough air, and went to the front door of the house I’d grown up in.
Another deep breath, and I knocked.
A few seconds later, the door opened. An older woman with graying hair answered. She was dressed in jeans and an oversize t-shirt.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Hi,” I said, feeling suddenly awkward. “I’m sorry to bother you. This might seem strange, but I used to live here.”
Her smile put me at ease. “Well, I’ll be. I remember you. You must be Dr. Nichols’ daughter. You were younger the last time I saw you.”
“You knew my dad?”
“He was an acquaintance,” she said. “We bought the house from him. That must have been what, fifteen years ago?”
“Yes, about that,” I said. “You’ve lived here that long?”
“We have,” she said. “How is your father?”
“Oh, he passed away last year.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said, her voice full of sympathy. “I didn’t realize.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I suppose you’re here for the memories?” She opened the door wider. “Come on in. I bet it’s different from when you lived here, but you’re welcome to look around.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t want to intrude too much. I thought maybe I’d just look around outside. But I didn’t want to trespass, so I figured I’d ask.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “Come in. I don’t mind a bit.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped through the door and looked around. It did look different, but much of it was still familiar. The flow of the rooms. The way the kitchen had a pass-through into the dining area. The back door leading into the yard.
“I’m Alyssa,” she said. “Alyssa Redmond.”
“Ivy Nichols,” I said.
“Can I show you around?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
I followed Alyssa through the house. She opened bedroom doors and I peeked inside. My old bedroom was now a craft and sewing room, with a large work table and bins and shelves along the walls. I seemed to remember it had once been carpeted, but it now had hardwood floors. The kitchen had been updated, with new countertops and appliances. The room my dad had used for his study was their guest room—instead of being crammed with books, it had a bed with a patchwork quilt.
“This is so nice of you,” I said as she led me back into the main living area. “I appreciate it so much.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she said.
“Can I ask you what might be an odd question?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Has anyone ever come by asking about me or my father? Particularly in the last year or so?”
She shook her head slowly, as if she was thinking. “No, I don’t think anyone has ever come here asking about him, or you. That sounds worrisome. Who might it have been?”
“No one you need to be concerned about,” I said. Had William been here? Maybe he hadn’t spoken to the owners. It was only the tree he’d painted. He wouldn’t have had to come inside to have seen that. “Do you mind if I look around outside?”
“Be my guest,” she said.
Alyssa followed me outside. The familiarity of the back property was more poignant—so similar to what I remembered. The freshly clipped grass. The concrete patio. The creek at the edge of the property. But one thing was strikingly missing.
“What happened to the tree?” I walked toward a large stump next to the creek. “This tree used to be huge. The branches hung over the creek, and my dad built a swing.”
“Oh, we had to take that tree down years ago,” she said. “In fact, I think it was right after we moved in. I remember it well because I was so disappointed. That tree was one of the reasons I wanted to buy this house. But it had a disease of some kind. Rotting from the inside. It was so big, we didn’t want to risk it falling, or one of our kids climbing in it and a limb breaking. So we had it cut down.”
“You cut it down fifteen years ago?”
She nodded. “We did. I’m still a bit sad when I think about it.”
I stared at the stump. The top was weathered smooth, the wood faded and old. If they’d cut this tree down fifteen years ago, there was no way William could have seen it. The tree wasn’t here.
Oh my god.
“Do you mind if I take a picture of this?” I gestured toward the stump.
“Not at all.”
I pulled out my phone and snapped a few pictures, then texted one to Jessica.
“Thank you so much for your time, Alyssa,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”
“You’re quite welcome,” she said. “Would you like to stay for lunch?”
“That’s so nice of you to offer, but I’m afraid I can’t,” I said. “I have to get home. But thank you again.”
My mind was racing as I said my goodbyes and went around the front to my car. Jessica had already texted back with a series of question marks. I clipped on Edgar’s leash and let him out of the car, then called her.
“Hello? Ivy, why did you send me a picture of a tree stump?”
“That’s the tree,” I said. “From my childhood home. The one with the swing.”
“I’m not following.”
“The tree William painted,” I said. “He couldn’t have seen it in person, Jessica. It was cut down fifteen years ago.”
“What are you saying?”
“That he didn’t come here,” I said. “He couldn’t have seen that tree. And I know I don’t have any photos of it. Not a single one.”
“Well, maybe he just painted a tree with a swing,” she said. “How do you know it’s that specific tree?”
“It is, Jess,” I said. “Every detail is the same, just like I remember it. He even painted me sitting on the swing reading a book.”
“So, okay, that means what?” she asked. “He didn’t research you? He’s not lying?”
“It means he’s not lying, and he’s not crazy,” I said. “At least, not the kind of crazy they think he is.”
“Then how did he know what the tree looked like?” she asked.
“I have no idea.” I was practically laughing. “Oh my god, I’m right back where I started. I have no explanation. But he was right all along.”
“Right about what?”
“Saving me,” I said. A tear broke free from the corner of my eye. “He was right about saving me. I just hope I’m not too late to return the favor.”
Purple Hyacinth
I waited until the next day to go back to the hospital. His seventy-two hours were almost over, and I wanted to be able to take him home with me. If he’d come. I had to face the very real possibility that he wouldn’t. But I couldn’t give up on him now.
On the way over, I stopped at a florist and bought a single flower, a purple hyacinth. In the language of flowers, it had represented a plea for forgiveness. I wasn’t sure if he’d know what it meant, but it felt like the right thing to do. I’d spent too much time trying to follow my head, and that had gotten me into this mess. It was time I followed my heart. And my heart said to bring the flower.
I waited at the front desk for them to let me back, my stomach fluttering with nerves. Would he see me? Or would he tell them no?
Finally, a nurse came and led me back. I spotted William instantly, sitting alone at one of the tables, still dressed in a t-shirt and gray sweats.
He glanced up at me as I approached, then looked away. His blue eyes were dull and lifeless. It broke my heart all over again. I couldn’t imagine what his felt like.
I put the flower on the table. His eyes flicked to it, but he looked away again. And he still didn’t say a word.
“It’s a purple
hyacinth,” I said. “It used to mean—”
“Please forgive me,” he said, his voice soft.
“Yes,” I said. “Can I please talk to you?”
He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes locked on the table, his head tilted to the side. But he didn’t say no, either.
I pulled out the chair next to him and sat. “William, I’m so sorry for doubting you. Everything inside me has been telling me to believe you. From the first time we met, I’ve trusted you. Even when I didn’t know you, and it didn’t make any sense. When I should have been afraid of you. Do you know why?”
He silently shook his head and absently touched the flower petals.
“Because you’re William.”
He looked at me then, and the flicker of hope in his eyes hit me like a lightning strike to the chest.
“You told me you’ve been sent to save me,” I said. “I’ll be completely honest. I don’t know if someone, or something, sent you. But you’ve been right all along. You did come into my life to save me. You already have.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you really have,” I said. “Do you know how lonely I was before we met? How disconnected? Most people have someone to turn to when they’re sad or alone. I had my friends, but it wasn’t the same. Jess and Peter have each other. They care about me, but I’ve always been their third wheel. But then I met you. And it was like these little threads started to stitch us together, connecting us.”
He nodded.
“And the remarkable thing isn’t that you know things from my past. It isn’t that you painted things that only exist in my memories. You don’t just know things about me. You know me. Who I am, deep down. That’s not because you had visions, or because of something you painted. You see me. You see every part of me, right down to the core of who I am.”
I reached out and took his hand, my heart soaring when he didn’t pull away.
“I went to the house with the tree yesterday,” I said. “The tree you painted. Do you know what I found?”
He shook his head.
“The tree is gone,” I said. “It’s just a stump. The people who bought the house from my dad had to cut it down fifteen years ago. You’ve never seen that tree with your own eyes, and I’ve seen the picture you painted. I can’t explain how that’s possible with any sort of logic. But when I saw that old, weathered stump, I realized what you’ve been trying to tell me this whole time. How it’s possible isn’t important.”
“Then what is?”
“Us,” I said. “Whatever brought us together, it was for a reason. Because I was meant to be yours, and you were meant to be mine. And maybe someday we’ll know more, and maybe we won’t. But that doesn’t really matter. The only thing that matters is that I love you, and I need you in my life.”
He looked deep into my eyes, as if he could see straight through me. My heart beat fast. Dread and hope warred for dominance, making my stomach clench and my mouth go dry.
Wrapping his fingers around my hand, he squeezed. “I love you too.”
“Please come home with me,” I said.
He nodded, and I sighed out a deep breath, my body trembling with relief. We stood, and I reached for him, pulling him close. He held me in his arms, burying his face in my neck.
Someone began to clap, and a few more people joined in. William either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. He squeezed me tighter, nearly picking me up off my feet.
We had to wait for them to return William’s personal belongings and have him sign the necessary paperwork before we could leave. The doctor came to speak with him before we left, urging him to seek treatment. With his usual confidence, William assured him that he was fine.
On the way to pick up Edgar from Jessica and Peter’s house, I told William about Eric Andrews from Homeland Security. How Blake had turned William in using a false story. I expected him to get angry, but he just shook his head.
“See? Desperate,” he said. “It won’t be long and Blake is going to dig himself into a hole he can’t get out of.”
“I just hope it’s a hole that’s far away from us,” I said. “So, Eric tried to find out more about who you are, but he couldn’t. He’d like to talk to you. I think he sees you as a challenge.”
William shrugged. “He’s welcome to look all he wants.”
“You don’t think he’ll find anything.”
“I know he won’t,” he said. “There isn’t anything to find.”
I took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re not lying to me. I never thought you were. And I don’t think you’re crazy either. But aren’t you curious? Don’t you wonder if anything came before, and you just can’t remember?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to give voice to my thoughts, but there was something I could no longer ignore. “But could you understand that maybe I’d like to know? Let’s entertain the possibility that you do have a past, just for a second. What if you had a family? What if you had someone else in your life? Maybe even a wife.”
He looked at me, his expression serious. “No, Ivy, that’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not.”
I flicked on the blinker and turned a corner. “I appreciate your confidence, but I’d like to be sure.”
“Why?” he asked, and there was something in his tone. He wasn’t angry or frustrated that I was pushing this issue. He sounded… amused.
“Why do I want to know if you have a wife somewhere?” I asked. “I think that’s pretty obvious.”
He held out his left hand. “I don’t have a ring.”
“You don’t have a birth certificate.”
“Fair point,” he said.
“I’m just wondering if you would mind if I told Eric that it’s okay to do some more digging,” I said. “I know you don’t think he’ll find anything. And if he doesn’t, that’s fine. I just want to be sure there isn’t something we’re missing.”
“Like my wife and kids?”
“Stop,” I said, reaching over to smack him playfully on the arm.
He laughed. “All right. If it makes you feel better.”
We picked up Edgar, who was downright joyous at seeing William. His tail whipped back and forth so hard he knocked things off a shelf before we got him outside.
When we got back to my house, I wanted to crumple with relief. Everything felt right with him there, and I knew I was never letting go of William again.
Hospital
Life quieted down after William’s forced hospital stay. I went back to work. My boss had granted me personal leave after the incident at the career expo. Word had spread across campus, and on my first day back, I could tell my students were dying to ask what had happened. Rather than leave them to wonder and spread more rumors, I addressed it as simply as I could. In several of my classes, it turned into a good discussion about boundaries and harassment.
I was happy to get back to a normal routine. William all but moved in with me, even bringing his painting supplies, easel, and canvases to my house. We moved some furniture around and set up a painting area for him near a window.
His vigilance hadn’t diminished. He still wanted to take me to work and he met me for lunch regularly. But there was no sign of Blake. I spoke with Arthur, who assured me there was nothing to be concerned about when it came to my accounts. He also said Blake had taken an unexpected leave of absence. I hoped that meant it was over and I wouldn’t hear from him again.
Early on a Saturday morning, while William was busy painting and I sat at the table reading over coffee, I got a text from Eric Andrews. I’d called him shortly after William came home from the hospital, letting him know William didn’t mind if he did a little digging. Eric had spoken briefly to William, and said he’d get back to us if he found anything.
I stared at the text.
“Is everything okay?” William asked.
“It’s from Eric.” I looked up at William. “He t
hinks you might have been treated at Saint Peter Hospital in Olympia last year.”
His brow furrowed. “I’ve never been there.”
“Well, what if it was before? Before the park, and before you met James?”
He opened his mouth and I was sure he was going to argue with me. But he closed it again and came to sit next to me. “Would it make you feel better if we go there? Find out for sure?”
I nodded.
He took my hand and brought it to his lips. Kissed the backs of my fingers. “Then let’s go.”
“Thank you.”
I glanced down at the text again and my sense of unease grew. This might be the first step to finding some real answers about who William really was. Part of me was afraid to find out—afraid of what lurked in the shadows of his past.
But I knew that wasn’t the only source of tension in my back and anxiety churning in my stomach. Saint Peter Hospital was where my dad had spent his last months. Where I’d held his hand as he died. I hadn’t been there since the day I’d lost him, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about going back.
My heart fluttered with nerves as we walked into the hospital. William held my hand, his body relaxed. He’d been quiet on the drive. I knew he was doing this to indulge me. He didn’t expect to find that he’d been here. I wasn’t sure what we would discover, but the closer we got, the more I hoped we’d leave with more answers.
A woman at the front desk smiled at us. I’d gotten to know a lot of the hospital staff during the months my dad spent here, but I didn’t recognize her.
“Can I help you?”
“Possibly. We’re trying to find out if he was treated here last year.” I gestured to William. “His name is William Cole.”
“Can I see some ID please?” she asked.
“I don’t have any,” William said.
“Um…” She blinked a few times. “Well, I can’t release patient information without identification. It’s confidential.”
I’d wondered if this would be a problem. “Could you just tell us if you had a patient by that name? That would at least be a start.”
Remembering Ivy Page 18