Deja Vu: A Romantic Comedy

by Sosie Frost

  “Working on it?”

  “The blog is only the first step. I’m doing everything I can to figure out who I am right now.”

  “And what’s your plan?”

  “Yearbooks.”

  She lowered the notepad. “Explain, please.”

  “I’m looking through yearbooks at the public library, searching for myself.”

  “And you think you finished high school?”

  “I’m sorry I don’t hang my degree on my wall like you,” I said. “But I remember bookbags and class credits and reports. I was in college. So I must have finished high school.”

  Or I had dropped out and gotten a GED.

  The thought had crossed my mind. But I hadn’t let myself consider it too closely, not when the yearbooks were all I had.

  “I figure I’ll find myself,” I said. “Get a name. Research it. Find an address. Some family. Who knows? Maybe those answers will be enough to trigger everything for me.”

  “You think it’ll be that easy?”

  “That’s what Shepard thinks.”

  The pen rose once more. “Shepard Novak? The detective?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s been helping you? The last time we spoke, you said he had to investigate you. That he was waiting on your memories before his search could move forward.”

  I didn’t want to hedge the subject. I couldn’t remember how to lie effectively, and I had a feeling Doctor Clark could see right through it.

  “That’s right,” I said. “He was helping.”

  “Was?”

  “Is.”

  “Is?”

  I exhaled. “Ultimately, I have to be the one to remember. No one else can help. Not you. Not him.”

  “Especially not him.” She clicked the pen twice in a row. “We can’t let him get too involved, right?”

  She was absolutely correct. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “A handsome, single man like him? I bet you were spending a lot of time together.”

  “So?”

  “This blog as a lot of posts made from this week. Either you had quite the breakthrough, or…”

  “I finally got to work on it.”

  “Right. And the library search? All those yearbooks?”

  “What about them?”

  “You’re hitting those books pretty hard, aren’t you?” She studied me. “Looking for answers?”

  “I think it’ll work.”

  “What exactly do you think it will do for you?”

  I frowned. “Just what I said. It’ll give me a name. A lead. Maybe I can find someone who knew me.”

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Doctor Clark surrendered, tossing her notebook on the desk. “Evie, look. I told you to start writing down your memories so you could explore them. I told you to look deep, to try to understand what it was that you were remembering. Why it was lost. What happened in your past. And instead, you make a blog which is deliberately created to search for people who know you.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “You tell me. Why are you really in the library, looking for your face, your name, your clues? I told you to delve deep and medicate on those memories. Instead, you’re doing everything you can to slap a label on yourself and call this mystery solved.”

  “That’s the point! I don’t have anything right now. No name. No past. Nothing. And I need to find those answers.”

  “No. You want to find an escape. You’re looking for the easy solution to a problem that you haven’t even begun to face.” Doctor Clark leaned in close. “It’s been nearly six weeks, Evie. You are no closer to your past than you were when you first woke in that hospital. You’re desperate for your name so you can have a label. You want to know your past so you can feel secure. You want to find your lover because…”

  “I have a child with him.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “I want you to admit something right now, Evie. No lies. No distractions. I told you once that you might not want to remember your past. Was I right? Why is it you’re so desperate to be found instead of waiting and revealing it to yourself? What is it that you’re hiding from?”

  I hated that I answered so quickly. “Guilt.”

  Doctor Clark stiffened. She clicked the pen again, but it stilled over the pad. “Oh. I…thought you were going to say loneliness.”

  The air rushed from my lungs. “So did I.”

  The silence lasted only a moment. Doctor Clark folded her notebook closed. “You’re allowed to be happy, Evie. It’s been six weeks with no answers.”

  “That only means I haven’t looked hard enough.”

  “For him…” Her eyebrow cocked. “Or for the truth?”

  I didn’t answer. Neither did she. We both checked the time and decided enough was enough.

  She stood. “Think about what I said.”

  “Believe me.” I grabbed Clue’s stroller and her diaper bag. “I wish I could forget it.”

  “Forget what I said?” Her voice lowered. “Or forget something that you did?”

  I damned the kiss. A kiss was supposed to be a declaration of love. A moment captured within another’s heart long enough to leave a part of yours.

  Instead, my heart had shattered. Broken.

  And not for the man I’d accidentally wronged.

  But for the one who might have made it right.

  9

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Who the hell decided to give a plastic, urine soaked stick this type of absolute power?

  No warning. No preparation. Not even a cushion to slide under your ass once you read the results.

  “Pregnant.”

  Oh God. It sounded like such a horrible word. Ugly almost. Like it was defined only by swollen feet and stretch marks.

  Why didn’t the little plastic prophet come with a better word than pregnant?

  Like…expecting? Or family? Or…

  Miracle?

  Pregnant.

  We were having a baby.

  “Well…?” His voice melted every part of me. The anticipation.

  His hope.

  “Yes.” I stared only at the test. “We did it.”

  “Wow.” His arms crossed over my belly, and his kiss tickled my neck. “I was hoping we could try some more.”

  “We can do even better.” I placed my hand over his. “We can celebrate.”

  As usual, I didn’t see the man in my memories.

  Just heard his voice. Felt his touch.

  Missed him with every damn beat of my heart.

  It was getting harder now. Harder to ignore. Harder to be alone. Harder to think about.

  And so I didn’t. I paced the living room and checked my phone for the tenth time in a minute.

  Where the hell was he?

  The knock came five minutes too late. I flung the door open and hauled Shepard into the apartment.

  “Evie, what the hell is going on?”

  His shirt was unbuttoned. He tripped over untied shoes, and he brushed his hair with only his fingers. Apparently, my call woke him up at six in the morning.

  So why the hell did it take him fifteen minutes to get here?

  “Are you okay?” He stopped in the entryway. “You said it was an emergency?”

  I tugged on his hand, dragging him down the hall. “I’m sorry, but I needed your help. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He must have read the terror on my face. “Jesus, is it Clue?”

  He bolted to the nursery and dove at the crib. Clue wiggled inside, bundled up tight in her blanket. His fingers clutched the crib, but he shook his head.

  “Evie, she’s fine? What’s wrong?”

  “Wait.” I held a hand out. “Just wait.”

  Shepard stared at Clue. She stared back.

  “Just wait,” I whispered.

  The poor thing. Maybe she was too
hot now?

  I had no freaking idea what to do.

  “Evie—”

  “Wait.” I listened, hard. “Just…wait…wait…”

  “Wait for…what?”

  She was going to make a liar out of me.

  It didn’t matter. I’d heard it. All night. And my heart hadn’t stopped racing.

  “Evie, I think you need to—”

  Aschoo!

  I gripped my chest over my heart. “Did you hear it?”

  Shepard paused. “Was that a…sneeze?”

  “Or a cough!”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Evie.”

  “She’s sick!”

  Shepard nudged the blanket and pillow tangled on the floor next to the crib. “Did you…sleep in here?”

  “Figured it out without even dusting for prints?”

  “You don’t think that was a bit drastic?”

  “I know what you’re going to say, but I am not crazy. I had her monitor up to my ear all night just to listen to her breathe. She was so congested and kept making that little coughing, snorty, grunty sound. It scared the hell out of me. Then, suddenly, I didn’t hear her making it anymore. I panicked—”

  “Evie.”

  “So I camped out on the floor, and—”

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Do I ever?” I bit my lip. “I’m really worried.”

  “She sneezed once. If it was even a sneeze.” Shepard cradled Clue against his chest. His voice softened as he spoke to her. “We don’t even know if it was a sneeze. Might have been a cough. Might have been a—”

  Ahshoo!

  He stilled. His hand rubbed over her tummy, but he stopped and listened hard. “I think she might be congested.”

  “Oh God.”

  “That was a sneeze,” he said.

  “Oh no.”

  “She might be sick.”

  My world collapsed.

  Nightmares of rogue ice cream trucks faded.

  I pinched my eyes shut. The night before last, a knife in the dishwasher had triggered a memory. The flash of steel. Some punk juvie reject stealing my purse for drug money.

  Like I didn’t know to keep my cash and phone on my body.

  Still, in that moment, I had been scared. But even a mugging wasn’t as terrifying as those four words.

  She might be sick.

  I grabbed the baby and marched to the bathroom. He followed, but I pointed him to the papers stacked on my kitchen counter.

  “Doctor Reece. He’s the pediatrician. Call and tell him I’m coming.”

  Shepard made a mistake. “I think you have to get an appointment first…”

  I wasn’t listening. I turned the shower on full-blast, letting the scalding water pebble the empty tub. The steam filled the room with a moist heat.

  “Tell them the baby is sick,” I said. “I demand to see the doctor.”

  “She’s got a cold.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she’s a baby. And she’s sneezing. It’s a cold.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  He sighed. “What else would it be?”

  The wrong question to ask an under-fed, exhausted, worried mother. “Who knows? She’s sneezing. Coughing. Congested. It could be anything.”

  “Like a cold,” he said.

  “Meningitis.”

  “The sniffles.”

  “The flu.”

  “A stuffy nose.”

  “Zika!”

  “Zika?”

  “It’s on the news.”

  He groaned. “She doesn’t have Zika!”

  “Malaria then.”

  “Evie.”

  “West Nile!”

  He rubbed the exhaustion from his face. “I can guarantee you—she does not have a mosquito born illness.” He shrugged. “Though we shouldn’t rule out kuru…”

  “Oh god.”

  “Relax. I’m joking…unless you’re feeding her a healthy dose of brains.”

  I scowled. “We’ll see what happens when I kick your a-s-s for scaring me.”

  “She’s going to be fine.”

  “Please call the doctor for me.”

  I held his gaze.

  God, I had missed those eyes. The sun-bleached blonde streak in his hair. The confident angle of his chin. When he spoke, he convinced me that everything would be fine.

  “I’ll call,” he said. “Try to relax.”

  I closed the door and let the shower steam up the room. I kissed Clue’s forehead. Uh-oh. Did she feel hot? Or was that morning baby head feel? She always ran a little toasty. But this? This might have been more than toast. Maybe a bake? Less than a broil.

  “It’s gonna be okay.” I whispered to her. She stared up at me. No smiles today, and I always got a smile now. Since I’d lost Shepard’s, hers were the only comfort I had.

  “We’ll get you fixed up.”

  I hoped.

  I had been without memories for almost six weeks.

  I’d been struck by an untimely ice cream truck. Given birth. Been handed a newborn. Sent out into the world on my own, relying on the charity of others.

  And a single sniffle terrified me more than any forgotten past or missing future.

  The bathroom steamed up, and I hoped the humidity would both help her congestion and freshen me up. The woman gazing back at me in the mirror wasn’t anyone I knew. She cradled a baby in her arms with curly hair begging for a headband and an expression of resolute exhaustion. She meant nothing to me, but the little baby looked at her as if she were the greatest thing in the world.

  Clue snuggled against me, comforted and warm, but dribbling a little something gross from her nose. The heat helped her, but I wasn’t satisfied.

  This little baby was the only link I had to who I was, where I was going, what I was even doing on this planet. I couldn’t let anything harm her, not even a cold.

  Shepard rapped on the door.

  I didn’t care how uncomfortable it was for me to see him. I ignored the ache when I looked at him and the shame that lashed at me for daring to feel anything but gratitude towards him.

  “The office said they could squeeze you in, but we might have to wait.”

  “That’s fine.” I swallowed. Now for the moment of truth. “Can I…could you give us a ride?”

  Shepard stood a gentlemanly three feet from me. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “It’s for the baby.”

  “And believe me, I’d do anything for her.” His eyebrows rose. “But, Evie…”

  That moment of soul-crushing hesitation was all I needed. “You’re right. Never mind. I’ll take the bus.”

  “Absolutely not “I’ll call the station—tell them I’ll be late. It’s no problem.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not going to let you do this alone.” He smirked. “Besides, if the doctor says you’re overreacting, someone should be there to restrain you.”

  “I am not overreacting.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Take it out on the doctor, not me. Let’s get her bundled up and hit the road.”

  Good enough for me. We spent a good ten minutes soaking in the bathroom’s humidity before I felt that she was decongested enough to risk the trip. I packed her diaper bag, changed her, and wrapped her up in two layers and a blanket. Clue fussed a bit, but aside from a more defined sneeze, she seemed okay, especially in her first car ride.

  “This will be the only time you’ll ever sit in a patrol car,” I told her. “Even undercover.”

  Shepard strapped the car seat into the back of the Charger and ensured she was cozy. And why wouldn’t she be? The car was beautiful, new, and meticulously cleaned. Not the best recipe for an infant who was under the weather. Stains abound.

  “Hey.” Shepard chastised me as I turned in the passenger seat to check on her. “That seat-belt comes off? I’ll write you a ticket.”

  “S
eriously?”

  “I’m a good cop.”

  “You’re a hard-ass.”

  “If you got it, flaunt it.”

  And he did, the bastard. In the tailor fit suit or the navy-blue police uniform, he knew he looked good. That was part of the problem.

  I twisted, keeping my eyes only on Clue. “Thank you for coming so fast.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever been thanked for that.” He frowned. “Not that it’s a frequent occurrence.”

  I wasn’t amused. “I appreciate the timely arrival.”

  “You didn’t give me a choice. Practically turned my lights on to get to you. Scared the hell out of me.”

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to…” I swallowed. “You know.”

  “You said something was wrong. I wasn’t risking anything happening to you or the baby.”

  “Why do you have to be such a nice guy?”

  “I’m not a nice guy.”

  “You’re driving me and my baby to the doctor, skipping out of work to do it, and you don’t even want a reward.”

  “Never said that.”

  “You’ll get your donut.”

  “I’d take offense to that, but…”

  “But?”

  “I joined the force because they promised donuts. Comes with the badge. You get your choice of Taser or pepper spray, glazed or sprinkles.”

  “Well, I’ll get you a dozen for this.”

  “No need, Evie. I’m happy to help.”

  I pretended not to hear the warmth in his words. “You didn’t become a detective to help baby-sit.”

  “I did it so I could help people. You and Clue are just…”

  “People?”

  “Perks.”

  It was a good compliment which made it so terrible to accept. “You do your job well.”

  “Most of the time. I still have your mystery to solve.”

  “Any revelations since the last time we…spoke?”

  “It’s gonna come down to what you remember, Evie.”

  “And if I don’t remember anything?” I stared at him—his strong arms, firm grip on the wheel, jaw clenched as he slowed for traffic. “What happens then?”

  “To the case?”

  To anything. To me. To Clue.

  To him.

  “Yeah. To the case.”

  He pulled off the main street and circled into a parking garage. “It’s not what you’ll remember…but when.”