The Mud Sisters

by Edie Claire

  The detective shook his head.

  Teagan’s ire sparked. What was taking so long? It had been hours. “But you have her name!” she protested, sharper than intended. “You must be able to track some of her history.”

  The detective paused, one hand on the door knob. “We could find out everything we need to know in about five minutes if we had the right name. But it isn’t Meadows any more than it was Knight. Which is why I need to talk to this woman again myself. She’s lying to you, Ms. Hansen. And I’d like to know why.”

  Teagan felt as if she’d been slapped.

  No, she assured herself. Jamie wasn’t lying. Why would she?

  “That’s impossible,” she said firmly. “The names didn’t even come from her. I remembered what name she used when she was younger, and another acquaintance remembered the name she went by after high school.” Teagan squirmed at her own instinctive desire to hide that other “acquaintance’s” identity. “Jamie must have changed her name recently. Maybe she got married.”

  The detective looked back at her with a gaze that bespoke sympathy—a sympathy Teagan didn’t want. “Listen, Ms. Hansen,” he began slowly. “It’s not a matter of not having the victim’s ‘current’ name. What I’m telling you is that there never was any Jamie Knight, or any Jamie Meadows. There are no records with either name that match any part of her history. The woman is using aliases. And if she used those names years ago, then she was using aliases years ago. Understand?”

  Teagan stiffened. What the detective was saying made no sense. Why would Jamie lie about her name, on two occasions, years apart?

  What else had she lied about?

  “I have another appointment in half an hour,” the detective explained, opening the door and letting himself out. “But I’d like to interview the victim again later this afternoon. She’ll still be at the address you gave me?”

  Teagan nodded. “I’ll make sure she’s home.” Her mind flashed a picture of Jamie and Eric, laughing and reminiscing over plates of steaming pasta. Maybe Jamie had remembered more by now. Maybe she remembered living with him.

  Teagan squelched the picture with a blink.

  “Her whereabouts aren’t known to anyone else, right?” the detective asked.

  Teagan shook her head. “Just my immediate family. And the social services department here, of course.”

  He nodded, his voice solemn. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

  ***

  “The salad you didn’t finish was $8.95, so with your half of the tip, plus the coffee you had earlier, I’d say you owe me $15.75. We’ll add 7% interest after a month,” Eric teased, regarding Jamie with a mischievous look from behind his third glass of cola.

  Jamie grinned. She hadn’t said much during their lunch—neither one of them had. But the more time she spent in Eric’s company, the more she realized how well he seemed to know her. He hadn’t bugged her to talk when she got quiet. He had offered her the croutons off his side salad, which she promptly devoured. And now he was making clear that the lunch he had just paid for was nothing but a loan. Most women would be offended. Jamie was touched.

  She had spent the meal watching him, thinking, trying to remember. The years after high school, still blurry this morning, came back to her easily now. But she had little desire to dwell on them. She had worked like a dog, and she had lived like one. While the people about her talked of partying and fun, she had gone home to her dreary basement and collapsed in exhaustion. There were boyfriends here and there, but none of the relationships had lasted. She had had neither the time nor the energy to concern herself with what anyone else needed—it was always, only, about her. Her working hard toward her goals and battling to keep her spirits up in the process.

  Eric had helped with that. He had brought an infusion of lightheartedness, of cheerfulness, into her ordinarily dreary life. At least for a little while.

  “Where was your apartment?” she asked, blurting out the question just as he was reaching for his coat. “The one where I stayed, too?”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her, his eyes wary. His posture stiffened. “Not far from here. Why?”

  His evasiveness made Jamie all the more resolute. “Because I want to remember it,” she insisted. “Why else?”

  Eric shook his head and stood up to leave. Jamie joined him. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t remember your apartment?” she pressed.

  He pulled on his coat and moved toward the door, his gaze avoiding hers. “You can remember anything you want, but my apartment isn’t going to help you figure out what you need to know now. We should be focusing on when you went to school. I’ll drive you by some of the academic buildings and you can see—”

  He continued to talk, but Jamie ceased listening the instant when, in passing by the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of the staff exit. The sight of the deeply scratched, black metal door connected with her gut like a lasso.

  Time to go home.

  On its other side, she knew, was a narrow concrete alley and a rusted metal stairway leading up to the street. She had climbed those stairs hundreds of times, her feet and back already aching, dreading the ten block hike that separated her from the thin mattress on the floor of her apartment. In winter, she dreaded the trek so much she had once begged, unsuccessfully, to be allowed to sleep in one of the booths. At least then she would have been decently warm.

  “Jamie? Are you coming?”

  Eric stood at the bottom of the staircase, his voice impatient. The distant, guarded man he seemed now was not the one she had known. Young Eric had always been sweet to her, considerate and obliging; and when they were together, she had looked at that black door differently. She had moved through it, in fact, with a surge of anticipation…

  A grin spread across her face. She caught up with Eric and passed him on the stairs. “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested, her voice chipper. Not waiting for an answer, she exited the front door of the restaurant, rounded the corner, and began a determined march up the street.

  She could hear Eric’s footsteps behind her. “Jamie!” he called. His tone expressed displeasure, but made no particular demand. She ignored it. When she neared the end of the block she broke into a jog, heedless of the stinging sensation the bitter cold air brought to her lungs. She knew exactly where it was. Just two duplexes over.

  Her steps didn’t slow until she reached the building. She stretched out her good arm and leaned onto its concrete-topped brick newel post, suddenly conscious of a profound weakness in her limbs.

  Eric appeared behind her at once. “Dammit, Jamie!” he swore, his voice distressed. “What are you thinking? Do you want to pass out right here on the street? You just got out of the hospital!”

  Jamie looked away from him without comment. The truth was, she had forgotten what shape she was in. She concentrated on breathing slow. Creeping blackness flirted with the periphery of her vision, and for a moment she feared she would pass out.

  Eric’s hands came around either side of her waist, poised to steady her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  After a moment, Jamie nodded. She didn’t move, but raised her chin just enough to take in the building’s facade. Eric’s apartment had been on the left, second floor. Shared with another law student who was never home. It had been sparse, but clean—far cleaner than Jamie’s own communal living quarters. More importantly, it had had two bedrooms with doors that locked. And behind one of those doors, in a soft, comfortable bed, was Eric. Sweet, dependable Eric.

  Jamie removed her hand from the post and straightened. She could feel Eric’s chest behind her shoulders. His heavy breath tickled her ear. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologized. “I’ll be fine. I just wasn’t thinking.”

  Eric stepped back. His withdrawal filled Jamie with a piercing sense of disappointment, and she turned to face him. “I remember this place,” she announced. “I remember coming here after work all those nights.”

  Eric took another step
back. His eyes flashed with the same mild hostility Jamie had seen last night at dinner, but this time, it spurred a more visceral reaction. Hurt.

  “I’m glad you’re remembering your life,” he said coolly. “But this is one road we don’t need to go down. Can you walk to the car, or do you want to wait here and let me pick you up?”

  He doesn’t want me to remember, Jamie thought to herself, suddenly cognizant of the cold that stung her face and fingers. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat.

  Correction: Teagan’s coat.

  “I want to stay a minute,” Jamie said stubbornly. She turned back toward the building and focused on the second story window. Her inner vision penetrated the red brick, looking through it to see a tiny bedroom with scratched, unadorned, off-white walls. It contained nothing but a bed, a dresser, and a television.

  You want breakfast? Morning light had streamed around the pull down shades, casting light on Eric’s lean body as he pulled on a pair of jeans. He had looked good in jeans. He looked good without them.

  No thanks, she had answered, stretching her arms, lifting her bare torso out from beneath the sheets. I have to get to work.

  He had stopped and turned to watch her, his expression devilish. She had grinned back.

  “Then why don’t you just sit down on the steps and relax,” Eric suggested, interrupting her reverie. “I’ll go get the car.”

  It took Jamie a moment to regroup. She looked back into his clearly annoyed, present-day face, and a wave of unexpected sadness washed over her.

  He had loved her once. Now he wanted to forget. She hadn’t returned his love, but she was desperate, now, to remember what it had felt like. She knew that being with him had made her happy. She could remember enjoying everything about his company—his wit, his tenderness, his peculiar mixture of earnestness and sunny naiveté. She had felt comfortable, safe, and alive. So why hadn’t any more come of it? Why had it ended so soon?

  He was already moving away from her when she reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his coat. “Tell me why we broke up,” she ordered. “I can’t remember that part, and I want to know.”

  Eric’s eyes narrowed with aggravation, and his jaw clenched tight. But he did stop walking. “We wanted different things,” he answered finally, his voice clipped. “You wanted independence and freedom. I wanted someone I could count on. End of story.”

  His words filtered through Jamie’s brain, but they made no connection with her own recollections. “I don’t get it,” she said bluntly. “Did I cheat on you?”

  Eric huffed out a breath. “Well, I wouldn’t know, Jamie. But if you do remember anything like that, please keep it to yourself.” He shook off her grasp and started walking again.

  She followed. “Don’t get angry,” she cajoled. “I’m just trying to understand. Don’t you think it’s only fair we’re on the same footing, memory wise?”

  He stopped once more and faced her. “Are you going to stay here or not?”

  “No. I’m walking back with you.”

  He exhaled and resumed moving, but this time his steps were slower. They walked in silence for several seconds before he spoke again. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t remember it,” he said gruffly. “It happened right in the middle of Vermelli’s. Half the people we knew witnessed the whole ridiculous scene.”

  Angry eyes appeared in Jamie’s mind. Eric’s eyes. His whole face was red. She had never seen him like that.

  I wasn’t doing anything! She had protested.

  Not doing anything? He had argued back, bewildered. You were practically giving that guy a lap dance!

  People had started to stare. Red heat had risen in Jamie’s veins. Her pulse pounded. I was earning a tip! She had shouted back, incensed.

  Eric had glared back at her, his eyes livid. She could see the hurt in them, too, but she ignored it. All she cared about was his anger. His anger and his possessiveness.

  You don’t have to act like that to earn tips, he had informed her, more coldly now, almost patronizing. You’re a waitress, not an exotic dancer. He had moved closer to her then, taken her arm. His voice dropped. And you belong to me.

  A pressure within her chest had built near to bursting. She shook him off with a fury, her whole body hot, his clingy touch searing her skin. I don’t BELONG to anybody! she had raged, losing all sense of place, oblivious to their audience. I flirt with who I want, when I want, and I’ll do whatever I want—whether you like it or not!

  The restaurant had fallen silent. He had stared at her a moment, disbelieving. Then he had answered her with four words. Four words that had resonated in her head for a very long time.

  Fine. You do that.

  Jamie lowered her gaze to the cracked concrete. Her stomach felt sour. She could recall quite clearly what she had been thinking back then. How important it was to her to be her own woman, just like her mother had been. Her mother hadn’t needed a man, and neither did she. The mere suggestion that any man thought he could own her, possess her—it had rattled every pole and vine in her clumsily constructed cage. She had rebelled with everything in her, against all reason. Against, even, her own desires.

  I will!

  She couldn’t remember if she and Eric had ever spoken again. She only remembered watching his back as he stormed out the door of Vermelli’s. A part of her had wanted to cry. But she hadn’t.

  Their slow steps were halted by the melodic ring of Eric’s cell phone. He reached into his pocket and brought it to his ear. “Hello?” There was a brief pause. Jamie watched as his features softened with relief. His eyes twinkled, and his mouth drew into a smile. “Hey there, ‘me.’”

  Jamie felt a queer heaviness in her middle. She bounced on the balls of her feet to keep warm. She kept her eyes averted.

  “We just finished lunch,” Eric explained, his voice exuding a warm, familiar tone that made Jamie feel even colder. “Why? Did you need us to do something?”

  The next pause was a long one. In the middle of it, Eric laid a hand on Jamie’s elbow and encouraged her to start walking again. He removed it promptly, and the two continued down the sidewalk. “We can be home in an hour, no problem,” he offered. “I thought we’d just drive by some of the classroom buildings first.” His voice dropped in volume, but Jamie could still understand him. “Did they find out something?”

  She turned toward him, and as she watched his face grow pale, the blood seemed to drain from her own.

  “Oh,” he said in a whisper. He cast a glance toward Jamie, then looked away again. “Don’t worry,” he said more cheerfully, his voice back to full volume. “I’ll have her home in time. And when will you be there?”

  He grinned during the silence. “Can’t wait. See you then.”

  He snapped the phone closed and replaced it in his pocket, then turned to Jamie. An artificial, tolerant smile had taken the place of his genuine one. "We’ll need to head back pretty soon. The detective wants to talk to you again. Teagan thinks he may have some new information.”

  Jamie’s gaze returned to the pavement. Her foot struck a clump of undissolved salt pellets, scattering them across the sidewalk and into the gutter. Teagan had told him something important, but he wasn’t passing it on. Jamie wanted to be mad about that, but she was having a hard time focusing her thoughts. All she could hear was the love in his voice when he talked to his wife.

  All she could see was that she had been an idiot.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jamie felt tired. Bone tired. She leaned her head back against the car’s headrest, her eyes drifting idly over the architectural mishmash of college buildings that filed by outside her window. She would have been content to go straight back to the garage apartment and take a nap, but since Teagan’s phone call, Eric seemed to have been seized with new determination. He wanted Jamie to remember more, that was clear. He just didn’t want her to remember anything else about him.

  “Think about walking around with a backpack on your shoulder,” he suggest
ed. “Or picture yourself late for class, running, trying not to slip on the ice. Something around here’s bound to ring a bell. It would be better if we could walk some of these streets, but you’re obviously not up to that.”

  Jamie said nothing. She shifted in her seat, trying to stop the aching in her leg bones. The heavy feeling wasn’t coming from any one place; she ached all over. She was weaker than she had realized, and it bothered her.

  “Jamie?” Eric prompted after another long spell of silence. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m just tired,” she lied.

  “Do you want to go home now?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

  She turned her head to the side and looked at him, wondering at his motivation. Most likely, he was anxious to be rid of her, and he knew that the return of her memory would be the best and quickest route to her departure from both his garage and his life. But maybe there was more. Maybe whatever Teagan said on the phone had worried him… and he did still care.

  She chose to look on the bright side. “No,” she answered, sitting up a little. She cleared her throat and looked out the window more purposefully. “I’ll give it another shot. I remember being at Vermelli’s after you left. I even halfway remember working with Kirsten. I’m thinking I started school not too long after I got fired.”

  The face of a nameless manager popped vividly into her mind, his face glowering with rage. Like most of the Vermelli’s managers, he was a college graduate paid at least twice her salary. He was also a complete incompetent with no administrative ability, little common sense, and the social skills of a fourth grader, and she had responded to his expletive-filled reprimand by flipping him off.

  I don’t need this lousy job anyway!

  Jamie smirked. Yes, she was definitely already set for school the day she had burned her bridges at Vermelli’s. She wasn’t that stupid.

  “I remember wanting to be a manager,” she confessed. “Walking back into Vermelli’s and telling all those morons everything they were doing wrong. The managers never listened to the wait staff, you know. They thought they didn’t need to. But they missed so many opportunities…”