We should probably get the tables wiped down, just in case.
The phone behind the bar rings.
Usually that phone only rings when someone is placing a to-go order. But I doubt anyone is swinging by to pick up food on a night like tonight.
I’m closest to the bar. I dodge two tables and pick it up on the fourth ring.
“Yes, I’m trying to reach Zakhary Ansahri.”
Although I’ve never actually heard his full name, there’s really only one person that can be.
“Just a moment.” I set the phone on the counter and look at Zak. “It’s for you.”
As he crosses the room, I can’t help noticing the stiffness in his movements. His jaw locks and his eyes look wary.
But why…?
The hospital.
How many people would need to reach him so desperately that they’d call him at work? How many people would even have this number?
Probably not many. Especially since his only living family is currently in a coma.
Could his sister…
The thought is too devastating to finish.
He snatches up the receiver, grips it firmly, and drags in a long breath. “This is Zak.”
Several seconds pass in silence as he listens. I know I should move away and give him some privacy, but I can’t seem to make my legs cooperate.
He’s been there for me through my drama this past week. The least I can do is be available for him if the news isn’t good.
“Yes. Thank you.” His words are almost mechanical. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
He clicks off the phone and stares at it for several long moments.
No sign of any expression. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Zak? You okay?”
He looks at me. “M–my s–s–sister woke up.”
What?
The truth crashes down on him. “My sister woke up!”
He whoops, grabs me, and crushes me in a hug. Laughter pours from him and his body shakes. I can’t tell if he’s crying, but if he is at least they’re tears of joy.
He plants his hands on my waist, swings me around as if I weigh nothing at all, releases me so suddenly I almost topple over, and leaps over the bar. A sound that’s half-laugh, half-cry is coming from him and all I see in his face are white teeth.
Stopping abruptly, he rips off his apron. “I’ve gotta get out there.”
I laugh as he bumps into a barstool, sending it toppling to the floor. “Go. We’ve got this.”
He grins at me, looking more carefree than I’ve ever seen him. Wonder lights his eyes. “My sister woke up.” He repeats the words as if afraid that not saying them will put her back into her coma.
He races across the bar, doesn’t stop to take the steps but simply jumps over them, and speeds through the restaurant. Then he’s gone, his footsteps echoing as he runs across the kitchen.
Even from here I can hear the exit door slam.
Good for him. If anyone deserves a little happiness, it’s Zak.
Glancing at Sam, I find him watching with wide-eyed amusement. “Looks like clean-up is on us tonight.”
I grab a few rags, toss one to Sam, and head for the closest table. He starts on the table beside mine.
“So, tell me about this girl.” I inject a teasing tone in my voice in hopes of coaxing a smile.
It doesn’t work.
He rubs the table with an intensity that surprises me, especially given that he’s only using one hand. “I can’t.”
“Oooh, keeping it a secret? Let me guess. It’s Melody, right?”
The cute little blonde who works part time as a hostess seems like a logical choice. She’s probably a few years younger than Sam, but is always smiling and has a contagious laugh. I could see Sam with someone like her.
“What? No, no, it’s not her.”
Okay. I don’t think he’s just saying that. “Samantha? Or Amy?”
“You’re not gonna guess.”
I laugh softly. “Okay, you want to be all mysterious, fine. But seriously, you should ask her out. Prove your dad wrong.”
“Okay, fine.” He tosses the rag on the table and stares at me. “Stormy, you wanna grab dinner sometime? When we’re both off, I mean.”
Dinner? What… the truth tackles me like a linebacker.
I’m the girl.
Oh, man. And I’m not in a position to say yes, especially not now. Probably not ever.
“Sam?”
“You heard me.”
“I–I…”
He snatches up the rag and moves to the next table. “Don’t worry about it. I get it.”
“No. You don’t.” Now what? I worked so hard to get him to take a risk and when he does, it backfires.
Horribly.
How could I have been so blind?
“I’m a weak coward who lets his old man beat on him. Why would you be interested in someone like me?”
I watch him attack the table with the rag, but he never once looks up. “Sam. Will you stop a second?”
The rag slows, then stops. He looks up at me.
The vulnerability in his gaze almost makes me say yes. But doing so will only hurt him more later on.
I have to give him a really solid reason why this would be a bad idea for both of us, otherwise he’ll never open himself up to me or anyone else again.
“First of all, I bet I’m older than you think I am.”
“Age is just a number. You’re, what, maybe twenty eight? That’s not much older.”
“Try early thirties.”
His eyes widen momentarily. “Oh. Well, that’s still not a huge difference.”
I don’t point out that ten years is fairly significant, especially at his age. Besides, I get the impression it wouldn’t matter anyway.
I need to tell him.
The truth.
About me.
It’s either that or further destroy his already brittle self-esteem and I can’t bring myself to do that. “It’s more than that.”
He fidgets with the rag in his hand. “I ‘spose this is where you give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line, huh?”
In a way, yes, but I can’t tell him that.
But what do I tell him? What if hearing the full story puts him in danger?
I didn’t worry about that so much with Zak, but Sam seems a lot more… fragile. He’s been through enough without having to worry about my abusers, too.
I stab my fingers through my hair, but don’t take my gaze from Sam’s wounded eyes. “I–I’m going through some weird stuff right now.”
“Like abducted by aliens weird?” He cracks a half-smile.
“Pretty close.” I sigh. “I came to Reno because some people are after me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that my injuries didn’t come from a car accident either. Someone tried to kill me.”
His mouth hangs open. “K–kill you? Why would they wanna do that?”
I shake my head. “I wish I knew. I’m having trouble remembering anything beyond the last week. Maybe because of my injuries, but I don’t know. I don’t even know what happened.”
A throat clears about the same time that Sam’s attention shifts behind me.
I whirl.
Drew stands a few tables away, hands in his pockets. The slightly guilty expression on his face confirms he heard the whole thing.
Great. As if he needed yet another reason to distrust me.
“I guess that explains a lot.”
Drew’s voice sounds slightly chagrined. As it should. I can’t believe he just stood there and listened in on a conversation that didn’t concern him!
I drop the rag on the table and cross my arms over my chest. “You make a habit of eavesdropping?”
He gestures around the room. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s not much going on in here. Sound travels well.”
Evidently not so well. I didn’t hear him come up.
Tears burn my eyes. I feel like I’m standing here naked. Why, I don’t know, but I feel so exposed.
At least I didn’t tell Sam that Stormy isn’t my real name. Or about all my fake IDs.
“What do you want, Drew?” My tone is insubordinate and could cost me my job, but I don’t care. Not anymore.
“First, I want you to stop looking at me like I’m going to throw you out on the street.” He comes closer, his eyes moving between Sam and me. “I actually came over here to tell you guys to head home. We’re closing down early.”
Fine by me. I can’t get out of here fast enough.
And since Zak isn’t here to give me a ride, I’ll walk. I don’t think I can handle being here another second.
Thirteen
I deposit my rag behind the bar and turn, almost smashing into Drew. I twist aside and brush past him, but his hand lightly catches my arm.
“Hey, hold up a sec. Can we talk about this?”
“I don’t see what there is to talk about.”
“I’m sorry for surprising you. But I’m not sorry I heard. I want to help.”
Imagine that. Hero complex coming through.
“I don’t need your help.” Not exactly true, but I don’t care. If I’d wanted Drew to know, I would’ve told him.
“It seems to me that you can use all the help you can get.”
I want to hit him. Scream at him. Cling to him and have a really good cry.
Maybe all of the above.
What I don’t want to do is talk about this.
I glance around the room. Sam has moved to the far end of the room, clearing the only table with glasses and bottles still on it.
He won’t be any help. Especially since I have a sneaky feeling that he’d side with Drew.
“Stormy. From what I heard–”
“Don’t you mean overheard?”
He doesn’t rise to the bait. “None of this is your fault. Why wouldn’t you want people to know?”
I jerk my arm away and glare at him. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to not know who you are? Where you’re from? Why someone wants to kill you? It’s hard enough knowing someone wants me dead, but to not know why?”
“No.” He shrugs slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Tell me how I can help.”
The fire burns out as quickly as it was kindled. Might’ve been the gentleness in his tone or the compassion in his eyes, I’m not sure.
All I know is that I’m about to lose it. Right here.
My vision blurs. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I can listen. I’m pretty good at that.” He offers a dry grin. “Obviously. Can I ask what happened?”
I guess it can’t hurt anything at this point. Leaving out the part about multiple identities, I recap what happened as briefly as possible, although even the short version is pretty long. “Everything I know about myself is either from that night or my dreams. And those might not even be real.”
In fact, I’m positive some of them aren’t real. They seem too contradictory to all be true.
“Look, I’m sure it’ll come back.”
A short laugh, that might’ve been half cry and definitely sounds strained, bursts from me. “I’m not so sure. It’s been over a week.”
“That’s not so long.”
“Try spending a week in my shoes and see if you can say the same.”
He studies me. “You have no idea how remarkable you are, do you? Most people wouldn’t survive what you did. You not only survived, you started over. You’re thriving. In spite of the odds.”
I shake my head and try to swallow past the block in my throat. Everything in me wants to scream at him to just go away, but when I open my mouth, all that breaks out is a small sob.
I don’t want to be remarkable.
I don’t even want to thrive.
All I want is to know who I used to be and why all this happened.
Pressure builds in my head, but the pain of repressed tears is nothing compared to the pain inside.
Does anyone even know I’m gone?
Do they care?
Streams burn down my cheeks, growing from a trickle to what feels like a river.
I can’t stop the tears any more than I can force my memories to the surface.
Warmth surrounds me. Soft yet solid in front, firm around my back, gentle on top of my head.
Drew. Holding me, letting me cry into his shirt.
I’ve flattened him and verbally attacked him, yet he cares enough to try to comfort me.
His kindness contrasts with what a jerk I’ve been and makes me cry harder. Harsh sobs shudder through me.
A low rumble passes through Drew’s chest. I think he’s speaking, but I can’t make out the words.
I don’t know that I want to.
There’s something very safe, very reassuring about being here, like this, right now. Part of me never wants to move.
The tears continue until my eyes burn and my throat is raw, then slowly subside.
My breathing evens out, unconsciously matching the steady rise and fall of Drew’s chest beneath my cheek.
For once, it’s nice to not have to be strong. To let someone else carry the weight I’ve been dragging along these last few days.
I’m glad Drew overheard my conversation.
Although I’ll never tell him that.
If not for the storm… the storm! Drew was trying to close up. He’s probably waiting for me to pull myself together so he can leave.
And I’m still being a selfish jerk.
I draw in a breath and pull back, wiping the residual salt from my cheeks with my sleeve. Thanks to the makeup I was wearing, the sleeve comes away a black and orange mess.
It matches the abstract on Drew’s shirt.
I look up from the mess I’ve made to meet Drew’s eyes. “I’m sorry. First I attack you, then I try to drown you, and then I stain your shirt.”
“I’m hardly drowning.” He glances down. “And as for the shirt, that’s why God gave us bleach, right?”
At least the shirt is white.
Was white. With the help of bleach, it might be again.
I turn.
The bar is empty. No sign of Sam anywhere.
“I sent him home. You ready to get out of here?”
I look back at Drew. “I’m sorry to keep you–”
He holds up a hand. “No more apologies. It’s fine.”
Somehow, I think he really means that.
After turning off lights and arming the alarm, we step into an arctic wilderness. Snow swirls around us, my breath comes in white bursts, and my fingers instantly numb. My shoes sink into several inches of dry, dusty snow.
We trudge across the lot and Drew unlocks my door, waiting until I get in before rushing around to the driver’s side.
He blows on his fingers as he shuts the door. “Man, it’s cold out there.”
After cranking the heater, he reaches behind the seat and pulls out a squeegee with a brush attachment. He gets out of the car, knocks the snow off the windows, and is back inside only a minute later.
“Drew? Thanks.” I hadn’t realized how much I needed a good cry. Or how nice it would feel to be comforted.
He grins and puts the car in gear. “So I’m forgiven for eavesdropping?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Oddly enough, I mean it. “You’ll make a good pastor.”
His laugh contains a warmth that the car is lacking. “Thanks, but being a pastor is a lot more than offering a shoulder to cry on.”
I hadn’t really thought much about what Drew would have to do as a pastor, but he’s right. Obviously. “Of course. Sermons and all that.”
“And being a good example, counseling, offering advice, studying, being on-call twenty-four hours a day, performing weddings and funerals, and praying. Lots and lots of praying.”
Hmm. Guess there’s a lot more to the job than I originally thought. “Sounds like you’d b
e overworked and underpaid.” I’m assuming. I don’t really know what a pastor’s compensation looks like.
“True. But the retirement package is unequaled.”
Somehow I don’t think he means a condo in Arizona.
It must be nice to have something to look forward to in the future. Especially since all I have to look forward to is surviving another day.
But I can’t think about that. I’ll probably break down again and Drew’s seen my volatile side a few times too often.
So instead, I focus on the other big news of the day. “Did you hear about Zak’s sister?”
“You kidding? As much noise as he was making? I think the whole strip heard about her.”
I still can’t believe it. All this time and she finally wakes up.
On the day Malachi prayed for her.
Coincidence. It has to be.
And I refuse to believe it could be anything else. “We’re still moving Sam in the morning?”
“Better believe it. I talked to Zak earlier and he said he’d meet us there, but after tonight, well, I guess we’ll see. Malachi’s planning on being there, too.”
Good. We can’t get Sam out of that place soon enough.
“Can I give you a ride tomorrow?”
“If it’s not too far out of your way, that’d be great.” Maybe I should get a car or something. That way I could stop being a burden to everyone.
It’d also help if I had to make a hasty escape. It’s harder to track a car cross country than something where I’d have to buy a ticket with my name – or a name – on it.
But it would spend money that I may or may not have. Not to mention it would be one more thing to deal with when… if… my memory comes back.
Besides, Zak and Drew don’t seem to mind.
Yet.
“I’ll pick you up around eight-thirty? That way we can be at his place by nine.”
Eight-thirty makes for a short night, but who am I kidding? It’s not like I’ll sleep the whole thing anyway. “Sounds good.”
Drew’s car slides at a stop sign and, after a glance at the road, he releases the brake and just keeps going.
Hopefully the roads will be clearer in the morning. Hauling all of Sam’s possessions in these conditions doesn’t sound like fun.
And I’m not even the one driving.
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