High Hopes

by Jaclyn Jhin

  Dr. Root cleared his throat. “Ian, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. Hypnotherapy only decreases your anxiety. It relaxes your mind and body, allowing you to open up for greater recollection. If I asked you what kind of things you were doing one year ago, even after a few hypnotherapy sessions, you still may not be able to tell me. It may not happen immediately.”

  Then what the hell was the point of what we just did? I could feel the frustration rising in me again. “Are you just trying to scam me?”

  Someone else might take offense. Not calm Dr. Root. He even chuckled. “Certainly not. I only suggested this alternative because you are understandably keen on accessing your memories—”

  “Well, Jesus Christ. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “... I’m doing all that I can to help you. Patients with amnesia may be able to uncover some memories eventually, but the more likely outcome is that those years in your life will remain opaque.”

  “Then, what was the point of your hypnotherapy session?”

  “As I just told you, it is part of a coordinated treatment course to mitigate your tendency toward anger and anxiety.”

  I stared back at him, unmoving, unspeaking.

  He finally broke the silence. “I’d like to recommend we reconvene in two weeks. You can tell me what progress you have made in the interim.”

  “I have to go,” I said, knowing I would never return.

  * * *

  I walked out of Dr. Root’s building and toward the blue Porsche I had bought that morning. I didn’t want anything associated with my mother, including her limo, so I had made a stop at the dealership and made the purchase in what must have been record time. No haggling. I paid the full MSRP, leaving behind a very happy salesman. I hopped into the car, inhaling the delicious new car aroma, feeling the smoothness of the leather seats. I made sure I had a few minutes left at the meter and checked my phone. I started typing in google.com/flights, but a text from Camy popped up first.

  “I’m going out with friends dancing tonight. Come if u want.”

  I started to type a response, then changed my mind.

  I swiped out of the screen and went back to the flight info. I clicked on the first flight to Los Angeles I could find. One-way ticket. Sold.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Is it possible to fall in love with people without really knowing them? Kelly and her son, Jack, were strangers to me. Strangers who wanted nothing to do with Ian Anderson II. Yet, after returning to LA, I was compelled to rent a two-bedroom apartment in a high-rise across the street from Craig’s. Undoubtedly less glamorous than his, the apartment was also sparser. Spartan was a better word. Minimalist, better still. Zero furniture except for the futon wedged in the corner. It didn’t even have chairs. When I wanted to sit down, I perched on the windowsill with the view toward Kelly and Jack.

  Days went on and on. I felt like a shivering man in the fallen snow, forever locked out of a cottage with a warm hearth, heat blazing inside. I remembered well what Craig’s apartment looked like the day I barged in: the pajamas, the toys. Life. The happy mess. That’s what I wanted.

  I was hoping that by watching Kelly, I could begin to remember what really happened during those missing years. I stared out the window, affording me a kaleidoscopic view of the bustling city below. Teeming with diversity—honking cars, rich and poor, planted trees in the concrete urban jungle—I thought perhaps its alien vastness would trigger something inside me. Something demanding to be set free.

  Unfortunately, it did no such thing. Unless you can count the hunger it unleashed in me. Not for food, though. For Kelly. For Jack. For any sense of belonging. And while my hunger for connection grew, I shriveled. Pounds melted off as the summer swelter baked me in my concrete cocoon. I never ran the AC. I let the heat punish me with its stifling fieriness. It cooked me alive in that hollow unit all through July.

  As drops of sweat pooled and dripped from my forehead to my bloodshot eyes, it blurred everything, including the smeary city with its never-ending hullabaloo of noise and sights. But whenever Kelly came into view, my whole being sharpened. More than a hundred feet below, she came into view, a dreamy vision in this maddening island of steel and glass.

  I learned her schedule through repetition. Every morning, she left the building with the kids hand in hand. The twins usually looked distracted, their blonde hair matted, lips chattering, but the little boy, Jack, he always looked happy just to be holding her hand, just to be there. I longed to grip hers, too. To feel her fingers intertwine mine.

  She would take them to some playdate or preschool, then return to the apartment alone, looking exhausted. I watched it all, holed up in my 16th floor airless prison. For the first time ever, I had all the time I could ever want. I could do anything with all my payoff money. Yet I desired nothing else but to sit, to watch.

  It went on like this into August. By this time, I was nearly unrecognizable as the man who inked the massive hedge fund sale. My hair had grown out, and I had lost more than 20 pounds. To keep my sanity, I began a new health regimen: 20 push-ups every 30 minutes, 30 sit-ups on the hour. I did this all day, every day, until my abs poked through my shrunken stomach and the veins in my biceps bulged just from stretching.

  One morning, I decided to shave my thick beard that had grown in the last few weeks. Looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my eyes haunted me with their starved look. I was a man alone, apart. Was I punishing myself for not remembering? For what I had done to Kelly? I didn’t know. And I felt ashamed for not knowing.

  Ever since the accident, I would wonder why I felt so empty. Why things didn’t seem right. Why I despised my finance, Camy. Why something inside doubted the stories my mother told about those missing years. It wasn’t until I saw Kelly that I knew something was truly wrong. All those doubts and questions suddenly seemed justified, and I had to know the truth. But looking at my reflection, I realized self-punishment wouldn’t help me discover anything. I couldn’t go on this way. I had to get out of this apartment. I had to see Kelly again face to face.

  After clapping the pockets of my now-baggy jeans to make sure I had wallets and keys, I ventured out. Pushing open the glass lobby doors, I stepped onto the rough concrete, feeling the sun sear the top of my head. I had to shield my eyes from its glare. A couple of security guards outside the building nodded. They knew me as the weirdo who popped out at odd hours to buy peanuts from the store across the street.

  A motorbike whizzed past, forcing me back onto the cracked sidewalk. When I looked up again, I froze. It’s her.

  My feet moved before my brain did. I started walking in the same direction, slowly, so she wouldn’t see me. As usual, she dragged the three kids with her. The twins wore backpacks designed to look like characters from Cars. Jack held Kelly’s hand. On his back hung a green backpack with a picture of a Minion from Despicable Me. She wore a black T-shirt and jeans with flip-flops. She didn’t have any makeup on, and her long, black hair flowed past her shoulders. Her natural, carefree look was refreshing compared to Camy’s artifice. I felt drawn to her. My heart raced just looking at her.

  She made the kids wait at the crosswalk to turn on Frank Court. I had just weaved around some parked cars when my phone rang. The tone was some high-pitched chirping sound Camy had installed. Shit. I immediately fished for it in my pocket, trying to turn it off. A picture of Camy’s face—another thing she had installed—popped up. I turned it off and slid it back into my pocket, trying to keep up with the trio as the walk sign appeared. The chirping started up again.

  I answered, keeping my head down. “Camy, what is it?” I asked, clearly annoyed.

  She didn’t waste any time. “I’m seeing someone.”

  I turned the corner, lifting up on my tiptoes, trying to catch Kelly above the crowd of people. “Great. I’m happy for you.”

  She snorted. “You really are a narcissistic asshole, just like everyone says. You know, I waited for you for you to call—”

  I hung
up.

  Kelly kept walking straight ahead, heading toward a group of white tents set out in the middle of the street for the Farmer’s Market. She stopped beside a vendor selling fresh organic produce.

  “Miss Kelly, how are you?” I heard the man ask.

  Another voice chimed in. “Ah, our favorite girl is back!”

  Kelly flushed under the attention. One of the guys reached down to give Jack a high-five. Kelly pretended to put a head of lettuce on his head as a hat. He looked up at her with adoring eyes, giggling.

  For some reason, this small interaction—the hat, the laugh, those eyes—took my breath away. The twins were busy at another stall, but Jack stayed close to Kelly. He clung to her leg, pretending to be a monkey. I had to laugh, then turned, realizing tears were coming.

  A moment later, a tall, thin Asian man with square glasses and slicked back hair came up to her and gave her a hug. The kids flocked to him, and he gave them squeezes in return.

  They shared a kiss that ripped me apart. Holy crap, she isn’t single! I scooted closer. I needed to hear their conversation.

  “I thought you were at church,” I heard her say. I edged toward a pyramid of avocados, keeping my head down.

  “Got out early,” the man said.

  She bent down to pick up some strawberries and scooted the children out of the tent. I followed.

  “I was hoping to use today to study,” Kelly said. Even her speaking voice was melodic. I just wanted to go up and talk to her, all day, every day.

  “You want me to take ‘em for a few hours?”

  “You can take the twins. Jack wants to go with me there, but every time they come along, he freaks.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. Hey, boys, want to play some Wii?”

  “Yeah!” they shouted in unison.

  Pangs of jealousy tore through me as I watched him kiss her again. Then he took off with the twins, leaving Kelly and Jack alone.

  “Ready?” she asked him.

  He took a flower from the vendor, who gave him a high five, and followed after her.

  “Oh, Jack,” I heard her say.

  * * *

  I stood near the market entrance, watching customers weave through stands selling everything from fresh fish heads to costume jewelry. Anger rose inside me. Seeing that man kiss Kelly made me crazy. I had to put the pieces of the puzzle together now. Who could help me? Dr. Root was useless. My mother would never tell me the truth. Then it came to me. I put my phone in between my ear and shoulder and waited for him to pick up.

  “Ian. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Craig. Sorry to bother you, man, but, you know, I feel like I know your nanny from somewhere.”

  There was a long pause. I could tell Craig was debating whether to hang up on me, or worse, call the cops.

  “Oh, gosh. I don’t know.” I could tell from his voice that he was feeling uncomfortable.

  “That’s why I was there that day. Just making sure I didn’t know her from somewhere.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you tell me anything about her?”

  “Tell you anything about my nanny?”

  “I know this sounds weird ...”

  “It sounds really weird, dude. I come back here and you’re fricking stalking her like some—”

  “Look, Craig. Just tell me something about her. Anything and I promise you’ll never have to talk to me again.”

  He didn’t say anything for so long I checked my screen to see if he ended the call. “Camy called Julia. What happened between you two?”

  “Nothing. We broke up. But seriously, Craig ...”

  “Look, I’m gonna go now. Please don’t take this wrong. I appreciate everything you and your mom did. It’s just ... it’s creepy, you know?”

  I wanted to scream at him, to tell him I knew it was nuts—absurd—insane. I understood all the reasons he must think I was a mad man. “Craig, please.” My voice broke as I said it. I was at the end of my rope.

  “All I know is her parents died when she was young. When B.B. Chu told me she was looking for work and that she had a kid, too, I decided to give her a try. Now my twins love her.”

  “B.B. Chu. Like BBQ. That’s the lawyer you mentioned—”

  “Look, I gotta go. You take care, okay?”

  * * *

  I pushed through the doors of B.B. Chu Law Offices, nodding to the secretary before noticing a familiar-looking man in an office surrounded by glass. Built with the kind of chest that comes from doing repeated bench presses, he sat hunched over his computer. After confirming with his secretary I was the person who called looking for a new IP attorney, she let me pass.

  When he saw me enter, his mouth gaped open.

  I put out my hand. “I’m Ian Anderson.”

  B.B. shoved my hand away like I just insulted his mother. “I know who you are. Why the fuck are you here?”

  Not exactly the greeting I expected. “Wh—”

  He didn’t let me finish before rising to his full height. He had a good three inches on me and was intimidating. Especially with his neck heating up to an ugly crimson. “You’d better walk out that same door you just came in.”

  I could hear the secretary shuffling outside and sensed a crowd might be forming. I dared not check. This guy looked spitting mad, like he might put my head through the glass if I made the wrong move.

  “Kelly—”

  He didn’t let me get the word out. “How could you do that to her?”

  “Tell me what I did.”

  I snuck a look back. Sure enough, half the office had gathered.

  B.B. shook his head, appalled. “Jesus, man. Get out of here.”

  “Please, I—”

  He reached over. I thought he was going to hit me, but instead he opened his door wider. “I can’t be in the same room with you for another minute. And if you don’t drop this, I’ll knock your damn teeth out.”

  “Kelly—”

  “Kelly has her life on track now. Finally started dating someone. Let her be.”

  “Just tell me, what did I do?”

  Murmurs from behind me.

  “Don’t test me, man. You’re starting to piss me off. If it weren’t for Jack, I’d punch your fucking pretty-boy face into ground chunk.”

  He shoved me toward the office door. Feeling punch-drunk and stupid, I staggered past my audience. Just like B.B., they glared at me, too, like I had done something unforgivable to them. But what?

  Outside on the street, I paused beneath an overhang. To my left was an automated parking garage. Why did he say, ‘If it weren’t for Jack?’ What did Jack have to do with anything? I started toward Wilshire Boulevard as I tried to piece together clues. My mother said Kelly went to Columbia, too.

  I took out my phone and tried accessing my old Columbia email account. Inactive, it must have been shut down. Next, I tried the archive of my work email account, @andersonfunds.com, and searched “Kelly.” Nothing came up.

  I took a deep breath. I had no choice but to speak to the one person who must know the truth. I dialed her number, steeling myself. “Mother, I need to talk to you—”

  “You haven’t called in weeks. Camy is a wreck. You know that, right? I don’t blame her if she never speaks to you again. It’s unforgivable—”

  “I need to talk to you about Kelly.”

  “Oh, God, this again?”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  She sighed. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but she blackmailed you.”

  “Blackmailed me?”

  “For 50 thousand dollars.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “She said she was pregnant and that you were the father. Completely ludicrous.”

  I thought of Jack. “Was it mine?”

  “I doubt it. She disappeared after I paid her the money.”

  “You paid her? When?”

  “Ian, she’s not a good person. I have a copy of the wire transfer receipt in my person
al email account. Do you want to see it?”

  “I have to go.”

  I paced back and forth on the sidewalk, trying to make sense of everything. After watching Kelly, I knew that she was not a gold digger. I’ve met plenty in the past, and Kelly was nothing like them. Blackmail? Fifty thousand dollars? It can’t be true. Suddenly, it occurred to me. Why was I checking my work emails? I needed to check my personal account. My iPhone remembered the login, but the cursor in the password bar blinked back at me. What was my password? I hadn’t used it in so long I couldn’t remember.

  Anderson9089

  Wrong.

  Boomer2002

  Childhood dog’s name. Wrong.

  I stopped. Looking up at the cloudless sky, it hit me. Ilovekelly

  It worked. My heart sped up as the email loaded.

  You have no messages.

  I stopped breathing. The inbox had been cleared. The sent boxes were also cleared. Someone had deleted all the emails.

  Wait. What about the trash folder? I clicked on it. There were hundreds of emails. Hundreds of emails from Kelly. I felt sick. What had I done?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I walked away from the business plaza, weaving through the throes of oncoming foot traffic, phone clenched in my hand. Think, think, think. Kelly’s boyfriend took the twins. Kelly had Jack. She said they were going to visit his grandparents. She couldn’t be talking about my parents, and Craig said both her parents were dead. Jack wanted to bring flowers ... dead parents ... a cemetery. They were going to visit her parents’ graves.

  Turning to my phone, I found emails about a cemetery and someone named Halmuni’s death. Vague memories swirled in me—an heirloom ring, seeing her relatives packed at a vigil. The more emails I read, the more I started to remember, little by little like a dream ... how confident I was back then. Brazen would probably be a better word. I felt sick thinking of what Kelly must have been through in the last three years. I had to find her.

  I guessed that wherever this Halmuni was buried, Kelly’s parents would be nearby. Somewhere within the emails was the information I wanted. Evergreen Cemetery. That’s where we went to bury Halmuni that day. I didn’t remember it, but I had to try.