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Rubbing my leg, he nods. “You got it.”
The file is easier to open this time. Maybe because I know there’s no use in pretending it doesn’t exist, or perhaps because I already know my name, which felt like the biggest reveal. But really, his being by my side gives me strength.
I flip it open and smile at the photo. “It’s weird to know that’s me but not, like I’m looking at a twin that’s not quite identical.”
He traces along the arm of the woman in the photo. “That’s who I met in the coffee shop. Everything perfectly in place.” He glances at me with a small smile on his face. “She used her hands a lot.” Tapping me on the nose, he adds, “But you use yours more.”
“It’s so strange how I’m two different people living separate lives in two worlds.” I look back at the photo. “Maybe that’s why I’m not missed. Maybe she’s still out there living her life. Best life judging by the fancy clothes and jewelry.” I laugh, though it’s light.
“I think I got the best version.”
I know he’s giving me a sweet compliment, but tilting my head, I rest it on his shoulder. “I’d have to agree.” But to me, this side is the best because he’s a part of me. Lifting back up, I flip the page to see a copy of my birth certificate. “Céline Vivienne Schroder. French and . . .?” I glance at Loch again like he’s my personal Wikipedia.
“German?”
“Huh. French mother and German father. Fascinating.” When I see my birthday, I say, “April first,” and can’t stop myself from laughing. “Joke’s on me.”
“You’re twenty-seven.”
“I am.” I grin as I double-check the year on the paper and purse my lips. “That’s so weird. I didn’t feel a day over twenty-five.” I laugh because, at this point, it’s only information. None of these details feel like who I am these days.
I flip through a few more documents, including a bank statement. “Oh my God! Is that my money?”
He picks up the paper and studies it. “Holy shit. You’re rich.”
I should feel happy, and maybe in a way, I am, but this is too surreal to comprehend. “Guess I can pay you back, after all.”
Chuckling, he says, “It’s not your money I’m after.”
“What are you after?” Please say my body. Though if he says my heart, I’m okay with that as well.
“I’ll show you later.” Hubba. Hubba.
Before we get sidetracked, I say, “For some reason, I don’t feel like Céline did much of anything other than maybe shop?” I look down at my body. “She also did some intensive working out for this body. I can’t seem to find the same motivation.”
He bumps me. “Don’t be so hard on Céline. She was probably doing the best she could.”
“I keep going back to what Lark said during my checkup. About my brain trying to protect me from my past.”
“What do you think that’s about?”
“That would be the million-dollar question or, should I say, the multimillion-dollar question if I’m referring to that bank account. Either way, I wish I knew the answer.”
The last page contains a photo of what I assume is the house where I lived. “It’s big.” Thinking back to how I thought the Westcotts’ Beacon home was a mansion, this home would shadow it. I say, “Really rich.”
I close the file and angle it toward Loch. “You know what I’ve been dying to know?”
That brings the smile I was hoping to see back to his face. “What?”
“At home, you drink your coffee black, but how do you like your coffee at a coffee shop?”
He stands. “Not as complicated as yours.”
“Oh.” I perk up even more. “How do I like my coffee?” I add only a dash of creamer here, but he’s got me curious about what I ordered the day we met.
“Hate to disappoint you, but I can’t remember. It was a lot of this, some of that, and more who knows what. Complicated.”
That’s something else I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Loch left. I even saw it on the video, but he returned to help when he saw me get attacked. I stand and press the palm of my hand to his chest. “There were so many bystanders that day who did nothing, but you did. You came back for me.”
“I always will.” He kisses my forehead. “What happens next?”
“I guess I’m going to Rhode Island to visit my past.”
30
Tuesday
Two days later . . .
* * *
I don’t have a lot, but there’s now enough to fill a suitcase.
None of this stuff matters to me, though. It’s clothes, shoes, and accessories. Superficial stuff that came into my life as nothing more than necessities.
Necessity?
Loch is the only thing I need, but he won’t fit in my luggage. If only there were a way to bring him into the life I used to know, to convince him to stay with me and continue to be my strength when I need him most. But he insists I do this alone.
