“And Coopersmith’s, of all places,” Marcie went on, a note of disgust overshadowing her cheery tone. “Low blow. This is our restaurant. We’ve had birthdays here, work parties, anniversaries. Could you be any tackier?”
Hank squeezed between his eyes.
Mom said quietly, “I picked the restaurant, Marcie. I didn’t realize it had special meaning to your family.”
“Don’t talk to me,” Marcie snapped. “This is between me and my dad. Don’t act like you get any say in this.”
“Okay!” I said, pushing up from my chair. “I’m going to the restroom.” I sent my mom a quick look, hinting for her to join me. This wasn’t our problem. If Marcie and her dad wanted to go at it, and in public, fine. But I wasn’t going to sit here and make a spectacle of myself.
“I’ll join you,” Marcie said, catching me off guard.
Before I could figure out my next move, Marcie looped her arm through mine and propelled me toward the front of the restaurant.
“Mind telling me what this is all about?” I asked when we were out of earshot. I shifted my eyes between our linked arms.
“A truce,” Marcie stated pointedly.
Things were getting more interesting by the minute.
“Oh? And how long is it going to last?” I asked.
“Just until my dad breaks up with your mom.”
“Good luck with that one,” I said with a snort.
She let go of my arm so we could pass single file into the ladies’ room. When the door fell shut at our backs, she did a quick check under the stalls to make sure we were alone. “Don’t pretend like you don’t care,” she said. “I saw you sitting with them. You looked like you were going to vomit out your eyes.”
“Your point?”
“My point being we have something in common.”
I laughed, but my laugh was of the dry, humorless variety.
“Scared of taking sides with me?” she asked.
“More like wary. I’m not particularly fond of getting stabbed in the back.”
“I wouldn’t stab you in the back.” She flicked her wrist impatiently. “Not on something this serious.”
“Note to self: Marcie is only a backstabber on trivial things.”
Marcie boosted herself onto the sink’s ledge. She was now half a head taller, looking down on me. “Is it true you can’t remember anything? Like, your amnesia is real?”
Stay cool. “Did you drag me in here to talk about our parents, or are you really that interested in me?”
Lines of concentration formed on her forehead. “If something happened between us … you wouldn’t remember, right? It would be like it didn’t happen. In your mind, anyway.” She watched me closely, clearly intent on my answer.
I rolled my eyes. I was growing more irritated by the minute. “Just spit it out. What happened between us?”
“I’m being completely hypothetical here.”
I didn’t believe that for a second. Marcie had probably humiliated me in some grand way before I’d vanished, but now that she needed my cooperation, she hoped I’d forgotten. Whatever she’d done, I was almost glad I couldn’t remember. I had a lot more on my mind than worrying about Marcie’s latest offensive strike.
“It’s true then,” Marcie said, not exactly smiling, but not frowning either. “You really can’t remember.”
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t have a comeback. Lying, and getting caught in the act, would say a lot more about my insecurities than just being up-front.
“My dad said you can’t remember anything from the last five months. Why does the amnesia stretch back that far? Why not just from when you were kidnapped?”
My tolerance had reached its limit. If I was going to discuss this with anyone, Marcie wasn’t first on the list. She wasn’t on the list, period. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going back to the table.”
“I’m just trying to get information.”
“Ever consider it’s none of your business?” I said, my parting shot.
“Are you telling me you don’t remember Patch?” she blurted.
Patch.
As soon as his name fell from Marcie’s lips, the same haunting shade of black eclipsed my vision. It vanished as quickly as it came, but left an impression. Hot, unaccountable emotion. Like an unexpected slap to the face. I momentarily lost the ability to draw breath. The sting radiated all the way to the bone. I knew the name. There was something about him….
“What did you say?” I asked slowly, turning back.
“You heard me.” Her eyes studied mine. “Patch.”
I tried but failed to keep a blush of bewilderment and uncertainty from trickling into my expression.
“Well, well,” Marcie said, not looking as pleased as I would have expected for catching me stripped and defenseless.
I knew I should walk out, but that elusive flare of recognition caused me to hold my place. Maybe, if I kept talking to Marcie, it would return. Maybe this time it would hang around long enough for me to make something of it. “Are you going to stand there and ‘well, well’ me, or are you going to give me a hint?”
“Patch gave you something earlier in the summer,” she said without preamble. “Something that belongs to me.”
“Who’s Patch?” I managed at last. The question seemed redundant, but I wasn’t about to let Marcie race on ahead until I was caught up — at least as much as I could be. Five months was a lot of ground to cover in a quick trip to the bathroom.
“A guy I dated. A summer fling.”
Another potent stirring within that felt eerily close to jealousy, but I shoved the impression away. Marcie and I would never be interested in the same guy. Attributes she valued, such as shallow, unintelligent, and egotistical, didn’t pique my interest.
“What did he give me?” I knew I was missing a lot, but it was a really far stretch to think Marcie’s boyfriend would have given me anything. Marcie and I shared none of the same friends. We weren’t involved in any of the same clubs. None of our extracurricular activities overlapped. In short, we had nothing in common.
“A necklace.”
Savoring the fact that for once I didn’t have to play defense, I gave her a gold-medal smirk. “Why, Marcie, I could have sworn giving another girl jewelry is a sign that your boyfriend is a cheat.”
She tilted her head back and laughed so convincingly, I felt that same uneasiness settle back into my gut. “I can’t decide if it’s sad that you’re so completely in the dark, or funny.”
I folded my arms across my chest, aiming for a subtle show of annoyance and impatience, but the truth was, I was cold on the inside. A cold that didn’t have to do with temperature. I was never going to escape this. I had a quick and terrible feeling that my run-in with Marcie was only the beginning, a subtle foreshadowing of what lay ahead. “I don’t have the necklace.”
“You think you don’t have it, because you can’t remember it. But you have it. It’s probably sitting inside your jewelry box right now. You promised Patch you’d pass it along to me.” She held out a scrap of paper for me to take. “My number. Call me when you find the necklace.”
I took the paper, but I wasn’t going to be bought that easily. “Why didn’t he just give you the necklace himself?”
“We were both friends with Patch.” At my look of deep skepticism, she added, “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”
“I don’t have the necklace,” I repeated with finality.
“You have it, and I want it back.”
Could she be any more persistent? “This weekend, when I have some free time, I’ll look around for it.”
“Sooner rather than later would be nice.”
“My offer, take it or leave it.”