He followed them into the living room where the leather couches Julia had helped him pick out formed an L-shape. She stood in the center of the room, staring out at the skyline of San Francisco for several seconds, then turned and glanced around the room. He didn’t know what she was looking at—or for—but as her gaze swept over the photos of Julia, of Mitch, of Annie, Ryan’s patience reached a tipping point.
Julia tugged on his arm, whispered, “Daddy” in a pleading voice, but he ignored her.
“Why are you here, Ms…what was your name again?”
She visibly jolted, then turned to face him, and from the way her green eyes widened, he knew the shock was gone from his face and had been replaced with the ice he felt inside. The ice he’d built up over the years just so he could survive.
He watched her pull up some invisible shield, watched her eyes harden as if she were looking at a complete stranger. As if the connection they’d shared in the street had never happened. “Your wife died in a plane crash, about five years ago, is that right?”
When he didn’t answer, she added, “And she died here in San Francisco. Is that correct?”
“You already seem to know the answers to these questions. Why are you here?” he asked again.
“A year and a half ago, I was in an accident that landed me in a coma.” She lifted her hand, rubbed at a spot on the side of her head. “When I woke up in a Dallas hospital, I couldn’t remember the accident or anything about my life before it. The doctors said the trauma did something to my long-term memory. Retrograde amnesia, they called it. I’d been told I was in a car accident. But now, I’m not so sure.”
“Why not?” Mitch asked, watching her closely too.
She glanced his way. “My husband died in that plane crash here a few weeks ago. After, when I was going through some of his papers, I found evidence that suggests I was in a nursing home here in San Francisco during that coma, not in Texas like I’d been led to believe. And that the coma had lasted close to three years, not four days. I’m not sure why my husband lied, or what it all means, but I came here to San Francisco looking for answers. I went to see a lawyer today for advice. The woman recognized me, said I looked a lot like Anne Harrison.” She glanced back at Ryan. “Your wife.”
Ryan’s head spun, and his pulse beat so hard it was a roar in his ears. The story was ludicrous. Insane. No way it was real.
“Who was the lawyer?” Mitch asked.
“Simone Conners.”
Mitch’s eyes found Ryan’s. He knew what Mitch was thinking. But it couldn’t be her. Yeah, she looked a lot like her, but now that the shock was gone he could tell she wasn’t the same. Annie’s nose had been different, her cheeks not as sharp. Maturity could change a person’s face and shape, but it didn’t reshape bone structure. Besides which, Annie was gone. She’d died in that crash. They’d buried her. It didn’t matter that they’d never had a body. No one had survived that crash.
“Simone’s thinks you might be Annie,” Ryan said. “That’s why you’re here.”
“No. Not exactly. In fact, she doesn’t know I’m here. She told me not to come, but I…” She bit her lip, then reached into her purse. Her eyes cut to Julia, standing at Ryan’s side, and a protective urge bubbled through him, one that made him want to tug his daughter tight to his side. With trembling fingers, she held a photo out to him. “I found this in a lockbox in my house.”
Hesitantly, Ryan reached for the picture. Looked down. And felt his entire world tip right out from under him.
Julia’s eyes widened as she glanced at the photo in his hand. “That’s me.”
Ryan’s head darted up. When she turned to look at Julia and tucked her hair behind her ear, he caught sight of a faded strawberry birthmark just below her left ear where her jaw met her neck. An upside down heart. One he’d kissed and licked and nibbled so many times he knew it as if it were his own.
Hope burst into flame in his chest. It was her. She was alive. She was…
He moved to reach for her. She stepped back to avoid his touch, and when her gaze fell on his, the look in her eyes registered. No recognition. No love. Nothing but emptiness and distrust.
Her reaction in the street slammed back into him. And that hope was quickly doused with ice.
Accident. Retrograde amnesia… Alive.
Sickness pushed up his esophagus. The room closed in around him as it had at her funeral, when the reality that he’d lost her forever had hit him like a ton of bricks.
But he hadn’t lost her. She was here. She was real. No matter what had happened to change her appearance, one thing remained. She was alive. She’d never gotten on that plane. She’d been here in San Francisco the whole time and he’d never looked for her. He’d never even thought to look for her.
Air choked in his lungs. The photo fluttered to the floor at his feet. He had to get away from her. Away from all of them before he lost it for good.
He walked out of the room. Didn’t know where the hell he was going. At his back, he heard Mitch mutter, “Ah, just give us a minute, okay?”
He made it as far as the kitchen. Needed to go farther, wasn’t sure his legs would carry him. Bracing his hands against the cold granite, he dropped his head, just focused on breathing. In and out. In and out. Hoped like hell it would alleviate the pain spearing his chest.
Don’t lose it. Keep it together for Julia.
His eyes slid shut, and he forced back the tears. Of all the scenarios he’d imagined over the years, this wasn’t one of them. In all of them, in the ones where she’d been alive, at least, she’d been as thrilled to see him as he was to see her. But this woman, this Kate Alexander didn’t know him. She wasn’t running into his arms. She wasn’t professing her love for him. She was just standing there, staring at him like he was…nobody.
And she’d said she had a husband. That pain cinched down tight until he could barely breathe. She’d gotten remarried. Her life had moved on while his had stood rooted in time, the memory of her the only thing that kept him going day after day.
“Ryan.”
Mitch. Dammit, he should have known Mitch would follow him.
He didn’t turn, couldn’t face Mitch’s eyes. “She doesn’t recognize us.”
“No, she doesn’t. It doesn’t mean it’s her.”
“It’s her. You saw the way she ran her hand over her hair. And she’s got the same damn birthmark near her ear.” His voice cracked. “That’s Annie.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I know it.” Ryan finally turned Mitch’s way. “I know it. I knew it as soon as I saw her.”
“It’s possible. But the chances are so remote. Look, I’ll agree she looks like her. Christ.” Mitch scrubbed at his jaw. “And her story, well, it could fit. But we don’t know for sure. She could be some crazy loon looking for money. Ryan, I don’t have to remind you you’re practically a celebrity. That draws the sickos right out of the woodwork. We don’t know if it’s her. There are tests we can take. DNA sampling—from me, from Julia.”
“It won’t matter. You and I both know it’s her, whether you want to admit it or not.”
“I need to know for sure.”
Ryan’s eyes slid shut. Mitch was so rooted in science, in the black and white of everything. But this situation was nothing but gray. “She doesn’t recognize us,” he said again.
“Ryan, don’t do this to yourself. Not yet. Let’s see what we find out. This could all just be a huge coincidence.”
Ryan turned to stare over the kitchen. Minutes ago, he’d been about to make Julia dinner. He’d planned to show her pictures of the new Jag Hannah had talked him into ordering. After, he was going to sit down with her and watch a movie. He was even going to let her choose one of her favorite Indiana Jones flicks that they’d already seen ten thousand times. Now…now he couldn’t figure out what the hell to do next.