Authors: Kelli Jae Baeli
8
THE SNOW WAS TORRENTIAL. IT REMINDED HER of last night’s dream... she was out in the snow, feeling every bite of the icy wind, wishing she was warm again. And all she could see in the dream was her black boots; all she could hear in the dream was the
crunch crunch crunch
rhythm of other boots in the snow; and all she could feel in the dream was the wind—and someone else—
She didn’t know who she felt, but looking out over the shelter’s modest lawn, now blanketed and clean, she decided she didn’t want to know; she decided it might hurt too much. But she didn’t know why she felt that way.
The shelter was a modified hotel, bought with city funds and renovated with mostly volunteer help. It allowed the women with children to have a room of their own, and Brittany was relieved to have one to herself. She wanted the privacy.
A knock. “Come in.”
The door to her room opened, and she turned to face the director of the shelter.
“Good morning, Brittany.” Ms. Sheldon smiled. “How ya doin’ today?”
“Better. The pain’s almost gone.”
“Good. Um...
I, um—there’s been a development in your case. There’s someone here to see you. I told her about your condition, so—”
“Who is it?”
“Your sister.”
Brittany flinched. “I thought I didn’t have relatives?”
“Well, the police said she had photos of you two, and all kinds of documentation to prove you live with her.”
Ms. Sheldon opened the door wide, and the young woman entered the room. First, Brittany noticed her black hair. Such a contrast to her own blond.
This woman is my sister?
“Brit? Oh, thank God you’re alive...” The young woman lost her breath for a moment, her eyes traveling the length of Brittany’s body, almost devouring the sight of her. Then she caught her stare. “I...
you don’t remember me, do you?”
Brittany tried to concentrate on her face, and all she got was a headache. “I’m sorry. You’re a stranger to me.”
The young woman’s face contorted in an expression of grief and longing, but she got control of whatever slammed around in her head. “That’s okay...
I’ve been looking for you. You disappeared off the face of the earth.” She cleared the choking sensation in her throat. “I didn’t know...
how to find you until I saw your picture in the paper.” Tears began to well in her eyes. “I called the hospital and they put me in touch with the police officer who was working on your case. You don’t know how relieved I was—”
The director cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone.” She closed the door quietly behind her.
The young woman set the knapsack and coat she held on the bed. “I brought you some of your clothes.” She sniffled. “And a coat. It’s getting really wicked out there, the roads are almost too icy to dri—”
“What did you say your name was?” she interrupted.
That pained expression came again, then, “Tru.”
Odd name
. Brittany touched the watch on her wrist, remembering the inscription. She had not taken it off, for fear it would make her less a person, somehow.
“I gave you that watch last Christmas...
well, I mean, the one before this one. You never took it off...
except to shower.” She attempted to smile but failed.
Brittany noticed the silver and turquoise rings that Tru wore on five of her fingers. She saw, too, the similar earrings and other jewelry and wondered what the obsession was. When she focused on Tru again, Brittany noticed that the dark-haired woman still had trouble catching her breath. “This is very awkward.”
“Yeah. It’s—I’ve missed you so much, Brit.” Tru stepped forward, as if to embrace her, and Brittany leaned back, confused. She changed her tone. “Hey, I brought your favorite jeans and that black turtle neck, and that pink flannel shirt you like.”
Brittany went around the bed and unzipped the knapsack, digging the clothing out, momentarily pleased to have something of her past. She noticed the leather tag sewn into the back of the knapsack. Beside NAME, was written BRITTANY JABOT. “How do I pronounce my last name?”
“Its French. It’s pronounced z
hah-bow
.”
Brittany repeated the name to herself several times, but it didn’t feel familiar. “What’s your last name?”
She hesitated. “Morgan...
why?”
“Why is my last name different? Are you married?” She removed her robe and hospital gown and put the turtle neck on.
Tru averted her eyes as Brittany changed clothes. “Hardly. I’ll explain it all to you when we get home.”
Brittany added the flannel shirt and began to button it. “Home? What if I’m not ready to go anywhere with you?”
Tru gasped. “Where else have you got to go?”
“I can stay here as long as I need to. I can take a cab where I need to go. Where are our parents?”
“Brit, I’ll explain all that when we get home.” Tru put on one glove.
“What’s this ‘we’ stuff?” Brittany tucked the shirt in and zipped up her jeans. They were a bit loose.
“We have a house together. Why wouldn’t you want to go to your own home?”
Brittany stared at her, feeling lost, trapped. “What if I don’t want to go there?”
Tru sighed. “What are you afraid of? Maybe seeing where you live will help you get your memory back.”
Brittany went around her and stood at the window. The snow was still a cascade of white. What reason did she have for not going with her? Brittany had no answer, but was nonetheless on tenterhooks. The idea of being dependent on someone else to give her memories back to her was disturbing; she wanted to get them back on her own, so she’d be certain they were indeed hers, and not manufactured by another person who might have a hidden agenda. Besides, she didn’t trust this woman, and that was reason enough.
“Let’s get out of here. We’ll talk later.” Brittany did not respond to the flat tone of Tru’s voice, she only ran her hand down a flannel sleeve. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Thanks for...
I appreciate the clothes.” She turned and went to the night stand again, this time tossing the contents of the drawer on the bed. In an unusual act of kindness, Nurse Sturgis had bought a brush for her, and she worked it through the tangles in her tousled, wavy hair.
“I’m the only family you’ve got.”
Alarmed, Brittany turned to examine this sister she did not recognize. “What—do you mean?”
“You don’t have any other relatives. Your last relative died a few months ago. Look. I’d rather not start this conversation until we can finish it. I know everything important there is to know about you.” Brittany sat on the bed, placing the items there into the knapsack, one by one. “Brit, you don’t understand. This may take a while. Come home with me. Get settled. We have a lot to talk about.”
Ms. Sheldon walked them out, and Tru ran into the parking lot, disappearing into the bleached void, to bring the Cherokee around so Brittany would not have to walk that far.
“By the way,” Ms. Sheldon said. “A reporter called while ago and wanted to know if you had found your family. “
Brittany’s eyebrows went up, and then she grimaced.
“Don’t worry. I told them you had, but I didn’t give him any details. I didn’t think you wanted the publicity.”
“Thanks.”
The woman rubbed her arms and shivered. “Are you sure this is your sister?”
Brittany shrugged. “Well, she knew what was engraved on the watch without seeing it, first. And she did have all that documentation. If the cops think she’s okay, I guess she is.”
The older woman nodded, handing her a business card. “Don’t forget this address. That’s my cell phone... in case you want to get in touch, or if...you know, you need anything.”
Brittany hugged the woman, as Tru braked at the entrance and disengaged the passenger door lock. She climbed in carefully, and closed the door, zipping out the seat belt. “How do I even know you’re my sister?” she snapped, clicking the belt in place.
Tru filled her lungs with the damp, cold air that had traveled with Brittany into the cab. “You don’t, I guess.”
U.S. Highway Fifty took them out of Montrose, and it would be another fifty miles through the snowy weather before Gunnison. The white flakes covered the window after each swipe of the windshield wipers, and Tru had to keep the Cherokee well under the limit to maintain control on the icy roadway.
“How far is it?”
“You’d better get comfortable, it’ll be another three hundred twenty miles before we get there.”
“Jesus Christ! Where do you live—Tibet?”
“I live on Castle Mountain...” She peered over at her pointedly. “So do you.”
“Then what was I doing way over here in Montrose?”
Tru eyed her briefly, swallowing her remark. “The doctor told me that the accident was on the other side of Gunnison, but that Montrose had the closest trauma center.”
Don’t ask why you were in Gunnison
.
“Oh.” Brittany sighed and unbuckled the seat belt to struggle out of her coat. Tru reached over to help her wriggle a sleeve off. “I can do it!” she sniped.
Tru decided not to voice her natural response to Brittany’s uncharacteristic petulance.
Could a concussion change someone’s personality?
The past was the past, however, and she had found her after all this time, she was alive, and that mattered more than anything. “Castle Mountain’s pretty secluded. Just above Estes Park. You liked it that way. We both enjoyed the privacy and the peace and quiet. But it’s close enough to Longmont and Boulder and other cities, so that we could go out when we wanted to.”
“I don’t think I’ll be going out any time soon.”
“Probably not,” Tru agreed, unzipping her black leather jacket and turning the heater down one notch. “Technically, we live in Estes Park, pretty close to Rocky Mountain National Park...”
Brittany gave her a blank look, and shook her head.
“Well, I’m sure all that will come back to you. We should be in Gunnison in an hour and a half—unless this snow keeps up. We can stop there and get something to eat if you want.”
“Fine,” Brittany responded wearily, running a hand through her hair. “Do I have my own money?”
“Of course. You always hide some at the house. Although if you didn’t tell me about it, you might not be able to find it...And we can go to the bank and get you a new check card.” Tru wanted to ask a thousand questions, but thought better of each, afraid the conversation would lead into areas she felt Brittany could not confront. And more than likely, Brittany wouldn’t have the answers anyway. “Feel free to take a nap if you need one,” she suggested, hoping to avoid the
taboo subjects the easy way. Brittany did not seem interested in sleeping, so Tru kept her eyes on the road and concentrated on driving, as much as the vividly surfacing memories would allow.
Brittany turned toward her now and again, considering her with unabashed curiosity; an action which Tru failed to ignore with rather perilous transparency. Finally, Brittany cleared her throat and asked, “Why do we look like total opposites?”
Tru closed her eyes for a second longer than a blink, and knew the tension in the car threatened to grow stronger. She had to be careful how she answered the inevitable questions that would arise before they were home. “It has something to do with genetics, I would guess.”
Brittany loosened her seat belt and twisted, lifting her left foot up onto the seat to face the dark-haired young woman. “Does it have something to do with what you said we had to discuss later?”
“Yes,” Tru answered truthfully, reluctant to spill the information without some degree of probing on Brittany’s part. It was a witness stand, and the attorney in her mind coached her to give only direct answers to the questions asked.
Brittany waited an interminable amount of time before she spoke again. “So, are you going to tell me what the big secret is?”
Tru shifted in the seat and turned the heater down another notch. “I don’t think this is the proper time or place for this conversation.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not going to be very easy.”
Brittany looked down at the console thoughtfully. “Is it about our parents? Did we have different fathers or mothers or something?”
“No. Well, yes.”
“Am I adopted?”
“No.”
“Well, this is like pulling teeth. Are you gonna tell me or not?”
“Honestly, I’d rather wait until we get home.”
“That’s another three-hundred-something miles, you said. Are we gonna sit in silence until then?”
“I’m sure we can find another topic.”
Brittany frowned. “What have we got to talk about? I don’t even know you.”
Tru cringed, and gripped the wheel tighter.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Why do you get so...tense when I tell you I don’t remember you?”
“Well, I’d say that’s pretty obvious. We were very close, and you disappear, and I search all over creation for you, afraid you’re dead, and then when I finally find you, you have amnesia.”