Chapter 3: The Name He Forgot
For one impossible second, nobody moved.
Then Lucas covered his mouth.
His eyes widened as though the words had frightened him as much as they had frightened me.
“I'm here, Gracie.””
My father had said those words hundreds of times.
Nobody else had.
Not my mother.
Not my childhood friends.
Not Julian.
I crossed the room before I realized I was moving.
“Say it again.””
Lucas backed away.
“Grace—”
“Say it again.””
“I don't know why I said it.””
“You called me Gracie.””
“I heard you say your name.””
“Grace. You heard Grace.””
My voice cracked.
“You didn't hear Gracie.””
Julian stepped between us slightly.
“Grace, give him a second.””
“No.””
I pointed at Lucas.
“Where did you hear that?””
“I don't know.””
“You have to know.””
“I don't!””
The force of his answer startled all three of us.
Lucas gripped the back of the chair.
His knuckles turned white.
“I have spent twenty years not knowing!””
His cultured voice broke into something raw.
“You think I haven't asked myself every morning who I am? You think I haven't stared into mirrors wondering whether someone somewhere recognizes this face?””
I stopped.
Lucas pressed both hands against his temples.
“I don't remember your childhood. I don't remember your mother. I don't remember Thomas Bennett.””
He looked at me.
“But when you tapped that wood…”
He swallowed.
“Something opened.””
I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed.
“What?””
“A room.””
“What room?””
“I don't know.””
“Try.””
Julian crouched beside him.
“Don't force it.””
Lucas shook his head.
“No. She's waited long enough.””
He closed his eyes.
“A small bedroom.””
My heart began pounding.
“Keep going.””
“Yellow walls.””
I made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
My childhood bedroom had been yellow.
“Stars,” Lucas whispered.
“Where?””
“On the ceiling.””
I covered my mouth.
My father had painted glow-in-the-dark stars above my bed.
Lucas squeezed his eyes tighter.
“There's thunder.””
His breathing became shallow.
“A little girl is crying.””
“Dad?””
The word escaped me.
His eyes opened.
Nothing about his face looked certain.
But tears ran down his cheeks.
“I don't know,” he whispered.
I couldn't bear the distance anymore.
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.
For a moment, his body went rigid.
Then his arms came around me.
Weakly.
Carefully.
Like someone handling a memory he was afraid to break.
I cried against his shoulder.
He smelled like Julian's soap now.
Not the street.
Not dirt.
Just soap and clean cotton.
And underneath it all was something I remembered without knowing I remembered it.
The shape of his shoulder beneath my cheek.
“Grace,” Julian said softly.
I pulled away.
“What?””
“We need proof.””
The word cut through the moment.
I wiped my face.
“DNA.””
Lucas nodded immediately.
“Yes.””
Julian stood.
“I'll arrange it tonight.””
“Tonight?””
“I know someone at a private lab. We can have samples collected here and expedited.””
I looked at Lucas.
“What if it's negative?””
He held my gaze.
“Then I'm still grateful you looked at me like I belonged somewhere for five minutes.””
That nearly broke me again.
A nurse arrived two hours later.
She swabbed the inside of my cheek, then Lucas's.
Julian signed forms and paid whatever ridiculous fee was necessary for priority processing.
“Twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” the nurse said.
“Can it be faster?”” I asked.
She gave me a sympathetic look.
“Not if you want it done correctly.””
After she left, Julian prepared the guest room.
I couldn't sleep.
At midnight, I found Lucas in the kitchen.
He stood barefoot in borrowed pajamas, staring at the refrigerator.
“Hungry?””
He jumped.
“Sorry.””
“You don't have to apologize for opening a refrigerator.””
He gave an embarrassed smile.
“I'm not accustomed to refrigerators this large.””
I opened it.
“What do you want?””
“Anything.””
I pulled out bread, turkey, mustard, and cheese.
“I can make it.””
“I know.””
I made two sandwiches anyway.
We sat at the kitchen island.
For a while, we ate silently.
Then Lucas looked around.
“You live well.””
I heard the shame inside the observation.
“Yes.””
“Your husband seems decent.””
“He's infuriating.””
Lucas smiled.
“So was I?””
I looked at him.
“You were impossible.””
The smile disappeared.
“You remember me that clearly?””
“Everything.””
I told him about the pancakes.
The bicycle.
The terrible jokes.
How he once drove four hours because I'd left my stuffed rabbit at a motel.
Lucas listened like a starving man being told about food.
Then I mentioned my mother.
“Her name was Elaine.””
His sandwich stopped halfway to his mouth.
I noticed immediately.
“What?””
“Say that again.””
“Elaine.””
He lowered the sandwich.
His face changed.
“Elaine.””
“You remember?””
“A voice.””
My chair scraped backward.
“What voice?””
“She's angry.””
He stared beyond me.
“She's telling me not to go.””
My pulse hammered.
“Go where?””
Lucas pressed his palm against his forehead.
“Work.””
“Dad worked construction.””
“I know.””
“No, you didn't know that.””
He looked frightened.
“I can see a truck.””
“What color?””
“Red.””
My father's truck had been red.
Lucas suddenly stood.
The stool toppled behind him.
“There's a man.””
“Who?””
“I don't know.””
“What does he look like?””
“Gray suit.””
His breathing accelerated.
“He's shouting.””
Julian appeared in the doorway, awakened by the noise.
“What's happening?””
Lucas grabbed the counter.
“The building wasn't supposed to collapse.””
Julian froze.
I stared at Lucas.
“What did you say?””
Lucas turned toward us.
His face had gone completely white.
“It wasn't an accident.””
And before I could ask another question, he whispered a name.
May you like
“Mercer.””
Julian's surname.
