Page 8

Ft. Collins, Colorado

1968

“Nothing.” Dan MacKail stood in the middle of his sister’s kitchen, his hands lifted helplessly. “No match on any register for the fingerprints, no missing person reports. Not one single damn thing to give us even the slightest clue as to who Syrie is or where she came from. I know we’re just a small-town department, but I even spoke with the Denver PD and they can’t find anything either. It’s like she dropped in from another planet. I’m sorry, but there it is. We haven’t been able to find out anything about who you are.”

Syrie nodded, not surprised that her missing past was still a mystery. A feeling of irrecoverable loss had plagued her every waking moment since she’d been here, as if somehow she’d known that neither Dan nor all the resources at his beck and call would find where she belonged. This just confirmed that she was truly adrift in the world.

“So, what now?” she asked at last, praying they wouldn’t kick her out of the house to fend for herself now that she was truly on her own.

It was the question that had nagged at her for the past week since she’d awakened in that park with Dan at her side.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Ellen said, sitting down next to her at the table, one hand protectively on Syrie’s shoulder. “Your past doesn’t matter. You’ll stay here with us. This is your home now.”

“A job would probably be a good idea,” Dan suggested, his voice hesitant, as if he expected her to refuse.

“That’s a great idea,” Syrie agreed. “I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

If there was one thing she’d already learned about her life now, it was that everyone needed to pull their own weight, and she felt as if she was far from doing that.

“Okay. Good. What can you do?” Dan asked as he headed over to the sink, his voice a little more skeptical than Syrie would have liked.

Still, she could hardly blame him. What could she do? So many things she encountered daily were items she couldn’t remember ever having seen before, let alone have any knowledge of how to use them.

“Careful with the faucet, Danny. One wrong turn and it’ll have water all over the kitchen,” Ellen warned before turning her attention back to Syrie’s situation. “First of all, you’re not a burden, so don’t even let yourself go there. As to what she can do, secretary is out of the question. My typewriter completely confounded her.”

“Phone, too,” Rosella added as she strolled into the kitchen. “Probably rules out receptionist.”

“How about waiting tables?” Dan looked around expectantly. “At least for now. If you’re open to that, I can ask around at some of the restaurants where I know people. Maybe we can find something like that for you.”

“Yes, please.” Syrie nodded enthusiastically. “I’m more than willing to give it a try.”

It seemed the least she could do. Ellen had been so wonderful to her, taking her in and making her feel as if she belonged here. Her being able to pay her own way was even more important to her after she’d heard Ellen speaking to her fiancé last night.

Syrie hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but her bedroom window had been open and the young couple had been sitting in lawn chairs almost directly below. Robert’s voice had attracted her attention first, strident in his efforts to convince Ellen to do what he thought was best for her.

“Look, El, I stood behind you in wanting to keep this house as long as you could make a go of it. I know you love this place. But you can’t keep it up if you’re just going to go further and further into debt. You can’t keep running this place like some government-supported charity.”

“I know,” Ellen had responded. “But I can hardly ask Rosella to pay more. She can barely afford what she’s paying now and still be able to save up for her wedding.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel, the only way you’re going to make this work is to take in more boarders.” He’d snorted then and lowered his voice, but not by much. “And not freeloader boarders like this charity case Danny brought to you. You have to put your foot down, Ellen. You can’t save the whole world. I’m serious about this. Either this house starts paying its own way or you need to give up this whole crazy idea.”

“Saving the home my grandmother grew up in isn’t a crazy idea. Keeping it in the family isn’t a crazy idea. Neither is providing low-cost housing for students. And before you even think to say another word, you can leave Syrie out of this. She’ll be self-supporting soon enough. She’s just got to have a little time to get her life on track.” Ellen paused just long enough to catch her breath. “Besides, what else would you have me do? Give up the house I love? Move into an apartment and pay someone else rent?”

“We’ve talked about this before, El. There’s no good reason for us to wait until next June to get married. We can get married right now. You move into my place with me, put this house on the market and stop hemorrhaging money every month. At this rate, you’re going to go through every red cent that your grandparents left you.”

“Oh, right.” Ellen’s laugh sounded almost like a sob. “I can just see that. Your mother, deprived of her social event wedding of the century? Your parents already think I’m not good enough for you. If we did something like that, she’d never let me live it down. No, Robby. That isn’t an option and you know it as well as I do.”

They’d lowered their voices then so that Syrie couldn’t hear any more of their conversation, but it hadn’t mattered. She had heard all she’d needed to hear. If Dan could find a job for her, any kind of job, she was taking it. Ellen had already done so much for her, it seemed that the least she could do was begin to repay her new friend’s kindness with a little cold, hard cash.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? Waitressing is hard work, dealing with all the different personalities, and it’s long hours on your feet. But, if you end up in the right place, it can earn you good money in tips.”

Syrie jerked her attention back to the moment as Ellen spoke to her, realizing only now that everyone else had gone, leaving just the two of them. “I’m not one to fear hard work.”

“No, I know that. I really appreciate how you’ve pitched in around here to help with cleaning and all. It’s just that…” Ellen tipped her head to one side, her brow wrinkled with concern. “It’s just that, since Danny suggested a job for you, well, you just seem kind of troubled today.”

“Troubled,” Syrie repeated, all but biting her tongue to keep from laughing. Or was it tears that threatened? She couldn’t be sure, but whichever it was, she breathed deeply, stuffing all emotion back in the box where it belonged before saying more. “My troubles have nothing to do with your brother’s suggestion. For a fact, I’m grateful to him. I need something to do with myself. Something that doesn’t allow me to sit and brood as I have been. With each passing day, I feel more and more as if I’ve misplaced something. Something important. Something I don’t want to go on without. Does that make sense?”

“Oh, Syrie.” Ellen leaned into her, capturing Syrie within a big hug. “Of course it does, my friend. You’ve lost everything, everyone who was dear to you. Your whole life is a blank slate. I can’t imagine how I’d bear up under similar circumstances. But don’t you worry. You have a home here with me. Rosella and I are your family now. We’ll find you a job and, I promise you, Syrie, things will get better for you. Once you start to rebuild your new life and make more friends, that something you fear you’ve lost won’t haunt you the way it does now.”

Syrie hoped Ellen was right. She hoped it would all get easier. She hoped Dan would find her a job quickly. Keeping her hands and her mind active might help to keep at bay this awful, nagging sense of loss that threatened to engulf her every time she let her thoughts drift to what—or who—she might have left behind when she lost her memory.