Page 64 of Nobody's Fool

“About you?”

“For starters.”

“Nothing. Like I said. I’m sorry. I don’t remember you or Spain or this Buzz or any of it. I don’t want to sound deflated, but nothing you’ve said has stirred any memories for me.”

“Which is what you came here for?”

“Yes.”

“You hoped that maybe I could fill in some of the blanks about the time you went… missing.”

“Yes. But there was something else. There still is.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“It’s what I said before. When I first saw your picture—and when I saw you teaching that class—I wanted you to know it was all okay.”

I feel again the past pushing into my eyes, making me well up. Molly says, “Sami?” but I shake it off. I am moved and feel connected, and the truth is, seeing her, knowing she’s alive and okay, has lifted a tremendous weight off me.

Victoria tilts her head. “Why do I feel that way?”

“I don’t know,” I say, but now both women look at me as though they can read the lie. I try to get back on track, try to channel my inner cop. “Could you tell me what you do remember? Not just about me.”

Victoria lifts the cup back to her lips, though this time her hands quake. Molly notices that the cup is close to empty now. She stands and moves toward her kettle and starts preparing more.

“Do you know how they found me?” Victoria asks.

“In a diner in Maine,” I say.

“I was in a fugue state, I guess. It’s like I was living behind a shower stall or something. Like I could hear people talk to me, but the words were barely audible. I couldn’t understand. And I felt like I was talking back, screaming even, but nobody could hear me. I didn’t know anybody. I didn’t know who I was. I couldn’t really see their faces. I didn’t even know my name at first. Nothing. When I saw my parents and my brother, that’s when something started to crack through. But it was like everything I thought or felt was fragmented, like I was a shattered glass that couldn’t be put back together, but there were shards that made me know I’d been a glass. I’m not doing a good job of explaining.”

“You’re doing fine,” Molly says.

“You want to know what I remember about those eleven years,” Victoria says, “so I’ll tell you.” She looks at me straight in the eye. “Nothing. No, worse than nothing. That’s how I describe it. Nothing would be okay. I’d just be a blank. Like I went to bed when I was eighteen and going to a New Year’s Eve party and woke up when I was nearly thirty. That would be nothing. But I do have flashes to memories. The dark. Blindfolded. I remember someone punching me repeatedly. When I got back, the doctors said at some point I’d suffered a broken nose and shattered cheekbone. I remember fear. Being scared all the time. I don’t remember Spain, but I sometimes have visions of blinding sun. I worked with psychiatrists, of course. They were patientwith me. We tried to put together what happened. But something in my brain wouldn’t let me go there.”

Molly again reaches her hand toward her. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay now.” Victoria forces up a smile. “This was all a long time ago.”

Molly stands and pours her more tea. She glances at me to see whether I’d like one. I give a small headshake. “Is there anything else?” I ask.

“Like?”

“Did the police ever find out who abducted you?”

“No.”

“Did they get any serious leads?”

“No,” she says.

“So whoever did this—”

“—is still out there? I don’t know. They could be dead. That was one theory that was bounced around.”

“What, that the kidnapper died?”

She meets my eye again. “That I killed him. That I killed him and escaped.”