Page 45 of Dead Man's Hollow
She knows what he’s about to say before he says it, and she knows he’s right. She, of all people, can’t deny Heather Ryan’s family the possibility of even the smallest comfort.
“I think that’s the chance we have to take,” he says.
She shoves the pager back into his hands. “Call Maisy Farley. Tell her you think your wife has Heather Ryan’s pager.”
“You want me to call her? But your English is much better.”
“This whole situation makes me feel unsettled. I’m afraid … I don’t want to end up spiraling.”
He understands what she’s afraid to articulate. He pulls her into an embrace and strokes her hair. “I’ll make the call.”
ChapterTwenty-Five
Winter Carnival, 2010
She standsin the ankle-deep snow and stares into the flickering flame of the firepit. A circle of giggling children grip long sticks with marshmallows stuck on their ends, turning them over the fire. Although she doesn’t know who she is or how she got here, she knows she’s at Winter Carnival on the Plains of Abraham. She lifts her Bonhomme’s Effigy, the all-access pass to the carnival, and studies the cheerful snowman mascot. She tries to remember purchasing it, but she can’t.
Suddenly she sways, lightheaded, almost dizzy, and wonders when she last ate. She wanders away from the crowd gathered around the fire and toward the food stalls of the German Christmas Market. As she joins the queue at a stall selling roasted chestnuts, she fishes some money from her pocket.
A man shouts urgently, causing several heads to turn. She notes the desperation in his voice but doesn’t look in his direction. She inches forward as the line moves.
“Chloe! Chloe!”
The voice is louder now, and she glances toward the yelling. To her surprise, the man is staring directly at her. She freezes.
“Chloe, are you okay?”
He runs toward her, and she notices the baby nestled in a carrier against his chest.
She looks behind her, but there’s no one there. He’s definitely talking to her. Is her name Chloe? She considers the question. No. That feels wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
“Chloe,” he insists. “It’s me. It’s Bastian. We’ve been looking for you for days.”
She frowns at him. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m your husband.” He gapes at her.
“No, that’s not right.”
It can’t be. She studies his face. Surely she’d know her husband. Wouldn’t she?
The baby bouncing against his chest gurgles and reaches its arms out to her.
“Emilie wants you.” His voice cracks with emotion.
He lifts the child from the carrier and thrusts it toward her. She gives him a wide-eyed look and takes a step back, shaking her head no.
As the child’s blue eyes lock on her face and the gurgle turns into a coo of delight, she gasps, “Emilie?”
Chloe’s back.
She throws Bastian a bewildered, terrified look. “What happened?”
Later, after she’s checked over by a physician who finds no physical issues, Chloe is referred to a neuropsychiatrist specializing in amnesia. She sits picking at the fabric of her pants while she waits to hear what is wrong with her. Beside her, Bastian clenches her hand tightly. He’s been holding her hand in public ever since he found her at the Winter Carnival, as if he’s afraid she’ll vanish again if he lets go. Emilie is spending the weekend in the countryside with his family so that he and Chloe can focus on whatever news Dr. Marchand is about to give them.
The doctor walks into her office and smiles brightly. She has a warm, comforting appearance, soft and gentle. She wears her long silver hair in loose curls and favors flowing clothing in pastel colors. Her exterior belies the fact that she is one of the top experts in the field in all of Canada, if not North America. Bastian pulled a lot of strings, relying on the connections of long-time restaurant regulars, to get Chloe an appointment with her so quickly.
