“Watch the game?” Elliot asks, and they fall into a debate about Beltré hitting a homer against the Mariners. I tune them out as Ana comes toward us.
“It’s great to see everyone,” she says to Carrick, as she sits next to me.
“One sip,” I scold her under my breath. And you’ve had that. I take the glass from her hand.
“Yes, Sir.” She flutters her eyelashes, her eyes darkening and suddenly full of promise. My body stirs in response, and I ignore it.
Jesus. We’re in company.
I wind my arm around her shoulders and shoot her a quick look.
Behave, Ana.
Ana is curled up in bed, watching me as I strip. “My parents think you walk on water.” I toss my T-shirt onto the chair.
“Good thing you know differently.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Did they fill in the gaps for you?”
“Some. I lived with the Colliers for two months while Mom and Dad waited for the paperwork. They were already approved for adoption because of Elliot, but the wait’s required by law, to see if I had any living relatives who wanted to claim me.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“About having no living relatives?” Relieved! “Fuck that. If they were anything like the crack whore.” I shake my head.
Thank God for Mom and Dad.
They were—are—a gift to me.
I don my pajama pants and climb into bed, cuddling up to my wife, beyond grateful that she’s here with me. She inclines her head, her expression warm, but I know she’s expecting me to say more. “It’s coming back to me,” I muse.
Mac and cheese…yeah.
“I remember the food. Mrs. Collier could cook. And at least we know now why that fucker is so hung up on my family.” A hazy memory surfaces.
Wait—didn’t she use to sit by my bed?
She’s tucking me into a small cot bed and holding a book. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“It makes sense now!”
“What?”
“Baby Bird. Mrs. Collier used to call me Baby Bird.”
Ana’s looks puzzled. “That makes sense?”
“The note. The ransom note that fucker left. It went something like ‘Do you know who I am? Because I know who you are, Baby Bird.’”
Ana still looks confused.
“It’s from a kid’s book. The Colliers had it. It was called Are You My Mother? Shit.” I imagine the cover in my mind’s eye: the little bird and the sad, old dog. “I loved that book. Mrs. Collier used to read it to me. Christ. He knew. That fucker knew.”
Though I have no memory of him…thank God.
“Will you tell the police?”
“Yes. I will. Christ knows what Clark will do with that information.”
I exhale. They’re here, in my brain, the missing memories. It’s a relief. And once more I’m grateful that my parents came to see me this evening. They’ve dislodged whatever was holding these recollections back.
Ana smiles, relieved for me, I think. But enough of my fucked-up history. I owe Ana an explanation. But where to start? She might be too tired; she’s worked hard to entertain my family. “Thank you for this evening.”
“For what?”
“Catering for my family at a moment’s notice.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Mia. And Mrs. Jones. She keeps the pantry well stocked.”
Ana! Take a compliment. She’s such an exasperating woman sometimes, but I let it go. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Grey?”
“Good. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
Ana’s eyes light up, and her fingers dance over my belly.
I laugh and grab her hand. “Oh, no. Don’t get any ideas.”
Her lips purse in disappointment, and she stares up at me through her lashes again. “Ana, Ana, Ana, what am I going to do with you?” I kiss her hair.
“I have some ideas.” She wriggles beside me and stops suddenly, her face scrunched in pain.
Ana! You’re hurt.
She smiles quickly, to reassure me.
“Baby, you’ve been through enough. Besides, I have a bedtime story for you.”
She looks up, expectant.
“You wanted to know…” I close my eyes and swallow, as my mind drifts back to my adolescence.
I’m fifteen again.
“Picture this: an adolescent boy looking to earn some extra money so he can continue his secret drinking habit.” I open my eyes, but I can still see myself as I was back then: a tall but scrawny teen, in cut-off shorts, with a shock of copper hair and a belligerent fuck-off attitude.
That was me.
Hell.
I shift onto my side so Ana and I are lying facing each other. Her eyes are wide, and full of questions. I take a deep breath. “So, I was in the backyard at the Lincolns’, clearing some rubble and trash from the extension Mr. Lincoln had just added to their place.”
Closing my eyes again, I’m there once more. The scent of summer flowers hangs thick in the air. Insects buzz and I swat them away. The heat from the midday sun is beating down on me, so much so that I strip off my T-shirt. And there’s Elena. Wearing the lowest-cut dress I’ve ever seen—it barely sheathes her body.
When I chance a look at Ana, she’s still staring at me, hanging on my every word. “It was a hot summer day. I was working hard.” I chuckle, remembering this was probably one of the few days I ever did any manual labor. “It was backbreaking work, shifting that rubble. I was on my own, and Ele—Mrs. Lincoln appeared out of nowhere and brought me some lemonade. We exchanged small talk, and I made some smartass remark—and she slapped me. She slapped me so hard.” My hand moves automatically to my cheek as I remember the unfamiliar sting. No one had ever slapped me like that.
My eyes are here, boy. Mrs. Lincoln points two fingers at her face.
She caught me staring at her tits.
Well. You couldn’t miss them.
Fuck.
I was hard. Instantly. To bursting.
Mrs. Lincoln’s gaze drifts to my pants.
Fuck. My boner! It’s humiliating.
Like that, do you? she drawls, scarlet lips lifting in a sexy smile.
I think I’m gonna come in my pants.