Natalya made a low noise in the back of her throat when I snapped my fingers for effect. I stroked my thumb across her knuckles.
“Aimee told me a little about what happened to you.” Catherine’s gaze shifted briefly to Aimee. “What can trigger you to be . . . oh, I don’t want to use the word normal . . . ugh, which I just said. But what can make your identity revert to James?”
“It’s different for each person, and usually when that person is ready to deal with the trauma that caused the fugue. Really, though, anything can trigger me to surface. Familiar surroundings, visiting with family and friends.”
“You’re taking a risk coming here,” Hugh stated.
“Yes,” Natalya immediately said.
“Which makes me wonder why you are here.” Ian folded his arms on the table edge. “You were darn adamant last December. You didn’t want anything to do with your former self.”
“I don’t trust anyone in the Donato family. Including James,” I added, sneaking a glance at Aimee. She exhaled a choppy breath and stared at the barely touched food on her plate.
“You shouldn’t trust them,” Ian agreed.
“If I revert to James, I lose every memory of my sons. James won’t know them, he wouldn’t have asked for them, and he may not want them, yet he’ll still be their father. I can’t ask anyone in the Donato family about James and the type of man he is. Will he be a good father? Is he a decent human being? Or, is he like his brothers? Can I trust him to raise my sons?”
Ian leaned back in his chair. “Thinking about what you’re dealing with messes with my head. No offense.” He held up a palm.
“None taken.”
Catherine reached over and laid a hand on my forearm. “James was nothing like his brothers. We adored him.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. But I have questions.”
“I can’t do this.” Aimee rose quickly. She tossed her napkin on the table and shoved back her chair. Ian grabbed it before the chair back hit the buffet cabinet.
“Excuse me.” Aimee left the room.
Ian watched her go. When the front door opened, he stood and, excusing himself, quickly followed after her. The door slammed behind him, rattling the dining room window.
Through that window, we watched Aimee and Ian argue on the front lawn. Their arms flailed in exaggerated gestures, mouths moved, chests heaved, and faces turned red and stern.
“Do something, Hugh,” Catherine said.
“Like what?” He stuck a forkful of salmon in his mouth, manipulated a bone through his lips, which he set on the edge of his plate. “Ian’s got a handle on this.”
Outside Ian fisted his hair, elbows raised. He walked in a tight circle.
Catherine sighed, a mixture of concern for Aimee and exasperation with Hugh. Aimee started to cry. Ian tried to comfort her and she pushed him away.
“Hugh,” she snapped, “you’re her father.”
“And he’s her husband. There isn’t any way I’m getting in between that.” He jabbed a fork at the window.
I folded my napkin. “We shouldn’t have come.”
“Nonsense,” Catherine said. “You’re family. It’s that we never expected . . . your being here . . .” She sighed. “We’re just surprised, that’s all.”
Aimee thrust out her hand. Ian shoved his hand into his pocket and held a set of keys above her hand. They stared each other down until Ian dropped the keys in Aimee’s hand, where they disappeared in her fist.
Ian returned and stopped in the dining room doorway, arms crossed. He stared at his feet until Aimee came inside and stood beside him. Then he lifted his face, directing his attention at me. “I don’t agree with what she’s doing, and I’m not comfortable with her taking you anywhere. Seeing you has been quite the shock. For all of us.”
“For God’s sake, Ian,” Aimee bit out, her eyes red rimmed and face puffy. “I want to show you something, Carlos. Will you come with me?”
Natalya swiftly rose to her feet. She glanced down at me, panicked. We both knew what happened the last time I went off alone.
I stood and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her breast pressed into my side. “I’ll be fine,” I whispered in her ear. “I doubt she’ll try to hypnotize me.”
Natalya pressed a flat hand to my chest. “That’s not funny.”
“We won’t be long, Natalya,” Aimee said with an unmistakable edge to her tone. She might be married to and in love with Ian, but she didn’t like Natalya with me, not with the way she visibly seethed underneath her barely controlled exterior while she watched us.
Ian glanced at his watch. “You’ve got an hour; then I’m coming to get you.”
Aimee lifted her face to the ceiling, exasperated. “With what? I have the car. Dad, make sure Ian stays put.”
Hugh’s brows lifted over the rim of the wineglass from which he was drinking. He waved a fork at Ian’s empty chair. “Have a seat, son. You and Cathy can now interrogate Natalya.”
“Hugh,” Catherine huffed, annoyed. Ian kissed Aimee’s cheek. He whispered to her, then returned to his chair. Catherine got up from hers. “Would you like another glass of wine, Natalya?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, I need one. So do you, Ian.” She patted his shoulder as she passed behind him, heading for the kitchen. “Actually, I think we need another bottle.”
I cupped Natalya’s cheek. “I’ll be fine.”
Her eyes searched mine. “What if where she’s taking you triggers James?” she asked in a low voice meant only for me. “And then you’re with her and you forget about me . . .”
I kissed her mouth hard, stopping her words. “I love you, Nat.” Then I left with Aimee before either of us could change our minds. Besides, I was tired of having an audience. I came to California to meet with Aimee. She was the one I wanted to see more than anyone.
Aimee drove their minivan, taking sides streets to a freeway. She was not Thomas, and she’d been a pawn in his game to keep me hidden, but my palms were still sweating. I couldn’t stop my heart from hammering. She hadn’t told me where we were going despite my asking. “You’ll see,” she’d answered, fighting her tears from falling. I figured it was too difficult for her to explain. Yet, I still went with her.
She exited the freeway a short distance later to an expressway. She talked sparingly, pointing out landmarks here and there. I didn’t notice anything that might have meaning to me, and from her tone, they weren’t of consequence to her. Her comments were solely meant to fill the void between us.
After a few miles she turned uphill, weaving along residential roads. I had a moment of panic, thinking she was taking us to the meadow she once told me had been her favorite place to be with James, a place that meant much more to both of them. And the one and only place I imagined could yank me from my fugue state. James had proposed to, and Phil had accosted, Aimee in that meadow. It was an emotionally intense spot for everyone.
But my worries slipped away to be replaced with another form of panic. She turned onto the driveway of a cemetery.