to calm down. “No, it’s all good. Thanks for that. I have enough bills to last me a lifetime.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, honey.”
Clearly she hadn’t seen the paper mountain growing in my apartment.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
To my surprise, I wanted to tell her. I wanted to trust her, but I couldn’t be certain she wouldn’t try to have me committed.
And how could I explain the things I saw? The things I experienced? Truth was, even though I’d only known her for a month, I loved Cookie. A lot. A really, really lot. I didn’t want to taint her opinion of me. I didn’t want her to look at me with anything other than admiration. Or befuddlement, depending.
“I’m fine. I just got light-headed.”
“Good. But are you okay okay? With everything? We haven’t really talked about your… situation in a while. Maybe, you know, the stress —?”
Ah. Was I okay with being the local amnesia chick? “I think I’m okay. I mean, I look at everyone who walks into the café to see if there’s any resemblance, but I’m dealing with it.”
She nodded, her sympathy genuine. “Have you thought about therapy?”
“Yes, I have. And as soon as I sell that kidney I listed on eBay, I’ll be able to afford it.”
“They have programs.”
“Right? Those things are great. I watched a zombie program last night, and tonight I’m going to watch this one about a blond chick who controls dragons. And there’s this sexy short guy who’s drunk all the time.”
“Not those kinds of programs.” She admonished me with a withering stare. It almost worked. “There are clinics.”
I scooted back and leaned against the wall. I didn’t know much, but I did know if I told a counselor about my interactions with dead people, she’d lock me up and throw away the access code. I just wasn’t ready for a life of padded rooms and pudding.
“I don’t think therapy is the answer.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She shifted excitedly. “You need hypnosis.”
I blinked. Squinted. Crinkled my brows.
“Think about it. You could learn about your current life and your past ones.”
“There is that.”
“I’m pretty sure I was Cleopatra in a past life.”
She was serious. I tried not to giggle.
“Or a vacuum cleaner salesman. My arches fell.”
I didn’t ask. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a padded cell.” Pudding, however…
“No way. What could you possibly say that would convince a therapist you needed to be committed?”
If she only knew.
“No, really,” she continued. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
I rose, and she helped me stand. After I knew for certain I wasn’t going to snog the linoleum again, I said, “Can I ask you something instead?”
“Of course!” She followed me out.
The café was glaringly bright compared to the storeroom. Reyes was gone, as were most of our customers. The dinner crowd wouldn’t start showing up for another hour. And thankfully Ian was gone, too. One less headache I had to deal with.
I called out to Frazier, one of the third-shift cooks, and ordered two sandwiches to go. Cookie had grown used to my order and didn’t question it. The sun loomed low across the cloudy sky in preparation for the inevitable sunset, and the air outside looked frozen. My walk home was going to suck.
I turned back to Cookie. Now was as good a time as any to ask her about something that had been niggling at me, but I had to surprise her. To get her true reaction before she tried to cover it up.
I grabbed a takeout bag and opened it while slipping in a casual “Who’s Charley?”
Cookie gaped at me a minute as I read her every reaction.
When she didn’t say anything, I decided to explain. “You’ve called me Charley at least six times lately.”
At first, I thought she might actually know me, but Charley didn’t fit any better than any other name I’d tried. Not to mention the fact that I looked nothing like a Charley.
“I – I’m sorry,” she said. “That just slips out occasionally because it’s what I call Robert at home. I’m just so used to saying it.”
That was a bald-faced lie. And the mystery deepened. “You call your husband Charley?”
“Yes.” She nodded for emphasis. “Yes, I do. Because that’s his name. Charles Robert Davidson.” She tossed the towel she’d been carrying and took off her apron. “Everybody back home calls him Charley. So I still call him that most of the time.”
“I thought you said everybody back home called him Bob.”