Chapter 29

When Kris left, he felt like the world was closing in on him and he had nowhere to turn for sanctuary. He believed Lulu was disgusted with him because he was a bad person. Mitch was going to conitinue investigating, find out that he'd committed a crime and probably arrest him. Even if he could find a way to patch things up with Lulu, his life would still be down the crapper, sooner or later. Eventually ... he was going to have to pay the piper, and he didn't need his memory to tell him how difficult it would be to carry on a relationship if he was in jail.

He imagined what it would be like. He'd be at the Early Girl, eating pancakes with hashbrowns and flirting with Lulu, while other people in town looked on and wondered what was really going on between them. Mitch would come in, draw his gun and shout for Kris to get down on the floor, or something like that, and then drag him out in handcuffs. Or, worse, it would happen at Lulu's house ... with Ambrose looking on.

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he blinked rapidly, trying to keep his vision clear as he drove through the streets of the little town that had somehow become home for him. It wasn't fair. While he couldn't remember his previous life, he somehow knew that what he'd stumbled into in Pembroke was better than anything he'd ever had before. Now that he had carved a niche for himself, it was all going to come undone.

It was as he thought of these things, on his way home, that emotion overrode common sense.

He decided to just get it over with. He decided to pack up, that very night, and go back to New York City. He'd find his apartment, find his publisher, and sell the book he'd written, if that was possible. He'd probably have to use that money for a lawyer, but he'd turn himself in, like Mitch had talked about. Mitch had said that might help a little bit. That he didn't know exactly WHERE to turn himself in was a minor issue, as far as he was concerned. It must have happened in the city, so any NYPD station house would do.

He knew he should tell Lulu what he was going to do, but he couldn't face her. She was already disappointed in him. It was better to just make a clean break. When he got to the city, he'd call Mitch and tell him he was going to turn himself in and that he just needed to wrap up a few things first.

Packing was easy. He hadn't bought much since arriving in Pembroke. A piece of his forwarded mail provided the address of his apartment. The rental was paid for for another two months, but he'd just forfeit that. He could mail the key back to Rudy, along with an explanation. He didn't know what to do about the radio station. He'd think of something when he got back home.

Lulu kept popping into his head. He could picture her easily, walking up and down the aisle of the diner, a coffee pot in one hand, and a smile on her face. He told himself over and over that it would be less painful for both of them if he just drove away.

So that's what he did.

It was two in the morning when he finally found his address. It had taken so long mostly because of the people there had been to ask for directions. Most of them were either high, drunk, or didn't look like the kind of person who would entertain a request for directions with much humor.

One of the keys Mitch had given him fit and he walked into what should have been the comfortable feeling of home.

Except that it wasn't.

He spent half an hour just looking around, trying to remember something, but nothing came to him. He found the stuffed frog riding the motorcycle and examined it. Next to it was what looked like a big plastic, red and black lady bug. When he picked that up, he discovered it was a telephone.

He almost dropped it as the memory of it came back into his mind, like a rushing wind. His sister's face popped into his mind. Her name, June, popped in with it and so did the face and name of Tanya, her daughter. He had a niece! And she had sent him this phone for his birthday! He even remembered how hard he'd laughed when he'd opened the package it came in.

He looked around eagerly now, hoping to remember more things, but nothing came of it. His frustration level rose, because that one memory was all he could get back. He was disappointed that, with so many possible triggers all around him, nothing was happening.

His desk yielded an address book. Lola Hendeerson was the only one on the H page. Most of the pages were blank. He wasn't sleepy, and he had only a few plans, so he picked up the phone and dialed her number.

It rang a dozen times before an obviously sleepy female voice came on the line.

"Hello? It's two fucking thirty. This had better be some kind of emergency," she said.

"Hi. This is Kris."

There were exactly seven seconds of silence, then he had to hold the phone four inches away from his ear to keep from being deafened. She sounded mad and excited all at the same time. When she finally wound down he interrupted her.

"I was in an accident. I lost my memory. That's why I didn't call. So maybe it won't sound so strange if I ask you who my publisher is."

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm in my apartment."

"DON'T GO ANYWHERE! I'LL BE RIGHT OVER!" she screamed.

"No!" he said. "I just got here. I drove all night and I'm completely wasted." He wasn't sure why he was lying to her, but he didn't feel up to actually meeting this woman yet. "I have to turn in a manuscript in the morning, but I need some sleep first. I just need to know where to go. That's one of the things I lost." It occurred to him that his memories of being less than enthused with Lola might be suspect, so he threw her a bone. "I remembered you, but I couldn't remember how to contact you. I would have called a lot sooner, Lola, but I couldn't."

She argued with him, insisting that she should come over. She offered to sit and watch him sleep. He finally got her to agree to wait until morning, when she could come get him and take him to the publishing house. She said she knew where it was and knew people there.

When he was finally able to hang up, he booted up his computer and stared at the password field. Nothing came to him at first. He closed eyes and a mottled picture of a dingo/dog appeared in his mind. He grinned, opened his eyes, and entered "gypdog" in the password box. Then he explored for a while.

There were some interesting ideas in documents that were mostly just outlines. There was also a complete copy of the manuscript that Lulu had worked so hard to save. Finally, because he was so keyed up, he began to write the story that he'd fronted to Mitch ... the story of what had happened to him. There were large gaps that he knew he'd have to fill in, but he just put notes in those places, and wrote about the people he'd met and the things he'd done. He wasn't sure what the plot was going to be yet. If reality wasn't good enough, he'd just make something up.

Besides, writing helped the hurt at having lost the best woman he'd ever met.

Mitch decided to skip breakfast at the Early Girl. He ate a peanut butter sandwich on his way to work. It took him over an hour, working the phone to get Harper's number, but he wouldn't talk with anybody else. He remembered the debacle of trying to do anything with the NYPD when whoever was on the other end of the phone line didn't know you. His relief at hearing the man's voice finally come on the phone was palpable.

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For Want of a Memory

Lubrican

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