“Oh God,” I say, crawling towards her crib. “Please, just let me die.”

Chapter Sixteen

Past

He was with her. He had to be. I went to his condo, and I called his parents. No one had seen or heard from him in a few days. I left half a dozen voicemails, but he never called back. My life was starting to feel like a runaway train. I was heading toward something bad at a breakneck pace. Caleb was pulling away from me. My fingers, which used to be twined with his, were now gripping air. I needed to grab on to something, take back control. I considered asking my mother for help, but after she’d told me to follow Caleb to that bitch’s apartment, I’d been too ashamed to tell her anything else about the situation.

Courtney!

I called my sister and told her everything.

“Geez, Leah. What are you going to do?” Courtney was in her first year as a teacher. She had taken a job, teaching math to inner city kids at a high school.

“Seriously, you have to find him and talk to him. Who is this girl, anyway? She obviously knows about you and doesn’t care. What a heartless bitch.”

“I don’t know that he’d listen, Courtney. He’s not himself.”

I heard voices in the background.

“I have to go,” she said. “I’m doing after school tutoring. This is the love of your life. You have to fight for him.”

“Okay,” I said. “How?”

She was quiet for a few seconds. “Figure out who this girl is. If she’s just a fling, let it go, he’ll come back to you. If it’s more, you have to put a stop to it. Hear me?”

“I hear you.”

She hung up. I felt rejuvenated. I stopped for a Jamba Juice and drove straight to the apartment complex I’d followed Caleb to a week earlier. His car wasn’t there. I knocked on the door and heard a dog barking. I knocked again, louder. If that damn animal kept making that racket, someone was going to notice. At my feet, there was a Welcome mat and a small potted plant to the left of it. It did little to brighten the dull grey corridor. Looking around, I squatted next to the plant, lifting it off the ground. Nothing.

Hmmmmm.

I stuck my finger in the soil and dug around until ... I came up with a small Ziploc baggie. I dusted away the dirt with my finger and leaned in for a closer look. A key. I snorted. Standing up, I put the key in the lock, and the door swung open. My ankles were immediately under attack. I managed to dodge my way around the ugly creature and close the door to the apartment, locking it outside. I pressed my ear against the door. I could hear it whining on the other side and then the faint click of nails on concrete as it trotted away. Good.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to face the apartment. It was nice. Decent. She’d put work into making it homey. I wandered over to the living room. It smelled so strongly of cinnamon, I wanted to find the source. I followed the smell to one of those plug in wall things and nudged it with the tip of my shoe. What type of woman used those? I had never even thought to buy one.

Fuck it. Enough screwing around.

I started in her bedroom. That’s where women had been hiding their secrets since the beginning of … well, secrets. I pulled out her dresser drawers one by one, running my hands along the back of her clothes. When I reached her underwear drawer, I grimaced. Please, God, do not let Caleb have seen her underwear. She wears lace — black and white and pink. No patterns. I closed the drawer empty-handed and looked at her closet. So far, she’s boring. Caleb doesn’t do boring. Well, the Caleb I used to know didn’t do boring. I shook my head. I had no idea who this new Caleb was. I wanted the old one back.

I clicked on the light in the closet. It was creepily organized. A shoebox rested on a shelf above her clothes. I pulled it down and slid off the lid.

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Staring up at me was a picture of a much younger Caleb. He had his arm around a girl with raven black hair. I recognized her from the day I followed him to her apartment. What did this mean? They knew each other? Had Caleb reached out to her after he got amnesia? Was he trying to connect with his past? I flipped through the pictures. They were more than just friends. My God. I stopped on a picture of them kissing and flung the box away from me.

What was happening? Did he know who she was or —

No, it had to be her. She somehow found out he had lost his memory, and she showed up to mess with his head. Oh my God. Caleb had no idea.

I stopped rocking and scrambled for the box. Inside are handwritten letters in Caleb’s slanted print. My eyes burned as I read through them. His words … to this girl I knew nothing about. Except this wasn’t just any girl. This was Cherry Garcia. I was almost sure of it.

I had to find him, tell him what she was doing. But first things first.

I gathered what I needed into a pile and stuffed it into my pocket. Then I went to look for scissors.

Chapter Seventeen

Present

No one comes. By noon I realize that I have destroyed my marriage and it is Sam’s day off. I break out the Scotch. I don’t even like Scotch, but for some reason it makes me feel bonded to Caleb.

The little brat is finally sleeping. I don’t think twice about taking two fingers of Caleb’s best. She’s so high-strung a little single malt would do her good. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror, as I trudge up the stairs toward the shower. I look like one of those chubby, lank haired mothers who occupy park benches, all the hope drained from their eyes. Is that what I am destined to become? A single mother, wearing ugly jeans and doling out those disgusting goldfish cracker-things at snack time?

No — I square my shoulders. If I am going to do this, I will not go to the damn park. I will go to France, and I will feed her caviar and pâté. I can do better than a stereotype. I can be a Chanel mother.

By the time I climb out of the shower, I feel like a new woman. No wonder Caleb drinks that expensive stuff. I’m practically walking on air. When the baby wakes up, I feed her from the stock of milk I pumped earlier. She already seems fussy, like the bottle is an inconvenience instead of a meal. She screams and thrashes her head around until her skin flushes as red as the troll fluff that’s sprouting on top of her head.

I wiggle it in her mouth, until finally she latches on, grunting with her eyes closed.

“Lost that battle, didn’t you?” I say, resting my head back in the rocker and closing my eyes. “If you think I’m going to be doing that all the time, you’re wrong. Spoiled little redheaded brat.”