A/N: I apologize for the delay in updating this story. Not to be a fanfic writer cliche, but this year has been exceptionally rough on a personal level with deaths of several close family members, stressful job issues, and finally after two and a half years - catching Covid. But I hope to continue with more timely updates going forward. I very much appreciate those who have left feedback as it means the world.
With the diner closed on Mondays, Maggie took the opportunity to visit the nursing home where she had once lived. For a woman with no past, at least until recently, the staff at the Brooklyn Bronx Assisted Living Facility was the closest she had to a family. And with her thoughts in such turmoil, she suddenly had a craving to be around others.
Following her usual routine, Maggie signed in at the reception desk as a volunteer and immediately checked on some of her favorite patients. John and Kathleen, an elderly couple married for over 60 years, had rooms right next to each other, and they always treated her like the daughter they had lost as a child. Bryce, a middle-aged man with a learning disability and the mind of a six-year-old, also appreciated her visits. But her favorite patient was Molly.
Molly was rumored to have been born with knitting needles in her hands as she was never without them. As she still dyed her hair a black, Maggie found it impossible to determine Molly's age. Molly had lost the use of her legs late in life, but her wheelchair served as a gateway to an active lifestyle rather than a confinement. So long as she had someone willing to push her, the older woman navigated the nursing home like a captain on the high seas.
"And next you can take me to see poor old Mister Martin," Molly directed with a nod of her head, knitting away as Maggie pushed her. "I don't think he's getting his proper vitamins."
"I'm sure they give him all his medication," Maggie chided her.
"Oh, are you?" Molly challenged. "Well, you have more faith in the system than I do. Just last week the kitchen ran out of prune juice. Can you imagine? All these antique bowels and-"
Maggie laughed as she listened to the woman go off on a long tirade about the importance of keeping regular. Molly was a relatively new addition to the facility, having lived there only two years, but her clashes with staff members had become legendary. But she had a soft spot for Maggie.
When they arrived at Mr. Martin's room, Molly spent a solid ten minutes regaling the bedridden man with all the latest gossip. He grinned silently, unable to speak but obviously enjoying the attention. And once Molly had finished her discourse on all material matters, she pulled a fully finished scarf from somewhere tucked about her chair and leaned over to wrap it around Mr. Martin's neck.
"Here now," she told him. "This will keep you warm. Never know when they might forget to pay the electric bill again and let us freeze."
Maggie smiled at the gesture before reminding the woman it was time to go. As she wheeled Molly back to the common room, Molly's needles clacked together, a steady rhythm which rarely slowed or varied. Something about the sound reminded Maggie of someone else, someone who could not only knit but also mend and quilt. But the person's identity eluded her, not unlike a stray bit of music on the radio - gone before she could recall the song or the singer.
"You seem very pensive today, dear," Molly observed.
"How can you tell?"
"You've hardly chided me at all. Clearly, your mind is elsewhere. With a man, unless I miss my guess."
Maggie let out a wry laugh.
"You're close. A boy."
"A boy?"
"His name is Jake."
Molly's knitting needles continued to click.
"Sounds like a good, strong name. And how did you meet this boy?"
With a half-shrug, Maggie said with deliberate casualness, "He came into the diner."
Looking up without pausing her fingers, Molly raised an eyebrow at the younger woman. "Honey, you must be hard up for gentleman suitors."
Rolling her eyes, Maggie intoned, "Not like that. He's…"
But she paused before saying the words, suddenly not sure that she should share this newfound revelation about her past. The people at the care facility knew her. Even if Molly had not been there long enough to have seen it for herself, they all knew her story. And if she told one resident about Jake, about his connection to her past, they would likely all hear about it in a matter of hours. Molly had many skills but the ability to keep a secret did not number among them.
She smiled vacantly and said, "He's doing an article for the school paper. About people with amnesia. He said he came by here and someone gave him my name."
Molly nodded knowingly.
"Oh, that was Harper. I saw her outside speaking to a young man a week or two ago. That must have been your fledgling journalist."
"Harper?" Maggie asked, incredulous.
The betrayal hit hard and it made no sense. Few people were still employed at the nursing home from the time Maggie had been a patient there, but Harper was one. While she would be hard pressed to consider the nurse a friend, they were at least friendly. And Harper was a professional. She knew how much trouble she could get into for releasing confidential information about volunteers or patients.
"I guess I better have a talk with her," Maggie stated quietly.
Molly did not look up from her knitting as she nodded in agreement.
Maggie waited until Harper's shift was over and then suggested that the two of them grab a cup of coffee. While they had gotten together a few times outside the nursing home setting, the invitation clearly came as a surprise. Harper raised an eyebrow at her former patient.
"Okay," she said slowly as she gave Maggie an enigmatic look.
Only after they had found a table on the sidewalk at a local cafe did Maggie bring up what Molly had told her.
Bluntly, she asked, "I thought it was against policy to give out medical information about patients?"
Harper snorted and looked back at her.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded, sounding genuinely affronted.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. The boy. Jake. He has blond hair and blue eyes."
"And looks exactly like you?" Harper shot back. "Yeah, I remember him."
This observation hit Maggie hard, and she looked away.
"Do you know how he tracked me down?" she asked softly.
This time, Harper seemed uncomfortable. "You're right. It was me."
"You?"
Deliberately looking around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them, Harper lowered her voice and said, "You think your picture got splashed all over the papers and no one recognized you?"
"You never said anything," Maggie stuttered, stunned. "I had no idea-"
"Yeah, I know you didn't. And you didn't want to know. But to answer your question, a few months after Miss 'Jane Doe' got transferred here, I began to wonder if anyone might be missing her. What with the circumstances of the supposed 'death' of an assistant state attorney and the fact that her comatose body got shipped to Brooklyn, I thought it might be a federal witness protection kind of thing. So I looked up the number for the tip line, dialed it, and just left the address. You know, in case anyone was still keeping an eye on things. But no one showed up. What has it been, twelve years now?"
Maggie took it all in slowly, absorbing not only her friend's information but the circumstances surrounding how she had come to be at the nursing home.
"Everyone thought I was dead," she confirmed. "Those from my former life."
Harper stabbed her with a hard gaze, and Maggie felt the weight of the other woman's judgment. They both knew that Maggie had never searched for her past. She had fought against the doctor's attempts to prompt her past her amnesia. And she had not ventured into the world even after getting her feet back under her. Not really. Instead, she had remained in Brooklyn, living and working within the same few blocks where she could remain safely obscure.
"That's why they didn't come looking for you."
Her expression still severe, Harper reflected back at Maggie her own doubts and fears. One of the reasons Maggie claimed not to search for her former life was that if she did have hypothetical loved ones out there, they would have come looking for her long ago. But they hadn't, so they must not exist.
"And it's not just Jake," Maggie confessed, and the words caught Harper's attention anew.
"Not just…"
"His father reached out to me as well."
"His… father?"
Harper stared at her, clearly understanding Maggie's meaning. One thing they had discussed from time to time was Maggie's utter disinterest in romantic attachments. Men had asked her out over the years, usually those who saw her at the diner. But after attempting only a few dates, she had turned them all away without so much as a second glance. Rich or poor, ugly or handsome. None of them appealed to her, and she had never quite understood why. She knew she liked men. But part of her had always felt that any chance she had at love was long since forsaken, a chance lost and never to be found again.
But now…
Her friend blinked three full times before stating, "Okay, Maggie, you can't just drop that on me and not tell me more. What's he like? Did you remember him?"
Maggie went to speak, but even as she did, her voice froze. Not unlike her hesitation in speaking to Molly earlier, she now seemed to think better about discussing Vincent.
But even as she tried to work her jaw, to formulate an explanation, she could not speak. The words simply would not come. It reminded her of those early days when she had first woken from the coma when her legs and arms refused to do what she told them.
After watching her struggle for a time, Harper finally said, "You don't have to tell me."
"I can't," Maggie managed finally. "I mean, I physically can't. It's like I'm mentally hard-wired not to discuss-"
Her voice closed down before even pronouncing the word Vincent. The name would not even pass her lips, no matter how hard she tried.
She trembled at the effort, pushing against this strange boundary within herself. But no matter how hard she tried to even say his name, her mind and body refused to allow it to happen. Finally, with a sound of undignified frustration, she pushed away from the table and stood up.
She took four steps away from the table before turning and striding back. The short distance was almost exactly the length of her tiny apartment, and she marched off the paces by memory. To Harper, she must have looked like a caged large cat, but Maggie did not care.
Why can't I even say his name? she wondered to herself.
She pushed at the barriers in her mind - hard - as she sought at least that bit of information. And something finally gave.
"I made a promise."
"I can't tell you what you want to know."
"He's suffered great pain. And yet, he has the most beautiful spirit…."
Whatever Vincent's secret, whatever kept him from letting her see his appearance now, she had been privy to in her past life, Maggie knew. She had known and willingly protected his secret, at all costs. Whatever it was, she felt, was locked deep inside her - a truth she would not even allow herself to find, not without a great deal of digging.
"I owe you everything. Everything."
"He gives me everything."
Even as she could hear her own voice speaking the words, she could not put them into context. Nothing made sense, not really, and the fragmented memories hurt as they returned to her - snippets of conversations and declarations she had made. Each recollection felt like a shard in her brain, stabbing deeply with no sign of respite.
Maggie knew she had an underlying need to protect Vincent, to keep him safe. But she had no idea why. And she suspected there was something more, something bad. Something so horrible that she had no wish to face the truth of it.
Maggie dropped back into her chair and put a hand to the side of her head, as if to shield herself from the memories. Across from her, Harper watched the array of emotions which swept across her face as she attempted to hold onto even a shred of composure.
"I think I have to do this," she said finally, looking up at the nurse.
"You should have done it a long time ago, if you ask me," Harper responded.
"Maybe," Maggie agreed. "And maybe now is too late. But I still think I have to try."
"Well, you could always ask the doctors-"
She shook her head. "No doctors. I'm not talking to anyone else about this."
After taking a deep breath, Harper warned, "Be careful, Maggie. As much as you want to remember right now, for a very long time you did everything you could to forget. It will be a hard road for you to retread. You weren't exactly keen to leave a trail of breadcrumbs before, you know."
Maggie nodded, also remembering. Even after she had reconquered her body and the basic motor skills most people learned as children, her resistance to remembering her past had been unyielding.
"I'm a little scared of what I might remember," she volunteered. "What if I was a terrible person before?"
"That's a risk you'll have to take," Harper agreed. "But even if you were a terrible person before, that the person you are today is not the person you used to be. You've lived an entirely different life."
Those words stayed with Maggie long after she bid Harper goodbye and returned to her tiny apartment. She was a different person, no matter what she found out about her past. But she could not escape the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach that those words would be small consolation in the end.
TBC
