Chapter Four (Jane POV)

"You haven't answered any of my calls or texts."

I bite back the snappy reply that springs to my lips with Rafael's obnoxious greeting mostly because I'm too emotionally exhausted to deal with his badgering today. Then again, I guess I can cut him some slack for being annoyed with me because he's right. I have been avoiding him and that's not fair. We are in a committed relationship, practically engaged to be married and I've essentially shut him out. But, in all fairness, I haven't singled him out for crappy behavior. I've been keeping everyone I love at arm's length these days.

It's been two days since I found out that Michael was alive and I am still reeling. I've told the story of his miraculous return no less than half a dozen times to half a dozen different people. But no matter how many times I tell the story it never sounds any less bizarre. And it's little wonder that it does sound bizarre. I'm making the claim that Michael is alive and walking around Miami without any shred of proof to back it up. I'm certain that most of my family and friends think I've gone insane. It doesn't help that I haven't seen or heard from him since that night in Rafael's apartment.

I'm worried. Like "poised on the brink of hysteria and ready to have an emotional collapse" worried. The last time I felt this way was after he'd been shot. I can recall how I was in constant knots, unable to sit still but unable to do anything productive either. I had been trapped in a vat of helplessness, left with no choice but to wait and wait and wait. That describes exactly how I feel at this very minute and the wait is every bit as excruciating.

I go back and forth between thinking Michael skipped town after all and thinking something truly awful has happened to him. Suddenly, I am having that same old nightmare again, where I am walking the halls of the Marbella and I see him lying lifeless on the floor no matter which way I turn. On the one hand, I don't want to believe that he would go back on his word to me the other night but on the other hand, it's a preferred alternative to him possibly being hurt or worse.

Again and again, I have to stop myself from calling the police and filing a missing person's report because I can only imagine how ridiculous I will sound. Hello, officer, my name is Jane Villanueva and I'd like to report my dead husband, who I buried five years ago, missing. Kthanxbai. It's all an utter mess.

Michael is missing and there's really nothing I can do about it at the moment. To make matters worse, his mother and father have been calling me every hour on the hour ever since they learned the truth and I don't know what to tell them. I don't even know if Michael is okay. The possibility that I might never see him again is making me crazy, so much so that I can't sleep or eat or do much of anything other than worry about Michael and cry my eyes out.

So in this rather precarious emotional state that I'm in, the last thing I need is for Rafael to show up at my Abuela's home unannounced to read me the riot act…but, one look at his face tells me that is exactly what's about to go down. Sighing heavily, I swing the door open wide and step aside so he can stomp past me into the house. I take my time turning back to face him and, once I have, he immediately asks where Mateo is. Not a good start. Yet another clue that he's about to let me have it if he first wants to be sure that Mateo's young, tender ears are nowhere in the vicinity.

"Mom and Abuela took him to the market," I tell him, "They thought I could use some time to myself." A more likely story is that they were eager to be out of my presence as soon as possible because I've been a raging bitch for the past two days now. But I can't help it. I feel anxious, on edge, like a powder keg ready to explode. And, unfortunately, Rafael is about to light the fuse.

"Is that why you haven't returned my calls?" he demands brusquely, "Because you need some time to yourself?"

"Believe me, you dodged a bullet. I haven't been very good company at all."

"And you couldn't pick up the phone and tell me that? You completely ignore me for two days instead?"

"Do you really blame me? My husband just came back from the dead, Raf. I'm entitled to be a little frazzled, I think."

"I know that," Rafael acknowledges with a sudden gentleness in his tone, "I know that this has been a shock for you. So let me help you. Lean on me. We'll get through this together."

"You can't help me."

"Because you won't let me," he accuses me quietly, "You're determined to shut me out."

"I'm not shutting you out," though, in a manner of speaking, I was, "And you can't help me," and he couldn't, "because I don't know where Michael is right now and you can't fix that! I've been going out of my mind for two days!"

Several emotions flitter across his features right then: surprise, confusion and yes…a flicker of relief. And although he is swift about covering it over and adopting an expression of sincere concern, the fact that I had glimpsed the reaction at all leaves me fuming inwardly. "He hasn't called you at all?"

"Did you really think he would after the way you ambushed him and me the other night? What were you thinking?"

He stiffens with righteous outrage, his concern abruptly replaced with a deep scowl. "Wait a minute! You're blaming me for this? I'm the one who brought him home to you, remember?"

"And? Do you want a medal of valor or something?" I fire.

"No! I want you to stop treating me like I'm the enemy, damn it!" he fires back.

I deflate immediately, veering crazily from rage and frustration to guilt. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a mess. I guess I wish you had done things differently."

"I don't know what else I could have done, Jane."

"Don't you?" He looks so genuinely perplexed by the question that I have no choice but to clarify what I mean. "What made you think it was a good idea to have me just show up at your apartment like that without warning me first, especially when you knew he had no idea who the hell I was?"

"I didn't want to overwhelm you."

"No, you didn't think it out because you couldn't see past your own pain!" I cry, "I wasn't prepared to see him and when I did, I came on way too strong and I scared him off. Now Michael is God knows where and that's on me!"

"Jane, Michael isn't a little boy," Rafael sighs, "He doesn't need you to hold his hand and show him the way. He's a grown man and he can take care of himself. If he's missing maybe it's because he doesn't want to be found and maybe that's something you need to accept!"

And, just like that, my anger comes roaring back, full vengeance. I glance at him scathingly. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"What are you saying?"

"It would work out for you just fine if Michael disappeared and never came back!" I accuse him and even as I say the words I know I'm being unfair. But I can't stop the words once they've started to flow. I'm scared and I'm angry and, unfortunately, Rafael is an easy target. "You're probably glad he has amnesia! He's not a threat to you if he can't remember his past, am I right?"

"Is he a threat to me, Jane?" he asks me softly, "Because I thought Michael was your past and I was your future. Was I wrong about that?"

The simple way he dives straight to the heart of what is truly driving my fury leaves me feeling unnerved and vulnerable. I can feel the tears begin to well again. "I'm sorry," I mumble, full of remorse, "I told you before I'm not good company."

"That's not an answer."

"Nothing's changed. I'm confused, Rafael. I don't know what I feel right now."

"You've seemed pretty clear about your feelings for the last six months! Hell, three days ago you knew without reservation that you wanted to be with me!"

"That was before I knew that Michael was alive. I told you the other night that him being back changes things for me…and us."

"But I don't understand why they have to change! Jane, you told me the other night that you still love me," he argues, "and I still love you. We've been in each other's lives for five years! You're my best friend. I want to grow old with you. Your face is the one I want to see every day when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep for the rest of my life. You are everything to me. We have a child together. We're a family. How does Michael Cordero fit into that?"

"Because everything you just said I am to you is everything he was to me. He's my family, Raf."

"Was…or still is?"

"I don't know," I reply and that is honestly how I feel. I don't know anything anymore.

He blinks back the tears gathering in his eyes. "I guess it's all a moot point anyway because he doesn't remember you, Jane. And it seems like to me he doesn't want to."

Though I know there are hurt feelings behind Rafael's words, they still shatter what is left of my ailing heart because that has been my greatest fear for the last two days. I'm not only distressed by Michael's return and devastated by his memory loss but I'm also terrified by the possibility that he will never recover those memories or, worse yet, that he might not want to. Given the circumstances and everything he's endured, it's reasonable to think he would prefer to keep his distance and figure things out on his own but, even with all that logical reasoning, it still feels like rejection to me.

"I'll deal with all of that when I find him," I tell Rafael, shaking off those lingering doubts, "But first I have to find him."

Rafael accepts that determination with a nod before forging ahead. "In the meantime, how do you want to proceed with this situation?"

I survey him with a dull, perplexed look. "Proceed?"

"I spoke to your mother this morning. She told me that she knew about Michael and that you told the rest of the family last night." I jerk a nod of confirmation. "Have you told his parents?"

"Yep."

"How did they take it?"

"His father is in shock. His mother is hysterical. She's been calling me nonstop ever since."

"Well, it's a lot to take in…" Rafael considers. Don't I know it? "You didn't tell Mateo yet, did you?"

"No. Not yet. I'm still trying to figure out what I want to say."

It's not that I haven't considered telling him. I've had to stop myself dozens of times over the past two days. But I just can't imagine how that conversation should go. While Michael had played a huge part in Mateo's early development and they had been close back then, Michael had "passed away" before Mateo turned two, well beyond his formative years. I've done everything I could over the years to make Michael as real to him as I can…showing him pictures, telling him stories, sometimes taking him with me when I visit Michael and Patricia. I have even taken him camping a few times (disasters every time) because I wanted to share something with him that Michael had loved.

For the most part, Mateo has always been accepting of my connection to Michael. He's never questioned it. He knows how much I loved him and I how much I missed him. In many ways, my dear Mr. Sweetface has even been protective of that connection. But, despite all the pictures and stories and fond memories, Mateo doesn't have a real flesh and blood relationship with Michael and I don't mean that in just the genetic sense. Up until this point, Michael has been a memory, a ghost, a shadow of the past. I'm not entirely sure how my little boy will react when he's faced with Michael the reality. Rafael's reply to me makes it clear that he is harboring the same reservations.

"I think we can put it off for a while. He's too young to handle something this heavy and he doesn't even remember Michael. When the times comes, we'll tell him together."

I am shaking my head in refusal before he even finishes the sentence. "That's not necessary. Mateo may not remember Michael but he knows who he is. The hardest part will be explaining the whole 'back from the dead' part."

"Jane, it's more than that. This is going to be very confusing for him," Rafael maintains, "He knows that you were married to Michael before and that he was very important to you and knowing Michael is alive might make him feel insecure about us being a family. We need to present a united front to our son so that he knows his life isn't going to change."

"Is this about Mateo or you?" I challenge, "Are you sure you're not projecting your own insecurities onto our son right now?"

"Maybe I am but I still don't want you to tell him about Michael without me."

I don't have the strength or desire to argue with him. "Fine. I don't care. None of this is going to matter anyway if I don't find Michael. My father has called in a bunch of favors and he has people looking for him all over the city since I can't very well call the police. So far, he hasn't turned up."

"Why haven't you called the police?" Rafael wonders, "I'm sure Michael's old buddies on the force would be pretty motivated to find him."

"He's supposed to be dead, remember? Plus, I don't think it's a good idea to send people after him who are too emotionally invested. That will just rattle him even more."

"That makes sense."

"I don't even know where to look for him because I doubt he will go to any of our old spots because he can't remember where they are!." I crumple into the nearest chair and briefly bury my face in my hands. "But that's just the best case scenario in this whole mess." Fear is crackling in every fiber of my body when I ask aloud the thing that terrifies me the most, "What if something bad happened to him, Raf?"

He immediately rushes forward and scoops me into his arms, crooning sweet words of reassurance into my disheveled hair. I clutch at him like he's a life raft and I'm drowning at sea. "Nothing bad has happened to him. You can't think like that."

"I can't lose him again," I sob hysterically, "I just can't…"

"You won't. I can go out there and look for him too if you want."

I regard him with wet eyes shining with relieved gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you."

"And he definitely hasn't called or texted you at all? Did you check your phone recently?"

I nod. The last time I checked had been a mere two minutes before Rafael arrived. "No. Not a word." I curl my fingers tighter into his shirtfront in a moment of pure desperation. "What about you? Do you have his contact information at all? A phone number, an address, anything! What about the hotel where he was staying? Do you know that?"

He makes a calming gesture in order to quell my rapid flow of words. "I went by the place he was staying when I first brought him into town last night but the front desk told me he'd already checked out."

I jerk out of his loose embrace with a sharp gasp. "You mean you've known where he was staying this entire time and you didn't tell me?"

"Well maybe if you had bothered answering my calls, I would have told you," he retorts.

I survey him with narrowed eyes filled with suspicion. "Why did you go by to see him in the first place?"

"I actually don't know," he admits in an exasperated sigh, "I guess I just wanted to hear from him that he wanted to stay here."

"Why would you care? It's doesn't affect you."

"It affects you so it affects me," he counters tautly, "I wanted to be sure you weren't setting yourself up for disappointment. Maybe I wanted some reassurance that I didn't have anything to worry about, that I wasn't going to lose the woman I love."

"Raf, please…"

"Fine. But I don't want this to be another tick in the column of betrayal for you, Jane."

"It doesn't matter. That's not important right now!" I'm already surging to my feet, preparing to tear the living room apart for my car keys. "You have to take me there!"

"Jane, didn't you hear what I just said? He's not there anymore. He left."

I freeze mid-step at the gentle reminder and swing back to face him, a weight of hopelessness settling into my belly. "But…but he said he wouldn't leave…" I sniffle mournfully, "He promised…"

"He probably went back to Houston," Rafael surmises, "Maybe he felt like there was nothing left for him here. It makes sense. That's where his life is now."

That does seem like the likeliest possibility and it guts me. It seriously guts me. I can barely withstand the crushing pain that comes with it. I stumble back against the couch, sinking down into the cushions as despair overwhelms me. This can't be it. This can't be all the time I get to have with him, not after all we've been through, not after all we've lost. I can't accept that this is all I have left. I won't.

When I look at Rafael again, my expression is set with determination. "Where exactly in Houston did you find him?"

"Why?" he prompts warily.

"Because…if the mountain won't come to Mohammad, I guess Mohammad must go to the mountain."

As soon as he realizes that I am prepared to fly to Houston if necessary to find Michael, Rafael's reaction is swift and direct. "No, Jane, you can't! What you're thinking is utterly insane! You can't just show up at his house unannounced."

"Why not?"

"Because he lives with someone!" Rafael flares, as if the answer should be obvious to me, "He's in a relationship and if he wanted to stay here, he would have! You can't go chasing him all over the country!"

"Give me the address, Raf."

"No."

I take several calming breaths and try again. "Give me the address please."

"I said no."

I curl my hands into fists, fully prepared to fight him if it comes to that. "So help me God, Rafael, if you don't give me that address, I will never speak to you again!"

Though I can tell he is frustrated, angry and more than hurt by my threat (empty as it was) Rafael is still willing to relent to my demand. He reaches for his wallet and snatches out a folded piece of paper. He passes it to me with a stony scowl. "That's all the information I have."

I glance down at the paper. There isn't much there, just an address and a name. Lorena Diaz. The woman Michael, apparently, lives with. I don't let myself focus on that too much but instead make a dive for my laptop so I can begin searching for the Lorena Diaz who lives at the address I've been provided. I'm vaguely aware of Rafael standing behind me as I search the web for what I need but I don't acknowledge him. I'm too focused on my task.

After only a few minutes of searching I stumble across her Facebook page. Her settings are set to private so I can't navigate through her page as freely as I'd like but honestly I don't need to. Her profile picture tells me what I need to know.

I'm not surprised she's brunette, petite and pretty with dark eyes and a dazzling smile. She and Michael are huddled close, grinning at one another like they have some private joke between them. He has that familiar, playfully crooked smirk on his face, the one he always gets when he's about to do or has done something silly. She looks like she's trying not to laugh and failing miserably. She looks…happy. So does he.

And it hurts. God, it hurts. I vaguely wonder if this was how Michael felt when he had to watch Rafael and I together all those years ago. I have to shut my laptop for a minute to collect myself.

From above my head I hear Rafael say past the roaring in my ears, "I tried to tell you." He rests his hands on my shoulders. "I didn't want you to be hurt."

"I know," I acknowledge with a rough swallow, "I know you didn't." But then I square my shoulders and lift the cover to my laptop once more. "But I have to do this." Ten more minutes of searching and one credit card charge later yields what I have been searching for the entire time. A phone number. As soon as I find it I snatch up my cell phone and dial it quickly before I lose my nerve. Still, the second she answers I have to check the reflexive urge to hang up.

"Hello, hi," I blurt in a nervous, breathless rush, "I'm looking for Michael Cordero. Is he there? May I speak to him, please?"

I hold my breath in anticipation of Michael coming to the phone. I am mentally rehearsing what I plan to say to him in the few seconds I have before he does but the moment never comes because Lorena Diaz suddenly asks, "Is…is this Jane?"

It takes several attempts before I'm able to respond coherently, "I'm sorry…h-how do you know me?"

"John…I mean Michael told me all about you. My name is Lorena. He…uh…he and I are very, very close. You have no idea how happy I am that he found you."

"You…you are?" I utter, caught somewhere between astonishment and relief.

"Why are you calling for him right now? Isn't he with you?"

"Actually, I haven't spoken to him since the other night and I was worried. I thought maybe he'd gone back to Houston. I wanted to make sure he was okay."

"No, he's still in Miami," Lorena tells me.

I grip my phone so hard I'm surprised it doesn't snap in two. "Are you sure?"

"I spoke to him this morning. He's still there."

Oh, thank you, God! "Would you happen to know where I could find him?" I press hopefully.

"He said he was going to check out the local beach. You may want to start there."