Charlotte Had A Boyfriend : 23 (Final)

By Iolanthe Portmanteaux

 

---

"That's an interesting expression," Mason said. "You wipe the slate clean. Why do you that?"
"To get rid of what's written on it," Dr. Ariel said, puzzled.
"No. It's because a slate is meant to be written on," Mason corrected.
"You wipe it clean so you can write something else on it."

— Erle Stanley Gardner, The Case of the Glamorous Ghost

---

 

Wade ran his finger along the rim of his glass. "There's really only one question I have to ask you: Did you really have amnesia? Or was that all an act?"

My jaw dropped. I stared at him, offended and surprised.

"It isn't just me who will ask that," he pointed out. "The police will ask you the same question, and if Fencely's disappearance goes as far as a grand jury, you can be sure they'll ask you the same thing."

"Of course I had amnesia!" I exclaimed. "Do you think I've been running around, pretending to be an idiot?"

"I didn't see you all that much," he pointed out. "And when I did see you, it wasn't as though we were probing your memories, if you recall."

"Okay," I said. "So what do I do?"

His eyebrows went up. "Are you asking me for legal advice?"

"Yes," I said. "That's why I'm here."

"I've repeated told you," he reminded me, "That I cannot give you any legal advice, other than to tell you to find yourself another lawyer. Someone other than me."

Just then my phone went off. The caller was a "Doctor Owens." I sent it to voicemail.

"Sorry," I said. Wade waved it off.

"Look," I said. "All I want to know is: what are my options?"

"Hold on," he told me, and went into another room. He returned with a sheet of blank paper and a pen.

"If anyone asks you," he said, uncapping the pen, "this is what I told you. Okay? This is everything I told you: the beginning and the end. I hope you understand: I need to protect myself."

He spoke as he wrote, and he wrote in a very neat, very legible hand. "First: If you want legal advice, you need to go to an attorney. I cannot give you legal advice. Is that clear?" I nodded. He continued, still writing as he spoke, "Second: Do not lie to the police."

There he stopped. He capped the pen and set it on the table. He pushed the paper in my direction.

"That's it?" I cried. "Don't lie to the police? Does that mean I should go to the police? Is that what you're telling me to do?"

"I suppose you could wait for them to come to you; that's your choice, but..." He scratched his head. "Those two policewomen... Do you find one of them easier to talk to? Friendlier? More open?"

"Sure. Tatum Scrattan. She's the police officer. Carly's a detective. She's a little pricklier, scarier."

"Right. And you have Tatum's number?" I nodded. "Call her. Ask her if she has time to meet you for coffee. Meet her and tell her your wild story and see what she says."

I sat there stunned, wordless. "That's your advice? Tell her my story? She's going to think I'm crazy!"

He nodded. "Crazy or lying, yes, that's probably what she'll think."

I made some inarticulate, helpless sounds, shaking my head. Then, "Then why I am telling her anything at all? Am I just supposed to hope for the best? Am I supposed to believe if I tell the truth, everything will come out fine in the end?"

Wade spread his hands flat on the table. "Look: if your story is bullshit, now is it the time to toss it aside and tell the simple truth. If, on the other hand, this is your story, and you're going to stick to it, you may as well tell it now and deal with the fallout. Otherwise, it will hang over you like the sword of Damocles."

I felt cheated. I felt like I'd been tricked. I wanted legal advice, but what Wade was telling me was no different from what the Bible woman told me down by the river.

"Should I go with a lawyer?" I asked him.

"Again," he stressed, "I'm not giving you any advice. I'm not going to tell you whether you do or don't need a lawyer."

"So... I *don't* need a lawyer?"

"I didn't say that. Don't put words in my mouth. Don't pretend I said anything more than what I actually said." He rubbed his hands together and set them back on the table. "Look, Deeny: having a lawyer doesn't magically make things easier. It doesn't magically save you from the consequences of your words and actions. For example, take a look at me. I don't think our auto accident was my fault, but it doesn't change the fact that I was driving drunk. All the lawyers on earth can't change that."

"But that's different," I protested.

"How is it different? If you have this story — which you know sounds crazy and false — you'll have to deal with the fact that most people, including the police, won't believe you. Two men have disappeared; that makes it a serious matter."

He let me stew in silence for a spell, then asked if I'd like some iced tea.

"No thanks," I said. "I guess I have a phone call to make." I stood up. "Thanks, Wade."

He made a shrugging gesture that said thanks for what? as if he'd done nothing. He stood up and handed me the sheet he'd written on. "Remember," he told me, pointing at the sheet. He walked me to the door.

 

---

 

I waited until I reached the nearest corner before I called Tatum.

"Hey, girl!" Tatum crooned, sounding relaxed and happy. "What can I do for you?" Her cheery, upbeat tone caught me off guard.

"Are you busy?" I asked.

"No, it's my day off—"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, no, it's fine! What's up?"

"Do you have time to meet for coffee? There are some things I want to tell you."

"Cool! Does this mean you got your memory back?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about."

"Should I pull Carly in?"

"Can I just talk to you first?"

"Sure! We can do that."

She asked where I was, then suggested we meet at the cafe in Cymbeline Circle.

 

---

 

Tatum was waiting for me at a table outside the cafe. She dressed very casually: jeans, sandals, and a red t-shirt with yellow lettering. It read, What does the fox say?

Curious, I asked her, "What *does* the fox say?"

"Oh," she replied, a little surprised. "Don't you know the song? It's been around for a while. Oh — you wouldn't know it, would you! Your amnesia, right?"

"No, it's not that. My amnesia is gone. I just never heard of that song."

"Oh, it's funny, it's silly. You'll like it. Anyway, great news, huh? No more amnesia! Now you remember everything, right?"

"Oh, yeah. It's great. SO great."

She studied my face. "And now you remember what happened to Hugh Fencely and Mason Rafflyan?"

"Yes."

She asked if she could record what I said, and I said yes. I sat down. She set her phone on the table between us, and I proceeded to tell her everything. I told it pretty much the way I told Wade, although this being the second go-around, I managed to streamline the story a bit, so it didn't take as long to tell.

Tatum listened. She didn't take notes. She didn't interrupt or ask questions.

When I finished, she looked at her hands for a few moments. Then she asked, "How many people have you told this story to?"

"Only one, so far."

"Was that person a lawyer?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't want to bring a lawyer with you here, now?"

"I don't know," I confessed. "I don't know whether I need one. I don't know whether I'm in trouble or what." When Tatum didn't respond, I asked her, "Am I in trouble?"

She twisted up her mouth to the side, thinking. Then she shook her head, which I took to mean No, you're not in trouble, but when she spoke, she said, "I don't know...," which didn't help me at all.

She drummed her fingers for a moment, took a deep breath, and turned off her recording. She leaned toward me, a little, and spoke quietly.

"You know, we were under a lot of pressure to close this case quickly. We were driven to find out what happened, find out who was responsible... if someone *was* responsible for something."

She paused. I had no idea where she was going in her explanation, if that's what it was.

Tatum looked me in the face. "I guess you know... I mean, you said you know... that Hugh is gay."

"Yeah, sure," I responded. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

Tatum continued in a low voice, "Also, you know — you seem to know — that Hugh isn't just a big guy; he's a big personality. He, uh, doesn't do anything halfway. Do you know what I'm saying?"

I shook my head. "I guess so... but—"

"The current thinking, the current theory, is that Hugh and Mason ran off together."

"What!?"

"The last time they were seen was at Ebbidles, like you said. They asked for a private table, a table in the back. Hugh told the waitress who sat them that they didn't want to be seen from the window. And... the waitress observed them holding hands throughout their meal."

"Oh, no — that's NOT how it was!" I objected, and found myself blushing. She put up her hand to quiet me.

"All the customers and staff in the restaurant that night saw them leave with their arms around each other, and Hugh was very excited, emotional, happy, and he said he was glad that Mason was up for it. Okay? Now, admittedly, we don't know what 'it' was, from the way the two of them behaved, we can make a pretty good guess."

"No," I said.

Tatum continued, "it seemed to all our witnesses that there was a strong interest there. We can call it a 'romantic' interest if you want me to spare your blushes, but the general impression was that it was sexual."

"No— come on!" I interrupted. "I told you—" She waved me off.

"See, the thing about *this* theory — that they were lovers who ran off together — it fits all the facts and answers all the questions."

"But—"

"You, on the other hand, have a wild story that can't be verified in any way. Not only that, it doesn't lead us anywhere. It's a collection of dead ends. Can you see that?"

"So... you don't believe me."

"Hello? Of course I don't believe you! I don't think you believe it yourself! Shit like that doesn't happen in real life. Besides, you obviously lifted the whole armored-toad-in-a-spaceship bit right out of the Iodine Story. Did you think that no one would notice?"

My hands dropped into my lap. I stared at her in dismay. "It's true, though! It really is!"

Tatum picked up the check, read it, and set it back on the table. "Can you get this?" she asked. I nodded.

"I'll tell you what we can do," Tatum told me. "I'll write up what you told me. It will be your official statement. I'll call you when it's ready and you can come in and sign it. Then I'll put it in the file. Okay?"

"But—"

"And then we're going to close the file. Basically, it's already closed, but you didn't hear that from me. Honestly, the only thing keeping it open was you. You were a kind of the last loose thread, with your missing memories and such."

"And now?"

Tatum smiled and turned up both her palms. "You're not a loose thread any more."

"I don't like it," I told her.

"At least you're off the hook," she pointed out.

 

---

 

After all that, after I settled the bill, I had to ask her something.

"Tatum, do you think I could be a cop?"

"You want to be a cop?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. "Wow. Well, I have to say, if you really want to be a cop, I don't think this story will help you get there."

"Oh."

"And you said you failed the civil-service test, right?"

"Yes."

"Twice?" She raised her eyebrows, as if to say, Draw your own conclusion.

"What about being a private investigator? Do you think I have a shot at that?"

"A PI? You think that if you can't be a cop, you could be a private investigator? You know what? Being a PI is *harder* than being a cop. It's a business, and businesses don't run themselves. Besides the investigating, you have to do all businessy stuff — taxes and paperwork and whatnot. AND you have to find work for yourself. Cases doesn't come flowing in just because you hang out your shingle."

Then Tatum grinned and pulled me into a hug. "Listen," she said, "one last thing: if I were you, I'd keep this story to yourself. Don't go writing a sequel to the Iodine Story, okay? Nobody wants to see that."

"It's a deal," I told her.

She grinned and stepped in close, sotto voce: "We don't need another Charlotte in Robbins, okay?"

 

---

 

I left her and headed up the hill to Lucy and Hermie's house. On my way there, Barney called. Out of the blue. I answered right away; I felt the need to make some kind of apology.

"Hey," he said. "Is it okay that I call?"

"Yes, yes! I'm glad you did. I'm sorry about running out on you; about running away."

"Whatever," he replied. "You had your reasons. I won't pretend it didn't hurt, but you had your reasons. Are you okay?"

"Yes, sure. Yes, I'm fine."

"Did you get your memories back? Is that why you left?"

"More or less, yes. That's what happened."

He took a breath.

"Must have been a shock, I guess."

"Yes, you could say that."

"And now that you remember everything, are we good?" he asked.

"We're not bad," I replied, smiling.

He sounded somewhat relieved. "Okay. Well... that's something, anyway. I can take 'not bad' at this point. So, uh, is there anything you want to tell me? Anything we need to talk about?"

"Uh, no," I said. "Nothing comes to mind at the moment."

"Okay," he said. "Well, um, keep me in mind, in case that changes. Any time, day or night."

"Okay," I told him, tickled by his day or night, but wanting to be conciliatory, I replied with a simple, "Will do."

 

---

 

Tatum's mention of loose threads made me think of Dr Thistlewaite for some reason. I still had a ways to go before reaching the house, so I gave the good doctor a call.

"Hey, Doctor, it's Deeny Lisente."

"Oh, hello. How are you doing? So... no more Perry Mason? you decided to go with your birth name?"

"Oh, uh, yes, my birth name. I guess so. And yeah, anyway, I'm good. I'm calling because I wanted to let you know that my memories came back!"

"That's good to hear," he replied. I was a disappointed, even taken aback, by his lack of enthusiasm. I expected him to be more excited. As we talked more, I did get the feeling that he was disappointed, as though I was telling him about a party he missed; a party he wasn't invited to.

Thistlewaite was deeply invested in my amnesia. He really wanted to be there when my memories returned. He wanted to watch them surface.

He asked me to describe how it happened. I told him, although I left out the presence of Barney and the way I ran off on tiptoe. I pretty much limited my story to the way I woke up one morning, remembered a song, realized I'd remembered something, and that all my memories were magically there, as if the shelves were restocked when I wasn't looking. As if nothing had ever been missing.

"So it simply happened? It was, like, a non-event? It wasn't a shock or surprise or anything?"

"Oh, it was a shock alright!" I replied. "I actually threw up!"

"Interesting," he said, sounding puzzled. "You threw up?"

"Well, I'm all better now," I assured him.

"Okay," he replied. "I'm glad you're better. If you ever feel like coming in and talking about it more, I'd be happy to see you. But right now, look — I'm sorry to cut this short, but I've got to go. I've got a patient here, waiting."

Okay. That was pretty anticlimactic. Still, I felt I owed him that much.

 

---

 

When I got home, Lucy was in the kitchen, packing away meals she'd prepared.

"Everything smells so good!" I complimented her.

"Thanks," she replied, looking me over. I think she expected to see me at least a little bit disheveled, showing signs of an amorous rendezvous. Failing that, she struggled to find a barb to toss, and had to settle for a mild one: "Looks like you avoided falling into bed this time! Didn't you go to the lawyer's house?"

"Yes, I did, as a matter of fact."

"And, uh, he didn't, you didn't, um—"

"No, he didn't come to the door in his legal briefs," I offered. "We actually talked about a legal issue."

"Oh! And did he mind that you kicked him to the curb?"

"Oh, what?" I said. Now she rattled me. "Oh, well, uh, I think he— uh—"

"It's okay," she laughed. "I'm just teasing."

She followed that statement with a searching look, so before she asked another question I told her, "My memories are back. No big deal, but the amnesia is gone."

"Good news, right?"

"Yeah," I breathed. "Good news."

"So... what about your ex-fiance?"

"What about him?"

"Your memories are back. Is that good for him or bad for him?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Although it's funny you should mention him: He just called me, like five minutes ago."

"What did he want?"

I blew out a breath and shook my head. "Dunno. I guess he was just checking in."

"Okay. That's nice, isn't it?"

The two of us stood there for a few moments. Neither of us had anything to say, until she observed, "Is that your phone that's been buzzing?"

It was the voicemail from Dr Owens. She'd called while I was busy with Wade. I gave it a listen. Dr Owens, as it turned out, was a woman. She said that I'd missed an appointment this morning. "Give me a call, Deeny, I'm sure you want to reschedule as soon as possible, right? I've got some openings tomorrow. But if you want one of them, you have to call. Okay?"

I moved into the living room for the sake of privacy and called her back. I apologized for missing the appointment, explaining about the accident and amnesia.

"Wow, that's just wild!" she responded. "But you're okay, now, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Okay, great, well, look, Deeny, I'm sure you want to get in here as soon as you can. I have an opening tomorrow at two. Does that work for you?"

"Um, look, Dr Owens, there are still some things I still don't remember... so don't be offended, but, uh, can you tell me, what kind of doctor are you? Are you, like, my GP?"

She laughed. "No, hon. I'm an OB/GYN. I've been your gynecologist since you were thirteen."

My gynecologist? "Okay. So what is this about? A routine checkup?"

"Oh, my God! No, really! Deeny, are you telling me that you don't remember?"

"No, honestly, I don't."

"Wow! Alright. So, last Monday you called me because you did a home pregnancy test—"

"A what!?"

"—and it was positive."

I couldn't speak for a few moments. Then, grasping at straws, I asked, "It could have been a false positive though, couldn't it?"

"Oh, hon. It's... unlikely. I mean, anything is possible, but frankly a false negative is far more likely than a false positive. You did say you were careful to wait for a week after you missed your period, so—"

"Holy shit," I said, and sank into a chair.

"See, and that means you're about six weeks into it."

"Six weeks pregnant? How is that even possible?"

Dr Owens laughed. "Come on, now. The birds and the bees. You must know by now, don't you? Anyway, you need to come in and get checked out as soon as possible, right? So, is tomorrow good?"

"I'm in Robbins," I blathered.

"Are you staying there? Or just visiting? You are coming back home, aren't you?"

"I guess I have to?"

She paused. "Well, that's up to you. What's important is that you see *somebody* at this point." She paused again, and speaking gently said, "Okay. Listen, once all this sinks in, call me and make an appointment. I'll fit you in. But don't sit on this. Don't wait on it. Okay, Deeny?"

"But wait, but wait. So, six weeks? That's from—"

"From your last period, the one before the one you missed."

"Okay," I said, "so you start counting there — but that's just a convention, right?"

"A convention? You mean, like it's just a thing we do, but it doesn't mean anything?"

"Yes, I guess, that."

"No," she replied, firmly. "It's real. Based on that, I can tell you your due date."

"My due date," I echoed, in a weak voice.

"Do you want to know your due date? Or will that freak you out completely?"

"Um, it would freak me out," I told her.

"Okay." She took a deep breath, and asked me to take one as well.

"Listen, Deeny, you're going to be a lot calmer after you come in and let me get a look at you. We can have a talk and go through everything."

"But hey—" I interrupted. "After the car accident, a doctor looked me over. Wouldn't she have noticed if I was actually pregnant?"

Dr Owens was quiet for a few moments. Then she said, "No, if she wasn't looking for it, and if you didn't tell her, she could easily miss it. Did she do a pelvic exam?"

"No."

Silence. Then, "Dumb question, here, but if she didn't do a pelvic exam, I'm guessing she didn't do an ultrasound?"

"Um, no."

More silence. Then, "How many days ago was this accident?"

"About a week. It was last Tuesday."

"Okay," Dr Owens sounded slightly relieved. "And since the accident, have you had any spotting, any cramps or abdominal pains?"

"Spotting?" I asked.

"Blood," she clarified. "Come on, Deeny. Don't play dumb."

"No, none of that."

"Okay. Well, listen. Get back here, okay? Don't fool around. As soon as you know when you'll arrive in Mariola, call my office. We will fit you in. Will you do that?"

 

---

 

After the call ended, I was so blown away I didn't see or hear Lucy enter the room. "Everything okay?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm pregnant," I told her.

"Oh, wow! So... Congratulations? Is this happy news or scary news?"

"At the moment, it's pure scary."

"Dare I ask: Is it the lawyer's or the ex-fiance's?"

"It's not the lawyer's," I answered.

"Ohh-kay," she said.

 

---

 

I didn't know what to do, so I called Cameron.

Before I even told her why I phoned her, she asked, "Am I the first person you've called?"

"Yes," I replied, a little nettled. "It sounds like you already know why I'm calling."

"Well... maybe..." she said, laughing, teasing. "Why don't you tell me, just in case we're thinking about two different things."

I told her.

"Cool! Congratulations! I'm glad I rate the first call. I knew already, though."

"How? Did Dr Owens tell you?"

"No, of course not! She would never do that! Sheba told me."

"Sheba? How did *she* know?"

"She found a test stick in your bathroom trash. She was going to ask you about it when she came to Robbins, but you pissed her off, so she didn't say anything."

"She knew I was pregnant and didn't tell me?"

"Well no. At that moment, no. See, there was no red line on the stick. It must have faded away. So she couldn't know. She wanted to ask you about it."

"Then how could she tell you?"

"Dr Owens called Mamma's house this morning. You missed an appointment! Sheba answered the phone, so she asked, Is this about Deeny's positive pregnancy test?"

"The little devil! And then she told you?"

"Right."

A thought occurred to me. "Could she have told Barney?"

"She could, I don't know. I don't see why she would, though. Why do you ask?"

"Barney called me today. Wanted to know if I had something to tell him." Another thought hit me: "Oh my God — did Sheba tell Mamma?"

Cameron laughed. "Did Mamma call you?"

"No."

"Then Sheba didn't tell her. Listen, this might be a good time to call your little sister, make peace with Sheba."

"Good idea." One more thought: "Hey, can I ask you: what do you and Sheba have against Barney?"

"Oh, come on. Do you really want to get into that now?"

"Yes, I do. It's a serious question."

"I don't want to tell you and then have you screaming at me for what I said."

"I promise, I won't."

"Okay, it's pretty simple: The two of you together get up to some pretty wild hijinks. Things that aren't funny at all and are potentially harmful, both to yourselves and to others. Can I leave it at that?"

"Is it possible... have you considered... that maybe it was *me* who goaded Barney into doing... whatever we did? That it was all on me?"

Cameron was silent for a bit. "I guess that possible," she admitted. "The 'all on you' part, no, not really. It's the pair of you, together. That said, since you've been gone, Barney's been very quiet. Calm. Polite. I hesitate to use the word subdued, but it fits. And I probably shouldn't tell you, but he's sad. Almost sad. It's an interesting change."

After a pause she laughed and said, "Maybe your amnesia had a positive effect on him, too!"

We laughed. Then, after a moment of silence, I ventured the thought, "I guess I ought to make my way back... to Mariola."

"Mmm," Cameron said. "You probably should. There *is* a bus. Robbins to Aldusville to Mariola. The schedule's probably online."

"No private plane, then?" I asked, half-joking, but hopeful.

"How's your day-trading going?" she asked drily, by way of answer.

 

---

 

I called Sheba. She started out sullen, but got more excited, happy, enthusiastic, as the call went on.

Near the end of the call I thanked her for not telling Mamma. "Of course I didn't," she replied.

"I don't think I could deal with her... reactions," I said.

"It's not just that," Sheba said.

"What do you mean?"

"I want to respect your choices," she said in a firm tone.

"Ah, okay. Got it. Well, thanks," I told her.

"Sure," Sheba replied. "Listen, I gotta go, but can you do me a favor and quit being weird, talking weird? Can you do that?"

"I'll try," I promised.

When I finished the call with Sheba, I sat down with Lucy and Hermie to talk it out.

"You're going back?" Lucy asked. "You aren't going to be my big sister in the basement?"

"I'll stay in touch," I told them. "I don't know whether I'm going to want to stay in Mariola. I have to see. I appreciate all that you did for me, especially when I had no idea who I was."

"It's what people do," Hermie told me with an aw-shucks shrug.

"If your baby's a little girl, call her Lucy, and we'll be even," Lucy told me, laughing.

 

---

 

Last of all, I called Barney. He knew already, obviously. He'd heard through the Bro hotline: He didn't come out and say it, but clearly Cameron's husband Andre had told him.

Barney had a question for me. Or a statement, rather: "When we had that fight by the dumpster," he said, "you knew you were pregnant, didn't you."

I hadn't put it together until he said it, but— "Yes, I must have — yes, I did."

"That puts a different complexion on it, then, doesn't it?"

"I guess it does."

"Alright," he acknowledged, and asked, "Now, tell me: are you happy? frightened? or what?"

"I'm scared to death, Barney. I feel like I'm standing on a cliff."

"Um, well, um, well, I'm kinda scared too, if you don't mind hearing me say so. Can you imagine, while you're there on your cliff, that I'm next to you, holding your hand?"

"I'll try," I told him.

"Do you know what you want to do?"

"I don't," I said. "I have to get back to Mariola, see Dr Owens, do some talking, some thinking..."

"Well, look," he said. "There are no rules for you and me. We don't need to follow any convention, or anybody else's expectations.. We'll do what's right for you and me, won't we? That's the only rule for you and me."

"You and me and our little whoever," I said.

He laughed. "Here's to our little whoever!"

"Yikes," I said.

"Yep," he agreed. "It's all yikes from here on in."