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  “Linda? What are you thinking about?”

  Considering her words for a long time, Linda finally said,

  “That when I look in the mirror I don’t know who that is.”

  Dr. Kirkland nodded slowly. “Adult Linda hasn’t really focused much on herself. She spent a lot of energy keeping herself together.”

  “Yeah, I get that, but that’s not what I mean. I’m not talking metaphorically. I mean literally. I don’t know who the woman in the mirror is. She’s not me.”

  Dr. Kirkland cocked her head to the left. “What would be different about her, if you wanted to be able to recognize her?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to look like. My ears should stick out, I guess, and I ought to have a hair or two on my chin. My nose ought to hook. My waist should be thicker. But

  . . . to get back to the woman I would have been if I hadn’t had 137

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  those surgeries I’d have to have more surgeries. And undo . . .” She had an unwelcome thought.

  “Undo what was done? To find the real you?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you want to undo it all somehow?”

  “I wish it had never been done.”

  “But it was. Do you want to go back?”

  “I thought I hated it—hated what she made me into.”

  “Do you, though?”

  Slowly, Linda shook her head. Recalling her conversation with Ted Jeffers, she said, “No, I don’t. It can feel good to have people admire me.”

  “That’s natural, Linda.”

  “But I’m not natural. I’m a freak show.”

  “Linda, things that hurt us leave scars. Those scars change us forever—”

  “What if that change was for the better? That means she did the right thing, doesn’t it?”

  Dr. Kirkland sat forward. “No—absolutely not. No, completely and utterly no. What she did was wrong. It left you scarred for the rest of your life. You’ve been struggling for decades to recover from all of it. It was wrong.”

  Linda realized her hands were shaking. “So how can I like some of it? If it was wrong, how can some of it have turned out good?”

  “What turned out good—” Dr. Kirkland left her chair to perch on the little table between them. Taking Linda’s hand and warming it between her own, she said in her quiet, certain voice, “Listen carefully, Linda please. This is so important. Anything good that came out of all that pain is what you did to heal yourself. If there is good, that is your success. She hurt you and you have taken that hurt and transformed it. If you are beautiful, Linda, it’s because you have chosen to be so, not because she chose that for you.”

  “I don’t—I don’t like it when people stare. When women want only what they see.” Linda wanted to press her forehead into Dr.

  K’s hands but instead, she made herself say the rest of the truth.

  “But I like the power it gives me to control situations.”

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  Dr. Kirkland squeezed her hands, then let go. “We’ll talk more about that next time. It’s one of the things that I knew sooner or later you’d figure out. That you dislike that your appearance draws people to you but that you then use it to control them as much as you can.”

  “I’d much rather fuck a woman than talk to her, you mean? It doesn’t take a lot of effort to get them to say yes.”

  “To say yes to the only question you’ll let them ask.”

  “It wasn’t that way with Marissa, you know. It was different. I didn’t have to control her.”

  As she rose to her feet, Dr. Kirkland said, “Do you plan to get in touch with her again?”

  “Not until I’m not screwed up anymore. Not until I can tell her I know who I am. But I don’t even know what I’m supposed to look like. I’m changing so much, all on the inside where she can’t see it.

  I can’t ask her to go through this with me. This is my work to do.”

  “That’s an important distinction, Linda. But that still doesn’t mean you couldn’t have a sympathetic ear to talk to.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll tell her.”

  “But she could read your book if you go ahead with it. And she’ll know.”

  Linda’s jaw dropped. The thought simply had not occurred to her. Did she want Marissa to find out that way? Telling the anony-mous “world” was one thing but she remembered so well Marissa’s discussion of what contempt did to a relationship. That’s an ouch, she thought. I know none of it was my fault, or thought I did. But if I think Marissa could find something contemptible about me because of all that stuff then I really don’t believe I wasn’t to blame, do I?

  She was about to mention her thoughts to Dr. Kirkland, but she realized Dr. K had moved to her desk.

  “Our time’s up, Linda. I’m sorry. But we’ll pick up where we left off at the end of the week.”

  “It’s okay.” Linda got to her feet feeling a little dazed. These thoughts weren’t as painful as her memories but they mattered far more going forward. If she thought Marissa couldn’t see her as 139

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  blameless for the past, then she was still on some level ashamed of it.

  It had been eight weeks since Tahiti. Marissa will have moved on by now, Linda told herself. You should call her, send a note, something. Maybe she’ll wait.

  But the moment you do, she’ll ask questions. You’re not ready to answer any of them, she told herself. You still have nothing to offer her. Nothing but a body you don’t like very much—and a messed up head.

  How can you tell her you want a future when you have no idea what yours is?

  Marissa knows who she is, knows what she wants, is making a success of a business and has a great life. So you’ve inherited a sum of money, Linda told herself, but that doesn’t answer the million-dollar question: when she sees the real you, what could Marissa possibly want?

  She made her way back to the tiny apartment and got ready for another shift at the burger joint. She’d given notice and planned to work the full two weeks because it was undemanding—somehow liberating to her overtaxed brain.

  She knew she sometimes didn’t have it quite right in figuring things out but she was working on it. Marissa was so full of life, so kind, so smart and amusing. She deserved to move on if she could.

  Find someone who would be right for her all the time, not someone who was only right when she was lying about everything from her name to her past.

  The nice thing to do would be to let Marissa go and send her a letter that helped her move on. It was selfish not to get in touch and think Marissa would be there when Linda knew what she had to offer.

  It was selfish not to write that letter and Linda hoped that the fates and furies—and Marissa—would forgive her for her selfish act of hope.

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  Chapter 10

  Swallowing around a mouthful of Take It Off Premium Energy Bar, Marissa managed to make a garbled response to the intercom.

  “Mm—yeah?”

  Heather said intensely, “The sales staff is in their meeting and we’ve got a new client in reception with questions about her paperwork.”

  “What’s Octavia doing?”

  “She’s on the line and not responding.”

  “I’ll see how long she’s going to be.”

  Putting down the remaining half of her lunch bar, Marissa stuck her head around the corner to see what Ocky was up to.

  Ocky’s back was to the door as she said, “Look, Mr. Patterson, if that is your real name, we have an obligation to all our clients.

  You’ve prepared your paperwork under one name and paid the enrollment fee with another. We don’t allow aliases of any kind because any relationship that begins with a lie won’t succeed. We 141

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  are about success in the long term. I can only presume that you aren’t seriously looking for a romantic relationship and therefore I’m returning your fee.”

  Marissa ducked back into her office. Ocky would be on that call for a while. This guy Patterson had also failed one of the consistency tests they applied to the profile statistics his questionnaire answers had created. Everything suggested he was creating a false persona to get dates for the purpose of sex only. And that was not what Finders Keepers promised its clients.

  Ocky’s little speech about starting a relationship with a lie like a false name made her think about Linda. Ocky would say that Linda had never meant to begin a romantic relationship that could endure. If she had, she’d have given her real name and given Marissa the means to contact her. Marissa was so glad she’d not told Ocky about Linda. No point in Ocky knowing what a fool she’d been.

  She could almost make herself hate Linda but then she’d remember a hundred good feelings and that incredible night of lovemaking and the most she could feel was regret for a lovely but broken dream.

  She checked her reflection, still a little startled by the sleeker haircut and professionally done highlights. Bianca and Heather had mightily approved and she did like it. Fumbling in her desk drawer, she came up with a pair of earrings. At least this sweater was new and looked nice on her. The food deprivation, in its third week, had had some initial results. She hated being hungry all the time and the choices were boring. She also felt weak during her workouts and had had to scale back. This past week her weight loss had stopped altogether again.

  She greeted the new client in the reception area and escorted her to a small conference room. “I’m so sorry for the delay. Most of our staff is in a meeting for the rest of the hour. I’m Marissa Chabot, one of the owners of Finders Keepers. I hope I can answer all of your questions.”

  “I’m Andrea Curel. I signed up last week and I’ve been filling out the questionnaire but I have some questions.”

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  They settled down with cups of coffee as Marissa said cheerily,

  “What can I help you with, Andrea?”

  After brushing back neatly trimmed shoulder-length black hair, Andrea looked down at her paperwork. “I’m in the process of working with a nutritionist and I’ve just joined a gym. So I don’t know if I should fill out the paperwork as I am now or who I’m going to be in six months.”

  Wanting to ask what kinds of nutrition and fitness plans Andrea had, Marissa nevertheless made herself stick to business. “You should fill out the questionnaire for exactly who you are now. You can do revisions, and in some cases, those changes will add to our profile and direct you toward slightly different matches. For example, if you lose weight our analysis would be more favorable toward a compatible someone who was also losing weight. A lifestyle focused on exercise and nutrition becomes a common bond and points toward compatibility over food, holidays and leisure time activities. We’re always looking for those ninety-eights and sevens.”

  “I think I see. I just—I had a couple of years that were really stressful and I let myself go. So I’m getting back into shape now.

  And let’s face it, I’m overweight. I don’t want to be matched up to a guy because he’s overweight too.”

  “The matching up process is far more complicated than that, I assure you.” Yeah, she thought cynically to herself, it’ll take into account that you are more concerned with how a potential mate looks than how he thinks or acts. Marissa, she scolded herself, judging a client’s personality and preferences was a big no-no. She was just being bitchy because Andrea had perhaps a total of ten pounds to lose. She’d give a lot to be Andrea’s version of “overweight.”

  She assuaged the rest of Andrea’s worries and the woman left, saying she’d finish the questionnaire and submit it online.

  Isn’t it the truth, Marissa thought on the way back to her office, that everybody wants someone attractive as a mate? The segment of the questionnaire about personal attributes that the client found attractive was at the end, but whenever she asked a client what they were looking for in a mate, they invariably started with appearance.

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  Linda made me laugh and thought I could do impossible things, Marissa considered. That’s what I want in a mate—that and general female physical components. They don’t have to be sculpted or bodacious.

  She had been attracted to Linda because of the confidence, the poise and the sense of humor. That she was also gorgeous had registered after those other impressions.

  It was only one side of the coin, too, knowing what she wanted in a mate. She had to know what she wanted to give and how her ultimate dream partner would react to her. I want to make her laugh as much as she does me, and help her believe in herself too.

  She had to ask herself what results she would get if she filled out the FK questionnaire for real. Not a test case, but as a real appli-cant, looking for real matches. Would she be honest? Or would she complete it as the woman she wished she was, not the woman she really was?

  She paused to look out at the rapidly greening hills of the Amador valley. In a few weeks it would be so lush with emerald hues that those who knew would say it looked like Ireland. New, fresh and clean—that was how she wanted to feel. She still wanted to be the woman Linda had seen.

  The change of seasons was inescapable. Equally unavoidable was the growing certainty that Linda was never going to make contact with her. It had been over and done with the moment they’d left Tahiti.

  Dear Linda,

  Maybe you didn’t know when you left that you wouldn’t find me again. Maybe you did and you do this all the time. I don’t know what to believe about you. All I know is that being with you changed me. I’d be grateful if it didn’t hurt so much. I’d smile if I could stop crying.

  Love, Marissa, too many days without you

  P.S. If I knew where to send your T-shirt, I would.

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  Maybe Linda would show up some day and maybe she’d have an explanation. Marissa would listen, maturely forgive her and then calmly explain that she had moved on. Maybe she’d even say something about remaining friends before she danced away in the arms of some dashing, wonderful woman she’d gotten to know by dating in a normal way.

  If that happened she wanted to look like the One That Got Away, the one Linda would regret forever. Now that’s a mature thought, she scolded again.

  With a weary sigh, she picked up the remaining half of her Premium Energy Bar. Before she could bite into it the phone chirped with an outside call.

  “Marissa, honey, I think it’s time we talked.”

  There was nothing else to say besides, “I guess you’re right, Mom.” Caller ID was an investment that the business definitely needed to make, Marissa told herself.

  “Would you like to have dinner this week?” Her mother’s tone was as modulated as always—no note of hopefulness or distress, even though Marissa didn’t know how she had really expected her mother to sound.

  “How about tonight?” Might as well get it over with.

  “I’m free tonight. Where would you like?”

  It was unusual that her mother offered Marissa a choice. Her mother didn’t care for chain restaurants and was hard to please.

  Marissa always felt responsible if she suggested a place to eat and her mother didn’t like it for some reason. Well, maybe some place where there would be no shouting was still a good idea. “Why not the Club? It’ll be quiet tonight.”

  Her mother agreed, they set the time and hung up with little more to say. Marissa chomped viciously into her energy bar, thinking the meal would likely blow her diet and in a single day she’d gain back every ounce she’d lost in two weeks.

  She took the time after work to change and tidy her hair. A vest 145

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  made of stitched together ties—a gift from her mother last birth-day—over a white mock turtle was dressy enough. She had a new pair of slacks that were one size smaller than she used to wear and in a pleasing shade of turquoise. The color reminded her of the ocean, the sky . . . her own eyes reflected in Linda’s.

  Dear Self,

  Buy more heart-shaped duct tape.

  Love, Marissa.

  The drive to the club took her from San Ramon into the far reaches of Blackhawk, past two security gates and up a long, winding drive. She parked her aging Toyota next to her mother’s BMW

  and reminded herself that it was her mother who had made the first overture to resume normal relations. Détente was possible, just not probable.

  One empty cocktail glass testified that her mother had been there for a while. But I’m not late, Marissa told herself, I’m right on time. Maybe Mom got here early because she needed a drink.

  Don’t start by feeling guilty for something you didn’t do.

  “I’m so glad you were free tonight, sweetie.”

  Marissa blinked at the indulgent tone and wondered if that glass was the first empty or the second. Her mother didn’t drink much. Maybe there would be shouting and items thrown after all.

  “I think we do need to talk, so thank you for calling me.”

  “Have a drink, if you like.”

  “No, I’m really watching what I eat, but thank you.”

  Her mother’s nod was understanding. She even looked mildly interested. “In that case, I’m sure chef will be able to prepare something that’s right. The Zone? Weight Watchers? Atkins? I’ve been trying to lose five pounds for the past year.”

  Marissa bit her tongue so she didn’t snarl, “Five? Try fifty-five and then some. Give me a freakin’ break here!”

  Unsettled by her inner vehemence, she calmed herself by glancing at the day’s menu choices before answering. “None of the 146