WORTHY, Part 1 (18 page)

“I refuse to accept that,” Amelia said, her breathing harsh. “I refuse to accept the fact that I have lost my son.”

“Your son is sitting right in front of you,” Collier said. “He is alive, Amelia.”

“The man sitting across from me looks like Jonathan, but he is not,” she said. “He’s just a shell of my son. A stranger occupying my son’s body.”

I swallowed dryly, not daring to lift my coffee mug to my lips. Amelia’s words were harsh and hard to hear, but they held a kernel of truth. The Jonathan sitting at the table beside me wasn’t the Jonathan they used to know. He and I had talked about that. And I could tell by seeing photos of Jonathan before the accident, the video that we had watched of his speech just minutes before his family had arrived, that the previous Jonathan was a stranger to both of us.

Collier inhaled sharply after Amelia’s words, but Jonathan cut in before his father could retort.

“I know this is difficult for everyone,” Jonathan said. “Please trust me. I definitely know. I’m sorry to cause all this pain for everyone, but I have found it useless to dwell in the past. I’m trying to move forward and make the best of this. Maybe I don’t have my memories. Maybe I’ll never have them. But that doesn’t change the quality of my character. Whoever I was before I hit my head was good enough to be the CEO of Wharton Group. I still intend to do that. And I intend to marry Michelle. My fiancée.”

Several things happened at once. Violet burst into heartrending sobs. Amelia set her teacup down so hard that it broke. Jane spat out a curse so vivid that it would’ve made a sailor blush—and gave me insight into Jonathan’s subconscious proclivity for language.

But Collier’s reaction was the most interesting of all. His chest swelled with what looked suspiciously like pride, and the tears that welled in his eyes didn’t seem to be of sadness. They were of joy.

I didn’t have time to puzzle over that. As Winston materialized to mop up Amelia’s mess and pick shards of china from the table, Jonathan’s mother spoke again.

“You’re not marrying that gold digger,” she hissed, pointing at me. “I want her out of here.”

My first inclination was to laugh. I wasn’t a gold digger. I had money of my own. If anything, Jonathan’s wealth—and the fact that he wanted to spend it on me—made me uncomfortable. He’d practically had to force me into going shopping for new clothes when we first got to Chicago. Besides, we’d fallen in love before either of us knew that he was one of the wealthiest men in America.

“Michelle saved my life,” Jonathan said, his voice remarkably even. “I live for her. She is here as my guest and my fiancée. You will be civil to her.”

The last directive was given in the cold boardroom voice I’d heard before, and I imagined the Jonathan with the slicked back hair issuing it.

“I concur with Jonathan on this,” Collier said. “Michelle has done nothing wrong, unless saving our son’s life and loving him are wrong. I don’t believe they are. She is to be treated with respect, Amelia. That goes for you, too, Jane.”

“Who do you think I am?” Jane asked bitterly. “I have manners, Dad.”

“Then use them,” he said mildly. “And try to find some language a little more befitting of your station.”

Jane’s pretty face flushed, and she stared down at the table.

“We all obviously have to take some time to get used to the idea that Jonathan may never recover his memories,” Collier said. “Do you have a plan, son?”

Jonathan’s eyes flicked up at the statement with a little bit of a delay. It broke my heart to realize that he wasn’t used to being called son—he didn’t have any memories of being anyone’s child.

“I’ve been going to work,” he said. “I’d like to continue to do so.”

“It’s your company,” Collier said, sounding pleased. “You’re the CEO.”

Jonathan shook his head, looking pained. “There are a lot of things I need to learn,” he said. “And I would like to try to tap into the information you all have to do so.”

“What information are we talking about?” Collier asked.

“Information about me,” Jonathan said. “About the company. About what kind of life I led. About who I am. I lost my wallet in the accident, but Winston had all of my cards remade. I know that I’m thirty years old, but that’s about it.”

Thirty years old. That was new to me.

“Well, Jonathan has given us something to do,” Collier announced to the table at large. “We’re going to help him.”

“I’ll have Winston retrieve photos and records from storage,” Amelia said.

“I used to keep scrapbooks,” Jane said, shrugging. “I haven’t recently, but there are, like, some society page clippings and stuff.”

“I—I have pictures of us,” Violet said quickly, hiccupping a little in her haste. “Letters. Emails. I could show you, if you like. If you think it would help.”

“I’ll take any help I can get at this point,” Jonathan said, making my heart sink. “I need to understand who I was. Any sort of documents or photos or videos that you might have, I’d definitely be open to. That goes for everyone.”

Jonathan, as well as the rest of his family, was a little better. At least I knew he wouldn’t be alone with Violet, poring over past evidence of the love they had for each other. That would be too much for me to handle.

“This is surreal,” Jane said, looking numb. “You’re trying to get to know a person we’ve all known for your whole life. It’s like you’re trying to study to get your memories back.”

“That’s all I think I can do right now,” Jonathan said. “I’d be lost without Michelle. She’s been so supportive.”

My skin crawled as everyone turned to look at me. Me: the girl with the terrible scar, the gold digger, the fiancé stealer, the one who’d brought the Whartons back a stranger instead of a family member.

It would be so easy for all of them to blame me for this—whether I deserved their blame or not.

“Michelle, we can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for Jonathan,” Collier said.

“Yes, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?” Amelia suggested, her icy blue eyes narrowed. It didn’t sound like a request, and I reminded myself that this was a woman who had just accused me of trying to attach myself to Jonathan for his money. Nothing was further from the truth.

I tried to deflect some of the scrutiny away from myself by smiling.

“There’s not much to tell,” I hedged.

“You can start with your last name,” Amelia said, not a hint of warmth in her voice.

When Jonathan cocked his head at me, I knew that he was curious, too. I’d never had to tell him my last name at the cottage. Why couldn’t things be kept that simple in the city?

“It’s Smith,” I said finally, lifting my eyes from the table to Amelia. “Michelle Smith.”

“And what do you do?” Amelia asked. What was this, an interrogation? What could I say that wouldn’t make me look worse than I already did?

“Michelle was going to be a student,” Jonathan said in an attempt to ease my discomfort. “She took a break after her—”

“Jonathan!” I hissed, interrupting him.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused. “What’s wrong?”

I stared at him, aghast. Why would he tell these people about my parents dying? I didn’t talk to anyone about my parents. It was only after Jonathan had wormed his way into my heart that I even let him know. I would rather the Whartons revile me than pity me. The fewer people who knew about my parents’ terrible fate, the better.

Jonathan noticed the look of horror on my face and gave my hand a squeeze.

“It’s all right,” he said. “My family is going to be your family now, too. We can tell them.”

When was that decision made? Right now? I remembered with a start that Jonathan and I were going to get married and that yes, legally speaking, his parents would become mine. But was that a good thing or a bad thing?

“Tell us what?” Amelia demanded.

“I would rather not,” I said firmly. “It’s very personal and I don’t like talking about it.”

“So your new fiancée likes secrets,” Amelia said, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan.

“There were never any secrets between us,” Violet said sadly, ripping her napkin to damp shreds.

“What were you intending to go to school for?” Collier asked, his face kind. He had only intended to deflect some of the attention from whatever I didn’t want to talk about, but he unintentionally made it worse.

“I—I hadn’t decided yet,” I said. “I was going to start classes and see what I liked.”

The words sounded stupid and wishy-washy even to me, and I hunched my shoulders forward in self-defense. Jonathan’s family already thought I was a weirdo and a freak. I didn’t need loser to become a new label.

“Well, there’s always plenty of time to go back to school now,” Collier said. “There are a number of good schools in the city. You can even take a few free courses online and try to narrow down your interests.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” I said, trying to coax my lips up in a smile for Jonathan’s father. Collier seemed to be trying to help. “I really did want to go to college.”

“What were you doing out in the wilderness, anyways?” Jane asked. I looked at her and tried to gauge whether she was being mean or vindictive, like her mother. However, Jonathan’s sister simply seemed interested.

“I was living,” I said. “I had a little cottage out there, and some land.”

“What did you do for food?” Jane asked, cocking her head. “Or entertainment?” Watching her reminded me of Jonathan, of his subconscious mannerisms. He was related to these people whether he remembered it or not.

“I had a garden,” I said. “And I fished. And kept chickens.”

Talking about the cottage, about the life I led before I found Jonathan, made me nostalgic and a little bit sad. Those days were over. It was almost surreal to think about ever having removed myself from society, hiding out there in the wilderness. I would have given anything to just walk away from all of this and back out into the woods, to the feel of the tree bark beneath the palm of my hand, the rustle of the dried leaves underfoot, the faint sound of the creek getting closer and closer with each step I took.

“So you were self-sustaining?” Collier asked, sounding interested.

“Not as much as I would’ve liked,” I said, dragged unwillingly back to the city with his question. “I ordered what I needed online, and they found ways to deliver things to me—frozen foods, pesticides, chicken feed, lumber.”

“Maybe you would be interested in environmental science, then,” Jane said. “Or—or maybe sociology. Or philosophy. Have you read Henry David Thoreau?”

Was Jane trying to help me, trying to throw me a bone so I would have something to show for myself?

“I’ve read a little bit of Walden,” I said. “And thank you. Maybe I’ll start my soul-searching with some of those courses—philosophy and sociology and environmental science.”

She smiled tenuously at me, and I smiled back. Violet stared at Jane as if she’d grown a second head. Were alliances shifting at this table? Was Violet aware that she was being left behind? I couldn’t help but feel badly for her. She hadn’t asked for any of this. All she had done was love Jonathan and agree to get married to him.

“Well, I have a meeting,” Collier said, checking his watch. “Should I tell them to reschedule?”

“No,” Jonathan said quickly. “I think this has been a good start. I’m looking forward to getting the materials from all of you. Thank you, in advance, for your help.”

I had to remind myself that Jonathan’s formality was just politeness, not coldness. It was my first time meeting his family, but it was his first time, too. I admired him. He had his professionalism to bolster his insecurities. All I had was a terrible secret and a terrible scar to match.

“I think we should have a welcome home dinner,” Amelia announced abruptly as everyone was standing up.

“That’s a nice idea,” Collier said. “Nothing too big, though.”

“Of course,” Amelia said smoothly. “Very intimate.”

Her words had fangs. Was I the target of their venom? I had had a few close encounters with snakes in the woods when I first moved out to the cottage and blundered around, unseeing. But Jonathan’s mother was an entirely different kind of serpent. She was something I wasn’t sure I could avoid. After all, the Wharton house was very big, but they all still lived here.

“When can I see you?” Violet asked softly, her wide eyes looking at Jonathan. “You know, to go over the stuff I have. To see if you remember anything?”

“Soon,” Jonathan said. “I’ll let you know?”

“All right,” Violet said, looking crestfallen. Was she hoping for something a little more definite? I resolved to watch this one. I didn’t trust her at all. And if the roles were reversed—if I were Violet, promised to my lover, and another woman came in, claiming to be his fiancée, I was sure that I would still try for him, too.

And it was then that I knew what needed to be done. I was the one at fault here. And I could solve everyone’s problems so easily that it was stupid not to try.

This was the right thing to do, I told myself for the umpteenth time as I tiptoed down the stairs, too afraid of the elevator’s motion and sounds to take it to the first level. Nobody was awake. Each floor I descended to was more silent than the last. I could only faintly hear the sounds of the city. No matter how well insulated a building was, I could always detect the faint swish of passing cars, the low rumble of their motors as they made their way around the streets. It was nothing like living at the cottage.

I got to the landing in the foyer on the first floor and paused, cocking my head to listen for any strange sounds. There were just a few lights on, probably only to keep people from tripping over rugs and furniture. But as far as I could tell, I was alone.

Good. That would make this even easier. I didn’t belong here. I could slip off into the night and disappear forever.

There was a moment of panic as I assessed the security code panel, but then I realized the alarm had already been disarmed. Had somebody just recently passed through or gone outside? I’d been dreading mashing the beeping buttons in order to be let outside without the wailing alarm bringing the cops and the national guard and whoever else running, but now I wouldn’t have to.

It was a good omen. It further bolstered the idea that I was doing the right thing in running away.

There had been a time in my life when I thought running away was weak. I’d faced down bullies and boys I crushed on alike during high school. I never wanted to back down or retreat or surrender. Those were all cowards’ ways out. I wasn’t a coward. I was a spitfire. Or at least, that’s what my parents told me.

Or at least, that’s what I thought I remembered them telling me. I paused in the foyer, my hand on the front doorknob, thinking about Jonathan. My poor Jonathan. I was trying to do the right thing for him, trying to make things easier. But things would never be easy for him. Whereas my memories of my parents were gradually fading away, his had been ripped from his mind by their roots. Unless there were some kind of miracle, he’d never mull over the pearls of wisdom his parents had been planting into his mind throughout the years. And he’d never harvest that invaluable information and experience.

Of course, I’d done the most cowardly thing of all after my parents died. I’d run away, just as I was doing now, fleeing all the guilt and hard decisions, hiding away my grief and my scars—both physical and mental.

I was able to get the front door opened and shut smoothly, without any squeaking or thumping, and I had to be grateful for the Wharton family’s staff to make that possible. A well-maintained door was a beautiful thing.

Outside, the courtyard was still. The weather was crisp and cool, but there was something purifying about the air, as if the night wind had blown away the scents of the city—exhaust and trash, too many people in one place—and replaced it with the scent of the woods. I’d smelled this wind, felt it on my face, many a time back at the cottage.

I took it to be another good omen. If nature approved of me returning to the wilderness, I certainly wouldn’t argue. It was time to go—past time.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

I gasped and whirled around to find Collier sitting at one of the many tables dotting the courtyard. Why hadn’t I seen him when I’d first walked out?

“You can see the moon on some nights from here,” Collier continued, as if I’d answered him. “The city lights block most of the stars, but you can sometimes get lucky on that front, too. I imagine you know something about stars, don’t you?”

I swallowed and shifted the backpack hanging from my shoulder a little bit.

“The stars are beautiful in the woods,” I said. “Sometimes, I think you would be able to read by the light of them.”

Collier smiled at that. “Reading by starlight,” he remarked. “Very poetic.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. It was poetic, I supposed. Poetic and romantic and pastoral. I was looking to flee my problems in the city by retreating to the country. I waited for Collier to ask me what I was doing out here so late, to offer some other platitudes about the wind and the weather and the night, but I realized he was waiting for me.

Waiting for me to tell him myself.

“I think I belong with the starlight,” I said finally. “The starlight out in the woods. Back at the cottage.”

“The city has its own brand of starlight,” Collier said, looking up at the towering skyscrapers that filled the sky around us. “It’s manmade, but beautiful in its own way.”

“You’re right,” I said. “The city does have its charms. I just don’t think it’s for me.”

“So you’re leaving,” Collier said. It wasn’t a question. He’d seen the backpack I carried, seen the way I’d shut the door to the living quarters quietly to try to evade Winston or Lucy or any of the other staff members.

“I think it’s for the best,” I said. “I don’t belong here in the city.”

“Do you love my son?”

The question made my breath stick in my throat.

“Of course I love Jonathan,” I said, realizing I was angry. “Of course I love him.”

“Then it’s not for the best that you leave,” Collier said, his voice and face inscrutable. “Leaving would hurt him, wouldn’t you say?”

I shook my head. “Leaving would make it easier for him,” I said. “He has so many people pulling him in so many directions. I think that I’m the biggest problem for him right now. Without me here, he can rebuild his relationship with Violet. Amelia will get off his back. And he can have the life he deserves—his life back. The life he had before we met.”

“You think that leaving would just make everything simpler for him?” he asked. “I think he’d lose his biggest ally.”

Tears blinded me. I didn’t want to leave Jonathan. I didn’t. But I couldn’t stay like this, watching Violet and his family and the veil over his past rip him apart.

“There are just so many things I don’t understand,” I said, choking the words out, struggling to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks.

“Maybe I can help you,” Collier suggested.

“I don’t understand why it took almost six months to find Jonathan,” I said. “Why it took a pair of private detectives to find him instead of the police. If I had a son missing for half a year, I’d be leading the manhunt.”

Collier looked pained, and I almost regretted my words. He was the one who said he’d try to help. I was struggling to make sense of the puzzle of the Wharton family, the mystery behind Jonathan’s disappearance.

“I’m not proud of the answers I have for you,” Collier said. “But I want you to try to see where we were coming from. Maybe you should sit down.”

My heart pounded in my ears as I settled on the seat Jonathan’s father indicated. The metal’s cold bit at my backside and thighs even through my jeans. It was a beautiful night, yes, but frigid.

“When Jonathan left his office on the night he disappeared, he was angry,” Collier began. “I don’t know the particulars. And what I do know I don’t think it’s my place to share. But I think you deserve the truth—as much of it as I can give you. It’s obvious that you and Jonathan love each other. And if that’s what makes my son happy, that’s also what I want for him.”

That was a shocking revelation in of itself. Did I understand correctly? Was Collier one of our allies?

“What was he angry about?” I asked, but Collier only shrugged.

“I don’t even know if it was business or personal,” he said. “I just heard from Winston that Jonathan had taken his bike—motorcycle—and left during the early morning hours. I worried because the forecasters called for a storm later in the day. That’s one thing about parents, Michelle, as I’m sure you know from your own. They always worry, no matter how old you are.”

I ducked my head. “I don’t know, but I did,” I said. “My parents are dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Collier said. “I am very sorry.”

“Thank you. It’s very personal. That’s why I didn’t want to talk about it earlier.”

There was a long pause as we both looked anywhere but each other. I was afraid that my past had ruined the chance of me getting any insight into Jonathan’s, when Collier finally started speaking again.

“It’s my understanding that when we didn’t hear from Jonathan, we backed off,” Collier said. “The Jonathan prior to the accident—the Jonathan we all knew—was hotheaded and cocky. He was prone to bouts of temper, and it was best to just let him have it out instead of intervening.”

I tried to wrap my mind around that. A temperamental Jonathan. I couldn’t even imagine it. The idea of him flying into a rage was laughable. The angriest I’d seen him, besides the time we’d spent in the city, was the night I went to pieces in front of the mirror he’d brought to the house from the barn. I hadn’t expected to see my scar in such high definition when I walked into the bathroom, but it was Jonathan who tried to convince me that I was beautiful inside and out. I blushed. It wasn’t too long after that when our attraction drew us together and we made love for the first time.

“So you didn’t even try to find him?” I asked, a little dumbfounded. “Not for months and months?”

“It was complicated, Michelle,” Collier said. “I’m not saying that our response should be excused. It’s obvious now that Jonathan was in legitimate trouble—though it’s becoming clearer and clearer to me that he ended up in capable hands.”

Those capable hands were mine. I was thankful for the dark of night so that Collier wouldn’t see me blushing. Yes, my hands had gotten to know Jonathan very well.

“We didn’t want to alert the media,” Collier continued. “It wouldn’t be good for the company—or for Jonathan’s reputation—for what we believed to be the truth to get out. We thought he was off sulking somewhere and started looking ourselves. We flew to our home in Monaco, our island in the Caribbean, our condo in Switzerland, traveling the world to try to sniff him out.”

Wow. I couldn’t believe that the Whartons owned so much property across the world. What would a person do with so many homes? They couldn’t live in all of them.

“At the same time, we started reaching out to our clients and business partners across the globe,” Collier said. “We told them that Jonathan was on a sort of sabbatical, reassuring them that we still valued them. Managing all of the ties the Wharton Group has to other companies is a tricky, touchy business. We couldn’t tell them that Jonathan had simply disappeared. It would discredit everything, make the conglomerate untrustworthy.”

“But do you really believe that he would purposefully go missing for months?” I asked.

Collier shrugged. “I do. Like I said, the Jonathan before the accident and the Jonathan after the accident are two different people. It’s shocking for all of us because we’ve never seen him so … gentle before. So calm. So thoughtful. My son before … let’s just say that he didn’t always think things through before jumping right in.”

It was still surreal to imagine all of this from another perspective. Most of the time, loving Jonathan was the simplest thing I could do. We’d known each other for months, lived together intimately, worked side by side.

But he had this whole other life that only his family knew about. He and I couldn’t access that information firsthand. We had to rely on other people to tell us things about Jonathan, and they were often turning out to be disturbing nuggets of information.

I couldn’t fathom the Jonathan before the accident, the Jonathan who was a stranger to me. Impulsive, moody, thoughtless Jonathan didn’t make sense to me. The Jonathan I knew was nothing like that.

To see their son so transformed must have been challenging for Collier and Amelia. Collier, of course, had been taking it much better and even adapting as best he could. But I now understood the little instances of pride and wonder that I kept seeing on Collier’s face, in the way he looked at Jonathan.

This Jonathan—my Jonathan—was kind and caring, professional and diplomatic, passionate and eager to do the right thing.

I was starting to suspect that Collier might prefer my Jonathan over the Jonathan before the accident. It was a strange thought, and one I didn’t dare give voice to.

“So I’ll ask you again,” Collier said. “Do you love my son? Do you love Jonathan?”

“More than anything else,” I said. “More than air. More than I love myself.”

“Then fight for him,” Collier urged. “Fight for him as hard as he’s fighting for you. Prove to everyone that you’re here to stay, that he’s yours and you’re his. Show them all, Michelle. Don’t run away.”

The idea of fleeing to the woods was the furthest thing from my mind. I saw that I couldn’t do that. It would be cowardly. It would be abandonment. It would ruin everything that I had.

Jonathan was mine, and I was his. That was how simple it was. We loved each other and would do anything for each other. All we had to do was weather this storm. We’d get through this. This wasn’t the worst tempest we’d seen, anyways.

“Mr. Wharton?”

“Please. It’s Collier.”

“Thank you, Collier,” I said. “I was about to do something foolish, but you talked me out of it.”

“You weren’t going to do anything foolish,” he said, smiling. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ve had a lovely conversation with my future daughter-in-law. Neither of us could sleep, and the night was so beautiful.”