Can he be telling the truth? Have I really lost years of my life? I'm too stunned to do anything but restate the situation. "You say it's 2011, but I think it's 1996."
He nods.
"So..." My head hurts too much to do the math. "If you're right, how many years..."
He licks his lips. "Fifteen."
I'm not almost seventeen any more. I'm...
Dear God, I'm almost thirty-two. Ancient! I'm shaking my head even before I realize it. "No. No, I don't believe you. Why are you doing this? What crazy game are you playing with me? Take me home right now!"
"Kate, I--"
I burst out with, "Why do you keep calling me Kate?"
"Because you said it was your name. Told me like three times." He studies me, his eyes narrowing. "So what's your real name then?"
"I don't know," I say slowly. "Kate doesn't feel right but I also can't think of anything else. If I'm not Kate, I don't know who I am."
The truth of that rises in me, panicking me, and I curl into a ball on the couch and say, "Even if my name is Kate, I don't know anything else. How can I not know?"
He ignores my fear and says in a commanding tone, "What's your last name?"
"Anderson," I say at once, then stare at him. "I think it really is. That feels right."
He smiles. "Good job. Kate Anderson."
That feels less right but it still could be true. The more he calls me Kate the more it seems to fit. "Ask me more stuff," I say, eager to get my life back.
He does, firing questions at me, and while I can't answer anything about how I got to his bar or where I live now since the condo building burned down we soon know that I was born August seventh, 1979, to Allen and Betty Anderson.
"Nice job, Kate," he says, excited. "Let me think of a few more."
While he thinks, I think too, trying to organize the facts in my mind. Kate Anderson. Birthday August seventh, 1979.
My birthday. Nearly thirty-two years ago.
For one second I believe that I've lost fifteen years of my life.
But then I recoil from it. It's not possible. It can't be. "Prove it."
He blinks, coming back from trying to find more questions. "What?"
"Prove it's 2011. Show me a newspaper."
"I don't have one. I get my news online from tweets."
From... "Birds?"
His eyes widen and I make another connection. "Like my duck tattoo. Did you get me tattooed because the birds told you to? You're insane!"
Strangely, his expression says I'm the crazy one. "Kate, look. I didn't get you tattooed. I met you last night."
I leave the bird thing aside for now. "Tell me what happened."
"I work at a bar down the street. I got there at eleven in time to see the end of a fight. You and another girl. She supposedly stole your money from your pocket and you attacked her. But her friends swore she didn't do anything. My boss Grant was going to call the cops because you started a fight but she said not to and took off. Grant told you to leave and went back inside but I couldn't leave you there. You seemed so scared and confused."
My throbbing head. "Did she hit me? In the head?"
He nods. "You have a bump. At least you did last night. But you calmed down once she'd left and insisted you didn't want a doctor. You told me your name was Kate. I got you a Coke and told you to stay nearby but then lost sight of you while I was working."
He looked grim, and I was scared to ask, "Where did I go?"
"Should have watched you," he says softly, apology in his voice. "I found you in the back room making out, fooling around, with two guys."
My stomach twists. I've only ever kissed one guy in my life. That I know of, anyhow. I tripled my total with strangers in some random bar? "Then what?" I whisper.
"I got rid of them and had you sit behind the bar with me. When we closed I offered to take you home but you wouldn't let go of my arm. They'd got you really drunk, and you were crying and saying you didn't know where to go and begging to stay with me and..." He shrugs. "I couldn't figure out what to do so I brought you here."
"Why was I naked?"
"You stripped and jumped into bed."
My cheeks blaze. "And you're sure we didn't..."
He shakes his head, his eyes steady on mine. "I have a rule never to do anything with drunk women, and you were way out of it. Once we were here I thought I should have made you go to the hospital but you insisted you didn't want to so I went with it. Maybe we should go now though."
I lean back against the couch, my aching head whirling. "What's your name?"
"Jake."
I like it. It seems to suit him. Why doesn't Kate suit me? "How old are you?"
"Thirty."
Geez, I'd thought he was an old guy but he's actually younger than me. At least, he is if... "Jake, is it really 2011?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Do you have any way to prove it? I... somehow I can't accept it."
He gives me a gentle smile. "I can't imagine how you could. What would work? How about your school's web site?"
I snort. "That backward place? Hardly anyone has a web site so I doubt they do."
"What school did you go to? I'll Google it."
"You'll what?"
"God, it's like you're from another planet," he says. "Google. It's an Internet search engine. You don't know it?"
"Nope. And I don't listen to birds either."
He frowns, then his face clears and he smiles. "Twitter. It's not birds. It's another web site, where people post what they're doing and what they're thinking."
"Why would anyone care?"
His smile widens. "Beats the hell out of me. Okay, what school?"
I tell him, pleased that the memories of my early teen years seem to be growing stronger, and he pulls out the smallest computer I've ever seen. It can't be more than twelve inches across. "Wow," I breathe. "That must have cost a fortune."
He looks up, startled. "Three hundred bucks. Why?"
I blink. "That's all? My dad got a laptop and it was thousands."
"Computers have gotten cheaper. And smaller. And faster." He types a few words and clicks the built-in mouse, then says, "Here," and swings the computer to face me.
Look at that. My high school does have a web site.
Huge text at the top says, "Register now for our fortieth anniversary party in June."
Cold sweeps over me. I took home a note just last week about the twenty-fifth anniversary.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold it together.
"Kate?"
"It's true. Isn't it? It's fifteen years later."
He nods. "I'm sorry."
"Did I get hit on the head that hard?"
"I didn't think so, but I'm starting to think I was wrong. We should get you checked out."
He stands, and I do too but then say, "Can we call my parents?"
His eyes soften but there's worry in them too. "Of course. They might not be at the same number, though, since they had to move after the fire."
"I want to try," I say, the back of my throat tightening. I want my mom so much. "Maybe they kept the number."
"Maybe." He pulls a black rectangle from his pocket and hands it to me. It's blank and there are no keys except a single round button near the bottom.
I look at him. "What do I do with this?"
His eyes close for a second then he opens them and takes the rectangle back. "I'm sorry, Kate. I can't get my head around what you've never seen. Okay, give me the number and I'll call them."
I tell him the phone number I remember. He does something to the rectangle and soon I can hear a phone ringing. My heart's racing, then skips a beat as a woman answers the phone.
With an Asian accent.
Jake glances at me but I'm too afraid to speak, so he says, "Hello, I'm looking for Mr. or Mrs. Anderson. Allen and Betty. Are they there?"
"Nobody here with that name."
"And, um, how long have you had this number?"
"Six years."
Jake thanks her, she hangs up, and I stare at him, struggling to understand. "Do you have a phone book? Maybe they moved."
"No phone book. It's all online."
He types a few things into some web site then turns the screen to show me a list of Andersons. "Do any of these look right?"
My parents' names are Allen and Betty. I check the list for the right initials. Nothing, and none of the other entries look familiar either. My parents don't seem to live in Toronto any more. They could be anywhere. How will I ever--
I burst into tears.
Jake puts his hand on my shoulder, and I fall into him and hold on tight, sobbing so hard I can't breathe. I feel like I haven't cried in a long time and now all those pent-up tears want to get out.
"It's okay, Kate," he says softly, gently rubbing my back. "We'll find where you belong. But I think we should go to the doctor's office now. Okay?"
He's right but I can't let go of him. He's all I've got right now.
"Stay with me?" I manage to mumble through my tears.
His arms tighten around me. "I promise. I'll take care of you."