Abigail was seated right next to him; they’d been watching a movie. She’d heard the whole thing, because, of course, she eavesdropped. She always did.

  Now she looked at him as troubled as he was. She held out her hand for his phone and called Teresa.

  “Teresa is Ryan home?” she asked.

  “No. Do you want me to take a message?”

  “Shouldn’t he be?” Abigail asked.

  There was silence. “We had ... a conversation,” she said slowly. “And he left to go to the newsroom for the meeting in person. To give me some space, I think. I don’t know how long he intended to be there. Maybe until the newscast. Why?”

  Abigail was silent, looking for words.

  “Abigail?” Teresa’s voice was sharper. “Why are you looking for Ryan?”

  McShane rolled his eyes and took the phone back. “Teresa, Andrew McShane, here. Ryan had an encounter with Steve Planck outside the EWN offices. He chewed out Planck — deservedly in my opinion — and left him standing there. Plank was concerned and called me. Has Ryan told you about the task force? Planck will be chairing it. I think. Anyway, now I’m concerned. More so, because I would think he would be home by now.”

  “He took the bus,” she said, a bit absently. She chewed her lip. Sent texts to Cage and Emily.

  She looked at the text Cage sent in response. “I sent a text to Cage,” she said. “They went for a run. So that is good. But Ryan stopped in the Pearl District, by Powell’s, and said he was heading home. But he’s not here.”

  McShane was silent. “Let’s give him another hour?” he suggested. “But if he’s not home by then you call me, OK?”

  “Yes,” she said. She hung up, and sent a text message to her husband: Where are you? I love you. Come home.

  Rafael was asleep. Teresa lay down beside him, needing the warmth of another person. And a toddler put out incredible body heat, she thought amused. He snuggled into her without needing to wake up.

  This was her fault, she thought. She’d reacted badly to what he had to say. It caught her off guard: the whole thing about Vic, and then Ryan’s explanation about attraction. He was right, it did feel different. She wasn’t completely sure why he felt the need to make it clearer; she thought Vic’s partner knowing about Ryan’s past had something to do with it. But she had needed time to absorb it, and he noticed. Of course, he did, she thought and rolled her eyes. He noticed things.

  And he gave her the space to do that. Because he was intuitive about what other people needed from him.

  And so oblivious about what he might need. Tears came, and she choked on them.

  Ryan, she thought. Where are you?

  The phone rang at midnight. Cage.

  “Did he make it home?”

  “Not yet,” she said.

  He swore. “I shouldn’t have left him. I knew something was wrong. There was a bar. The door opened, and we could hear laughter inside and the music. And he looked so hungry for it. But then he snapped out of it and said he was going home.”

  “Not your fault,” she said. “He had an encounter with Steve Planck before he met up with you.”

  “Yeah, I heard most of it,” he said. “He chewed Planck a new one. I’ve never heard him that angry. And you know how he gets when he starts lecturing a person? I’ve seen full professors cringe when he focuses on them. Planck didn’t stand a chance.”

  “What was he angry about?”

  “Pederasty, homophobia, grooming, and I’m not sure what that is, still not sure what pederasty is either for that matter. McGee, Eugene Cathcart, Davis, student government, Planck, professors who leave their wives and marry their students,” Cage listed, laughing. “He was angry about all of it. Then he called Planck homophobic and stalked off.”

  Dear God, she thought. That was a nasty intersection with their own conversation. And probably all of the stuff she’d been unable to get him to talk about.

  “Are you worried?” Cage asked gently when she didn’t say anything.

  “It’s midnight, Cage! He hasn’t come home, he hasn’t called. Where would he go?” she said, trying not to sound frantic.

  “Do you want me to go look for him?”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “I have some ideas.” He didn’t elaborate.

  She thought about it. “No,” she said finally. “He’s been touchy about that lately. About everyone thinking he’s losing it and checking on him.”

  “Babe, I do think he is losing it,” Cage said soberly. “And I’m surprised it didn’t happen a month ago.”

  Teresa didn’t respond. What could she say? That’s what she thought too. But she wasn’t going to say that about her husband to someone he considered closer than a brother. But....

  “Cage?” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Do you consider Ryan bisexual?”

  “Whoa, where did that come from?” He paused. “I know he’s had sex with men,” he said slowly. “So yeah, I guess that makes him bisexual. Why? Is that an issue between you two all of a sudden?”

  “Did he...,” she stopped.

  “Did he what? Make a pass at me? No. Made one at Em, early on. She told him she’d rather be friends for life than be flavor of the week. But you know that.”

  “Si,” she said. Spanish. It was her tell, she thought. I revert to Spanish when I’m stressed or emotional.

  “To be honest, I don’t know any man Ryan made a pass at,” he said slowly. “But there were men he didn’t turn down. Actually? That’s probably true with most women too. Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

  Yes, she thought, that did make sense. “Thank you, Cage, that helps,” she said sincerely.

  “Want to tell me what brought this on?”

  “Vic? You know the guy at dinner? Turns out the reason he didn’t bring someone is because he’s gay and wasn’t sure how I’d feel about that,” she said. “And his partner? Knew Ryan back in the day. So, Ryan was checking how I would feel about all that.”

  “Knew him? Or knew him?” Cage asked.

  “You mean did they have sex back in the day? I do not think so,” Teresa said. “Ryan would know I might have problems with that.”

  “So basically, he’s saying, are you homophobic? Because if you are, you might want to consider the fact that I’m bisexual?”

  Teresa nodded to herself. “Yes, although you’re clearer than he was,” she said.

  “And you pause, because you hadn’t really thought about it like that, and he goes off to give you space and bumps into Steve Planck? Well, that’s unfortunate,” Cage said dryly.

  Teresa laughed. “Thank you, Cage,” she said. “I needed to laugh.”

  “Glad I could help,” he said, laughing himself. “Call me if he comes home. Call me if you need me to go looking for him. But Teresa? You may need to prepare yourself for what condition he might be in when he does surface.”

  She thanked him and hung up. The problem was she didn’t know enough to even predict what that was! She lay there, holding her son tightly, and stared at the ceiling.

  Chapter 8

  3 A.M., TUESDAY, JUNE 8, 2021, Matthews’ home in SE Portland — Teresa’s phone chimed, and she woke up, not even realizing she’d gone to sleep. She glanced at the phone — 3 a.m. and no Ryan?

  She looked at the text. It was from Kevin Tighe. It took her a moment to place the name. Why would he be contacting her at this hour? She read it: Come to the Loft. Ryan is here. Something is really wrong. But he called your name. And he seems to be willing to sit here and wait for you. Come.

  She sent back: On my way.

  She looked at Rafael, and she thought about what Cage had said: prepare yourself. But the truth was, she couldn’t prepare herself. She was too innocent, had been raised too sheltered. She didn’t know what that even meant. That he’d gone drinking? Found a partner for the night? What?

  But she did know someone who could take charge in any situation that arose. President McShane. Maybe he’d go with her. And maybe Abigail would watch Rafael?

  She swallowed hard, gathered her courage and called him. He picked up on the second ring, and she wondered if he was sleepless with worry too.

  “McShane,” he said. “Teresa? Has he come home?”

  “Not to me,” she said, and that hurt. “He’s at the Loft. Kevin Tighe just sent me a text, saying something was really wrong, but he called my name. I need to go, but Dr. McShane? I don’t know if I know enough to really help him. Would you?” She trailed off.

  “Yes,” he said. “Abigail says she’ll stay with Rafael. We’ll be there in 15.”

  He hung up.

  She got up carefully, so as to not wake Rafael. She washed her face. Put on a clean sweater and found her shoes. And then she waited at the door for them to pull up.

  Abigail gave her a big hug when she came in. “Remember, what he really needs from you is your love. Keep saying that. And if all else fails? Take him to Dr. Clarke. OK?”

  Teresa nodded and hugged her back. How odd that she would be her closest friend, she thought, given all of the history, as well as the gap in age and position. But she was. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for being my friend.”

  Abigail looked touched. “Andrew’s waiting — impatiently, I’m sure,” she said. “Go. I’ll stay with Rafael.”

  Teresa laughed and swiftly went down the steps to the car parked in front.

  “The Loft? Where we were Sunday?” he said.

  She nodded.

  “What do you know?” he asked.

  She told him. It wasn’t much.

  “Abigail mentioned Dr. Clarke?”

  “Yes,” she said, and congratulated herself on it being in English. Control, she thought, I have to stay in control of my feelings. Focus on Ryan.

  McShane was silent as he drove over Broadway Bridge and into NW Portland. There was little traffic, and he made good time. But it seemed like forever.

  He pulled into the parking lot, the center of the L-shaped lot. Ryan — and Kevin Tighe — were sitting on the loading dock.

  Teresa frowned. “What does he have on?” she asked. “He left in sweats and running shoes.”

  Well he wasn’t wearing them now, McShane thought disturbed. He was wearing party circuit clothes. Black on black. Tattoo in full display. McShane had seen him like this before. So had Teresa for that matter. Shit.

  “You take the lead,” he said.

  She got out of the car and squared her shoulders. He admired her tremendously. Someday he should tell her that.

  “Ryan,” she said as she approached. “You called my name, and as I promised, I am here. I came. I love you.”

  “Teresa,” he said barely above a whisper. “I am so lost. I couldn’t remember how to find you. It was like the nightmares. Couldn’t.... I was drifting around. Wanted a club. But I wasn’t dressed right,” he said. He frowned. “So, I bought these, and then I found a club, and I danced. Someone told me once, dancing was OK, massage, hugs. Touch football? Why would anyone think I’d want to play touch football? So, I danced. And danced. But then the club closed. And someone said, ‘I know a party.’ But that wasn’t on the OK list, so I didn’t go. I came here. ‘There will always be a couch for me here’, a voice in my head. There are all these voices, Teresa, and I don’t know what is real.”

  She swallowed the tears. “I am real,” she said firmly. “Touch me and see.”

  He slid off the loading dock and walked up to her. He touched her face, stroking it gently, feeling each feature, then her hair, and he put his arms around her and held her tight. She wrapped her arms around him. Holding him.

  McShane watched them, troubled by Ryan’s outburst. He approached Tighe. “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s lost in his memories, and they aren’t anchored to anything,” he said. “There are a couple of people who live here who struggle with staying attached to reality, too. He knew to come here somehow. Walked up from a club by Powell’s, I think. But I don’t think he knows who I am, just that I am someone he trusts. To be honest, I’m not sure he knows who Teresa is, only that she would come if he called for her.”

  McShane winced. “Time for a professional?” he asked.

  Tighe thought about it. The two of them watched Teresa hold him. “Yeah,” he said. “Because when you start asking him questions, and he realizes he’s missing the answers? He’s going to lose his shit.”

  McShane smiled briefly at that analysis. A bluntly accurate one, he thought. He looked in his contacts list, found the number for Dr. Erica Clarke — because every university president has a psychiatrist in his contact list, he thought with a shake of his head.

  “Hello?” a hoarse and sleepy voice said.

  “Dr. Clarke? It’s Andrew McShane. Ryan Matthews has had some kind of breakdown. Can you meet us at your clinic?”

  “Where are you?”

  “NW Portland.”

  “I’ll be there when you get there.” She hung up.

  He did appreciate a woman who grasped the essentials without a lot of questions.

  He settled his shoulders and moved so that Ryan could see him.

  “Sir?” he said startled.

  “Yes,” he said. “I want you to get in the car, Ryan. We’re going to go see Dr. Clarke.”

  “Do I need to?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Ryan nodded. “Teresa is coming too?”

  “Of course, I am,” she said. “I’m not letting you go.”

  He smiled at her. Then he looked over at Kevin Tighe. “Thanks, man,” he said.

  “No problem,” Kevin said easily. “You can always find a place here.”

  McShane put the two of them in the back seat. He looked over at Kevin, nodded once in appreciation. Kevin nodded back. He was still watching them when McShane headed down the street.

  True to her promise, Erica Clarke was waiting for them at the clinic.

  “Hi Doc,” Ryan said.

  Hi, Ryan,” she responded.

  “You! Your voice is the one that said dancing was OK,” he said as if he was happy to attach a face to the voice in his head.

  “I probably did,” she agreed. “Come on in and sit in my office. I want to talk to President McShane first.”

  “Can’t go without Teresa,” he said, holding onto her tightly. “If I let go, I might lose her again.”

  “Then you hold on tight to her,” she said. “Teresa? Could you go in with him? I might be a while.”

  Teresa nodded, and Ryan walked with her into the private office behind the nurses’ station. She watched them go until the door was tightly closed behind them. Then she turned to McShane. “What the hell happened to him!”

  “Not completely sure,” he said. “But I think the stress of the last couple of months finally... unmoored him? He acts like he’s adrift in his memories. So, here’s what I know.” He started with the Judicial Code Committee hearing, and then the events of the last 24 hours.

  “I think I’m missing something,” he finished. “Some part of the story I don’t know.”

  “I can help with that,” Cage Washington said as he came into the clinic. “Hi, Doc. Teresa sent me a message they were coming here.”

  “Cage,” Dr. Erica Clarke said, welcoming him. “What do you know?”

  He told her about his conversation with Teresa. McShane swore.

  “Bad timing for all that shit to come down at once,” Cage agreed.

  “Best guess?” McShane said. “He’s retreated to being 20 again — ask him about his clothes for instance.” He considered that and shook his head. “No, his maturity seems like he’s 20 again. But his memories? I think that’s more like he’s fallen into the kaleidoscope he talks about. Not just him outside of it watching his memories act like a kaleidoscope. More like he’s inside it, he is the kaleidoscope, if that makes sense.”

  “It does,” she agreed. “Metaphors are always a bit suspect, but that’s one he frequently uses.”

  She considered everything and nodded. “I’ll talk to him now.” And with nothing more, she went in her office.

  McShane and Cage looked at each other. “What does she expect us to do?” Cage asked, a bit bewildered.

  “We’re not her patients,” McShane said. “She doesn’t care what we do.”

  The nurse overheard him and laughed. “Exactly right,” she agreed. “She can be very focused. And Ryan has been one of her chicks for most of his life, and it doesn’t matter what the supervisory board says about him aging out of here. You all are welcome to wait here. Or go home, and Teresa — his wife, right? — can call you with updates.”

  McShane looked at his watch and swore. It was 6 a.m.

  Cage checked his and grimaced. “Working full-time sucks,” Cage muttered.

  McShane snorted. “It does,” he agreed. He looked at what he was wearing, casual slacks and a pull-over sweater. He’d have to go home, change, and be back before that 8 a.m. breakfast. And he couldn’t cancel it. “I’ve got to go,” he said reluctantly. “I’ve got an 8 a.m. breakfast meeting — one Ryan was supposed to attend as well — that I can’t miss or cancel. I can’t go like this. And I brought them here.”

  Cage looked him over and laughed. “Go,” he said. “I’ll call in a family medical emergency if I can’t be in the office at 10 a.m. I’m supposed to go to a 9 a.m. class anyway, and the professor will not be the least bit surprised if I’m not there.”

  McShane nodded, and he strode out of the building as if he was on a mission.

  Cage settled in at the waiting room. Seemed like he’d spent a fair amount of time in this room, he thought, shaking his head. He started to send a text to Emily with an update, remembered there was a connectivity damper. He found a book in his e-reader app, and started in. The thing that sucked the most about this room had always been its lack of reading material.

  Inside the office, Ryan was still holding Teresa’s hand. When Dr. Clarke suggested she step out while they talked, he was adamant. “I lost her,” he explained again very earnestly. “If I let go, I might lose her again.”

 

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