“Do you love me?”

Mary glanced away from the road to give him a confused look. “Why are you asking me that?” she asked, understandably bewildered. “Of course I love you. I think I should be the one asking that,” she declared, sounding angry, not loving.

“But do you really love me?”

“I already said I do!” She became upset, stepping on accelerator and driving almost forcefully past a car. The driver honked at her. She honked back.

Many things confused Adam. This woman was one of them. She was his wife, but he didn’t know her, and the little he knew made him unsure. He wanted to tell someone he had lost his memory, and she, as his wife, should be the one he turned to, right?

“There’s something I want to tell you, but I am not sure how to start?”

“And that’s why you’re asking if I love you?” She narrowed her eyes, not looking away from the road. “I guess I won’t like it.”

“It’s...difficult to talk about.”

She tensed. “Is this about Sasha?” she asked, with a nasty pronunciation of the name. “Because I’m tired of hearing about her.”

Adam wondered why she hated that woman. “It’s not about her,” Adam said.

She flexed her hands on the wheel. “What is it about then?”

“Forget it.” Adam decided not to tell her.

“After all that, just forget it?” Mary scoffed.

“Yes, please.”

“It was about Alexandra wasn’t it?”

Adam fell silent, confused about who she was talking about. Then, it clicked. Sasha was a nickname. “So her name is Alexandra.”

After saying it, he realized his mistake. He should know her name already. He broke into a sweat, expecting the worst but she just chuckled. Her face softened. Unexpectedly, she seemed to be in a good mood after that exchange.

They stopped at a red light.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and peered down at his hands. “Since when do you read comics?”

By her tone, Adam guessed it was not one of his habits. “Since I was in jail, I guess.” He flipped through the book. It was a good story.

“Oh, how jail changes people,” she said, shaking her head. “What is that, Spider-man?”

“Yes, it’s Spider-man.”

“How appropriate.”

Adam wondered what she meant by appropriate.

“We are married, aren’t we?” he asked as the light turned green.

She looked at him as if he was crazy. “Of course we are married.”

“Then why are you driving? I believe I am too chauvinistic not to protest that.”

“Are you?” She laughed, though only a little. “Well, this is my car. Yours is finished. Now that I think about it, it’s been a long time since I drove this. Do you really wanna to drive?”

“No. By the way, I think I lost my phone?”

“What? Oh, in the accident?”

“I guess.”

“Should we stop by a store and buy another?”

“No, we’ll be late. I’ll buy one by myself later.” Adam prepared for the strangeness that his next question could elicit. “What’s the code on my card again?”

“7541,” she said without missing a beat, as if there were nothing wrong with asking about your own credit card. Was he a forgetful person before losing his memory?

Well, at least that was one less thing to worry about.

The parking lot near the cemetery was nearly empty. Mary parked the car and the two left toward the burial.

“I should have let you drive,” she grumbled, observing the creases on her long white sleeveless dress with a double-layered skirt.

Adam wore a plain black suit of the kind one can find men wearing anywhere, anytime. He fancied it made him look common.

A small group huddled around the open hole. It was a family-only affair, unlike the funeral, which Adam did not recall. An orator spoke the magnificence of Oliver good.

Oliver Good that has his name.

The coffin was laid on the hole and buried while his family stood around it, looking solemn. Sasha, no, Alexandra, and the man who was presumably her husband were present; beside them stood three men, and two women. Tears rolled down the cheeks of the younger woman. They all stood behind an older woman with straw-colored hair who glared at Adam like he was a dirty mutt.

Adam observed them minutely. Four of them were her children, including the two women besides Alexandra. They all shared her hair, and facial features.

Opposite them stood an even older woman. Streaks of gray ran down her once raven hair, her almond eyes and sharp features told of a beautiful past, but time had not been kind to her. It never was. Behind her stood a man and a woman with dark hair, familiar and remarkably similar faces, both older than Adam. The family did not take their eyes off the coffin for the length of the burial.

It was quite a clear picture from where Adam stood. This man, Good, had married twice. His children and their mothers were divided in two camps. It would be impossible not to dispute his inheritance.

A photo of the dead man hung on a frame besides the hole. It was Adam, just as he looked in the mirror, even the glasses. They were so alike that it would be difficult to say Adam was not his son. If anything, the photo was slightly more handsome, but perhaps that was just to be expected of a picture.

It was deeply disturbing to see his face in that photo of Oliver. It was as if the one being buried were Adam himself.

Adam wondered if the old man really was his father. But then was the conversation with Pence all about if not a scam? There were more mysteries that he needed to unveil. And why had they used a picture of him young?

After the burial, one of Oliver’s sons came up to him from the camp of the younger old woman. He was young, eighteen at most, perhaps not even that. Rather long blonde forelocks covered part of his face. “Good morning,” he said as he reached up to Adam.

Adam looked up at the sky. It was covered in clouds, and seemingly about to break into a rain. “Good morning.”

The youth shifted, uncomfortably. “Father…is buried now.” He let the silence hung in the air, lips twisting as he searched for the correct words. Adam let him. “The rest of the family doesn’t like you,” he said, bluntly. “But don’t worry, Mr. Jackson is a very fair lawyer, and everyone in town knows you’ve spent the last six months in father’s house. Ha, that’s more than I can say for any of my siblings!”

“So they don’t like me,” Adam said, affably, glancing at the boy’s mother who glared hatefully at him. She shot the youth speaking to him a similar glance.

The boy seemed afraid of her gaze, but he spoke with Adam nonetheless. “Look, we may have different mothers, but we are brothers, you and I. I guess I just wanted to say that...if you need any help, ask me…I can’t promise that I will be able to help, but I can try.”

“Thank you. I think your mother and siblings are glaring at you for speaking with me,” Adam said, pointing with his chin at them.

The youth over his shoulder, sighed and dropped his shoulders. “Huh, well, don’t take it to heart. They’re good people, mostly. They just are a little taken aback with, you know, you.”

“I understand.”

With a morose drop of his shoulders, the youth left.

“Do you know his name?” he asked Mary.

“Lucas,” she said, and then, realizing what he asked, became upset. “You can’t forget their names!” she whispered, but with great alarm. “How can you forget their names?”

§

Once the burial was over they all went back to the mansion.

The burial was strangely exhausting for how brief it was. Everyone lounged in the main hall among couches and small tables, glaring at each other when they arrived.

They lingered far too long in this game of intimidation for Adam’s taste.

Finally, the younger mother spoke, “Mr. Jackson will be here tomorrow afternoon to talk about the inheritance.” She glared at Adam. “Let us hope it will be a fruitful discussion.”

Oh, she was glaring at him again now. He felt Mary’s grip on his arm grow a little more forceful.

“You mean, ‘let’s hope all the money will be mine,’ right, Evelynn?” The other old woman lifted her gaze languidly upon Evelynn. Her children stood silent beside her, but silently imposing. She sighed, so laboriously it would be hard not to hear it. “As anyone can see, Oliver has hidden many things from us.” She glanced at Adam. “We’re not in the middle-ages anymore. You don’t get his money by being his wife.”

“Good for you,” Evelynn said, spitefully.

She smiled, slovenly. “My marriage with Oliver ended, as it should. But my children are still his.” With a malicious snarl she added, “I wonder about yours.”

Evelynn stood, shaking in anger.

Honestly, her children did look too much like her and too little like him, or rather Oliver.

“Let’s stop here,” said the older of Evelynn’s daughters, clapping her hands. She sat at the edge of one couch, green eyes looking over the others. For a moment her eyes lingered on Adam, and he could swear he saw them tear up. “The cook prepared a magnificent lunch for all of us. Let us set aside our differences and, at least for today, try to act like a family.”

Without waiting for anyone, she stood. A man stood after her, excusing himself. Her husband.

“Well I am hungry,” Alexandra declared, standing up, rather primly. “Shall we go, John?” she asked her husband.

He rolled his eyes at her and accompanied her toward the next room.

The whole family moved there. But Mary held Adam from going. Her eyes implied she wished to speak in private.

“What is it?” Adam asked, feeling trepidation at being asked something he should know.

“I just wanted to ask you about the certificate. We’ll need to show it to Jackson. You got it right?” she asked, whispering, serious, worried.

Adam had no idea what she meant. “No,” he said.

She gritted her teeth. “After all this time you still haven’t got it? We’ll have problems if the lawyer gets here before you get it, and it would be bad if the others saw you take it. Good thing he’s only coming tomorrow. Why don’t you have it yet?”

“I have no idea,” he answered, truthfully.

She lowered her head, sagged her should and sighed dramatically. Then, she looked sideways, giving it some thought. “I’d like some of the books too. You said the collection here was grand. Get me some when you take the papers.”

Adam wondered how he should go about this. For lack of time, he chose honesty. “I think I forgot where all of that is.”

“You’re kidding right? It’s in the secret room!” She hastily looked around, realizing she raised her voice, but no one had heard her. After calming down, she frowned, looking at the floor. “We’ll have a fight during lunch, and I’ll go up to my room. Then, you can go to the secret room. Be fast.”

Confused—as always—Adam went to the other room.

There was a feast prepared on the table. A feast after a burial, was that normal? In any case people were eating.

Adam was served a fish in gravy and cheese, mashed potatoes, and several beans by who he supposed was the cook, a rotund man in his forties who seemed rather scared of him.

“Let’s have small talk,” Mary said, beside him. She looked around, and approached very close. “It’s hard to hear what we’re saying if we’re this close.”

“A talk about what?”

“About nothing. Just say whatever comes to mind while I get angry.”

“Mary, I sincerely wish you were more instructive,” Adam said.

“What do you mean?”

“I am a very forgetful man. How could I possibly do what you want me to do anyway?”

“The same way you always do it,” she said, growing upset. “You always do this!” she screamed loud enough for the room to hear, and hit the table with both hands, noisily cluttering the tableware.

Adam was shocked.

Everyone turned their way.

Mary looked around. Her face reddened in shame and she ran from the room.

After she left, Adam stood, as if breaking out of a trance, and followed after her.

At the main hall, he saw her going up the stairs.

She stopped and looked down at him. She muttered something, and looked at the door to the dining room. “Be fast,” she mouthed, and left.

Adam watched her go in a sort of trance. He lugged to a couch and sat, wondering what he would do now

The conversation continued loudly in the other room as Adam’s heart filled with uncertainty and trepidation.

After some time, he heard the clicking of heels approaching.

It was Alexandra, Sasha, dressed in a black dress that hugged her body perhaps too sensuously for a burial. Steps lights, she sauntered his way, looking this way and that, faking casualness and sat on a couch opposite him.

A squat table stood between them.

She smiled a smile oozing friendliness. “Hi, Adam,” she greeted, not a trace of her previous hatred.

He had a bad feeling.