Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

have told you a long time ago.”
    Somehow, she had known this moment would come. Her whole body tensed as she waited for the truth to fall like an executioner’s ax. “Please,” she said feebly. “I’d rather not hear it.”
    “Mary Ann, I lived in San Francisco for three years … three whole years out of my life!”
    Oh, God! Had Michael been right all along?
    “Do you know why I’m so out of it, Mary Ann? Do you know where my goddamn boyish naïveté comes from?”
    Please no! Please don’t let him be …
    “I can’t remember anything, Mary Ann. Not a single goddamn thing about those three years in San Francisco.”
    She pulled away from him. “You’ve got … amnesia? ”
    He nodded.
    Thank God, she thought, hugging him. Thank God!

Try to Remember
    I ’M SORRY,” SAID BURKE, SITTING UP IN THE SAND AND rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. “I should have told you a long time ago.”
    Mary Ann flailed for the right words. “You … can’t remember anything at all?”
    He shook his head. “Nothing about my time in San Francisco. I’m clear on the rest. I mean, everything up to 1973. When I was in Nantucket. There are some … images or whatever that come to me from time to time. They don’t mean anything, really.”
    “Like what?”
    “Mary Ann, there’s no point—”
    “I want to help, Burke.”
    He traced a line in the sand. “Everybody wants to help.” Then, seeing her expression, he added, “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not everyone. It’s just that … well, everything’s been done that can be done. My parents even sent me on this cruise, so I could—you know—”
    “It doesn’t matter to me, Burke.”
    “It’s a form of insanity.”
    “I don’t believe that.”
    “I can’t be honest in a relationship, Mary Ann. I don’t know what there is to be honest about. I don’t even know why I—”
    Mary Ann gasped, anticipating him. “God, Burke! The thing about the roses!”
    He nodded. “That’s part of it. Cute, huh? I also freak out on walkways with railings.”
    “Where?”
    “Anywhere. Any walkways with railings. Haven’t you noticed me on the ship? That’s why I hang around the fantail all day long. I’m scared shitless, Mary Ann.”
    Mary Ann moved closer to him, placing a reassuring hand on his knee. “Well, look: if you can’t remember what happened to you in San Francisco … I mean, how did you get back to Nantucket?”
    “I didn’t exactly…. Are you sure you want to hear all this?”
    “Positive.”
    “Well, they found me.”
    “They?”
    “Some cops in Golden Gate Park. Mounted policemen. I had … passed out or whatever in the woods. It took them three days to figure out who I was.”
    “And then you went home?”
    He nodded. “I was lucky, I guess. The Nantucket part came back almost immediately—along with my name and all that. I just don’t know what I was doing in San Francisco.”
    Mary Ann smiled ruefully. “Welcome to the club,” she said.
    They walked for a long time on the beach, watching the sky turn the color of a ripe nectarine. Mary Ann continued to probe gently, certain he would shut her out completely if she ever stopped talking.
    “You haven’t told me why you went to San Francisco in the first place.”
    “Oh, I was a reporter. For the AP.”
    “Grocery stores have reporters?”
    He touched the tip of her nose. “The Associated Press.”
    She flushed. “I just did that to make you feel good.”
    “Of course.”
    “So what did you do before that? Before the AP.”
    “I didn’t. I left my father’s publishing house and interviewed with the head AP bureau in New York. They stuck me in a little glass booth with a lot of disjointed facts about Lucille Ball’s wedding in … whenever, and I wrote a typical AP story and … they assigned me to the San Francisco bureau.”
    “And you don’t remember anything after that.”
    He chuckled. “Oh, yeah. That part’s gruesomely clear. The boredom, the shitwork, perpetual deadlines. I quit five weeks later. That’s where the blackout comes.”
    “What about your parents? You couldn’t just disappear for three years. You must’ve written them or something.”
    “Not enough to really let them know what was going on. Just I-am-fine-don’t-worry-about-me stuff. I lived on Nob Hill for a while, I know that. I did temporary shitwork—clerical stuff. Sometimes I attended services at Grace Cathedral.”
    “Well, at least you remember that much.”
    He