Everything inside Remy stilled.
Jonah’s face had gone expressionless. Except for his eyes. They resembled the eyes of a hiding lion the moment before it pounces. “Do you know who I am?” he asked the doctor.
“Yes. You’re—Ah! I’m sorry.” Dr. Denny shook his head wryly. “I lost my focus there for a second. I did read in your chart that you’re suffering from amnesia.”
“Correct.”
“I do know who you are, yes. Your name is Jeremiah Camden.”
Wait. What? The implications of the surname Camden collided with Remy like a breaking wave.
“Jeremiah.” Jonah spoke the name slowly, as if testing its syllables.
“Yes,” the doctor confirmed.
“The name feels right,” Jonah said. “How do we know each other?”
“We don’t know each other personally,” Dr. Denny answered. “You’re famous.”
“I’m famous?”
“You were a Formula One race car driver. A . . . legend. You’re from here, Maine. And you’re the only American driver who’s won two driver’s championships as well as the only American who’s been active on the circuit in recent years.”
Remy’s balance careened as if she was falling, though she was still sitting squarely in the chair against the wall. A legend? His fast reflexes and the speed at which he’d driven her truck now made sense. She knew nothing about Formula One except that it might take place in locations like Italy and Bahrain. “Is he . . .” Remy cleared her throat. “Is he from the well-known Camden family?”
“Oh, yes.” The doctor beamed at Remy, then Jonah. “You retired almost a year ago after . . .” His face fell a little. “Anyway, you retired.”
Jonah held up his palm. “That’s enough for now, if you don’t mind.” She could tell by the harsh set of his lips that the new information was giving him a splitting pain in his head.
“Certainly. I’m glad you’re so recognizable. We should be able to contact your family and confirm your identity right away. First things first, though. Let’s check on your lungs so we can get you feeling better.”
“When I found him,” Remy said to the doctor, “he had an injury to the back of the head. You might want to check that, too.”
“Will do.” Dr. Denny listened to Jeremiah’s breathing through a stethoscope, examined his head, informed them that he was going to request some scans, then excused himself.
When the two of them were alone, he met her gaze. Beneath the flush of his fever, he’d paled. “Can you pull up a photo of Jeremiah Camden online to confirm I’m who the doctor thinks I am? Maybe I just look like this Jeremiah, and he’s mistaken.”
She pulled her phone from her purse. Seconds later, she whispered, “He’s not mistaken.” She passed the phone to him so he could study the photo of himself in a one-piece uniform leaning against a narrow race car that pointed down in the front and had giant wheels. In the picture, his head was cocked at a victorious angle, a satisfied smile on his face.
His childish sketches that had reminded her of Hot Wheels had actually been clues! He’d been drawing Formula One cars and she’d missed the hint.
He ran his hand through his hair and clasped the back of his neck. The sleeve of his T-shirt rode up, displaying the pale underside of his bicep. “It’s strange to see a picture of myself in a past I don’t remember.”
“I can imagine. Overall, though, the fact that we’ve finally pinned down your identity is excellent news.” Privately, she wasn’t so sure.The Camdens?She was pretending to take all this in stride, but her head felt like a scary carnival. “We finally know who you are.”
“Jeremiah.” He tried out his new name again.
“Coincidentally, we selected a temporary name for you that starts with aJand ends with anh—just like your real name.”
He brought his arm down, leaving his hair rumpled. Her phone looked small clasped in his big, elegant hands. “Have you ever heard of Jeremiah Camden?”
“I haven’t heard of you specifically. I don’t follow racing. But the Camden name is a name all Americans know.”
“Why?”
“Certain surnames became very famous because they belonged to the robber barons of the 1800s. Vanderbilt, Carnegie, Astor, Camden, and more.” She shifted, uncomfortable with the idea that so much had been concentrated in the hands of so few and unwilling to tell him that she both suspected and dreaded which Camden branch he belonged to.
“Okay.” He passed her phone back. “I can’t hear any more right now. My head’s killing me.”
