About Face

by Fern Michaels

  “It is good, Mrs. Worthington. The only damage is to your husband’s speech. With therapy, I’m sure in time you’ll come to understand him.” He smiled at John. “We’d like to send you home in a few days.”

  Evie watched some of the old sparkle enter John’s eyes. And it made her sick. She’d assumed he would remain an invalid. He’d give her power of attorney, name her president of Worthington Enterprises, and at the end of her busy, decision-filled days, they’d share her victories and battles over a glass of Chardonnay. Of course John would merely listen. Any thought of him advising her washed away with the stroke of a . . . stroke. Evie laughed inwardly at her wicked sense of humor. Then, when she’d finished her wifely performance, she’d be free.

  Free to mother Casey.

  “Mrs. Worthington?” Dr. Foo said.

  “Yes, I’m sorry I got lost for a minute. You were saying.” She gave Dr. Foo her best smile.

  “I think in time John will fully recover.”

  Evie felt as if she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning.

  “What?” Her hand fumbled with the pearls at her neck. She stepped away from John’s bedside.

  “Provided John gets his therapy, he should be as good as new.”

  “Yes. Yes . . . of course. I trust that he will.” Evie felt like a deer trapped in blinding headlights. Rooted to the floor, her mind gyrated like a child’s spinning top.

  This certainly changed the direction her thoughts had taken. Last night she’d even slept in that god-awful plastic olive green chair, hoping the doctors and nurses would see what a devoted wife did when she truly loved her husband. She’d revised her plans, right down to the last detail, and that last detail hadn’t included John’s full recovery.

  All that and for what? John would be home in a matter of days. She’d actually sacrificed a night’s sleep and probably ruined a Versace original. Not to mention the fact that a perverted orderly kept entering the waiting room to spy on her. Evie was sure he’d been peering up her dress.

  Dr. Foo mumbled a few words to the nurse, and together they left the room, giving her the privacy she needed with her husband.

  She went back to John’s bedside. Was it possible that John could age so in a mere twenty-four hours? He looked his full seventy-three years and more. Dr. Foo must be wrong. The thought gave her hope.

  “Ome,” John said, his word garbled, and Evie leaned closer to him in an effort to understand him. “Ooome.” He pointed to the door.

  “I’m sorry John, but you’ll have to try harder. You sound like a caveman grunting.” Evie turned her head in disgust.

  John kicked the foot of the metal bed. Evie jumped. He certainly wasn’t slow in learning the role of caveman.

  “John, listen to me. Don’t try to talk. If you understand, nod.”

  His white head bobbed up and down.

  At least his faculties were functional.

  “Worthington Enterprises needs family at the helm. Mort Sweeney isn’t family. The production at the paper mill has decreased, and I just learned Mort and his family left for Europe. I know we’ve talked about this before, John, however this time you’re unable to have a say in the matter.” Again, Evie smiled at her play on words.

  She watched John’s expressive blue eyes. Vibrant and alert. Evie watched the heart monitor. The little green beeps were moving fast. The sudden alarm sent Evie to the door.

  The skinny nurse pushed her aside as she bolted through the double doors.

  “Please, outside.” She shoved Evie farther into the hall.

  Dr. Foo galloped at breakneck speed to John’s room.

  My God! What in the world were they fussing about? She stepped outside the room, where the nurse took John’s blood pressure, and Dr. Foo read a slip of paper as it rolled out of the heart monitor.

  “What’s happening?” Evie demanded from her position outside the open door. She rushed into the room, demanding to know exactly what was going on.

  Dr. Foo muttered something to the nurse and scribbled notes on John’s chart. “Mrs. Worthington, could you step outside, please?” Dr. Foo asked.

  “Certainly.” Evie felt her own pulse start to race.

  Dr. Foo took her elbow and guided her to the waiting room. He poured himself a cup of coffee the candy stripers had just made.

  “Please, sit down.” Dr. Foo pointed to the ugly green chair she’d slept on during the night.

  Evie stood. She wasn’t about to take orders from this . . . this foreigner.

  “Thank you, Doctor, I prefer to stand. Now what exactly did you want?” She left no room for small talk. She wanted to get this little speech over with and continue her conversation with John.

  “Your husband’s blood pressure just soared to dangerous levels. I’m not sure why, but until I find out, I can’t allow him any visitors.”

  “Are you saying I had something to do with his blood pressure?” Evie scoffed. She used her best clipped Southern lady-of-the-manor voice.

  “No, Mrs. Worthington, not at all. These things happen. It’s usually best for the patient not to have any distractions for a few days. I’m sure you’ll want us to do what we think is best for your husband, and right at this moment, I think he needs to concentrate on getting well and nothing more.” Dr. Foo’s tone of voice was purely professional, but Evie sensed an underlying meaning. The good doctor looked to her for a response.

  “I want to do what’s best for John. I don’t know how he’ll feel about my leaving. He wants me here, you must understand that. Why I actually spent the night in these horrid chairs just to be close to him.”

  “I’m glad you understand.” Dr. Foo stood, looked at his watch, and thanked Evie for her time. He left her standing in the waiting room, the scent of scorched coffee filling her nostrils.

  Dismissed. The little foreign weasel had dismissed her.

  “You can’t . . .” she sputtered. God, she sounded like John.

  She didn’t need John’s signature to take control, at least not just yet. A meeting with the shift supervisors was scheduled for two o’clock. She’d be there. With bells on.

  Casey applied a touch of blusher to her pale face, then tossed the pot of cream on top of the vanity.

  Casey dressed in khaki slacks, topped with a red shell, and matching Keds. Her mother’s size selection was amazing. Everything was a perfect fit. One last glance told her she’d do. That day she had other problems to concern herself with.

  She would find answers. Then again, that’s what she’d said the day before.

  Blake had called earlier from his office and said he was on his way to Swan House. They were going to go over her medical records, go back to the courthouse, see if the reliable Marianne could produce some sort of written document on her case. She wanted the empty spaces filled in.

  Blake’s willingness to provide a ride couldn’t have come at a better time. Flora didn’t drive, Julie was busy working, and she’d be damned if she’d suffer another ride from Hank. Her mother remained at John’s bedside.

  She waited on the brick steps. Roses scented the morning air, their colorful blooms adding a bright splash of color to the overcast sky. Grass, freshly plowed dirt, and the incoming scent of rain filled the humid air. Casey hoped the weather wasn’t an indication of how her day was going to turn out.

  Expecting the sleek black automobile she’d ridden in before, Casey was surprised when she saw the bright yellow Volkswagen wind its way down the hill. With a screech and a grind, the vehicle came to a halt.

  Blake hopped out of the little bug, wearing faded denim that clung too tight in places that shouldn’t have been filled out so much. Casey felt a spark of desire flicker as she scanned the rest of him. A white dress shirt couldn’t hide the muscles that rippled with his every move. A light dusting of black hair poked out from the top of his shirt. She wondered what it would be like to touch him there, to feel the heat from his body.

  “Well?”

  Casey looked into his maple brown eyes,
her thoughts suddenly jumbled. She quickly stood, brushing her backside as she did.

  “Sorry, I was on another planet.” She took Blake’s offered hand.

  “Then I’d say it’s time to land. You ready?” he asked.

  “Yes. I told Flora I’d wait out here. Mother is still with John, so there wasn’t any reason for me to stay inside. And besides, I wanted to enjoy the flowers.” Casey nodded in the direction of the garden.

  “I can see that,” Blake said as he helped her with the door, which stuck, before climbing into the driver’s seat.

  “This is from my college days. I drive it now and then, keeps the battery charged. Hope you don’t mind. There’s no air-conditioning.”

  “I love it,” Casey exclaimed, settling herself in the cracked seat.

  Blake shifted into gear and sped off. Once they exited the gates of Swan House, his lighthearted mood turned serious.

  “I called Adam. He’s scheduled an appointment with Dr. Dewitt.”

  Casey felt her heart accelerate for a second and feared another panic attack. She took several deep breaths before answering.

  “Then I take it you’ve read my medical records.” She watched Blake maneuver the compact car with ease just as he handled the luxury vehicle days ago.

  “I did. Sanctuary faxed them to me late yesterday.”

  “And?” Casey prompted.

  He removed a hand from the wheel and placed it on her thigh. Casey was sure his hand would melt into her skin. His touch seared through the khaki material, and, again, she felt a tingling in the center of her belly.

  “I didn’t see any evidence of you ever undergoing regression therapy. Adam says Dr. Dewitt is sure RT will help you. If you don’t experience a full recovery, you will at least have some recollection. I think it’s worth a try.”

  Was it? Would her memory recall the horrors that caused it to shut down in the first place? And if so, could she cope with the revelation?

  “When do I see Dr. Dewitt?”

  “Day after tomorrow. There’s a catch. His office is in Savannah. That’s a bit of a drive from here. It might be best if you made it an overnight trip.”

  “That’s fine, Blake . . . but, I don’t drive. At least, I don’t think I do.” There she’d said it. Twenty-eight and she had no idea how to operate a vehicle.

  Her statement seemed to amuse him. He laughed, the sound rich and warm.

  “I assumed as much and took the liberty of rescheduling my appointments tomorrow. I thought we could leave early in the afternoon, arrive in time for a nice dinner, do a bit of sight-seeing. Your appointment is scheduled for ten the next morning.”

  He’d taken care of everything. Was she being wise to allow him to take control of her life? Was she being too trusting?

  “I guess all I have to do is show up.”

  Blake glanced at her. She turned away. She didn’t want him to see her like this, exposed, with no control over her life. For so long she’d allowed others to have power over her life. Did she want this to continue?

  “I hate to see you go through this, but Adam and I both think it’s best. If you’re serious about wanting your memory back, this is the way to go.”

  Casey frowned. She’d never really asked for Blake’s or Adam’s help. What did they have to gain? Or did they have something to lose?

  She had to take the chance. It was the only way to see who won and who lost.

  Chapter 13

  “If this is the only way I’m going to be able to get on with my life, I need to understand who I am and what I am. I know you must think I’m crazy, but these past few days I’ve learned so much, and yet it all means nothing. Nothing substantial anyway. I’m also aware that what I learn about my past could be devastating to my future. I’m willing to take that chance.”

  Blake parked in front of his office and clicked the ignition key off before turning to her. “You’re right, you know.” He lifted a hand to trace her jawline. Time stopped as his gaze held hers.

  She trembled and wished he wouldn’t look at her that way. She wanted him. Pure and simple. Her feelings for this man whom she’d only met days ago were new and tender. She didn’t want them trampled with bad news and dire warnings.

  She opened the door before turning to Blake. “Yes. Now, if we could get started.” She wanted to add, “The sooner I’ll be in your arms” but couldn’t. Not yet.

  “I don’t get it,” Casey said as she tossed the faxed copy of her records on the table in front of her. “For years, nothing, then boom. Dr. Macklin’s entire attitude changes, and I magically improve. Almost overnight. Then I’m discharged. If these records are correct, my medications were changed often. I wonder why.” She picked up the faxed paper again and read. “Haldol, Stelazine, Trilafon. I know nothing about these drugs. The names alone sound potent.”

  “They’re antipsychotic drugs,” Blake replied.

  “But why? I thought I’d suffered, it says here”—Casey scanned the records—“ ‘trauma-induced amnesia.”’

  “That’s right, it does say that. Casey, what exactly did you mean by ‘if these records are correct’?”

  “I don’t know. A slip of the tongue, I guess. Why?” She looked at Blake and didn’t like what she was seeing in his expression.

  “Just a thought.” Blake stood with his hands in his pockets, looking a million miles away.

  “Then expand on it. I don’t like the way you look.”

  Blake gave a short laugh. “Hey, I can’t help what the good Lord dished out.”

  Casey tossed a green-striped throw pillow at him. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then you approve?” he asked, a glint of humor in his eyes.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. You’re just like Flora. How is it we can be in the middle of a serious conversation one minute and the next, we’re teasing back and forth?”

  “You tell me,” Blake said.

  “See. There you did it again. Seriously, Blake.” Casey kicked her tennis shoes off and tucked her feet beneath her. “I’ve got all the time in the world. At least I think I do. The drugs, Blake. Why would Dr. Macklin give me antipsychotic drugs? That wasn’t the normal course of treatment for my condition.”

  Blake appeared deep in thought. “I’ve spent most of the night wondering why myself. The drugs mentioned are usually prescribed for severely disturbed patients. Suicidal, delusional, and sometimes hallucinational.”

  “I was all those things?” Please, Dear God no! Not suicidal. Life is too valuable.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t say so in your records. I tried to call Dr. Macklin last night. I tried again this morning. It seems he’s no longer the staff psychiatrist at Sanctuary.”

  “What?” Casey exclaimed.

  “I know. I was surprised myself. I called Bentley’s office. He’s nowhere to be found this morning. The staff at Sanctuary haven’t seen him, either.”

  “When did all this come about?”

  “Apparently the day you were released.”

  Casey stood up and walked toward the window. She felt as if she’d done this before. She recalled the feeling of déjà vu from yesterday and Flora telling her she’d been there before. She stuck her finger in the dirt; the pots of African violets were dry to the touch. Casey went to the kitchen and filled a glass with tap water. Blake followed her and watched.

  Back in the front room the silence between them was thick, both lost in their own private thoughts. Casey poured water in the plants, then set the glass on the windowsill.

  “How did you know where the glasses were?” Blake asked.

  Casey turned around so fast the glass she’d placed on the sill fell and shattered on the hardwood floor.

  “I forgot.” She said as she bent to pick up the pieces. “I recalled being here once before. The day Flora brought me here. The day your father examined me.”

  She watched Blake clean up, mopping the water with a lace doily from the end table. He tossed the wet fabric onto the coffee table a
nd took her by the hand.

  “We have to talk. Really talk, Casey. Not this back-and-forth bullshit. It’s leading us nowhere. You want answers, I want you to have them. Let’s put our feelings aside and pretend to be detectives for a few minutes. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Let me tell you what we have so far. And Casey, I’m going to tell you something you should’ve been told a long time ago. It’s not my place, but right now I don’t think it’s important who tells you, just that you know. What I’m about to say isn’t pleasant. So, tell me now if you’d rather I stop this conversation before it goes any further.”

  “I can take it, Blake. Go on.”

  She just hoped he wasn’t about to start another story with no relevance to her present situation. She said as much to Blake, as he adjusted the cushion behind him.

  “I wish it were mere inconsequential things I had to tell you. I don’t want to do this, but someone has to. Your mother is with John, and it’s my understanding from Adam that she’s going to take over Worthington Enterprises while John is ill. It doesn’t look like anyone involved in this atrocity is willing or able to enlighten you at the moment. As your doctor and your friend, I’m willing to suffer the consequences of my actions.”

  “God, Blake, don’t sound so gloomy. After what I’ve witnessed and been through the past few days, trust me, this should be a breeze.”

  “Maybe. When you asked Brenda for that transcript, did you know there wasn’t a formal investigation, never mind an inquest? It was ruled an accident.” He paused and ran a hand through his thick hair, something he did when he was stressed.

  “So I’m told.” She was frustrated, tired already, and the day had barely begun.

  “I ask for your patience.”

  “Go on,” she said.

  Blake seemed to be doing battle with himself. He stood up, jammed his hands back in his pockets. Another habit, Casey thought as she watched him pace the living room.

  “It’s essential for you to get your memory back, Casey. You and only you can fill in the gaps, but for now, I’ll tell you what little I know. I was in Atlanta at the time, at Emory. Adam called me and told me what had happened. I remember thinking what a terrible thing to have happened on Halloween of all days. And my father was so distraught, I seriously thought he might suffer a heart attack.”