Mystery Wife

by Annette Broadrick

  After a few quick strokes of a brush through her hair she headed for the therapist's office, hoping that today would bring some much-needed breakthroughs.

  "Ah, yes. You are very prompt, Sherye," Dr. Leclerc, the therapist working with her, said when she paused in the doorway of his office. "How are you feeling today?" He waved her to a chair across from him.

  "There seems to be an inverse ratio going for me. The better I feel physically, the more frustrated I become with my lack of correct memories."

  He casually clasped his hands on the desk in front of him in a relaxed manner and watched her with a slight smile. "Correct memories?" he prodded.

  "You know—memories about living in France, being married, having children. Those memories."

  "Instead you are having—what sort of memories, exactly?"

  She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I keep having these flashes of pictures as I drift off to sleep, or sometimes when I first wake up. I keep seeing myself standing in front of a classroom of girls, teaching, although I can't quite recall the subject. Sometimes I'm sitting on a small balcony watching a hummingbird feeding, or gazing at a skyline of tall buildings. I feel as though I live in a large city somewhere in Texas. I want to say Dallas, but I don't know if that's right. One time I was digging in a small garden, planting spring flowers, trimming around my rosebushes and azaleas."

  "Is there ever anyone there with you?"

  "Only when I'm in class. The rest of the time I'm alone___" She allowed her voice to trail off uncertainly.

  After a few minutes of silence she added, "Except the name Janine keeps surfacing."

  "What does that name mean to you?"

  "I see a pixie face with sparkling brown eyes and bouncy black curls as though she's seldom still. She's a friend... a very good friend. She was there for me during that terrible time when..." Once again her voice trailed off. When she met Dr. Leclerc's eyes she was frowning. "I can't remember, but something horrible happened that I couldn't face, couldn't handle at all. Janine was there for me. I wouldn't have made it through that terrible time without her."

  "Do you remember the details of that event?'' After several minutes of probing into her thoughts she shook her head.

  "According to your history that your husband was able to supply for us, you spent your early days in Dallas, so it isn't unlikely that you are having flashbacks to your childhood."

  She frowned. "Perhaps. But I feel as though I'm an adult in these scenes. So is Janine." She shook her head in disgust. "This is so frustrating! I feel that if I could force myself to concentrate more, everything would come back to me." She shifted in her chair. "Besides, none of these fleeting glimpses have anything to do with France."

  Dr. Leclerc opened the file in front of him and thumbed through some papers. He laid one of the papers aside and examined it for a moment before asking his next question.

  "Has your husband discussed with you the argument the two of you had the night before your accident?"

  She'd been staring blindly past him at a picture behind the doctor's desk, inwardly probing for possible memories, when he asked his unexpected question. Her gaze refocused on him in dismay.

  "No," she replied slowly, "he hasn't. He seems reluctant to talk to me about anything relating to our life together. Whenever he visits we generally discuss the activities of my day." She leaned forward in her chair. "Are you saying that he told you about an argument we had?" She could hear the criticism in her voice, but was unable to disguise it.

  "In order to help you, Sherye, it was necessary for me to consult with your husband regarding your relationship within the marriage. He was understandably reluctant to discuss such personal matters, but eventually saw the necessity for it. It is possible that the argument may have contributed to the accident, as well as to your continued memory loss."

  She leaned forward in her chair. "What are you saying? That perhaps I don't want to remember anything because of an argument I had with my husband?"

  The doctor peered at her over his glasses. "The severe blow toy our head," he explained in a patient tone of voice, "could certainly be responsible for your initial memory loss. However, it is the continued absence of all memories regarding any part of your life in France that leads me to believe that you—on some deeply subconscious level—may be blocking any memory that you are not ready to face at the present time."

  She stared at him, fighting her frustration at this line of reasoning. "What, exactly, is so painful about being married to a handsome Frenchman, having two children and living in a French chateau? That sounds more like a fairy tale to me... somebody's fantasy of a dream come true... than a life that anyone would have difficulty accepting."

  "Your husband—with a great deal of reluctance, I must say—gave me some of the facts regarding your recent history." He picked up another page and scanned it before he said, "It seems that you had a great deal of difficulty with your second pregnancy and were slow in regaining your health after your son's birth. Although postpartum depression is not uncommon, yours seemed unusually severe, and you—for all practical purposes—rejected the baby and would have little to do with him or his sister after his birth. Instead, you began to stay away from your home for long periods of time each day."

  Sherye stared at the kind-faced doctor in horror, wanting to refute the information he offered so matter-of-factly. She wasn't like that at all! How could she have abandoned a newborn baby and an innocent child? There must be some mistake, but she couldn't begin to understand where.

  "Where would I go?" she asked, hoping that she'd sought professional help somewhere.

  "According to your husband, you began to socialize with people you had known during your career as a model."

  "Somehow I get the feeling that my husband didn't approve of my friends," she replied with a sigh.

  "He said they indulged in frequent partying and he didn't find that he had much in common with any of them."

  "I'm beginning to get the picture," she said out loud. To herself she added, no wonder he was so distant with her. From all indications she hadn't been any great shakes as a wife and a complete zero as a mother. "Did he say why we quarreled?"

  "He wanted you to stay home that night."

  "But I ignored him, and went anyway."

  "Apparently."

  "So I drove my car off a cliff to prove my point, that I could do whatever I wanted. That seems a little drastic, don't you think?"

  The doctor removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What I think is that you left home angry. You did not return home that night. You did not contact your family the next day. When your accident was reported you were a considerable distance from home."

  "I'm sure I saw a story similar to that not long ago on television."

  "Sherye-"

  "I know, I know, but this whole thing is so preposterous. If it wasn't for the fact that I have actually seen and talked with Raoul DuBois I would think you'd made the whole thing up. Everything is so dramatic. Don't you see? The former model, the aristocratic count or whatever, the scenes, the turmoil, the escape, the crash and then— Nothing. She can't remember any of it."

  "Which brings us back to the crux of it all. What do you remember?"

  "I've told you what I can. It's all disjointed and hazy. If I had to describe who I think I am, I'd have to say that I'm a very ordinary sort of person. I like to read, I like to work in my garden, visit with my friends, but I certainly don't do any heavy-duty partying___" She paused, then leaned forward, her hands resting on his desk. "Ever since I first woke up in this hospital, I have felt as though everyone is talking about someone else, not me. I don't feel any identification with the woman who ignored her children, partied with her friends and argued with her husband."

  Unable to sit any longer, Sherye left her chair and began to pace. "Don't you understand? I can't begin to relate to a woman who behaves in the way you've described. I may have been stripped of my memory—that's certainly obv
ious—but I still have a strong sense of my own values. I would rejoice at the opportunity to have children and a home, to have a husband who loved me, an extended family who cared about me. Why would I deliberately behave in a way that would guarantee the loss of all that I hold most dear?"

  Dr. Leclerc shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "I believe there is a rational explanation for the facts in this case and your feelings about who you are and the behavior of which you are capable."

  Sherye immediately sat in the chair she'd recently vacated. "Thank God. What is it?"

  "There is no doubt that you almost died in your accident. In addition, you remained in a coma for more than a week." He paused and peered at her over his glasses, which were perched once more on the bridge of his nose.

  "Yes. I understand and agree with that much, anyway."

  "There is substantial evidence in the medical field, vastly reported, of what commonly has been described as near-death experiences. In many of the reported cases, the person who was near death later stated that he or she was given the opportunity to review his or her life from a less worldly perspective, in order to decide whether he or she wishes to make any changes. Whether this particular aspect of the phenomenon is true or not is immaterial. The fact remains that many people who have, survived a brush with death subsequently have made radical changes in their lifestyles ... have strongly departed from previously set goals and priorities. In short, in almost every way possible they have become another person."

  She eyed him with more than a hint of skepticism. "Is that what you think I've done?"

  "What I find pertinent in your case is the certainty you've continued to stress about what you can remember and your strong convictions about morality and acceptable behavior."

  "I would like to propose a hypothesis," Dr. Leclerc continued. "What if, as a result of your full-blown career at a time when a child is trying to discover her own identity, you drifted away from your early teachings and fundamental upbringing. You may have set up a deep-seated conflict within yourself that your mind could never quite reconcile. Because of the duality in your nature there has been a continual struggle as to which side would dominate your behavioral patterns."

  He held her gaze without effort. "I am suggesting the possibility that the more unlike your early training your behavior became, the more intense this conflict within you became, until you eventually could no longer function."

  "Then you do believe the accident was intentional," she stated in a monotone.

  "Perhaps not consciously, but since no one but you knows what you were feeling at the time, we can't rule out the possibility."

  "How do you suggest I work on regaining my memory?"

  "Once you're feeling physically well enough to deal with the emotional situations that are going to occur once you leave here, I believe that confronting your life, placing yourself in more familiar surroundings, beginning a daily dialogue with your husband and family will all help you to recover."

  "You do think I'll remember eventually, don't you?"

  He sat there studying her for several minutes before he said, "I don't know what you were like before the accident, of course, but I feel that I've gotten to know you quite well since we've been working together. You've been under considerable pain and emotional tension, and I believe that you have handled it as well as anyone could. You strike me as a brave, courageous woman who's had to face some very difficult choices while dealing with traumatic events in your life. In my opinion, any retreat from life, regardless of how difficult that life might seem to you at the time, would only be temporary. In answer to your question... yes. I believe that you will regain your memory."

  Chapter 3

  A week later Sherye sat near a majestic weeping willow and absorbed the panoramic scene around her. Rolling hills dotted with trees and lined with hedges and stone fences soothed her racing mind while the sound of the splashing water from the nearby fountain gave off a restful chatter.

  The garden surrounding her was truly beautiful. The scented flowers added their touch to the day. She took a deep breath, absorbing the pleasing aroma, and waited for her mind to calm.

  Raoul had left word with a member of the hospital staff that he would be returning today. She was to be released to his care tomorrow.

  Each day of this week she and Dr. Leclerc had worked together in an effort to unlock the door of her memories. The work had been intense and draining, but it gave a sense of purpose. She'd grown accustomed to her daily routine here at the hospital. When she'd heard that she would soon be going home she'd been almost afraid of the next step in her recovery.

  The truth was that she felt more comfortable with the doctors and staff of the hospital than she did with her own husband. She felt that at least she had gotten to know Doctors Leclerc and Montand on a limited basis. Raoul remained an enigma.

  Just this morning Dr. Leclerc had assured her that she was more than ready to meet this next challenge. He felt certain that once she returned to her home and routine again, she would find some of the missing pieces of her memory.

  What had stuck in her mind during their daily sessions was the real possibility that on some level she truly didn't want to remember.

  Raoul was the key to many of the answers she needed in order to build some kind of future for herself. Now that she was going home she would be in his company on a daily basis. Since he'd assured the doctors he would cooperate fully in helping her regain her health, she should be glad to be taking this next important step.

  Instead she was filled with trepidation to be giving up the sense of security she had slowly gained during her stay at the hospital. She had to prepare herself to face another group of strangers. She was being placed in a position that forced her to trust a man she didn't know, one with whom she had argued and, by all accounts, had walked out on in an anger she didn't understand. In the best of circumstances, the situation would be tense.

  She found Raoul DuBois somewhat intimidating, which wasn't too surprising considering the role he played not only in her present recovery but in her life.

  She could feel his dislike of her whenever he came to see her. To her his visits appeared to be made out of a sense of duty or obligation... possibly as a penance of sorts.

  Perhaps she deserved his disdain and contempt.

  Perhaps she didn't.

  It was that last thought that gave her the necessary strength and motivation to keep pushing against the closed door in her mind.

  She needed to learn everything she could about herself.

  She needed to know how she felt about her husband.

  Most of all, she had to know the true reasons that there was marital discord.

  Raoul had told the doctor about her behavior since her son was born, which could be verified or disproven by others who had observed her actions at the time. If he was telling the truth—and he was intelligent enough to know she would be able to find out easily enough—she wanted to know what had happened between them to make her turn away from him and their family.

  She had a hunch that this particular information, even if he told her, would be more difficult to verify.

  She didn't like being in such a vulnerable position. Unfortunately there was nothing she could do about it except diligently dig into her head for answers. ,

  Sherye rubbed her head, feeling her thoughts circling around and around inside her brain. She had come outside to enjoy the view, not to search for answers. Once again she swept her gaze across the panorama below her, consciously blocking her mind of any thought other than enjoyment of all that her senses were picking up.

  Sometime later she knew she was no longer alone, although she had heard nothing to alert her to that fact. Sherye glanced around and saw Raoul standing a few feet away from her, so close to the willow that a few of the graceful limbs of the giant tree brushed his shoulder.

  Feeling as awkward as a schoolgirl with her first beau, Sherye got up from the stone bench where she had been sit
ting and faced him. "Hello, Raoul."

  He hesitated a moment before walking toward her. "You're looking much better since the last time I saw you. How are you feeling?" He paused beside her, his opaque gaze giving nothing of his feelings away.

  "Fine, thank you," she murmured politely.

  He glanced around the garden, then motioned for her to sit down again. When she did, he sat beside her, careful not to touch her.

  "I apologize for not returning sooner. Some unexpected business detained me."

  "How is everything at home?" she asked politely.

  He raised his brow slightly. "You have remembered something about—"

  "No." In a careful voice she went on. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that I..." She paused, searching for words.

  Raoul looked away. "The doctor said it would take time."

  "I was sitting here, trying to picture the children. It feels so strange to know I have children when I don't remember what they look like."

  "They are doing quite well." He hesitated a moment before adding, "Would you like to see a photograph of them?"

  Eagerly she turned to him. "Oh, yes, please!"

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a billfold. "I should have thought about bringing more from home," he said ruefully. "The doctor mentioned that seeing the children might trigger something, so I was concentrating on getting you home so that you could see them."

  "I understand," she murmured, wishing that his aloof politeness didn't have such a strong effect on her.

  He pulled two photographs out of his wallet and handed them to her. She studied the first one carefully. The professionally posed photo had been taken in a studio and revealed a young girl seated beside a toddler, her arm protectively around his shoulders. Both children had dark hair like their father. She couldn't tell from the photograph the color of their eyes.