by Leona Karr
He gave her an encouraging grin as very softly she began singing along with his playing, as though testing her memory for the words. She had a lovely clear voice, and her confidence grew. When he began strumming a bouncy tune, she started clapping in rhythm, and he glimpsed an outgoing, perky manner that he hadn’t seen before. He ended the song with a flourish of chords that left them both laughing.
“Hey, you’re good.” He grinned at her as he set aside his guitar.
“I love to sing,” she admitted with wide-eyed surprise. Knowing one more thing about herself was like finding another piece of a hidden puzzle.
“We make a good team. Shall we go on the road?”
“I wish we could,” she answered wistfully as a cloud descended on her face, erasing the brightness that had been in her eyes only moments before.
Andrew realized immediately that he’d said the wrong thing. Even in jest, talking about the future was painful for her. He eased down beside her on the couch. Maybe the time had come to tell her about the call he’d made to Havengate Hospital.
“Trish, there’s something we need to talk about.”
Instantly her sense of well-being took a dive. Here it comes, she thought. He’s going to tell me it’s time to move on. He put his arm around her shoulder, but she sat stiffly beside him.
“All right, let’s talk,” she said as steadily as the quivering in her stomach would allow.
“I talked with a Dr. Duboise about you and—”
“What? You didn’t!” Her voice was strident. “You promised!”
“I said that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your safety, and I didn’t.” He kept his tone even and controlled. “Let me explain.”
“I trusted you,” she lashed out, and started to get up, but he pulled her back down.
“Just listen, please.” Putting his hands firmly on her shoulders, he looked directly into her rounded eyes. He could see the wild pulse beating in her neck. “There’s a Havengate Hospital near here, and they treat amnesia patients. You need professional help, Trish.”
“And you want me out of your hair,” she flared angrily and tried to push him away.
“Trish, you can’t do this on your own.”
“If you’d just give me a little time,” she pleaded. “After all, it’s only been three days.”
“And what if it becomes three months? What then? Are you willing to suffer not knowing who you are, and what happened to drive away your memory for months and perhaps even years?” He softened his voice. “You’re a beautiful young woman, and you deserve better than that.”
“But what if someone finds me before…before my memory comes back?” She swallowed hard, feeling as if she’d suddenly been swept up in a whirlwind over which she had no control.
“Dr. Duboise has promised complete secrecy about your presence there.”
“But what about payment? They’ll admit me to a place like that out of the goodness of their hearts?”
“Almost,” he admitted with a reassuring smile. He could tell that her initial defensiveness was easing, and he dropped his hands from her shoulder. “Havengate is supported by a philanthropic trust fund. The hospital will accept you without payment with the belief that after you recover your identity, you’ll be able to settle with them financially. According to Dr. Duboise they take many amnesia patients on that basis. So you see, there’s nothing to stop you from getting the best treatment available. And I’ll be close enough to make sure you’re staying out of trouble.”
She searched his face and felt all the fight go out of her body. Was he making her an idle promise? She couldn’t tell. What if he left her there alone for heaven only knew how long? For the first time, she considered the possibility that he might not want to have anything to do with her once he found out who she truly was. She wondered if he’d been thinking the same thing and was making this move to get her out of his life before the truth came out.
“All right,” she said stiffly. “Whatever you say.”
Chapter Four
Trish checked into the hospital with a small valise of new clothes and personal effects that Andrew had insisted upon purchasing. She’d offered him her watch to pawn, but he had refused.
“Your credit’s good with me. I’ll just add the purchases to your running tab of three nights lodging and gourmet meals,” he teased, but his levity had failed to lessen the tension between them. He’d been prepared for her backing out even as they made the drive to the hospital. She sat stiffly in the car, looking straight ahead, and barely nodding to acknowledge his attempt at making conversation.
When they had arrived at Havengate, he shot anxious glances at her pallid face to see how she was reacting to the cluster of pink stucco buildings that were scattered on the landscaped grounds, looking very much like a small college campus. He knew she felt betrayed by his insistence that she leave his house and check into the hospital. He only hoped that the decision would prove to be the right one, and, in time, she would thank him for it. He would do everything he could to make sure she didn’t feel abandoned.
“What do you think, Trish?” he asked, acutely needing reassurance that she didn’t feel he’d stabbed her in the back.
“It looks—” she tried to find the right word.
“Safe?” he supplied, hopefully.
She managed a wan smile. “Yes, safe.”
His anxious expression had made her lie. She felt anything but safe as she got out of the car, and waited for him to take her small bag out of the back seat. If there’d been anywhere to run to, she would have taken off in a flash.
As if reading her mind, he said gently. “Easy does it, Trish. If you hate the place, we’ll find something different. Okay?”
“I hate it.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not so fast. How about a forty-eight-hour trial?”
“Okay, forty-eight hours.”
Andrew slipped his arm through hers as they walked together into the main building, and she drew strength from the length of his warm firm body brushing hers. She wondered how she could bear to be parted from him for even the two days that she’d promised to stay.
Andrew held his breath that everything would go quickly and smoothly at registration. He had called ahead and talked with Dr. Duboise. The doctor had assured him that everything would be ready for Trish’s admittance.
A pleasant middle-aged woman at the reception desk nodded when Andrew gave his name. “Oh, yes, Mr. Davis. We’ve been expecting you.” She smiled at Trish, and put out her hand. “I’m Ms. Sloan. We have a nice room all ready for you, Trish.”
The use of her name and the warm clasp of the woman’s hand sent a momentary flicker of relief through Trish. She had expected to be treated like some poor victim who couldn’t remember who she was instead of a person with all her faculties.
“Would you like to look over the premises before you settle in?” Ms. Sloan asked in an easy, friendly manner.
Andrew decided that the question must be a routine one. Apparently it was the hospital’s policy to give people a chance to change their minds, he thought, holding his breath as he searched Trish’s face to see what her response was going to be. Would she take advantage of the momentary reprieve and head back to the car?
Fortunately, there was only a slight hesitation before she said, “No, thank you. I’d rather go to my room.”
“Fine.” Ms. Sloan smiled. “If you’ll follow me, please. It’s just a short walk across the grounds to your building.”
Andrew kept his arm through Trish’s as they followed a sidewalk that led them to a two-storied pink stucco building that looked every bit like a college dormitory.
“You have room 110,” Ms. Sloan told them as she opened a door on the first floor and motioned them inside.
Trish was surprised at the homey charm of the room, and its generous size. There was nothing of a sterile institution about the accommodations. Furnishings were in shades of a restful pink and green. Soft pillows brighten
ed two lounge chairs and a single bed, which was covered with a pastel floral skirt and harmonizing bedspread. An adjoining bathroom was small with cream-colored fixtures and ceramic tiles.
“This building is close to the physical therapy and occupational therapy departments,” Ms. Sloan told Trish with a smile as if she were a social director acquainting a guest with all the offered accommodations. “Dr. Duboise will be by later to get acquainted and set up a time for daily therapy.” She pointed out a telephone on a small desk. “If there’s anything you need, just lift the receiver.” She paused. “Do you have any questions?”
Trish suppressed the impulse to reply that at the moment questions were all she had. She simply shook her head. “No.”
Responding to the lost look in Trish’s eyes, Ms. Sloan reached out and touched Trish’s hand. “We’re a friendly bunch, Trish. You’re going to like us. I promise.”
The pinched lines around Trish’s mouth eased and she gave the woman a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you then,” she said.
Andrew held out his hand. “Thank you, Ms. Sloan.” He was deeply grateful to her. She had offered Trish a reassurance that went beyond just professional concern.
She nodded and left them alone in the room.
Trish slowly walked over to a large window that overlooked plantings of flowers, trees and an expanse of emerald grass. Very deliberately, she drew the drapes, shutting out the view. Then she turned to Andrew. “I can handle it from here.”
The dismissing edge of her tone cut him to the quick. As she stood there in the shadows of the darkened room, she looked like a child trying to hide from the world.
He moved quickly to her side. “Don’t be frightened. It’s going to be all right.”
She lowered her head to keep him from seeing tears spilling from the corner of her eyes.
“I’m going to be here for you,” he promised. He gently eased back strands of hair falling over her face and tucked them behind her ears. Then he gently cupped her chin, and lifted her face upward. He had intended to say something reassuring but the words got lost. A swell of emotions that made him a stranger to himself caused him to bend his head and kiss her.
Her mouth tensed under his, and for a second it seemed as if she were going to pull away. Then her arms crept up around his neck, and the kiss deepened until they both were breathless. Slowly, they withdrew from their heated embrace, and Andrew searched her face as she turned away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed.
How could he explain the wild impulse that had ignited such a passionate kiss? If he did try to explain, would he only make matters worse? He was angry with himself for taking advantage of her vulnerable emotions at a time like this.
“Trish, I—”
“Don’t say anything,” she pleaded. She couldn’t stand hearing his apology for something that was her fault. If she hadn’t behaved like a fearful child begging to be comforted, he never would have kissed her. He feels sorry for me. “Just let it go.”
He started to protest, but he was stopped by the sudden appearance of a doctor in the open door. He was a short, robust man with a nicely trimmed black mustache that gave his round face a rather jaunty air.
“Dr. Duboise,” he introduced himself as he came in, shaking hands with Andrew, and smiling at Trish. “Are you getting settled in?”
Trish gave him a noncommittal nod, and braced herself. The doctor’s quick glance at the closed curtains and the shadowy cast to the room had already alerted her that nothing was going to get by him.
“I was just leaving,” Andrew said quickly as he took Trish’s cold hand in his. “You have my number. Call me, anytime.” There were a dozen more things he wanted to say, but he settled for, “I’ll be back tomorrow after work.”
He felt her stiffen for a second as he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. No doubt, the trained eye of the psychiatrist caught it all, Andrew thought as he left the room. Maybe Duboise would ask Trish what was going on between them—as if either of them knew!
Dr. Duboise settled in one of the easy chairs near where Trish sat on the edge of the bed. She expected him to turn on a light, but he didn’t. As if reading her thoughts, he commented, “You find it more peaceful with the curtains drawn?”
“I find it safer,” she answered flatly.
“Why safer?” There was no judgment in the question, just a quiet invitation, and it seemed to offer her a refuge for her thread-worn thoughts.
Slowly, she got up from the bed and sat down in the lounge chair that was placed close to his. As she met his steady eyes, she began talking, trying to put into words the nebulous sense of danger and apprehension that was like a bone-deep chill running through her as she tried to remember who she was and what had happened to her.
ANDREW WAS TRYING TO settle down at his computer and get some work done that evening when the telephone rang. Both relief and apprehension flooded through him when he heard Trish’s voice on the line. He’d been wanting to call her, but hesitated because he wasn’t certain what he should say to her. Remembering their passionate kiss and the way they’d melted together in that hot embrace made him cautious about upsetting her again.
“I just wanted to say good-night,” she said in a soft voice.
“I’m glad you did. I’ve been thinking about you. How’s it going?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But I do feel better having told someone the whole story.”
“You like Dr. Duboise, then?”
“Yes, I do. He just listened, and didn’t give me the third degree. I was relieved that he didn’t treat me like someone who is sick. He seemed to accept my paranoia as natural, under the circumstances.”
Andrew let out a breath of relief. He had been wondering what to do if Trish absolutely refused to stay at Havengate. “I know he has a good reputation.”
“He shared with me some of the scientific facts about amnesia that I didn’t know. Maybe he was just doing a PR number on me, but he was hopeful that it was just a matter of time before my memory would return—little by little or all at once. I’m scheduled for a complete checkup in the morning to rule out any physical causes.” She paused, not knowing how to apologize for her angry behavior toward him. “I’m indebted to you, Andrew. You were right to bring me here.”
“I’m just relieved that things are going so well.” Then he added impulsively, “But to tell the truth, I was wishing you were here so we could have another song fest.” He didn’t add that the ambiance of the whole house had changed in the three days she had spent with him. Everywhere he turned, in the kitchen, on the patio, and in his bedroom, there was a lingering aura of her presence.
“Maybe it’s better I left when I did,” she said quietly.
“Trish.” He knew what she was thinking. “I want to apologize for this afternoon. I really can’t explain what happened—”
“You kissed me. Let’s let it go at that. No need to make an issue out of it.” She wasn’t about to invite any expression of regret on his part. If she hadn’t been so needy, he wouldn’t have been drawn into the unexpected intimacy. How could she blame him for responding when she practically threw herself into his arms, and invited his kisses. She was totally embarrassed by what had happened, and was determined that it wasn’t going to alienate his friendship.
Her curt rejection of his apology was reassuring in a way. Of course, she was right not to give an impulsive kiss any importance. The sooner forgotten the better, he told himself, but he’d never experienced such a surge of desire before. Forgetting it might not be as easy as he hoped.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow evening, after work. Maybe we can have dinner together if they have a guest dining room.”
“I’d like that,” she assured him, and an instant quickening of anticipation flowed through her. “Heaven knows what the food will taste like, but I guess we can take our chances. And you could bring your guitar and play me another tune.”
“And you
could sing—”
“And we could put out a hat for a collection.”
“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, laughing. “We’ll split the earnings fifty-fifty.”
She was smiling when she hung up, and gathered his old robe closer around her. Andrew had wanted to buy her some new night clothes, but she had insisted on bringing his sweatshirt and robe. They were the only things in her frightening situation that had any familiarity attached to them. Even though she knew that it wasn’t wise to make him her whole world, she felt warm and comforted wearing his things.
SHE HAD LITTLE TIME the next day to think about anything but getting through myriad examinations and tests. Every inch of her body was scanned, poked and charted. She held up pretty well under the intense physical scrutiny, and wasn’t surprised when Dr. Duboise gave her the results.
“We didn’t find any injury to your head. The tenderness you told us about must have only been a bruise. There’s no sign of any concussion.”
“So what does that mean?”
“We’re not dealing with any physical damage that has resulted in a loss of memory. A blow to the head might have triggered the amnesia, but, in your case, is not the cause of it.”
“Is that good?”
He smiled and nodded. “Your brain is in A-one condition. Your loss of memory is most likely due to a desire to dissociate from a particularly intolerable situation.”
Intolerable situation.
“I can’t remember because I don’t want to?”
“That’s about it. This kind of amnesia can cause personal memories, like your identity, to be temporary lost, while cognitive skills like language and learned behavior remain intact.”
He talked for a few minutes about the different locations in the brain for various functions, but Trish only half listened. Her overriding concern was the prognosis for getting her memory back.
“Good,” he assured her when she asked. “Try to relax and go with the program we have set out for you. Trying to force yourself to remember doesn’t remove any of the road blocks. You may recover your memory all at once, or you may experience just bits of memory, and our job will be to piece them together like a jigsaw puzzle.”
