Amnesia

by Andrew Neiderman

  “He died years ago.”

  “Is that where she got her fortune, inheritance?”

  “Hardly. She was the one with the fortune.”

  He was about to ask how she achieved her fortune when Sophie came rushing in. She looked flustered.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Megan asked.

  “We forgot the clubhouse Daddy built. We forgot it and Mrs. Domfort says we can’t take it.”

  “Why can’t we take it?” Aaron asked Megan.

  “It’s up a tree, Aaron. You nearly broke your neck building it.”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah,” he said, looking at Sophie. “Well, tell you what . . .” He paused. There was something coming through. His eyes widened. “Sudsy,” he said. That was his nickname for her, he guessed.

  Megan brightened, her eyes full of glee.

  Maybe he was getting better. It cheered him.

  “Tell you what. I’ll build you a new one at the new house and a bigger one and a prettier one, okay?”

  Sophie’s sad eyes instantly metamorphosed into gleaming orbs of happiness.

  “Yes, Daddy!” she cried and ran to him. She threw her arms around him and he held her close.

  When he looked up, Mrs. Domfort was in the doorway looking at Megan.

  They were both smiling.

  But both had the same strange smile.

  A knowing smile.

  That smile shouldn’t be doing this, he thought, but it made him feel afraid.

  And he had no idea why.

  . . . four

  don’t forget to fasten your seat belt,” Mrs. Domfort told Sophie after she got into the car. Aarongot in and Mrs. Domfort put her hands out to take Megan’s and hold it. The two looked at each other so lovingly and held on to each other so tightly, Aaron felt tears in his eyes.For a long moment the two women looked at each other without speaking. Finally, Mrs. Domfort smiled.

  “You’re starting a whole new wonderful life, dear. No one deserves it more.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Domfort.”

  “Aaron,” she said, turning to him and fixing on him like a schoolteacher chastising a student, “you’ve got a wonderful woman here. You’re a very lucky man, you know. I hope you appreciate it.”

  “I’m trying,” he said. Megan shot him a look of warning. “Trying to be worthy of her, I mean,” he added quickly.

  “Of course you are, dear,” Mrs. Domfort said, reverting back to her granny face. “It just takes men alittle longer to appreciate the good things they have,” she said.

  She and Megan laughed. It was almost as if they shared a private joke.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Aaron said.

  “Oh, I know I’m right,” Mrs. Domfort said.

  “I’ll call you,” Megan promised her.

  “Be a good girl, Sophie. I’ll come see you somehow,” she promised.

  Sophie just looked at her. Now that they were actually leaving the house, the little girl appeared more terrified. Aaron felt sorrier for her than he did for himself. He looked at Megan, who tightened her lips and shook her head.

  “Hey, Sudsy, wait until you see how pretty our new house is,” he said, even though he had no recollection of it.

  Megan smiled and started the engine.

  “Bye,” she called back to Mrs. Domfort. The old lady stood there, waving from their now former driveway. Aaron watched her until they made a turn and she and the house were out of sight. Then he turned to Megan.

  “Maybe you ought to remind us about our house, Megan,” Aaron suggested, smiling at Sophie.

  Megan tilted her head and pulled up the right corner of her mouth. “Aren’t you being the clever one?”

  “Just trying to deal with this,” he replied, wiping his right palm over his forehead. She nodded.

  “Our new house is nearly five hundred square feet larger than our old house. It’s also a two-story, but it’sa Gothic Revival. Remember, Sophie, I told you Daddy was the one who found it?”

  “Uh-huh,” Sophie replied.

  “I did?”

  “Daddy’s exact words were, if we have to move, we should find something with style, something that makes a statement. Daddy hates clones. He’s always looking for something special, and our new house is very special. Remember, Sophie? Remember how you called it the Storybook House.”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  “Why did she call it that?”

  “Because of its steeply pitched roof. Actually, it is pretty elaborate, Aaron. I was immediately impressed with those cross gables with decorated vergeboards and those windows with the pointed arches. I love the full-width porch, but I must admit, when I first saw those fanciful decorative ornamentations and those bas reliefs, I kept thinking this is a house for Rosemary’s Baby, even though it was one of the homes Mrs. Masters had recommended for us.”

  She laughed.

  “I was a little reluctant until we stepped inside and I saw the size of those rooms and that lovely French door in the dining room allowing the view of the woods and the stream. The patio just outside it is quite big.”

  “How much land is it on?”

  “Nearly two acres. Can’t you remember walking with me down to the water?” she asked with the tone of someone coaxing. “Remember what you said?”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  “You said, if we open our windows on summer nights, we’ll sleep to the sound of this bubbling brook and wake to it as well. You can be quite romantic when you want to be, Aaron Clifford. A woman likes that in a man, his flirtations with sensitivity, feelings, sometimes just the little things like bringing home a flower. I love little surprises. Don’t forget that, Aaron,” she warned.

  “Don’t worry. I get the feeling that anything I’m told or learn now will be more dominant in my mind than anything I learned before,” he remarked.

  She glanced at him, her eyebrows poised, her lips tight. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Everything we do now is all I have, including everything and anything you tell me.”

  “Don’t say it like that, Aaron. You’ll make me think so hard about everything I tell you. You make it seem like a big responsibility.”

  He lowered his head and looked up at her with aGive me a break, expression. She burst into a delightful peal of laughter that painted a smile on his face. He was struggling with his memory, but it was sure fun to fall in love all over again and feel like a teenager. He wondered if she had the same feelings because of his condition.

  He looked back at Sophie. Her eyes were closing. She was falling asleep. He watched her a moment and then turned back to Megan.

  “Am I a good architect?” he asked her.

  “You’ve never had any trouble finding work, Aaron. I was never crazy about the people you work for now. Charlton Clovis is a pompous, chauvinistic horse’s asswho thinks that just because he’s made a lot of money, he has a place in God’s temple or something.”

  “Really? How old is he?”

  “He says he’s sixty-seven, but I have it on good authority that he’s closer to seventy-five. Admittedly, maybe regretfully, I have to say he looks younger. He takes great pride in his stamina, his appearance, but he’s too demanding. Look what happened to his son.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “With all the pressure Clovis put on him to achieve, the young man eventually killed himself,” she said, lowering her voice. “The man was creative. He had always wanted to be a songwriter, but Clovis never encouraged him. He did everything to discourage him, forced him to get his MBA and planted him in a job and work that stifled him. The stories you would bring home, how he treated him in the office whenever he appeared, how disdainful he was of his son’s achievements in college, his friends, the woman he married, everything.”

  “How did he die?”

  “Oh, they called it an accident, but a single-car accident where someone drives headlong over a twothousand-foot embankment and has no alcohol or drugs in his blood? It was all kept quite hush-hush. If yo
u ask me, Clovis was more embarrassed than he was saddened. That was the fastest funeral I ever attended. The coffin was already in the grave when we reached the cemetery.”

  “What about Mrs. Clovis?”

  “Perpetually out of her mind with booze or drugs. It’s only a matter of time before she’s committed. Hetolerates her because he can keep a leash on her, a choke collar made of diamonds. You’re lucky you can’t recall all this. How many of us would love to delete our most unpleasant memories from our minds forever?”

  “I guess that’s a way to rationalize and handle my problem, but I think I’d still take the bad with the good just to be mentally healthy again.”

  “Um,” she said. “Anyway, to answer your question, Aaron, you’re the best he has and he doesn’t appreciate you. That’s why we’ve been having this ongoing argument about your starting your own company in Driftwood. Mrs. Masters will help you if you change your mind.”

  “I see.”

  “She will.”

  “Megan, right now I’m having trouble remembering where I put my socks two days ago, much less what I need to be an independent contractor.”

  “I bet when you sit down in front of your drafting table, you’ll just get right back into it all. Matter of fact, Aaron, that might be a good idea. There are many paths leading home,” she remarked.

  He smiled. “That’s very philosophical of you, Megan.”

  “It’s the advertising impulse. Just think of it as a television commercial. For all you poor people who have lost your memories, consider Gobble Di Gook, the mind enrichment cereal, and remember there are many paths leading home,” she recited, pretending to write it in the air with her right hand as she drove on.

  He laughed harder.

  Then he paused and thought.

  What am I laughing about? We’re talking about me!

  “Aren’t I expected to be at work today?” he asked.

  “No, Aaron. You planned this time off for our moving. Mr. Clovis wasn’t exactly overjoyed about it, from what you told me, but you were owed the time anyway. You’re a workaholic, Aaron. He gets much more out of you than you have to give him, which is why I wish you were working for yourself. At least then you’d have someone who appreciates you.” She turned and smiled. “You. And of course, me.”

  He nodded and shrugged.

  “At the moment I don’t know what I’m capable of doing,” he said.

  “A lot more than you think,” she insisted. “You’ll see. Just wait. You’ll see.”

  He wished he had her confidence about it.

  They drove on. When Sophie woke, he played a game with her, the color game. She had black, so anything black she spotted was a point for her. Of course he let her win. As they played, he vaguely began to recall doing it before. Something is happening, he thought happily. It’s returning . . . my memory, in bits and pieces, things are coming back. Megan is right.

  He had to admire Megan. Despite what had to be one of the most traumatic and shattering events of their lives, she didn’t lose control; she didn’t panic and drop the ball. She maintained herself, kept determined and fixed on what they had to have done, and she did it. She was practically carrying him along as ifhe were another child, and her calm demeanor went a long way toward helping him not panic.

  I married a strong woman, he thought. I married a talented, beautiful woman, but also a woman with grit. I guess I am a pretty bright guy. The old lady was right: I’m a lucky man and here I am just realizing how lucky. Maybe I was taking her for granted before; maybe in a strange, twisted way, this is all giving me a second chance.

  “You okay, Aaron?” Megan asked when he was quiet for a long spell, thinking.

  “I must admit, Megan, you amaze me. I would expect you to be so much more concerned and worried about this,” he said.

  “If you didn’t look so good, I probably would be. I got a little panicky this morning when I realized you couldn’t even remember your parents, but whatever your problem is, Aaron, it’s going to be solved. I’m too excited about our new opportunities to let anything discourage me, even this. You’re going to be all right. I just know it,” she assured him.

  “Yes, but I’ve got to find a way to get it all back faster,” he said. “I meant what I said back there. I feel . . . left out.”

  “I know, honey. Let’s just get settled into the house a bit and I’ll get on the horn. Before the end of the day you’ll be seeing someone who can help you. I promise,” she said.

  He nodded and sat back.

  “Let’s sing, Daddy,” Sophie said. “That funny song.”

  “Funny song?” He looked at Megan.

  “You made up your own words to‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’”

  “I did?”

  She looked at him and suddenly began to hum the tune. He listened and, after a moment, words did come.

  “Daddy had a little girl, little girl, little girl. Daddy had a little girl, her name was Sophie Suds. And everywhere that Daddy went, Daddy went, Daddy went, everywhere that Daddy went, his Sudsy held his hand. First they went to see the zoo, see the zoo, see the zoo. First they went to see the zoo, and talk to Mr. Chimp.”

  It all came back . . . the zoo, the park, the lake, the fun rides, on and on, a menagerie of places a father and a mother might take their little girl. And he could add to it, of course, or Sophie did by shouting a place out.

  “Disney World! The beach!”

  They must have sung for miles before he saw the first billboard announcing their entry to Driftwood. Population: 11,000.

  “Only eleven thousand? This is really small-town life,” he muttered.

  “But only minutes from anything, Aaron. There’s even a small airport here. Mrs. Masters has her own plane and will invite us to fly places occasionally.”

  “She’s a pilot, too?”

  “No, silly. She has a pilot. I told you about all this before and you said Mrs. Masters sounded like a true twenty-first century career woman.”

  “I did?”

  “You said self-made women are more impressive than self-made men because they have so many more obstacles to overcome.”

  “You’re amazing,” he said. “You seemed to have taken notes on all my dialogues and experiences.”

  She was quiet a moment.

  “I’m only trying to be of some help, Aaron.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that to sound critical. It’s just . . . impressive, that’s all. Actually, it’s flattering. I’m beginning to feel like someone important, someone with his own biographer following him everywhere, someone whose every word is taken down for posterity.”

  “It’s true. You’re important to me,” she said firmly, her eyes narrow, dark. “And to Sophie.”

  “I’m glad,” he said.

  “Good.” She smiled. “We’re coming to Main Street!” she cried.

  Aaron could see that for Megan it was as if they had passed through some sheer veil and entered a magical new world. She beamed, her smile almost illuminating, her eyes ecstatic, a true glow falling over her.

  “Pretty,” he said, looking at the well-maintained, clean, sharp buildings, sidewalks, and streets. Most of the buildings were vintage early twentieth century, the stores with large front windows and old but nicely restored metal and wooden signs above their doors. Nowhere was there anything glitzy or cheap.

  In fact, Aaron thought Driftwood looked like a little-dream town, something precious from the past, the sort of sleepy little town where everyone waved helloto everyone else. As if to emphasize his thoughts, two young women in expensive-looking jogging outfits moving gracefully down a side street waved at them, their faces relaxed, healthy. An elderly woman stepped out of her house with a toy poodle tugging excitedly on its leash. She tightened her grip and began to chastise it. Farther along, the mailman lumbered to his next address. A female driver pulling away from the curb waved to him and he nodded back.

  “The place looks almost unreal, like a movie set,” Aaron remarked. �
�Old-fashioned, stuck in another time. I half expect to see vintage automobiles.”

  “It is like that, but it’s more. It’s . . .”

  “What?”

  “Safe,” she said. “Very, very safe.”

  The house was just as she had described. The architect in him did seem to come back to life and fill him with appreciation. Some more of his memory returned. He had done some major project recently, an entire urban mall that was family oriented. There was a place for children, a temporary daycare center while parents or mothers shopped. There were rides and there was a medical center to handle any sort of emergency. The theaters were underground, but there was a short subway ride from them to the parking facility should people come specifically for that, and all of the restaurants had areas for outside dining. He could also see artisans, people dressed in Old English costumes doing demonstrations. Where was this mall? How long had he worked on it?The moving van was already there at their newhouse, of course. Megan wanted to hurry into the house to be sure the pieces were all placed where she had intended. He strolled through the wide entryway, admiring the elaborate moldings and trim, the hardwood floors, the large windows in the living room and the view from the dining room Megan had mentioned. The stairway had a very thick, hand-carved mahogany balustrade and led up to three good-size bedrooms. The master bedroom had an oval window above the headboard and two windows facing east so they would get the morning sunlight. Already down was the large area rug beneath their bed.

  These guys work fast, he thought.

  “Okay,” he asked Megan, who had taken Sophie into the kitchen, “what do I do first?”

  “Do your home office, Aaron. Unpacking everything in there might help you restore your memory.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Good idea.”

  The office was off the downstairs hallway, just before the kitchen. The walls were done in a rich, dark oak paneling. It had windows facing the woods with just a glimpse of the highway in front of the house as it turned east. It was a thick section of forest, with the trees now bare, but the woods were still quite dark and deep and he could see the edge of that brook Megan had described, but he didn’t recover any memorable moments walking with her near it.