Lost Identity (7 page)

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.

A
NDREW WAS TRYING TO
settle down at his computer and get some work done that evening when the tele
phone 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.

S
HE 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.”

“I hate puzzles,” Trish said without thinking, and then looked startled. “How did I know that?”

Dr. Duboise chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Just accept it. You’re going to be a prize patient. I can tell.”

When Andrew arrived that evening, Trish was keyed up, anxious to tell him about her day. They had a pleasant, no-frills dinner in a spacious cafeteria, and then took a leisurely walk around the grounds.

“I spent a couple of hours in the physical therapy department,” she told him with an eagerness that gave a lift to her voice. “Guess what? The therapist said that I must be dedicated to regular exercise because I have excellent muscle tone. Isn’t that something? He put me through some pretty vigorous routines and I did really well.”

“That’s great,” Andrew said, delighted at her high spirits. Certainly anything positive that she discovered about herself was a blessing, and he wondered if it had been her physical stamina that had saved her life.
There was an animated energy that he hadn’t seen before.

“Guess what the occupational therapist said after looking carefully at my manicured nails and soft hands?”

“You’re a lady of leisure, or someone who doesn’t do any physical chores?”

“That’s close enough. She told me we’d concentrate on finding out what kind of tastes and hobbies I might have. The room was filled with people painting, drawing, some working with clay, others knitting or sitting at sewing machines. None of the activities made any kind of a call to me, but when I told her that I liked music, she said we’d start there.” She gave her head a toss. “It isn’t much, but it’s a start.”

He was delighted with her unexpected transformation. There was an energy about her that even made her more appealing. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind all day, and had been prepared to deal with pleas to let her go back to his place. All of his mental arguments were a waste of time—at least for the moment. He didn’t know if her present attitude would hold up in the face of a prolonged disappointment, but he felt as if a great hurdle had been safely passed.

“I’m going to lick this thing,” she told him, even as she tried to still the quivering fears that lay beneath the words.

When he told her, “Good night,” at her door, he lightly kissed her on the forehead. It was a benign gesture, void of any kind of passion or desire. “I’ll be working at home tomorrow. Call me if you run out of something to do, or someone to talk with.”

She saw that his arms were dropped passively at his
side, and she felt that he’d taken several steps away from her even though he hadn’t moved. His expression was friendly, and nothing more. She remembered the warmth of his embrace, but he made no effort to draw her closer.
Well, what did you expect?
an inner voice mocked. He was obviously relieved that she wasn’t making a fuss to get out of this place.

“Thanks, but I think they’re going to keep me rather busy,” she said, determined to let him off the hook. She’d messed his life up enough already.

Andrew’s feelings were mixed as he drove back home. Certainly he was glad to see that Trish was determined to come to grips with her lost memory, but a part of him regretted that she no longer needed his support. He wished that they’d talked about the momentary sexual tension that had flared between them. He’d never been adept at handling confrontations. Because of his insecurity as a foster child, his way was to let things ride, and hope that misunderstandings would work themselves out, but in this situation time might be an enemy. He could feel the door closing on him with every piece of her memory that returned. She had brought into his life a glimpse of the kind of companionship that he’d been missing. How ironic, he thought, that the woman who had broken into his solitary shell was someone who didn’t even know who she was.

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS PASSED
without incident. Andrew worked at home and visited Trish in the evening. The exuberance of her first day had faded. On the fourth night, she’d experienced another one of the fearful nightmares.

“Dr. Duboise says it’s a good thing.” She told An
drew as she suppressed a tremor. “Something in my subconscious is trying to come to the surface. Maybe when it does, I’ll remember everything.”

Andrew didn’t tell her that he’d been endeavoring to find some clue to her identity on his own, but had come up empty-handed. Because he’d honored his promise not to publicize her story or whereabouts, keeping her situation a secret was like tying his hands behind his back. He read all the stories he could find about people reported missing.

And then one noon hour, it happened. He had spread out a collection of papers on the table as he sat in his usual booth, eating his lunch. A bite of sandwich caught in his throat when he turned a page in
The New York Times,
and glanced over the news stories. He wasn’t prepared for the victory that met his eyes, and he read a small news item in disbelief.

“Memorial service to be held for missing prominent New York investor and Realtor. Ms. Patricia Louise Radcliffe, a wealthy businesswoman and socialite, disappeared during the height of the recent storm. She is believed to have been in the company of her partner, Perry Reynolds, who is also missing.”