"I beg your pardon?"
"We must be on the run. What crime did we commit?"
"What on earth gave you that idea?"
"It makes more sense than the crock of shit you've been feeding me."
"What part don't you believe?"
"None of it. Our being a married couple with a child, to start with. Your intention to take me along when you flew the coop. I don't believe a word of it. You're an adroit liar.
Don't deny it, and don't ask me how I know. I just know.
You make it up as you go along."
"That's not true."
Her protest was born of anxiety as much as affront. His gut instinct, which he seemed to trust completely, was keen. With the exception of her grandmother, no one had ever been able to see through her so clearly. Under different circumstances, she would admire such perception, but right now she knew it could prove lethal.
She needed to act the difficult part of loving wife without arousing his suspicions further. After all, this situation was temporary. Surely she could be convincing for a while longer.
They lapsed into silence. The only sounds inside the car were the hypnotic swish of the tires on the wet pavement and the rapid cadence of the windshield wipers.
Kendall envied Kevin his peaceful sleep, his freedom from responsibility. She would have given almost anything to rest, to close her eyes and let sleep claim her. But she couldn't even think of it yet. She wouldn't breathe easily until there was much more distance between them and Stephensville's inquisitive deputy sheriff.
Gathering her waning energy, she gripped the steering wheel tighter and accelerated to a lawful, safe, but mile consuming speed.
He felt like he was lost in a dark, endless tunnel with a locomotive bearing down on him. He couldn't see it, couldn't outrun it. All he could do was brace himself for the impact.
Dreading the inevitable was the worst part. He would just as soon collide with it and get it over with because the ceaseless roar in his head was trying to blast his eyeballs from his skull.
Every part of his body was uncomfortable. His limbs were cramped and stiff, but he knew even before he tried that he would be unable to stretch his aching muscles. His butt was numb from sitting so long in one position, and he'd have a stiff neck from sleeping with his head at an awkward angle.
His clothes were damp. He was hungry, and he had to pee.
Most important, though, he'd had the dream again.
Shackled inside the nightmare, he couldn't escape the baby's crying, which had seemed even clearer and nearer than usual and had nudged him out of deep sleep. Now his conscious mind was coaxing him to come completely awake, but he resisted. As badly as he hated that recurring dream, he almost preferred it to full consciousness.
Why?
Then he remembered.
He remembered that he couldn't remember.
He had amnesia, which must have been caused by some weakness within himself. Even that smart-ass with a stethoscope had picked up on that psychological quirk.
It made him frustrated and angry to think that he was responsible for his intolerable malady. Surely he could remember if he really tried.
He peered into the dark recesses of his mind, straining to see a flicker of light. Something. Anything. A clue. A hint.
An infinitesimal speck of information about himself.
But there was absolutely nothing. Not a glimmer. His life in before waking up in the hospital was as dense and absent of light as a black hole.
To escape the nagging questions to which he had no answers, he opened his eyes. It was day, but there was no sunlight.
Raindrops splashed against the windshield, then merged to form crooked rivulets that trickled down the glass.
His head was resting against the passenger window. The glass felt pleasantly cool. He dreaded moving, but did so, tentatively raising his head. The headache wasn't as bad as it had been yesterday, but it was still a prizewinner.
"Good morning."
He turned his head toward her voice.
What he saw scared the hell out of him.
Chapter 4
She was nursing the baby.
The seat was angled back as far as it would go. Her head lay against the headrest. Her hair hadn't been combed since the rain got to it the night before, so it had dried into a tangled, blond mess. There were dark crescents of fatigue beneath her eyes. She was disheveled, but her expression was one of such unadulterated contentment that she looked beautiful.
She repeated her good-morning. Trying desperately to keep his eyes averted, and Ailing, he mumbled a reply.
It wasn't as though she was flaunting herself. She had draped a baby blanket over her shoulder to cover her chest. No flesh was exposed. He saw nothing of the baby except movement beneath the blanket. But she was a study of maternal bliss.
Why should that cause him to break into a cold sweat?
What the hell was the matter with him?
He was nauseated. His heartbeat raced and he felt claustrophobic, as though his air passages had been stuffed with cotton and his next gasping breath might be his last.
Equally repelled and fascinated, he wanted to get as far away as he could from her and the child, as fast as he could, and yet he couldn't stop looking at them. The aura of peacefulness that surrounded hera peace he was dead certain he had never experienced was magnetic. The contentment so evident in her expression seemed foreign to him. He would naturally be drawn to it.
Or maybe, he thought with self-disguise, he was transfixed for a prurient reason. Which made him a perverted sicko with a thing for nursing mothers.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to bring tears. Maybe he hadn't survived the accident after all. Maybe he had died, and the hospital had been his purgatory, a waystation before being zoomed into the real thing.
Because surely this was hell.
"How do you feel?"
Before he could speak, he had to Swallow a mouthful of acrid saliva. "Take all the hangovers i'' history and multiply by ten."
"I'm sorry. I'd hoped we wouldn't wake you. You slept right through the diaper change."
"Speaking of which . . ."
"Over there."
Following the direction of her nod, he looked through the rain-streaked window. She had Stopped at a roadside park;
theirs was the only vehicle in sight. The picnic grounds were overgrown with weeds. Rust had eaten holes through the metal trash barrels, which were overflowing with soggy garbage. The entire area looked derelict.
"I'm afraid the facilities aren't very clean," she said. "At least the ladies' wasn't. I hated to use it, but I didn't have a choice."
"Neither do I." He reached for the door handle. "Will you still be here when I come out?"
She ignored the barb. "If you can wait until Kevin finishes, I'll give you a hand."
The baby's fist, poking out from beneath the blanket, had When he returned to the car, the baby was back in his infant seat. "There's a town about eleven miles ahead," she said as she started the engine. "I thought we'd stop there for coffee. Then we should make a call to the nearest neurologist."
The trip to the bathroom had sapped what little strength he had. "Coffee sounds great," he said, trying to hide his weakness from her. "But I'm not going to another doctor." Astonished, she looked at him with wide, gray eyes. Eyes the color of fog. A fog he could get lost in if he didn't keep his head. "There's no reason to go to another doctor," he said.
"Are you nuts? You're a disaster."
"I have a concussion. As long as I don't do anything strenuous for a few days, I'll be okay. Nothing but time will heal this busted leg. So why go to another doctor and pay good money to hear the same old line?"
"You're in constant pain. At the very least, you need a prescription painkiller."
"I'll take aspirin."
"What about the amnesia? You should consult with a specialist."
"And while I'm consulting with this specialist, you'll run out on me."
"I will not."
"Look, I don't know who you are or what your story is, but a grip on her blouse. The tiny fingers flexed and closed, flexed and closed. "Thanks anyway," he said gruffly. "I can make it by myself."
It was only a few yards from the car to the concrete block building. He used the stained urinal, then moved to the sink, where rusty water dripped from the faucet. He washed his hands. There was nothing with which to dry them, but it didn't matter. They'd only get wet again when he made his way back to the car. Nor was there a mirror, which was also just as well. He must look like the unlucky survivor of a long and terrible war. That's how he felt.
until I find out, I'm not letting you out of my sight. I'm not giving you another chance to abandon me." He pointed his chin at the steering wheel. "Let's go. I need that coffee."
The next town was a small farming community, practically a clone of Stephensville. She slowed down to the speed limit on the main drag.
"Pull in there," he said, pointing to a cafe tucked between a dry-goods store and the post office. Several pickups were parked at the crumbling curb, although the time on all the parking meters had expired. It appeared to be the place where locals gathered early for coffee and conversation, even on rainy Sunday mornings.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I'll get something we can take with us so you won't have to get out," she told him. "Keep an eye on the baby."
The baby. He shot an anxious glance at the backseat. Good.
The kid was asleep. As long as he continued to sleep, every thing would be fine.
But what if he didn't? What if he woke up and started crying? The very thought provoked an acute anxiety within, but he couldn't understand why.
He didn't breathe easily until she emerged from the cafe several minutes later, carrying two Styrofoam cups and a white paper sack. He removed the lid of the cup she handed him, and the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the interior of the car.
"Ah." He took a sip, grimaced, then looked at her in puzzlement. "Why didn't you sweeten it?"
She drew a quick breath; her lips remained parted but she was speechless. Her eyes stayed fixed on his, then after a moment she relaxed, frowned, and tilted her head with a shame-on-you expression. "Since when did you start using sweetener in your coffee?"
Without breaking the stare, he took another sip of the straight black coffee, which he somehow knew he preferred.
He had set what he thought was a clever trap, but she was too smart to walk into it.
"You're good," he said with reluctant admiration. "You're damn good."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He harrumphed and picked up the sack. "What's for breakfast?"
He had scarfed down two of the biscuit and pork sausage sandwiches before noticing that she had removed the meat patties from hers. "Did you poison the sausage, or what?"
"Please," she said, groaning.
"Then what's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, I guess," she said, biting into her plain biscuit.
"I just don't eat pork anymore."
"Anymore? Meaning that you did at one time. Why'd you lay off pork?"
"Don't we have more urgent things to discuss?" She licked buttery crumbs from her fingertips. "You should seriously reconsider and let me take you to a doctor."
"No. No," he repeated with emphasis when he saw that she was about to argue. "All I need are some dry clothes and aspirin."
"Okay. Fine. It's your head."
"I'd like to know my name."
"What?" She went perfectly still, gazing at him with stricken eyes that didn't even blink.
"Everyone in the hospital was very careful not to call me by name," he said. "Even when the deputy questioned me, he didn't address me by name."
"Doctor's orders. He didn't want you to become distressed and confused."
"What's my name?"
"John."
"John," he repeated, trying on the name. It wasn't uncomfortable. But it didn't necessarily fit, either. "What's yours?"
"Kendall."
The names meant nothing to him. Zero. He gazed at her suspiciously.
Her tone was almost too innocent when she asked, "Ring any bells?"
"No. Because I'm almost certain you're lying."
She didn't even honor that with a comment. Instead, she started the car. They drove for another hour before reaching a town that had a store open on Sunday. "Give me your list," she said after she had parked.
She jotted down toiletry items as he enumerated them.
"And some clothes," he added.
"Anything special?"
"Just clothes. And a newspaper, please."
"A newspaper?" She hesitated, then nodded and reached for the door. "This may take a while. I've got a shopping list, too.
Before she could get out, he asked, "How are you going to pay?"
"With cash."
"Where'd you get it?"
"I earned it," she replied curtly, opening the car door.
Again he forestalled her. "Wait. You'll need my sizes."
She reached across the car seat and squeezed his knee. "Silly.
I know your sizes."
The wifely, natural, familiar gesture sent an electric shock through his system.
Watching her as she walked toward the entrance to the store, he thought for the thousandth time, Who is this woman, and what is she to me?
Five minutes later, the baby started fretting. At first he ignored the crying, but when it intensified, he turned and looked at the kid, who had no reason to cry that he could see.
