“How much is missing this time?” he asked.
“Everything,” she said wearily. “I have no idea who I am.”
He frowned. “Amnesia isn’t usually like that. There should be some patches of memory, some faint traces. While you’ve had intermittent memory loss, there hasn’t been anything this severe. You have no pressure building on your brain, no sign of any trauma other than the concussion, but perhaps another CAT scan might be in order.”
“No!” she protested. “No more prodding. I just want a few answers.”
“Are you certain you just don’t want to go home to your husband?” he asked shrewdly.
“Of course I don’t want to go home to a husband I can’t even remember,” she said, the anger building inside her oddly familiar. She must have spent a lot of time being angry. “Do you think that’s enough to frighten me into remembering again? Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse not to have to identify the dead man in the car I wrecked.”
“You remember that?”
“No. The nurse told me, I remember absolutely nothing.” Her voice quavered slightly—another sign of weakness that she fought back with fierce determination. She couldn’t afford to show any sign of vulnerability. That certainty stayed with her.
Dr. Hobson looked at her curiously. “What happened to that fiendish temper of yours?” he asked mildly. “You’ve already terrified two of the toughest professionals on this floor.”
“I’m frightened,” she said in a tight little voice. “I can’t be strong all the time.”
“Of course you can’t,” he said soothingly. “No one expects you to be but yourself.”
“Well, I expect too much,” she said in a muffled voice.
He patted her hand. “You do, indeed. Do you think you’re ready to go home? I’m worried about this recent blank spot. Chances are it will pass as swiftly as the others, but still, it concerns me.”
“If I put it off I may never be able to go back,” she said in a quiet voice, steeling herself. “The sooner I face up to it the better off I’ll be. The nurse says these blank spells don’t last long. I’ll probably remember everything by the time I reach home. Wherever that is,” she added with an attempt at humor that sounded just a bit bitter.
“Out in the country, in a small horse-farming community. Bucks County, I gather. We’re just on the other side of the river in New Jersey—it shouldn’t take you more than an hour to get home. Depending on the traffic.” He took a step back, surveying her. “It’s probably a wise decision,” he added. “Despite the memory lapse, you’re perfectly well, and we try to get people out of the hospital as soon as we can. The insurance companies don’t like paying bills any more than the rest of us.”
She tried to smile at his attempt at humor, but it fell flat. “A wise decision,” she repeated doubtfully, half to herself.
He was already moving toward the door. “I’ve given your husband instructions, but I’ll repeat them to you. Don’t drink alcohol, don’t take drugs, don’t do anything too strenuous for a while. Try not to start smoking again if you can help it—it’ll kill you sooner or later.”
“I smoke?”
“Not for the past two weeks. Fortunately you’ve gone cold turkey already, so you shouldn’t even miss them. Just take it easy and give yourself time to mend.”
“There...there wasn’t any brain damage, was there?” she questioned nervously.
“None,” he said, his voice firm. “We’ll give it about a week. If the amnesia continues, or you have dizzy spells, anything at all after that, I want you to come straight back here. All right?”
She summoned up her coolest smile. “Of course,” she lied.
He hesitated. “You might as well get dressed, then. I’ll send the nurse in to help you. Your clothes should be in the locker behind the door.”
She dressed quickly, surprised by the clothing they insisted was hers. The raw silk suit, the ridiculously high-heeled shoes, the leather purse. They were hers—and yet she had no sense of recognition. They felt both familiar and alien to her, as if they belonged to a different sort of person. To that stranger who bore a distant resemblance to the woman in the mirror.
She tied the silk scarf around her neck with the ease of long practice, just as the nurse returned. “Is it cold outside?” she asked in a deliberately nonchalant voice.
The nurse shrugged. “About usual for the end of March.” She eyed her curiously. “You did know it was the end of March, didn’t you?”
She smiled at her. “I do now.” She glanced back at her reflection. She was Mrs. Winters, tall and leggy and well dressed, suspected of God knows what, on her way to meet her handsome husband whom she apparently hated, on a day in late winter. And she was leaving behind the only people she knew in the world.
“You know, things could be a lot worse,” the nurse broke into her troubled thoughts.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve got money. You’ve got your health, even if your memory’s a bit patchy. Even though he’s a bit older than you, your husband has to be one of the most gorgeous creatures I’ve seen in centuries. A few nights with him should put the color back in your cheeks.”
