“Eyes open.” I draw a long breath and turn, exhaling again as Doctor Dawes meanders through the hospital front doors. It’s five-fifty-five.Hallelujah! “I think I have an idea that’ll help her. Maybe. Hopefully.”
“Yeah?” Janine’s expression brightens. “You packing her up and heading to Borneo? I know you’ve been meaning to take a vacation, and putting her on an island far from here would, technically, be a good way to hide her. But…” She wrinkles her nose. “I’d miss you, and I’d feel bad about buying your house for cheap when it goes into foreclosure.”
“Not taking her to Borneo.” I tug the hospital’s share-pager from my pocket and set it on her desk, ready for Dawes to collect, then I back up with a grin. “That can be Plan C or D. You see him, right?”
She glances to her right and purses her lips. “I see him.”
“Means I’m officially off shift. Catch you in the morning.”
The best part about living in a small town is the complete lack of traffic. It means a four-minute commute—at worst—and pulling into my driveway right at six o’clock, just like I promised. The fact that it's already dark out makes me yearn for the summer, for the half of the year when my twelve-hour shifts don’t leave me in a vitamin D deficit. For the days when I’mnotbreathing white fog every step I take, and the trek from my truck to my front doordoesn’tmake my ears sting.
But I move quickly anyway, trudging across my snow-covered yard and onto the first step at the base of my porch. Slipping, I chuckle and grab onto the railing, then I dash up the stairs and hope I don’t find a terrified woman inside, hugging the fire poker and shaking all the way to her feet.
At least the lights are on tonight. Even the droning sound of the television echoes through my front door.
“It’s me, Rose.” I slip the key into my front door, stomping my feet on the mat to dislodge any snow and crap I’d rather not transfer into my house, then I push the door open, just a couple of inches at first to make sure I’m not headed into danger. Then all the way when I’m yet to see my guest at all. “Rose?” Frowning, I step into blissful warmth and the crackle of the fireplace. A quiz show plays on the television, the ding-ding-dings of correct answers pulsing from the speakers. Glancing around, I slowly peel my jacket off. “Rose? Where are you?”
“I’m here.” She pops into the doorway leading into the hall, an oversized hoodie dwarfing her frame, but a tiny pair of shorts giving her hips and legs a hell of a lot of shape. She wears fluffy socks that hug her calves, and shows off a pair of bony knees and trim thighs.
I take my time and study everything about her—the too-long sleeves of her hoodie covering her hands, and the droopy pocket on the front, heavy with… something tucked inside. Then I bring my eyes up and stop on her broad smile and wild hair.
Wild, like she fought The Abominable Snowman today… and won.
“Er… Hi.” I close the door with a tap of my foot and hang my coat on the rack nearby. “You have a good day?”
She points toward the television, where the host asks:What treaty marked the official end of World War I?And with a wolfish grin, she answers, “The Treaty of Versailles.”
My heart thumps heavily in my chest, bruising my ribs and knocking me back a step. But before I can think of a response, the host asks:Who is the influential figure responsible for leading the Indian independence movement against British rule?And she answers, “Mahatma Gandhi.”
“So… you read more encyclopedias today?”
“No!” She shoves through the doorway and dashes across the room, grabbing my hands and tugging me to the back of the couch. “Watch this.” Beaming, she listens as the host asks:Which historical figure attempted to conquer Russia with an army of over 600,000 soldiers, only for his campaign to end in disaster due to harsh weather?Then she meets my eyes, her cheeks burning a beautiful, bright pink, and answers: “Napoleon! It was Napoleon, Ollie! I just turned this show on a few hours ago, bored out of my brains after I spent my day outside, and I?—”
“You spent your day outside? In this weather?”
In those shorts?
“I knew all the answers! Or, well, most of them, anyway.” Uncharacteristically excited, she bounces on her feet. “I knew the answers! So then I watched another episode. And then another. And then I moved to a different show with different questions, and I knew those, too! I remembered them, Ollie!”
My stomach whirls and spins, her thrilled energy transferring to me. But when I get it, it’s nervous. “Do you remember anything else? Your name? Your life before Plainview?”
“No.” Her electric smile turns to a sweet pout. “I think this is the processing memory you talked about. Like tying my laces and talking. These aren’t memories, exactly. Not from that part of my brain.” She looks to the television as the host asks:The Great Wall of China was primarily built to protect against invasions from which group?Then she answers, “The Mongols!” on a bursting exhale.
Chuckling, I perch on the back of the couch and hold her hand in mine—Stop it, Oliver!—and I take this moment to experience her happiness. For the first time since she woke in the hospital, she floats on a cloud of bliss. “So we learned today that the old you was a brainiac? Maybe you didn’t work with plants at all. Maybe you just know the words because you’re a genius.”
“Maybe! Which brings us back to my super-secret, super-badass job with NASA.” Snickering, she leans a little closer, her hair falling forward and dangling over her shoulder. “The NASA stuff is a joke, by the way. I doubt I’m a spy.”
“No, I got it.” I laugh. “If you were, they would’ve found you by now and wiped you out.”
“Exactly! Oh my gosh. You should come look at what I did today.” She yanks me off the back of the couch and drags me across the room, tossing out an easy, “Queen Elizabeth the First,” to a question about blood poisoning. Glancing over her shoulder, she beams. “I’m a fricken genius.”
“Sounds like it. What’d you do today?” I peek left as we come into the hall, then right. But instead of answering, she pulls me into the kitchen,past the counter—spick and span—and all the way to the sliding glass doors.
It’s too dark to see outside, and the thought of heading back into the icy wind makes me cold all over. But instead of opening the doors, she flips the back lights on and reveals my deck.
My completed deck.
“I found the timber in your shed, and I already knew where the hammer and nails were. I started around nine this morning, threewholehours after you left. Those three hours took forever, by the way.”
