“I’m sure it’ll come back to me,” I assure them. “Other memories have been returning, one by one. I think I just need time to recover and get off the pain medications.”
An ambulance siren blares somewhere outside, and it strikes me with a sense of urgency. “What about your uncle Arthur?” I ask. “Has he been in touch?”
Amanda clears her throat. “Yes, but we don’t want him to come here and pressure you to remember.”
“But maybe that’s what I need,” I tell her. “To be pressured.” We all trade glances, and I feel heat in my cheeks. “I’m worried about him. And now that I’m more coherent, I’d like to talk to the police. I want to know what smoking gun they have, if they’ll tell me.”
The telephone next to my bed rings. It startles me enough to make me jump, but I can’t reach it.
Amanda stands and answers it. “Hello?” Her eyes meet mine. She holds the handset away from her, covers the mouthpiece with her palm, and whispers, “It’s Uncle Arthur.”
My breath comes short with relief and anticipation. “Tell him I’m out of the ICU and to come here as soon as he can. I want to talk to him in person.”
Amanda brings the handset back. “She’s feeling better, and she wants you to come here as soon as you can—”
“Ask him how Dad’s doing,” I interrupt before she has a chance to hang up the phone.
Amanda asks the question and relays the information to me. “He says not great.”
My chest feels tight, as if there’s a weight pressing down on it. I can’t bear to imagine Nate in jail. Does he even know I’m awake?
Amanda hangs up. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
I look down at the broth on the tray in front of me and push the rolling table off to the side. “I don’t think I can eat right now. I’ll save this for later.”
Arthur slowly approaches the foot of my bed. It’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other, and I notice a difference. He’s gained a few pounds and lost some hair. I hate to think it, but he’s starting to look like his father.
His face goes pale at the sight of me, and he inclines his head with sympathy. “Sienna. My God.”
Amanda vacates her chair at my side and offers it to him. He sets his briefcase on the floor and moves to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“It’s good to see you,” I say. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he responds. “I shouldn’t have let my baby brother get so caught up in the rat race.”
I chuckle. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”
His gaze takes in the cuts and bruises on my face, the bandage on my half-shaved head, the cast on my arm. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You can tell me about Nate,” I doggedly reply.
Arthur sits down, his expression unmistakably serious. “I’m not sure what you know at this point.”
“I know that he’s been arrested and that people think he’s responsible for what happened to me. That’s about it.”
Arthur nods, and I brace myself. “He spent last night in jail, and now I’m waiting to hear about the discovery and a date for the arraignment. We’re working on bail, but it takes time.”
My lower back starts to ache, so I shift a little on the bed. “Becky told me they found evidence that incriminates him. Do you know what that is?”
“Not yet,” he replies. “And frankly, I don’t think it’ll stand up in court because it can only be circumstantial. Unless Nate is lying to me and he took detailed notes, confessing a brilliant master plan to do you in.”
“That would’ve been a genius move.”
“If that’s what they have, I’ll eat my shirt.” Arthur takes hold of my hand. “Unless ...”
“Unless I tell you that I remember him pushing me,” I say.
Arthur shrugs, as if he knows it’s a ridiculous question, but he still wants to hear my response.
