A Ranger For The Holidays. Allie Pleiter
wallet or cell phone or car keys or that sort of thing.”
“If it was a robbery, why not take the watch?” His brain was used to putting facts together like this—it made Finn more convinced he was in some kind of security field.
“That’s what I can’t figure out. Only, you were wearing gloves—I found the glove before I found you—so maybe they didn’t see the watch.” Amelia twisted a finger around one curl of her cascading blond hair, hesitating before asking, “So, no idea who B is?”
Finn took a deep breath, trying to focus his thoughts, to push them through the veil of murky nothingness. “Only that she’s important.” It surprised him—in a much-needed good way—that he knew B was a she. He felt like some strange emotional version of Hansel and Gretel, scanning the world for bits and pieces of a trail to lead him back home. He was Finn and he had—or once had—a B. It wasn’t nearly enough to go on, but other than his recollections of Amelia’s rescue, it was all he had.
He put the watch on, pleased to note it matched the faint tan line on his wrist. He had at least something of his life now. “Thanks for showing that to me. It helps. Really.” He smiled at her, pleased when she smiled back.
“There is more, you know,” Amelia said as she rose up off the chair to open the narrow closet on the far side of the room. “You were wearing these when I found you.” She held up a pair of jeans, a plaid shirt and a heavy fleece—clothes that could have been attributed to half the men in Texas, and certainly no big clues to his identity. “Nice boots,” Amelia offered as she hoisted a pair of worn cowboy boots. She was digging for anything positive to bolster his spirits, and it touched him that she was trying so hard.
“They look like mine,” he said, not sure how he could make the claim but wanting to go along with her relentless hunt for affirmations. “Like something I think I’d wear, I mean.”
“Well,” she said, rehanging the clothes, “you know more now than you did this morning. Tomorrow you’ll find out even more. That’s what Dr. Searle said, that you’d get things back as you went along. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if by this time tomorrow you know your name, your address and your grandmother’s birthday.”
A knock on the door signaled Dr. Searle’s entry into the room. He nodded toward the watch on his hand. “So you’ve seen that. Bring up anything?”
Nothing good, but Finn didn’t really want to admit that. “I don’t know who B is, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Only it’s a she, and she’s important,” Amelia added. “That’s good progress, don’t you think?”
Finn touched the watch again and thought about the tender inscription now against his skin. B sounded like a wife, or a sister, or a love—so why didn’t he remember her, and why hadn’t she come looking for him? Why was his response to the watch so dark? Nothing made any sense.
“Pie?” Dr. Searle noticed the three pieces sitting on the tray beside Finn’s bed.
“Amelia was fixing to convert me to her theory that pie makes everything better. And that knowing which flavors I like was vital information.”
Dr. Searle laughed. “I could think of worse therapies.”
“I read that tastes and smells are among the most powerful memories. It seemed like an ideal way to wake up Finn’s brain cells.”
Finn sat up. “You were researching amnesia?” He hated using that term to refer to whatever it was that happened to him. It sounded so dramatic.
“Well, if you call looking things up on the internet on your smartphone while you’re waiting in line at the pharmacy for Gramps’s prescriptions research, then yes. I mean, really, how many amnesia patients does a person get to meet? It’s fascinating.”
Not so much from where I sit, Finn thought darkly. The feeling of everything being just slightly beyond his control was too prickly for his liking. Exhaustion pulled on his composure, and he tried to stifle a yawn.
“Speaking of Gramps, I’d better get home to him. He’s usually good about his evening medicines, but not always. And he’s an absolute bear in the morning if he stays up too late watching television.” She touched Finn’s arm again in that soft, kind way. “You must be worn-out—it’s been quite a day. I expect rest is about the best gift you can give yourself right now, so see that you get lots of it. I’ll stop back by tomorrow after church. And I’ve already added you to the prayer list, so you’re set there.”
“Pie, pajamas and prayer—what more can a man ask for?” Finn had to wonder if he was always this bad at conversation or if his slumbering synapses just made him say stupid things. “Thank you,” he offered, finding the words painfully inadequate for all Amelia Klondike had done.
Her blue eyes glowed, as if she understood all he’d failed to say. “You’re welcome. Rest up now, and we’ll see what else comes back to you tomorrow.” Amelia collected her things and sent him one last warm look before ducking out the door.
“Is she really that nice to everybody?” Finn asked Dr. Searle as they heard her heels clip down the hallway.
“Amelia? Sure thing. Helping people is what Amelia does. Ever since she and her sister came into her daddy’s money, she’s turned helping folks into a full-time thing. Me, I might have skedaddled to some tropical island with that kind of cash, but Amelia just turned her hobby into a nonstop kindness campaign. My wife says Amelia would just about up and die if she had to stop giving folks a hand up—it’s her gift.” He motioned for Finn’s wrist and took his pulse. “If I had to pick anyone in Little Horn to find me out cold in the woods, it’d be Amelia. God was watching out for you, son. You remember that when all this memory nonsense gets to you.”
“It’ll come back, won’t it, Doc?”
Dr. Searle sat down on the chair Amelia had vacated. “It should. The brain is the organ we know the least about—lots of it is still a mystery. But amnesia onset by head trauma is less rare than you think. You may never remember the accident, but the rest of it is likely to come back over the next few days.”
Finn fiddled with the thin hospital gown, suddenly eager to get into pajamas like a normal person instead of this ridiculous getup that made him feel like an invalid. “Do I have to stay in here until it does?”
“Your preliminary tests will be done by tomorrow afternoon, and then come back for an office visit Monday. So yes, you’ll be free to go tomorrow but, Finn, where would you go?”
If Finn was supposed to get rest, there wasn’t a less restful question in all the world.
I should never have agreed to this. Finn stared at the holiday decorations that filled Amelia Klondike’s front porch late Sunday afternoon and fought the urge to bolt for the nearest hotel. As grateful as he was to get out of the hospital, their annoying holiday decorations paled in comparison to the blast of Christmas cheer that was Amelia’s house.
Why did anything Christmas bother him so? It was something else to heap onto the pile of unknowns. Dr. Searle had showed him a list of missing-persons reports, but none of them contained a Finn and he still couldn’t even say if Finn was a first, last or nickname. It made obscure recollections like his intense dislike of Christmas that much harder to bear. Finn knew he didn’t like any of it, but he still didn’t know why.
“You don’t need to put me up, Amelia. I don’t want to put you and your grandfather out.” The fact that he hadn’t seen anything even close to a motel on the short drive from the hospital just made it worse.
“Nonsense. Where else would you go with no wallet, no credit cards and no name other than Finn?”
Thanks, he thought, it sounds so much less desperate