Lost Identity. Leona Karr
for her to hold and examine them. Several times the darkness curtain in her mind seemed about ready to lift, causing her to hold her breathe as sweat beaded on her forehead. And then nothing.
“I brought supper,” he said, holding up the sack that was redolent with the odor of fried chicken. “Did you raid the fridge and fix yourself some lunch?”
“I made some tea and nibbled on some cheese and crackers. I wasn’t very hungry.”
“Well, I’ll fix us a couple of plates and we can go out on the deck to eat. The sun has burned off yesterday’s rain, and it’s going to be a lovely evening. Did you get out at all today?”
The question was casual, but it brought a tightness in her chest. “No, I stayed inside.”
“I called a couple of times, but no one answered.”
“I—I guess I must have been sleeping too hard to hear it.”
He didn’t believe her. The way she was avoiding his eyes spoke volumes. Why was she lying to him, and acting as if she was trying to come up with some believable story? He wanted to ask if she’d phoned anyone, or made arrangements to go back to wherever she belonged.
“Well, you probably needed the rest.” She had touched a sympathetic chord in him, but loud and clear it vibrated with a warning. Her continued presence could completely upset his life. She’d already played havoc with his normal routine and he’d spent more time thinking about her than was wise.
“Why don’t you freshen up, while I get things ready?” he suggested. After they had eaten, he’d insist that she level with him. He deserved to know what in the hell was going on.
She sensed his simmering impatience, and her stomach tightened as she went into the bathroom. Staring at herself, she was embarrassed at her disheveled appearance reflected in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, her eyes heavy, and deep lines of worry and fatigue etched her face. No wonder he had suggested that she freshen up. She was embarrassed that she’d let anyone see her in such a washed-out state. Somehow she knew that she’d always tried to look her best.
I have pride, she thought with a deep sense of satisfaction as she washed her face briskly with cold water. This little discovery was like a gem shining in a foggy darkness. It strengthened an inner confidence that seemed natural to her, and she glimpsed a tensile strength that had not been destroyed in the throes of amnesia.
I’ll remember everything soon, she told herself as she carefully brushed her hair around the tender spot on the back of her head. She had just put the brush back on the shelf, and automatically reached out her hand to pick up something when she froze. Nothing was there.
For a split second the curtains of darkness in her head split and she could see a dark blue cosmetic bag decorated with bright butterflies just beyond her empty hand. The flash of remembrance was clear and unmistakable.
Joy like a surge of adrenaline shot through her. I own a bright blue-and-yellow cosmetic bag. My memory is coming back! Her heartbeat quickened and the palms of her hands were suddenly moist with sweat. It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning.
With a stronger step, she hurried out to the living room to join Andrew, but he was already outside on the deck. She saw him through the large picture window. He had lit some patio lamps, which sent a soft glow over the deck.
“Come on out. Food’s ready.” Andrew gave her an inviting wave of his hand.
As Trish stood in the doorway, looking out, her burst of well-being faded. Her mouth went dry and her chest was suddenly weighted. She fixed her eyes on Andrew’s reassuring figure as she slowly pushed opened the screen, and forced herself to step out on the deck.
As her frantic gaze searched the beach below the house, she didn’t know what or whom she was expecting to see. In the twilight only a peaceful scene of water, sand and sky greeted her eyes. She saw that Andrew’s house was nestled in a small cove isolated from other structures whose roofs she could glimpse in both directions some distance away.
Andrew was puzzled by the visible signs of a struggle going on inside her as she stood there, her eyes searching in every direction. Had she expected to see something or someone? She was certainly attractive enough to have a man chasing after her. Had she been fleeing from a lovers’ quarrel when she got lost in the storm? By this time, the poor guy was probably frantic from her disappearance.
Andrew suddenly had a bad taste in his mouth. This kind of speculation didn’t sit well with him. Her reluctance to go back and face the situation gave him the feeling that she was just using him.
He said rather stiffly, “Have a seat. I’m sorry it isn’t more. I’m afraid my bachelor life is lacking in the finer things of life.”
She shot him a quick look as she sat down on the bench facing him. He’d never used that tone with her before, and she knew what was coming. She had over-stayed her welcome. Her stomach tightened. If only he would give her a little more time to remember why she had a deep fear of someone knowing where she was. Any story she’d been able to think of had too many holes in it to convince him to let her stay. If she lied about being on vacation alone, her belongings would have to be somewhere. No doubt, he would offer to drive her back to her lodgings, and then what?
Sitting across the table from her, Andrew watched her pick at her chicken and salad, really not eating but just going through the motions. Was she putting on an act? He’d been taken in by manipulating women when he first came to the city, but he’d learned his lesson. Hadn’t he? Looking at her appealing femininity, he wasn’t sure.
He set down the chicken leg he’d been eating, wiped his hands and then leaned toward her. “I think it’s time you leveled with me, Trish, don’t you?”
She deliberately took a drink of water, delaying the moment when she’d have to speak. She wished now that she’d told him the truth in the beginning, but she’d been too frightened to think clearly. Like a hunted animal, a deep protective instinct had warned to protect herself.
“All right. Let me guess,” he said when she was slow in answering. “You’re running away from some unpleasant situation that you don’t want to face.”
“Maybe.” I don’t know. I don’t know.
“Maybe?” he repeated, with a disbelieving edge to his voice. “Either you are or you aren’t, Trish. Frankly, I suspect that some man is beside himself wondering where you are.”
“Do you think so?” she asked almost in a whisper.
The anguish that flashed across her face made him soften his tone even though he was getting impatient with her evasiveness. “Trish, I’m thankful that I was around when you needed rescuing, but hiding out here isn’t going to work for you—or for me, either.”
“I know.” She sighed. “You’ve been more than patient, and I don’t know what I would have done if…if you hadn’t found me.”
“You’ve got to face up to whomever, or whatever you’re running away from, Trish.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Why don’t you tell me about what was going on?”
She laced her fingers through his, drawing strength from the contact. Maybe he would accept the truth. Or would he just think she was making everything up in an effort to wring enough sympathy from him so he’d let her stay?
“What is it, Trish? I have to know.”
She drew in a deep breath to settle the quivering in her chest. “The truth is that I don’t know who I am. And I need a little time to figure it out.”
His mouth quirked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or let his irritation show. “That’s the metaphysical question for this generation, isn’t it? Who am I? I can’t believe how many people get on this quest—”
“That isn’t what I mean.” She jerked her hand away from his. Her eyes flashed as she said each word with loud emphasis, “Don’t you understand? I don’t know