Lost Identity. Leona Karr
block out that incident and everything that went before it.
Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes as he tried to digest the information. One unrelenting question stabbed at him with demanding clarity.
What was the intolerable situation that made Trish choose to lose her memory?
Chapter Three
When Trish got up the next morning, Andrew was already gone, and her sense of well-being faded instantly as she faced another long day alone. Somehow she hadn’t expected him to go to the office two days in a row. Even though she was tempted to go back to bed, she dressed slowly in the undergarments she’d washed out the night before, and put on the same white slacks and blouse.
The same swirl of disorientation poured over her as she moved about the kitchen. Just like the first morning, he had made coffee, but there was no sign that he’d already had breakfast. Maybe he hadn’t gone to work. Her hands were suddenly clammy and cold even though they circled a hot mug. Could he have decided to take matters into his own hands and gone to the authorities? What if he reported that a strange, delusional woman had invaded his house? Surely, the authorities would come for her. And then what? Maybe she was responsible for something terrible. For the first time, she entertained an unnamed guilt, and a fear that whatever had happened to her, she had brought it on herself.
Panic suddenly overwhelmed her. She set down her coffee cup with such force that the liquid spilled all over the table. Everything that lay hidden in her mind seemed to crystallize in one thought—she had to leave the house before the danger lurking in the shadows of her memory found her.
She lurched up from her chair and started across the kitchen toward the back door, but before she reached it, she stopped dead in her tracks, frozen in horror. She was too late! The firm sound of footsteps warned her that someone was coming up the back stairs. They were already here! Before she could turn on her heels and flee, the door opened and she screamed.
Andrew stared at her in disbelief. “Trish, for godsake, what’s the matter?” He’d never seen raw terror on anyone’s face before, but he saw it on hers.
“Andrew,” she breathed, giddy with relief.
“You look as if you were expecting a ghost.” He was wearing a jogging suit, running shoes, and his moist sun-streaked hair was held back with a sweat-band.
“Not a ghost,” she managed, leaning up against the counter to keep her weak knees from buckling.
He searched her ashen face. Who had she expected to see coming through the door? Had her memory returned? “Tell me what’s going on, Trish. I’m not used to being greeted with bone-chilling screams when I come in the door—at least, not so early in the morning,” he added, trying to lighten the situation.
She ran an agitated hand through her dark hair. “I guess I let my imagination run away with me,” she admitted, totally embarrassed by the way she had lost control. “I’m sorry. When you weren’t here, I thought you’d decided to turn me over to someone else. And that frightened me.”
Even though he knew that in her present state, she was vulnerable to distrust, it really bothered him that she thought him capable of callously tossing her out of his house. “I thought we’d agreed on how we were going to handle this thing? Didn’t we?”
His briskness told her that she had offended him, but she didn’t know how to explain that the frightening scenario had developed in her mind because of his absence. She nodded, not wanting to admit that panic had driven everything out of her mind.
“All right, then.” His tone softened. “I promise I won’t do anything without your approval.”
“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”
“You should be. I don’t recall that anything was said about me bringing a paddy wagon up to the back door and hauling you away,” he chided. “At least, not before breakfast.”
In his teasing smile, she saw a steady uncompromising strength that invited her to trust him. She prayed that whatever truth she discovered about herself would not destroy that trust.
“Now, sit down and finish your coffee while I whip up some French toast. Oui, Mademoiselle?”
She laughed at his corny accent, and couldn’t believe how deftly he had changed the whole timber of the day. For the first time since her rescue, her past didn’t seem as important as letting herself momentarily enjoy the present moment.
As the day progressed, there were times when she wished that he wasn’t so intent upon following up every avenue that might end the protective sanctuary that she’d found with him. Deep down, she knew that she was using him as an anchor in the morass of her unknown problems, and that it wasn’t fair to attach herself to him on any emotional level, but she couldn’t help herself.
When he brought her a list of the people who had been reported lost in the state of New Jersey since the storm, she carefully read every name of women in her age group. Saying the name aloud, she paused to see if there was any flicker of familiarity. When she’d made it through the list, her lips trembled as she handed it back to him.
“If my name is there, I don’t recognize it.”
“It’s okay. There are other lists,” he reassured her, even as he hoped that they wouldn’t have to go through the missing persons records for every state in the union. She could have come to New Jersey from anywhere and for a thousand different reasons. “I’ll get a similar list from New York City and Long Island.”
When he gave them to her, Trish was appalled at the hundreds of names of people reported missing in only a three-day period. Once again, she tried to connect any kind of memory with each of the possible names, but with the same result.
“Nothing. I guess this isn’t going to work,” she said, holding back a wash of despair.
He was silent for a moment. “Of course, the best way to handle this might be to come at it from a different way,” he said thoughtfully. “We could pass out flyers with your description and picture and see if—”
“No!” she protested vehemently. “I have to know who I am first. Don’t you understand?”
“I’m not sure I do,” he said quietly. She was suddenly like a wild creature backed into a corner. “I would think that you’d want to use any means you could to find out who you are.”
She searched for words that would help him understand. Drawing a shaky breath, she tried to explain. “There is some deep terror buried within me. I don’t know how to explain it, but I’m afraid that whatever happened to me before is out there waiting to happen again. I have to find out who I am before I’ll feel safe.”
“You think someone is waiting to do you harm?”
“I don’t know what I think. I just know that I don’t want to put out my picture all over the place. Not yet. Not until I have a chance to discover my identity.” She sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just paranoid because I can’t remember what happened to me.”
“I don’t think paranoid is a characteristic of amnesia,” he admitted. “There must be something more there, and I don’t think we should do anything that doesn’t sit well with you. At least for the time beginning, let’s concentrate on coaxing your memory back. Okay?”
She gave him a relieved smile. “What do you suggest we do next?”
“How about a walk down to the beach?” he suggested casually as if it was just a pleasant idea. He watched myriad emotions cross her face as fright, refusal and then determination gave way to a stubborn lift of her chin.
“All right. I suppose that’s a good place to start.”
He admired the way she was fighting the demons in her mind. “If things get too tense for you, just say so, and we’ll leave it for another day.”
As they