Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Mary Jane Maffini
or keep their names quiet, if they’d prefer.”
Oh, boy. I couldn’t imagine asking the people I knew about any of those things, not because I was afraid they wouldn’t tell me. I was far more afraid they would. In fact, they’d already started. I thought about it: I spend most of my time alone with Tolstoy, and the rest with Liz, Josey and Woody. Woody had already offered suggestions, so had Sarrazin right out of the blue. I shuddered just thinking about them. And Lola herself, if you count the whipped cream suggestion. But really.
“Not possible,” I squeaked.
“Make it possible,” Lola said. “Find people to help you. You’re funny and non-threatening. Everyone likes you. You have to take advantage of that, darling. Be ruthless.”
Lucky me. The burly and smirking Paulette was nowhere to be seen when I arrived back at the rehab centre that evening. Outside of Marc-André’s room, I ran into Luc, a good-looking nurse I often saw on my visits.
“We’re glad to see you, Fiona. Marc-André’s been a bit restless today. It happens when they regain consciousness.”
“I was worried about that, but he wasn’t here when I came in the afternoon. He was having some kind of scan.”
“He was?”
“Yes. And I couldn’t go with him.”
Luc frowned. “I don’t think so.”
He flipped through the clipboard and shook his head. “No. He was down in the sunroom for a while. That’s all.”
I stood there, mouth hanging open. Was it better to be a liar or a dupe?
Luc raised an eyebrow.
I said, “One of the residents’ aides told me he was. She chewed me out for not showing up, and then she said I couldn’t see him. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Who told you that?”
“Paulette something. I think she’s new.”
He narrowed his eyes. “She’s new, all right. And I hope she doesn’t last long. Anyway, that’s too bad you had to make the extra trip, but I’m glad you’re here now. Someone else will be happy too.”
Marc-André’s eyes were open as I moved close to the bed.
“Ah,” he said. “You again.”
My heart hit the inside of my skull. “You remember me?”
“But of course, madame. You were here yesterday.”
“Oh. Yes, I was.”
He frowned. “There was some kind of...problem.”
“I’m not sure what that was about.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he smiled.
I nodded. Sometimes, I can’t manage to get words out.
“What is your name?” he said.
“Fiona Silk.”
“Fiona Silk. I like that name. Très beau. Thank you for coming to visit me.”
Talk about your snakes and ladders games. This relationship had its slippery slopes.
Marc-André was in the mood to chat. I sat forward in the chair and held my breath.
“Are you one of my nurses?” he said.
“No.”
He looked puzzled. “Well, then why do you come here?”
“I’m a friend,” I said. What else could I say? I am your almost-lover? I might have become much more than a friend, if only...
His face lit up. “I am glad I have a friend.”
“You have lots of friends.”
“Really? That’s good. Where are they?”
“They come by.”
“And my wife? I can’t remember her name.”
I bit my lip. “Carole. Her name was Carole.”
“Was? Oh.”
“You were very happy.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“You missed her a lot after she, um...”
“Then I will have some good things to remember.”
“Yes.”
“The doctors say I will improve, but I have to work at it. How am I supposed to do that?”
“I’ll try to help.”
“It’s no good. I have a big empty head. I wake up with nothing.”
“You’re able to speak English and French. That’s good. You haven’t forgotten two entire languages.”
“But to forget my wife. That is unbelievable. And I couldn’t recall your name, even though...I remembered your hair. It’s unusual.” He reached up to touch it for a brief moment then sank back onto the bed.
“You’ll get better. Your old friends will start to visit now that you are awake again.”
“I’m a mechanic. Did you know that?”
“I do. You’re a poet, too. An award-winning poet.”
“I don’t remember any of that either.” The pain on his face was unbearable to me. I could only imagine how he felt.
I had nothing to lose. I said, “Here’s a tricky question for you. How about food? I am writing a book about recipes connected to...well, anyway. Do you remember anything wonderful you loved to eat? Something connected with love or romance?”
Tears filled his eyes. I had blown it again.
But the incandescent smile lit his face again. “I do. I do remember something. Strawberries. Strawberries and cream. Yes. I remember eating that with...” The smile faded.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should never have asked.”
“No, no, madame, don’t be sorry. Merci beaucoup.”
“But why are you thanking me?”
“For the memory. You cannot imagine what it means to me. To recall those strawberries, the scent of them, so fresh, and the cream, so sweet, so smooth, and something else. Grand Marnier, I think, or maybe it was Cointreau. Yes. Yes! I can taste it now. It is the first time I have a memory of food, something so intense. It is wonderful. I believe that someday I will remember the rest of my life.”
I looked up to see Luc in the door. He gave a little wave and vanished down the long hallway.
Marc-André squeezed my hand. “You have given me hope, madame.”
“Me, too,” I said in a strangled voice.
As I headed out from the rehab centre parking lot once visiting hours had ended, I jumped and yelped at a squeak of rubber behind me.
The young nurse, Luc, looked even more shocked than I was. “Pardon, I thought you heard me calling you.”
“My mind was elsewhere,” I said, trying to get my heart rate under control.
“That was a beautiful moment, back there with Marc-André. I hope he continues to regain his memory.”
“At least he has the sensual memories now. That was really something.”
Luc looked down at his feet. He flushed a bit. “I didn’t mean to listen in or anything, but if you need more recipes, my partner and I have a special way of doing oysters. We find that romantic. Let me know if you need that, and I’ll write it out for you.”
“Oysters. Of course. I need it. And thank you.”