Lost Identity

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 stepped out on the deck, Trish felt a rush of adrenaline that was like a charged current surging through her. She stiffened her resolve not to be defeated by emotions warring within her. If she could just make it down to the place where Andrew had found her, everything might come rushing back. Maybe the blocks in her mind would fall away and she would see what was hidden from her. She swallowed back her fear and stiffened her resolve to accept anything that her memory threw back at her. Anything.

“You, okay?” he asked as she stiffly walked beside him. When he reached out and took her hand, he was surprised how clammy it felt. She looked like someone walking to her execution. With a start, he realized the strength of will she was displaying in leaving the house and exposing herself to whatever upheaval might be waiting for her. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t be frightened.”

“I’m not,” she lied.

He tried to get her mind off the purpose for their walk. “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said without looking at it.

“Why don’t we take a little walk in the other direction before we circle the cove?”

She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. The reprieve, even for a few moments, was a welcome blessing.

They crossed a wide strip of sandy ground dotted with wild grass, sand, rocks and driftwood, and carefully made their way down to the beach. As they walked along the edge of the water, seagulls darted overhead, keeping up a cacophony of raucous noise. The ocean simmered in the bright light of the sun, and a light breeze ruffled the water, sending a frill of white dancing to the shore.

Trying to ease her nervousness, Andrew talked a little bit about the coastline and the terrain farther south. Nothing he said about the geography seemed to register with her, but her body lost some of its tension as she walked beside him. Her hand felt small and fragile in his, and glancing at her profile, he realized again how petite and feminine she was. It was beyond his comprehension why anyone would want to hurt her. Was her trauma centered on her loss of memory and nothing more?

She felt his searching gaze upon her, and she gave him a tenuous smile. With his strong body so close to hers, she felt safely anchored in the moment. When he smiled back at her, his brown eyes catching a glint of sunlight in their depths, she felt a strange stirring that unwittingly brought warmth into her cheeks.

They walked for about a half mile before they turned back, and he felt her tension returning as they neared the cove that lay below his cottage. The sandy beach narrowed at this point. In this small scallop of the coastline, dry seaweed and bleached driftwood lay among rocks that edged small eddies. A couple of indignant gulls rose with a flutter of wings from one of the small pools.

“Let’s see now,” he said in a conversational tone. “If I remember right, you were lying just about there.”

She stopped and looked down at the smooth sand as if the indentation of her body should still be there. “Are you sure?”

He glanced up at his house. “Yes, I could see this spot through the front window.”

She moistened her dry lips. “Did you see anybody else? Or anything?”

“Nope. I just glimpsed you lying right here. No sign of a boat or anything else.”

“Then how did I get here?” she asked, frowning, as if he were somehow keeping the answer from her.

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

She had steeled herself to accept whatever her mind dredged up, and she felt like someone ready to do battle without any enemy to fight. How could they find any answers when her memory was as blank as a freshly washed surface?

“Why don’t we sit down, and just take it easy for a few minutes? You can look around and once you get oriented, you may remember something.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I guess we’re back to square one,” he said, not wanting to admit he’d put a lot of hope in her remembering something that would give them a place to start. He was convinced that if they didn’t have some kind of a breakthrough, there was no other alternative but to get her some professional help. Without even suggesting such an idea, he knew what her response would be.

She sat on the sand, hugged her pulled-up legs with her arms, and resisted the temptation to bury her face against her knees. Biting her lower lip, she looked out at the waves breaking in white-foamed sprays against rocks outlining the inlet. She narrowed her eyes, trying to superimpose another scene upon one in her view, but she failed. Nothing in the way of a memory came to her. She only knew that the sound of roaring surf was one that had tortured her and brought cold chills rippling down her spine.

Sitting close beside her, Andrew watched her face and sensed the struggle going on within her. “Just try to relax, Trish, and let your mind wander where it will. Forcing yourself to remember will only make you more tense.”

They sat in a heavy silence for several long minutes, until Trish couldn’t take it any longer. She turned to him. “Talk to me. About anything.”

“All right. See that tern pecking away over there?” he pointed to a small white bird hopping about as if she were riding a pogo stick. His resonant voice softened. “She’s got a nest over there in the rushes, and in the early spring there were five little ones following her around. They’ve all gone now, seeking their fortune in the big wide world.” He described other water fowl that were frequent visitors to the small cove as if they were his friends and companions.

Just listening to his steady unruffled voice was strangely soothing. She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her arms, pretending that there was nothing more urgent than just listening to him.

“I collect a lot of driftwood in this spot. For some reason the current seems to swing into this small cove. I suppose that anything or anyone caught in the surf might end up here.” He watched for any slight flicker of her eyelids but her expression remained impassive.

She knew what he was trying to do—prime her memory pump. But it didn’t work. All she could remember was lying in that very spot, gasping for air, not knowing if her clothes were drenched either from seawater or the pouring rain.

“Where do you go on your morning run?” she asked, wanting to get his attention on something else besides her complete lack of success in remembering anything before he found her.

“Sometimes I make it down the coast to those buildings whose roofs you can see,” he said as he pointed southward. “A little over a mile. There’s a small shopping center and a couple of resort hotels. Just a nice walk from here—in nice weather.”

Getting to her feet, she stared in the direction he had been pointing. “Do you think I could have walked in the storm from there to here?”

“Do you?” he asked quietly.

“It’s possible, isn’t it?” Nervous hope suddenly churned her stomach. “Maybe I was stupid enough to hike this far in the rainstorm and was overcome by fatigue. That could be it, couldn’t it?”

“What do you say to getting in the car and taking a quick look around Seaside Plaza? We can see if anything rings a bell,” Andrew suggested as he rose to his feet. “You don’t have to get out of the car unless you want to.”

Instant refusal caught in her throat. Leaving the safety of Andrew’s cottage was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Come on, let’s give it a try,” he coaxed as he slipped an arm around her waist and guided her back to the house.

In a matter of minutes, she found herself crowded close beside him in the front seat of his small car, her chest tight and her breathing rapid. Something deep within her didn’t accept the explanation that her present condition was the result of something as benign as a misguided walk.

Aware of her intense physical reaction, Andrew began to wonder if it was such a good idea after all to make her leave the house. She looked almost physically ill hunched down in her seat. He was tempted to turn the car around and go back to the cottage, but he knew that sooner or later, she would have to get out in public. The possibility that they might find some inkling of her identity so close to his place stiffened his resolve to see the thing through.

A fashionable resort hotel had been built on the beach in the center of a landscaped square bordered by inviting tourist shops. Driving slowly past the hotel, Andrew gave her a chance to look at the front of the building. Through large front glass windows and doors, they could catch glimpses of the elegant interior. He reasoned that if Trish had been staying at the hotel, she would be familiar with it and the surrounding stores.

Just as they passed the front entrance, two men and a woman came out the front door of the hotel, and instantly Trish hunched down in the seat.

“Do you think you know them?” Andrew asked quickly. “Do they look familiar?”

She shook her head. Nothing looked familiar. Not the hotel. And her driving instinct was to hide from any stranger. How could she make him understand that this total lack of recognition was the reason enough to hide from an unnamed terror that kept her from remembering?

“How about any of the shops? Any of them ring a bell?” He asked as he parked the car so she could view the front of the various stores.

After a moment of letting her searching gaze rove around the busy plaza, she reluctantly shook her head. Sitting there in her one set of clothes, there were dozens of things in the colorful window displays that she wished she could walk in and buy, but none of the store names or fronts registered any recognition. If she had shopped there, she didn’t remember anything about it.”

“Well, just relax and be a people-watcher for a few minutes. I’ll be back right back.” He opened his door and slipped out of the car.

Before she could protest, he had taken off with a leisurely stride and headed down the walk toward the hotel. She didn’t know whether to yell at him to come back, or go after him. In the end, she did neither.

“It’s all right,” she told herself, taking some deep breaths to center herself. She had to trust him. There was no reason to believe that he was going to abandon her. She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. She knew that the fatigue that swept over her body was born of a fear of betrayal.

Betrayal. The way the word shot through her, startled her. She sat up with a jerk. A flash of betrayal triggered a series of vague images that slithered by too fast for her to grab them. A sudden, slight lifting of the shadows in her mind caught her off guard. A memory was almost there, but it lacked form. It was like waking up from a dream, and not quite remembering. Only the emotion remained. She felt weak and shaken, and yet, strangely elated. She had been betrayed. She knew it!

When Andrew returned to the car a few minutes later, he was startled by the change in her posture and expression. Her earlier glazed, dull expression was gone. Her face was animated and her blue eyes were shining.

“What happened? Did you remember something?”

“Almost,” she said, smiling. “I almost remembered something.”

“Almost?” He had been ready for her to declare that she remembered who she was. His elation faded slightly as he asked, “What happened?”

“I saw some images. Just for a few seconds,” she explained. “They flickered past too vague and quickly for me to examine them.” She saw disappointment tug at the corner of his lips so she grabbed his hand. “Next time I might be able to hold on to them long enough to really recognize and remember them. It’s a start—don’t you see?”

Her excitement was contagious. Her sudden animation took him by surprise. For the first time, he caught a glimpse of a vivacious, confident woman who would not be defeated by the devastating shock she had suffered.

“Yes, it’s a start,” he agreed, smiling even though he didn’t know exactly what she was talking about. Had she wanted to remember something so badly that her mind was playing tricks on her? “Do you know what triggered these images?”

“Not really. I was just sitting here wondering if you had abandoned me.” She shot him an apologetic look. “The feeling of betrayal seemed to take over for a few seconds and that’s when it happened.”

“I really don’t know what to say, Trish.” He squeezed the hand still locked in his. “Let’s give it some thought, and see what we should do next. I checked at the hotel, pretending to be a reporter doing an article on the storm. I asked if all their guests were accounted for, and they assured me that they were, but, of course, there’s no way of knowing if you were registered—unless we show them a picture.”

“No,” she said firmly, withdrawing her hand. You don’t give your enemies an advantage. She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until she saw his startled expression.

“If you really believe that, Trish,” he said firmly, “then it’s time to get you some professional help. What happened today might be a breakthrough if you had the right kind of counseling.”

“You mean psychiatric care?” she flared. “Just because I can’t remember, doesn’t mean I should be committed to some booby hatch.” Even as she heard herself, she knew she was like a child throwing a tantrum because she didn’t want to go to the doctor.

“I’m sure we can find a respectable clinic that can provide the kind of help you need,” he said in a quiet, reassuring way. “Just think about it.”

She fell silent as he drove back to the cottage. Even though she desperately wanted a breakthrough as quickly as possible, the idea of putting herself in the hands of perfect strangers was terrifying. She wasn’t even sure that she could depend on Andrew to remain as her main anchor. Maybe he was urging her to seek help because he didn’t want to be involved with her any further.

When they got back to the house, he suggested that she take a nap while he caught up on some work. As soon as she was settled in the bedroom, he left his computer and took his cell phone out on the deck. One of his female co-workers had spent some time at a small mental health hospital after a nervous breakdown, and she’d only had positive things to say about the care she’d been given. He made a quick call to her and she gladly gave him the number he needed.

Andrew phoned the hospital, and asked to speak to one of the resident doctors concerning the admittance of an amnesia patient. He was referred to a Dr. Jon Duboise. As succinctly as Andrew could, he explained to the doctor about Trish’s condition.

“She has a deep fear that someone will find her before she can remember what happened to her. Whatever it was must have been something traumatic.”

“Reason enough for her to block out the memory,” the doctor agreed. “The loss of memory about an emotionally traumatic event is usually the result of a person’s desire to dissociate from a particularly intolerable situation.”

“And once she’s willing to recall that event, will she get her memory back?” Andrew asked hopefully.

“If it’s hysterical or post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, it’s very likely,” Duboise explained. “But even with therapy, it could take time.” He asked a few more questions, and then assured Andrew that privacy was a top priority at Havengate Hospital.

Andrew thanked him and hung up without committing himself to anything. He sat out on the deck for several minutes trying to come up with the best way to handle Trish. Her aversion to exposing herself to anyone was clear. He knew that she would accuse him of withdrawing his support if he insisted that she check herself into a hospital. She had already admitted that she feared his betrayal.

He decided to wait until evening before saying anything. When she emerged from the bedroom, he noted that she had, undoubtedly, taken his advice and had a long nap. She was more rested than he’d seen her. At dinner, she even ate a nice helping of his spaghetti and meatballs.

They had coffee in the living room, and impulsively he picked up his guitar and began strumming some familiar tunes. Trish curled up on the couch, smiling as she watched his dexterous fingers find the chords with an easy pleasure. She could tell that he was used to spending evenings in the company of his guitar. A soft wave of blond hair drifted forward as he bent his head over the instrument. Her eyes followed the strong sweep of his cheeks and jaw, and lingered on the fullness of his mouth. She greedily captured every detail in her mind, knowing that she would draw on this memory over and over again, no matter how many others were denied her. She felt a peculiar stirring inside that made her want to shut out the rest of the world and hold on to this sweet moment forever. At that moment, she realized she was dangerously close to allowing her feelings to deepen for this blond-headed troubadour.