Amnesia Page 3

  He thought a moment.

  “And I’m an architect, right?”

  “Yes. That’s how we first met. You were designing a building for this firm I was with in Westchester,” shesaid and shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, Aaron. If you’re telling me the truth and this amnesia is so deep and complete, you need to see a doctor right away, even if you were the victim of some practical joke and someone put drugs in your drink. Who knows how serious that can be? I should have taken you to the hospital emergency room instead of home.”

  They drove into the garage.

  “I guess I will see a doctor if this doesn’t end soon. Certainly by tomorrow.”

  She shut the engine and then turned to him. “You honestly don’t remember anything? Your name, me, your eight-year-old daughter, Sophie, our whole life together? Ten years of memories, gone?”

  “It’s like a blur. I try to remember and I see this foggy gray wall. Sometimes it’s even painful to try to break through it. It’s like a wall of smoke, yet I’m not a total idiot,” he quickly added. “I mean, I’m not absolutely mindless. I seem to be able to do things and remember everything that happens at the moment, but all the important stuff is gone, yes.”

  “How do you feel otherwise?”

  “Otherwise?” He shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I mean, no continuous pain, no headaches, nothing, but I did have these strange visions: people turning into bees, insects, fire in the train station, blood on the train floor.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding now like she truly believed him, “I’ll give you something to help you get a good night’s rest, and then in the morning . . .”

  “You said we’re moving in the morning, right?”

  “Yes, but because of my job we have all sorts of support systems where we’re going. We’ll be able to go right to a doctor in our new community, if need be.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s called Driftwood. It’s only another twentyfive, thirty miles northeast of the city.”

  “That’s appropriate,” he said. “It’s what I feel like . . . driftwood.”

  She smiled.

  “At least you haven’t lost your dry wit, Aaron. You’ll be all right,” she assured him. She started to open the door and then stopped. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t show your condition to Sophie. She’ll get very frightened. You know she’s a very sensitive child.”

  “I know now,” he said.

  “And Mrs. Domfort, too. Why let the whole world know our problems? If you could remember her, you’d remember she loves to gossip.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

  He followed her out of the car and through the door from the garage into the house. It took them directly into the kitchen, where the woman he imagined to be Mrs. Domfort sat across from his little girl at the small table in the breakfast nook. His daughter had Megan’s eyes and her color hair. She was in a pair of jeans and a pink and white blouse with a frilly collar, and her hair was braided. A small dimple in her left cheek flashed on and off as she moved her lips. She is adorable, he thought.

  “Hi,” he said. “Sorry I’m late,” he added, which obliviously pleased Megan. She nodded to show him he had said the right thing.

  “Thanks so much, Mrs. Domfort.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” the short, bluish grayhaired lady said, rising. She didn’t look much more than four feet two at the most with an ample bosom and wide hips. Her face was rosy, her eyes cheerful.

  She looks like the generic grandma, Aaron thought, a model for a Hallmark Grandparents Day card.

  “Sophie and I were just talking about your new home and how wonderful it was going to be for her to start a new school with new friends, weren’t we, Sophie?”

  His little girl nodded.

  “It’s like opening a surprise package. That’s so much fun, isn’t it?” Mrs. Domfort continued.

  It seemed to Aaron she was asking him, and asking him in the same, childlike tone of voice as if he was the infant to comfort and not his daughter. He nodded, too, and looked at Sophie, who was gazing at him with her eyes narrow, almost suspicious, as she waited for his reaction.

  “Yes, it will be fun,” he promised.

  Sophie smiled.

  “You took so long to come home, Daddy. We went to the train station and back, and you weren’t there. Mommy was mad at you,” she added, her eyebrows knitting together and her lips tightening in imitation.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

  I guess I’m not late often, he thought. He smiled ather and she smiled back, looking proud of the fact that he was offering her an apology. He could see it made her feel older, more like her mother.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, dear?” Mrs. Domfort asked Megan.

  “No, Mrs. Domfort. You’ve done so much for us as it is. She helped me finish packing all day today, Aaron.”

  “Oh?” he said. There were cartons of dishes, kitchen ware, silverware, all neatly and safely packed and stacked on the floor by the counters. He nodded. “Lotta work, moving,” he muttered.

  “Anyway, we’re fine now, Mrs. Domfort. Aren’t we, Aaron?” she asked, raising her voice sharply.

  “What? Oh, yes, yes. Thanks.”

  “I’ll come around in the morning to help get you off. It breaks my heart to see you all go,” Mrs. Domfort said sadly, pressing her lower lip over her upper and looking as if she might actually start to cry. Her over-the-top reactions nearly made Aaron laugh. It was as if they were all in a big dollhouse or performing on some children’s show. He half-expected to hear music and see puppets pop out of the kitchen cupboards.

  “You’re always invited to visit us, Mrs. Domfort. You know that,” Megan said.

  “Oh, I know,” Mrs. Domfort said, “but Mr. Domfort hates to drive these days. He says everyone drives too fast for him, and I haven’t driven a car since I was twenty. I don’t want to tell you how long ago that was,” she added, smiling at Aaron.

  “Well, if you can’t come to see us, we’ll come to seeyou, then,” Megan promised when Sophie looked disappointed.

  Megan stepped beside her and put her hand on Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie pressed her cheek against her mother’s wrist. The touching was obviously very important, reassuring.

  Aaron watched, warmed by the sight and moved to perform some affectionate act as well. Should he kiss his daughter? Did he always do that when he came home?

  “What time are the movers arriving?” Mrs. Domfort asked. She looked as if she was asking him. He turned to Megan.

  “Seven-thirty,” Megan replied. “So we all have to get an early night. C’mon, Sophie. Let’s get you into your bath and then ready for bed.”

  When Sophie stood up, Megan looked at Aaron.

  “Your platter is in the microwave. Just put it on for a minute and a half and everything will be hot enough,” she told him. “We left your dishes and silverware out and enough for our breakfast tomorrow.”

  He gazed at the microwave and nodded.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “I want Daddy to read me a story,” Sophie said.

  Aaron turned sharply and raised his eyebrows. Megan looked worried.

  “Your father has to eat his supper,” Megan replied, her lips tightening.

  “I want him to,” Sophie whined.

  “It’s all right. I’m so hungry, I promise I’ll eat fast and come right up.”

  “We’ll call you when Sophie’s ready after her bath.Eat something, Aaron. You need it,” Megan said and swung her eyes at Mrs. Domfort, who had remained to listen. He understood.

  “Oh. Right. Okay,” he said. “I was so eager to get home, I didn’t stop to eat a thing,” he told Mrs. Domfort and went to the microwave. He studied it a moment and realized he’d have no trouble remembering how to use it. Did that mean his memory was returning? He couldn’t say for sure because he did remember so many basic things. But how
can you forget just the important stuff? he wondered again.

  “Well,” Mrs. Domfort said with a sigh so deep he thought her heart would burst. “Good night everyone. Have a restful sleep.” She smiled at Aaron. “I do hate to see you all go, Aaron, but Driftwood is a wonderful community. You’ll do your best work there.”

  “Thank you,” he said even though he wondered what she meant. He watched her leave. Megan glanced at him and nodded before she took Sophie out.

  “Come read to me, Daddy,” Sophie called back.

  “I will!” he shouted.

  Aaron stood there gazing after them. He had no idea what the rest of the house was like and that drew his curiosity more than his hunger drew him to the food. Nevertheless, afraid of doing something wrong, he started the microwave before exploring.

  The house was obviously in a state of flux. The walls were bare. Furniture had been moved about. There were cartons on the floors. He wandered through the living room, hoping to find something that would jolt his memory.

  He looked in the downstairs bathroom, the dining room, and what was probably his or Megan’s little office-studio before he heard the microwave buzzing. Nothing had seemed familiar; nothing opened a floodgate of recollections. Quickly returning to the kitchen, he took out his food, set it on the table, and started to eat. It was roasted chicken, a pat of creamy mashed potatoes, and string beans. All of it was tasty, and as soon as he began, he realized he was ravenously hungry. He practically gobbled it all down before he heard Megan calling from the top of the stairway.

  “Sophie’s ready for you, Aaron.”

  “Coming!” he cried back and swallowed some water to wash down his food. Then he went to the stairway and started up, studying the carpeted steps, touching the carved banister carefully, studying the lines, looking for something to sting his mind and like a key open a locked door.

  Still, nothing happened.

  He paused at the top of the landing. Megan stood there in anticipation.

  “Well?” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “Nothing significant yet,” he said. “It’s all still quite a blank to me.” He gazed down the upstairs hallway. “I don’t even know which room is hers,” he said in a loud whisper.

  She sighed and lowered her shoulders as if she carried the full weight of his malady.

  “First door on the right, Aaron,” she said. “Be sure you don’t let her know anything. Getting up andmoving away from her friends and school is traumatic enough for a little girl her age.”

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  He took a deep breath and stepped into his daughter’s bedroom. It was stark because everything had been taken off the shelves and the walls. Sophie looked so much smaller in the queen-size canopy bed. He saw that the drawers had been removed from the dressers and the vanity table. The mirror was taken down and boxed. It lay atop the table. Just a pair of old-fashioned twin rag dolls remained alongside Sophie. In the corner was a doll almost as big as she was.

  Sophie’s hair was spilled down her face and over the fluffy pillow. Her eyes were bright with anticipation. The book he was to read rested on her lap. He glanced at the chair beside the bed and then moved quickly to it.

  “Well,” he said. “What do we have tonight?” He looked at the book.

  “It’s the same book as last night, Daddy.”

  “Oh. Right,” he said. He widened his eyes with surprise at the title:Sophie Moves to a New Home.

  “You and Mommy bought it for me last weekend,” Sophie said.

  He stared at the book and then he looked toward the doorway. Megan stood there, watching and listening.

  “What a coincidence,” he remarked. “Sophie moves to a new home.”

  “Very funny, Aaron,” Megan said.

  He shook his head. “What?”

  She glanced at Sophie.

  “You know I had it made. I did the art and you did the copy.”

  “Oh. Right,” he said. He looked at the book. “Right.” He opened it and sat back.

  “‘Sophie was unhappy,’” he began. “‘She thought moving to a new home was going to be sad, but boy, was she in for a surprise.’”

  He looked up at Megan.

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” she said softly, undoing the top buttons of her blouse. “Maybe I can do what has to be done to get that memory of yours back on track. The first and last night in your home is supposed to be special,” she added with a naughty smile. “And anyway, Aaron, it’s in love and sleep that we learn to trust each other, remember?”

  He widened his eyes and stared after her.

  He should feel terrible, he thought. He should absolutely be in a state of great anxiety. His heart should be pounding. He should be in a sweat. He should want to scream, especially after the terrible hallucinations and all.

  But he didn’t experience any of that at the moment.

  Instead, he was settling into this house and this family like someone who was lowering himself into a warm bath, someone who didn’t want to remember anything, someone who just wanted to close his eyes and feel good and forget the world.

  Which was what he had done.

  “What happens next, Daddy?” Sophie asked.

  He wanted to say he didn’t know.

  But instead, he began to read the story he had supposedly written. Vaguely it sounded like something he might have done, he thought, but everything was still too far out there for him to touch.

  How precious is something as simple as your own name, he concluded.

  . . . three

  She was already in bed, the thin beige quilt up around her, but with enough cleavage showing to draw his eyes. She didn’t have a smile on her face as much as a tiny, tight smirk.“She fell asleep quickly,” he said.

  “Good. I hate waiting.” She smiled. “You remember this at least, don’t you, Aaron?” She peeled the blanket down to reveal her bosom completely. Her breasts were full and round with nipples rising out of two slightly orange splashes. She ran her right forefinger seductively down between her breasts. “You always call this your private Grand Canyon. You remember that, don’t you, Aaron?”

  The truth was he didn’t remember any of it, but whereas all other forgetting made him anxious and concerned, this suddenly seemed more pleasureful and exciting, as it would if he were viewing her for the very first time. Innocence, discovery, surprise, and revelation had a certain special flavor that turned into something more with time. Sex was even supposedlybetter after the virgin wrapping was torn away, but there was always that initial taste that could never be duplicated. He was having it again and that was an unexpected benefit. For now, he didn’t care why it was back or what had caused it to happen. It was happening, and the warmth and the rush it sent through his body was as much a relief as it was exciting. This, he could understand. It was something in which he could find comfort and some respite from the terrible storm raging in his troubled brain.

  “You still remember how to make love, don’t you, Aaron? It’s like riding a bike,” she continued, teasing. “You fall off; you get back on.”

  He laughed and began to undress. For a moment he stood there looking at the closet doors. It was likeThe Lady or the Tiger.He was frozen, afraid to make a mistake. Which should he chose? Which door should he open? It was almost as if he expected to find another man’s clothes behind one of them, and then all this would fall apart. He’d no longer be Aaron Clifford. He’d be back in total limbo. He hated these little indecisions, these small confusions. They were like tiny cracks in a precious diamond, soon to join and shatter the jewel. Was he on the verge of some massive brain meltdown? Shouldn’t he have gone right to the hospital?

  “Your closet’s on the right, Aaron,” she offered. “There’s not much left in it, however. Just tomorrow’s clothes. You said you wanted to wear your sweat suit because we are going to be working all day moving in the house.”

  “Right,” he said. That was logical. He opened thecloset door and
glanced at the light blue sweat suit and the pair of sneakers on the floor with a pair of sweat socks folded neatly over them.

  I guess I did say that, he thought.

  Carefully he took off his clothing, hanging it all neatly, making sure he didn’t lose the pleat in his pants. She laughed.

  “You seem to remember all your little habits very well,” she said. “I’m always calling you my personal valet. You’ve always been more organized and neater than I am, Aaron.”

  “Am I?” He gazed at his clothes on the hangers and nodded. “Right,” he said.

  “I shouldn’t have told you. Some things I’d like you to forget forever,” she jested.

  He turned to her. Standing only in his underwear and socks now, he felt himself blush. Why should he blush?

  “Don’t stop now,” she said. “You’re doing so well. It won’t be long before your memory rises to the top. I promise,” she said, turning to him and pursing her lips as if she was about to pass judgment on the size of his anticipation.

  His building erection did make his underwear seem a size too small. Slowly he lowered his briefs and stepped out of them, folding them neatly, and then looking around for the proper place to lay them.

  “For god’s sakes, Aaron. Just leave them on the chair,” she said with a small note of annoyance. Was he that fastidious, even at times like this? “We’ll put it with our other clothes to be washed in the morning. I promise.”

  She raised her right hand to swear.

  “Right,” he said and took off his socks as well.

  He couldn’t help but be embarrassed by the way she scrutinized him. She seemed to be studying him for some sign of change now that he was nude.

  “Looks like everything’s still where it was when you left the house this morning,” she joked. “Glad to see you have no memory problems in that department; otherwise I would have begun electric shock treatments on the spot, and I mean, on the actual spot!”

  He laughed. She was funny. He liked her. How weird it was to make discoveries about a woman he was married to for ten years. How long had they known each other before? There were so many questions looming.