Amnesia Read online

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “What time is it?”

  “It’s late, Aaron,” she said. “Go to sleep, honey. Everything will be better tomorrow.”

  “Huh?”

  She was asleep again. He blinked and stared at the doorway of the bedroom. For a moment he thought he was dreaming. There was a little girl standing there, clinging to a rag doll, only the little girl wasn’t Sophie. She was smaller and she had darker hair. He sat up and looked closer.

  There seemed to be a stream of blood running down the right side of her face, bubbling out of her temple as if it were boiling in her body.

  “Tammy?” he said. He had no idea why.

  “What is it, Aaron?” Megan asked. She waited and then she turned and sat up beside him.

  He blinked rapidly. The girl was gone.

  “There was someone standing there,” he said, pointing at the doorway. “A little girl, not much older than an infant, bleeding badly. I don’t know why, but I called her . . . Tammy.”

  “Tammy?” Megan sat up quickly, looking at the door herself as if she expected to see such an infant.

  “Yes. That’s the name that came to me. Why?”

  She was quiet a moment and then she nodded.

  “It was just a dream, Aaron. Some sort of nightmare or something, maybe a result of what’s happened to you.”

  “Maybe it was Sophie,” he said. “Maybe she’s afraid or something. Maybe she’s hurt!”

  “It’s not Sophie. She’s fast asleep.”

  “I saw a little girl with blood on her face,” he insisted. “I know what I saw, Megan.”

  Megan groaned, rose from the bed, and walked out of the bedroom. He waited a moment and then he followed. He went to the open door and looked in at Megan fixing Sophie’s blanket. She indicated he should be still.

  “She’s asleep,” she told him. “You should take another pill, Aaron. You’re very nervous and that’s not good.”

  He stared at Sophie for a moment and then he followed Megan out and got back into bed. She got him a glass of water and he took a pill. Then she slipped into bed beside him, kissed him on the cheek, and turned over after saying, “Let’s go back to sleep, Aaron.”

  Tammy, he thought after a long, quiet moment.

  Who the hell is that?

  . . . six

  he slept late into the morning again. This time he didn’t open his eyes until ten-thirty. Intuitively he knew this wasn’t like him. He did feel rested and much stronger, but his thought process still seemed slow. For nearly a minute he continued to lie there, gazing around the room, trying to acclimate himself to his new surroundings. For him, everything in the room was still unfamiliar: all the furniture, the lamps, the miniature grandfather’s clock, the vases and especially the watercolor painting on the wall before him, depicting what looked like a fishing village on some Greek island, the boats, the small houses and the fishermen, all of it in vibrant colors. Was it some favorite place? What was the history of this picture? Did he buy it? Did she or did they buy it together? Were they there on holiday?At the right corner of Megan’s vanity table was the photograph of him and her he had seen in the carton. There was another picture on the large dresser, a picture just of him in a suit looking as if he was acceptingsome award, and then there was a picture of him, Megan, and Sophie standing on some beach. Megan was holding Sophie’s hand and he was beside them gazing off left as if something had caught his attention.

  In both pictures of him and Megan, he had an air of indifference about him, he thought. What kind of a husband and father have I been? Do people like me? Am I a nice guy? Do I like myself? Still having such basic questions about himself and his family made him feel naked.

  The images we create about ourselves, our persona, our moods and our ideas, all of it serves to protect us, to dress us, he thought. Being so indecisive and unclear stripped away the shields. He had to rely on others to tell him who he was, and that made him helpless, naked, and weak, someone always at the mercy of someone else, sometimes even strangers, always dependent upon their goodwill and kindness, especially Megan’s.

  Where was she? He listened. The house was very quiet. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. Where was he supposed to go today? The doctor’s in the afternoon, but what about the rest of the day? Was there something he was supposed to do? He couldn’t stand this confusion. If he wasn’t crazy now, he would soon be, he thought and started to get out of bed when suddenly Megan burst into the room almost as if she had been standing just outside the door waiting for him to make a definitive move. She wore a light blue sweatshirt and a pair of jeans with beige sneakers.

  “Good morning, Rip Van Winkle!” she cried.

  She was fresh and fully awake, her eyes vibrant, an air of the outdoors about her. She didn’t wear any makeup, but her cheeks were red. When she kissed him quickly, he could feel how cool her skin was and smell the aroma of blossoming flowers.

  “Maybe it’s the pills,” he said. “I don’t usually sleep late, right? I mean, how could I if I have to be in the city every morning?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it, honey. You’re recuperating. You deserve lots of R and R, with emphasis on the recreation. The doctor’s orders,” she added with a wink. “So, how are you today?”

  “I feel stronger, but I’m pretty much still in a fog about everything, Megan, and it’s so frustrating.”

  “I know, honey. I can see it in your eyes. You do still have that very vague look, except,” she added with an impish grin, “when you look at me.”

  He laughed. Was it true?

  “Where’s Sophie?”

  “I took her to school hours ago,” she replied. “She was so excited about it. Now, it’s just you and me in our new home,” she added standing and holding out her arms. He nodded and continued to get up. She put her hand on his head to hold him down. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  “I thought I’d take a shower, start another day in oblivion,” he replied.

  “This is far from oblivion, Aaron, and it’s customary to break in a new abode. I let you off last night because you were exhausted from your tests and all, and you drank a little too much wine, but now it’smorning and it’s a different story,” she said and in one quick motion lifted and removed her sweatshirt. He gazed up at her firm naked breasts and watched as she kicked off her sneakers, slipped out of her jeans, and dropped her panties.

  “Don’t forget,” she added, “we’re making another baby. If it hasn’t happened yet, wouldn’t it be wonderful if it happened today, here, our first morning in our new home?”

  Without another word she lifted the blanket from him and crawled in and over him, dropping him back to his pillow by pressing her lips to his. For a moment he wondered if it was safe for him to be sexually active in his condition.

  But what is my condition? he wondered.

  Megan didn’t seem concerned, and his body certainly had no hesitation. Most of the time now he felt as if he were floating on some cloud, but Megan sure had a way to bring him down to earth whenever she wanted him, he thought.

  I guess I’m in a great marriage, he realized as she turned over on her back and looked up at him with expectations. She was beautiful and warm, and she wanted him so much he could not step out of her aura even for a moment to catch his breath. Whatever the risk, he was committed to satisfying her and that was just what he intended to do.

  Once again their lovemaking was vigorous. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, she seemed to be concentrating hard on every move as if an extra effort would make her pregnant. If someone could will it to happen, he thought, she could.

  She opened her eyes and then reached up to draw him down to her so he couldn’t observe.

  “Oh, Aaron,” she said, “Aaron, this is so good. We’re so good together. I love you. You do love me, don’t you, Aaron? No matter what, you do.”

  “Yes,” he said, but it came more like a memorized line he was reciting in some
scenario. It was automatic. She said she loved him; he said he loved her. Wasn’t that the way most couples behaved? Especially during the act of lovemaking?

  Did he really love her? Was love outside the realm of factual memories? Could he be suffering amnesia and still be as strongly attracted to Megan as ever, and more than just sexually? She didn’t seem to skip a beat when it came to their relationship. None of what was happening to him disturbed her that much when it involved their lovemaking; none of it prevented her from wanting him. Shouldn’t that please him?

  It should and yet, it troubled him, too. Was she being this strong for his sake? he wondered. Putting on an act, making him feel at home so things wouldn’t get any worse, or did she truly love him with so consuming a passion?

  She cried out when he came and held on to him so tightly, his movement was constricted. It was as if she wanted to be sure she absorbed every last drop. Not a single sperm would be wasted inside her, he thought.

  “Ouch,” he said, feeling her fingernails dig deeper into his buttocks.

  She relaxed, her eyes still closed for a moment, and then she looked up at him and smiled.

  “Welcome to your new home,” she said.

  “Thanks, I think.”

  She laughed. “You think?”

  “Well, for a few minutes there, I thought you might suck me in, hook, line, and sinker.”

  She turned serious and moved out from under him.

  “I don’t mean to sound unhappy about it,” he quickly added.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “No,” she continued, turning back to him, “I guess it isn’t. I guess I should tell you the truth, Aaron. For quite a while now, you haven’t been all that . . . shall we say, amorous.”

  “I haven’t?”

  “No. You’ve been coming home exhausted, eating, watching the news, and falling asleep in your bathtub chair.”

  “Bathtub chair?”

  “That’s what Sophie calls it because it’s so soft, she thinks you sink in it when you sit. For a while there, we turned into a one-night-a-week marriage . . . Saturday night. On Fridays you’d come home late and be too tired for us to do anything, including joining friends, see a show, even go to dinner. Sundays, you were always preparing for Mondays, so that left Saturday night.”

  “I see. So I am a workaholic.”

  “A terrible one. We’ve had words about it, but nothing changed. Now that you’ve had this medical problem, I guess I can understand a little, and I hope you’ll make a serious lifestyle adjustment. What good is any success if you don’t enjoy the fruits of it?”

  “I don’t know why I would disagree with that,” he said.

  “It’s not that you disagree. You always agree, but you always have a reason why you can’t do this or can’t do that. Family life is a bigger investment than people tend to think. Sacrifices have to be made, accepted,” she lectured.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “You say of course, but when it comes to actually making the important ones, you rationalize and don’t,” she said, not letting him ease out of this.

  “I do?”

  “Yes. Why can’t you consider working here? You could be around Sophie more, and when the new baby comes . . .”

  “Hey,” he said. “Easy. I don’t even know where you put my socks. Give me some time, will you?”

  She smiled. “Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t be putting any pressure on you.”

  “A little late for that apology,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “I know now why women sometimes feel they’re being sexually exploited,” he teased.

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “Oh, no. I loved it. Exploit me all you want,” he quickly added.

  “You idiot,” she said and threw a pillow at him.

  After he showered and dressed, he joined her for some breakfast. Of course, it was lunch for her. She prepared some omelettes and they ate in the breakfast nook, a small room off the kitchen with large windows looking out at the woods and the mountains in the distance.

  “I can hear that brook babbling to us,” she said.

  “This is a very pretty place,” he admitted. “I don’t just mean the house. I mean the whole area. How did you get involved with this Mrs. Masters and her firm?”

  “Through a headhunter you recommended,” she replied. “We were talking about my wasting my education and talent, and you suggested I try for some work. You connected me with the agency, and they got me an interview with Mrs. Masters, who offered me the work on a little more than a part-time basis so I could be here for Sophie and you and I could have a family life as well as a career. She’s very sensitive to all of that.”

  “You did say she had been married. Does she have any children?”

  “No, and that’s why she’s so concerned for the rest of us. She blames her unbridled ambition, wishing she had been able to have children along the way. That’s probably why she treats us all as if we were her daughters, why she is more than just an employer. I was very lucky to find her, Aaron.”

  He sipped his coffee and nodded.

  “Yes, it does sound like you were.”

  “Like we both were,” she corrected.

  “Right. When do I meet her?” he asked.

  “This weekend we’re having dinner at her home. There’ll be some other people as well. Okay?”

  “Fine, but what do we do about Sophie? We don’t have Mrs. Domfort with us.”

  “Debbie’s daughter is baby-sitting for us. See? Everything is easier here. Everyone tries to help everyone else.”

  “It’s sounds like a kibbutz,” Aaron said, smiling.

  “Yes, exactly. That’s what we all are . . . a kibbutz, a collective enterprise, sort of a Three Musketeers outfit . . . one for all and all for one.”

  “Where do I fit in?”

  “That’s up to you, Aaron.”

  “You mean, if I agree to start my own company here . . .”

  “Exactly,” she said, smiling. “It couldn’t be any easier-anywhere else. If you’re up to it, I’ll show you a perfect building for your offices,” she continued. “You’ll be far too busy to work out of our home, and it’s more professional for you to have a place downtown.”

  “You mean you’ve already scouted it out?”

  “Mrs. Masters told me where to look,” she replied.

  He shook his head and gazed out the window. For a moment the scene changed. There were other houses out there. He was part of some home development. He put his hand over his eyes and squeezed his temples.

  “Aaron?”

  “I keep having these disconnects . . . images from nowhere that make no sense,” he muttered. When he took his hand away from his eyes and looked again, he saw only the woods and grounds, no homes.

  “You didn’t take your pill this morning,” Megan said. “I’ll go get it.”

  “Maybe I’m taking too many.”

  “No. It says every four hours as needed, Aaron.”

  “I’m all right,” he insisted. “Let me try to get by a little longer. I hate being dependent on any drug.” Hepaused and thought. “Yes, I do hate that.” He looked at her quickly, excitedly. “Things are returning to me, Megan, feelings, beliefs.”

  “Good, honey. You’re going to be fine,” she said.

  He spent the rest of the time before his doctor’s visit learning about his new home and reviewing papers in his office. Work projects continued to emerge, bubbling up out of the dark pool of forgetfulness. The details returned, the images becoming more and more vivid. It was truly encouraging.

  “It’s about that time, Aaron,” Megan said, coming to the office doorway.

  “Right,” he said. He stood up and looked at his papers. “You’d think Mr. Clovis would call to see how I’m doing,” he muttered.

  “Oh, he doesn’t know about your memory problem, Aaron. I didn’t call him. I thought the week you took off would be enough to get you back on your feet, especia
lly after seeing Dr. Longstreet and being in her care.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “Besides, I don’t think you’d get much sympathy from him. He’d probably accuse you of some deception.”

  “You really don’t like this man,” he said.

  “In truth, Aaron, neither do you. You tolerate him, but you don’t have to do that anymore, and I would bet my bottom dollar that working for him helped create this medical problem anyway,” she said. “Stress is the killer. Here,” she continued with a smile, “you won’t have it.”

  She scooped him under the arm and led him out.All the way back to the doctor’s clinic, Megan elaborated on the advantages and benefits of living in Driftwood. She emphasized the low crime rate, the lack of traffic and crowds, the pretty scenery, the good restaurants, and the proximity to bigger areas for shopping and entertainment. She did sound like the president of the chamber of commerce.

  He smiled at her and yet, as he listened and looked at the scenery whizzing by, he couldn’t help feeling he was being molded like some mound of clay that had once been shaped one way, lost that shape, and was being carved and pounded into another. But was that bad? Nothing Megan said was really threatening or contrary to what most anyone would want for himself and his family, and yet . . . there was something, something that gnawed away at him.

  What was it? What?

  Dr. Longstreet’s receptionist invited them into the inner offices almost immediately. When he entered the clinic, he saw a man who looked as if he was in his late thirties, early forties waiting in the lounge. He looked very fragile, his eyes full of apprehension. Aaron also noticed how he was squeezing his hands together in his lap. The veins were lifted around his knuckles. The man looked up at him but didn’t smile or nod. In fact, he seemed to cringe at the sight of Aaron.“Did you see that guy out there?” he asked Megan when they were situated in the examination room.

  “I didn’t really look at him. Why?”