Try to Remember, page 5
And if it had been a memory…then who exactly was she, and worse…what had she done?
CHAPTER 4
“Good morning,” Jane greeted Frank as he approached the kitchen. She’d heard his alarm go off earlier, then the sounds of the shower running and had been expecting him.
“Morning,” he replied, hesitating in the doorway, obviously surprised to see her already there. “You’re up early.”
“I didn’t sleep very well. I hope you don’t mind…I made coffee.”
“Believe me, I don’t mind.” He moved over to the cabinet and grabbed a cup. “The longest moments of the day are those in the morning when you have to wait for the first pot of coffee to drip through.” He poured himself a cup, took a sip, then sank down at the table, his gaze curious as it lingered on her. “So, what was the problem? The room too hot, too cold? The bed too lumpy?”
She shook her head, noting how handsome he looked in his white shirt and navy slacks. “No, everything was fine. I was quite comfortable. I just had a night of bad dreams,” she confessed, frowning as she once again thought of the frightening visions that had haunted her sleep.
He wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.
“There’s really nothing to talk about. The dreams were just disjointed confusing images. Nothing made any sense at all.” She turned away from him and gazed out the window, unwilling to share the details of the disturbing night.
“It was probably just a reflection of the confused state of your mind. You’ve been under quite a lot of stress in the past couple of days.”
“Yes…yes I’m sure that’s it.” She grabbed on to the rational explanation like a drowning woman clinging to a life preserver. Surely that was what it had been…the crazy dreams of a woman struggling to come to terms with the uncertainty of her life. It had nothing to do with her past or any real memories.
She joined him at the table, putting the haunting nightmares behind her. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a log, but I always do.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going to run down to the hospital. There are a couple of patients I want to check on.” He stood up and drained his coffee. “I’ll be back here around quarter to nine, and I think we should get you over to the courthouse. We can tell Social Services about our working arrangement and see what other help they might be able to offer you.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” She looked at him worriedly, again hating the dependency she’d developed for this man who was a relative stranger.
“Jane, I said I didn’t mind and I don’t. Just make yourself at home while I’m gone and I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” The dogs followed him out of the kitchen and to the front door.
She knew he’d left when the dogs returned to the kitchen, resuming their sleeping positions beneath the table. Jane got up and went over to the window, staring out at the dawn just breaking over the water.
A new day, but she was no closer to knowing anything about herself than she had been the night before. Every morning she awakened with the hope that somehow in the night her memory had been miraculously restored.
She turned away from the window, looking at the wall clock hanging above the stove. Seven o’clock, and Frank would be back here in less than two hours.
She needed a shower. Hopefully, it would successfully wash away the lingering unease brought on by the nightmares.
Minutes later, as she stood beneath the hot water, she found her thoughts drifting to Dr. Longford. Frank. Somehow, in thinking of him as Frank rather than Dr. Longford, she instantly got a mental vision of the man, rather than the physician.
While she’d spent time with him in the hospital setting, she hadn’t seen much beyond his white doctor’s jacket and competent manner. But since then, especially this morning, she had seen him simply as a very attractive man.
She wondered why he wasn’t married. Surely a good-looking doctor would be considered a real catch among the single women of Garett Beach. “But perhaps this is one handsome fish who doesn’t want to get caught,” she murmured to herself. But why?
She shoved these thoughts aside. She had enough to worry about in figuring out who she was. She didn’t need to expend any additional energy trying to figure out the inner workings of Frank Longford.
Still, what would she have done without him? Where would she be at this moment had he not offered her his hospitality and a job as his housekeeper? The question sent a shiver of revulsion up her spine as she remembered the horrible rental cottage. Why had she been staying there? she asked herself again. What might have possibly gone wrong with her life that would have forced her to be living in such a place?
She sighed and shoved the questions out of her mind. She thought perhaps Frank was right. The harder she pushed to recapture her past, the more elusive it became.
Although Social Services certainly couldn’t give her back her memory, they could at least arrange support of some kind, perhaps a few resources she could access to discover exactly who Jane Smith was.
She was feeling quite optimistic by the time Frank arrived back at the house.
“All ready?” he asked when she greeted him at the front door.
“How were your patients?” she asked once they were driving toward town.
He looked at her in surprise, as if he wasn’t accustomed to somebody asking him about his work. “Fine, although I need to be back at the hospital by noon. I’ve got a tonsillectomy scheduled for a very frightened little six-year-old.”
“Surely we’ll be finished long before then,” Jane said.
“We’ll just have to see how it goes,” he replied.
They fell into silence. This time, it wasn’t strained as it had been the night before; rather, it was a companionable one, broken from time to time by Frank indicating points of interest along the way.
Jane viewed their surroundings with pleasure. She’d been too caught up in her own personal drama the night before to really see the area when they’d first driven out to Frank’s house.
Frank’s home was set on an isolated stretch of beach, the nearest neighbor the rental cottages in the far distance. As they approached the town of Garett Beach, he pointed out an ancient abandoned lighthouse on an outcrop of rocks, a restaurant that served the best steamed crabs in the area, a house that was reputed to be haunted.
The Garett Beach Courthouse was a stately three story building in the center of the town square. They found the department they wanted on the third floor.
Jane flushed slightly as Frank explained the situation to the woman behind the desk. The woman eyed her as if Jane were a scientific experiment gone awry.
“Fill out these papers and bring them back to me,” the woman said as she handed Jane a sheath of printed forms attached to a clipboard.
Frank guided her to one of the plastic chairs and handed her a pen from his pocket. Jane stared down at the first form and heaved a deep sigh.
“What’s the matter?” Frank whispered, the scent of his pleasant cologne surrounding her as he leaned toward her.
Jane showed him the questions on the first three lines. “Name, address and phone number. How am I supposed to answer these? I can fill in my name…but I’m trying to discover everything else.”
Frank’s jaw muscles clenched in aggravation. “Apparently your dilemma wasn’t understood.” He took the papers from her and once again approached the woman at the desk.
It was nearly eleven when they finally left the courthouse, Frank fuming over the frustrating red tape and Jane silent in defeat.
He shot a sideways look at her. She looked so small, so lost. A surge of anger swept through him as he thought of the way she had been treated by those who were supposed to be in the position to help. They had eyed her suspiciously, with a slight edge of contempt, as if somehow she had brought on her condition herself, or had been infected with a dread social disease.
“At least you have a place to stay and a job that will give you some spending money,” he offered. “And surely the police will be able to discover something.”
She nodded, her gaze not wavering from the landscape outside. Frank noted the way the sunshine that streamed in through the car window caressed the delicate features of her face. With the natural light stroking the dark richness of her hair and illuminating the green depths of her eyes, Frank felt a sudden sharp unexpected twinge of desire.
He stared back at the road, irritated by the swift appearance of the unwanted emotion. For the rest of the drive to his place, he was silent, focusing all his attention on the physical act of driving. He didn’t want to analyze the negative sentiment, he didn’t even want to acknowledge it. He simply wanted it to go away and never return.
When they got back to his house, he dropped her off, then proceeded to the hospital, his thoughts still sending warnings to his heart.
Surely we can share the same house and not become personally involved, he reasoned. Granted, he was attracted to her, but he’d been attracted to other women in the past and managed to hang on to his heart. It probably wasn’t actually desire he’d felt so briefly…more like compassion and empathy. Yes, that was it. He felt sorry for her. She was so alone, without even the comfort of memories to ease that loneliness. He was responding to her as he would have to anyone in the same predicament. He’d always been drawn to the helpless, it was no wonder he empathized with Jane’s dilemma.
Besides, his life was full enough without any personal relationships. He didn’t have space for a woman in it. His patients demanded most of his time and energy, leaving very little for anything or anyone else.
Furthermore, of all the women in the world, Jane Smith was definitely one he knew he had to steer clear of. She had a life someplace, and sooner or later she would remember it and return to it. Getting involved with her would be consciously setting himself up for heartbreak. His heart had been broken once and couldn’t stand the pain of breaking another time.
When he wheeled into the hospital parking lot, he felt stronger, less tense about his decision to allow Jane to stay with him. He was a grown man, in charge of his own emotions. He would just consider her one of his patients, a woman who required a certain amount of caring and compassion, but who couldn’t penetrate any deeper than the surface of his heart. He would never again allow anyone into the core.
* * *
Jane wandered the confines of the house, trying to fill the silence of her surroundings, the emptiness of her mind. She still tasted the humiliation she’d felt earlier as she’d been questioned and probed by the people at Social Services. They’d asked her the same questions over and over again, changing them around, disguising them in an attempt to trick her, expose her as an amnesia fake.
A small smile touched her lips as she thought of Frank’s defensive anger. He’d demanded to see supervisors in every department they’d gone to, voicing strongly his disapproval at their suggestion that she go to the women’s shelter in Wilmington. He’d been Sir Galahad in a doctor’s white coat, Lancelot in a sports car.
Her smile faltered slightly as she sank onto the sofa. Frank Longford was not a knight in shining armor. He couldn’t ride in on a white horse and rescue her. He was simply a nice doctor who’d found himself embroiled in her life due to circumstances beyond his control.
She was grateful that he was allowing her to stay here, work for him, but he didn’t have the power to rescue her from the blackness of her mind. Somehow she knew only she had that power.
She smiled again as Mutt nudged her leg with the tip of his cold, wet nose, obviously seeking some attention. She leaned over and scrubbed him behind his ears, unsurprised when Jeff joined them, impatiently waiting his turn for an ear-scratching.
“So, what do I do now, boys?” she asked as she rose from the sofa and paced the room restlessly. “I’ve been hired to clean, so I guess that’s what I’ll do.”
She found furniture polish, glass cleaner and scouring powder under the kitchen sink. Thus armed, she spent the next couple of hours cleaning the living room and kitchen.
As she worked, she discovered tidbits of information that painted a more complete picture of the man who owned the house. The bookshelves in the living room were full of mystery novels and the records next to the stereo were mostly instrumentals.
In the kitchen, she found the refrigerator well stocked, and pulled two steaks out of the freezer to thaw. They hadn’t specified the extent of her tasks as housekeeper, but surely he wouldn’t mind if she had dinner ready for him when he got home from the hospital. She would make a big salad, a couple baked potatoes, then when he got home, she could throw the steaks on the barbecue grill that stood on the deck.
Finished in the kitchen and living room, she moved into the room where she’d slept. There she’d dusted the furniture and cleaned the mirror on the dresser.
After cleaning the bathroom, she hesitated in the doorway of his bedroom, unsure if he would appreciate her efforts or if he would think she’d intruded on his privacy. His room was twice the size of hers. The bed was covered with a geometric-patterned black-and-white spread that matched the curtains.
Where the living room had looked homey and comfortable, this room looked like a place where he spent little time. Pocket change scattered the top of the dresser, along with several bottles of cologne, but that was the only evidence of habitation.
Making her decision, she quickly straightened the covers on the bed, then polished the furniture, surprised at how little personality the room contained.
When she was finished, she closed the door behind her, more intrigued than ever with Frank Longford. He was an attractive man. Why wasn’t he married? Why didn’t his bedroom contain any sort of evidence of romantic nights spent with a special woman? He’d told her he’d almost married once. What had happened?
She shoved her questions aside, realizing that perhaps because of her own lack of a past, she was in danger of becoming obsessed with Frank’s.
It was nearly five o’clock when she began wondering what time Frank would return home. The salad was made, the potatoes scrubbed and poked and ready to zap in the microwave. The steaks were thawed and ready for the gas grill. She’d reshowered and was dressed in another of the few shorts outfits that comprised her wardrobe. She stood at the door, watching the road outside.
He hadn’t said what time he would be back and she had no idea what kind of hours he kept at the hospital. The silence of the house pressed in around her, making her feel an ache of loneliness, a feeling of disconnection with the rest of the world.
In an attempt to alleviate the silence, she placed a stack of records on the stereo, enjoying the sound of music that replaced the empty quiet.
By seven-thirty the sun had sunk low, riding the horizon like a magical flaming orange orb. The dogs stood at the sliding door, whining their need for their nightly run. She remembered they hadn’t been out all day, and slid the door open to let them out.
She stepped out onto the deck, the wood, retaining the day’s heat, warm beneath her bare feet. She watched the mutts romp in the sand and again wondered where she belonged.
Leaning against the railing, she stared out at the water, watching as the sinking sun bled its crimson onto the waves. Fire. The ocean had become a sea of flames, the descending darkness a wall of smoke.
The beach melted away before her eyes, transformed into a nightmare of smoke and fire…and death. Death surrounded her, embraced her in its icy grip as the vision grew and expanded.
A baby’s cry filled her head, a terrified infant’s screams. She slapped her hands over her ears to block out the sound, needing to stifle the cries that whirled around and around in her head. She didn’t want to hear it. The noise replaced the emptiness inside her with horror so intense, guilt so overwhelming, she cried out and stumbled backward, banging into the sliding glass door.
The abrupt physical jolt made the vision disappear, as if waved away by a magician’s wand. The beach stretched before her, not in flames, not smoke-shrouded, but with the falling shadows of night upon it. The cool evening air didn’t contain the scent of death, but rather the sharp odor of salt and kelp.
She breathed deeply of the air, clinging to the sound of the wind chimes in the distance, the roar of the waves as they rushed to the shore. No baby’s cry. Although it had all been frighteningly vivid, it had all been in her mind.
“Mutt…Jeff,” she called, her voice reedy with shock, but they apparently heard her and came bounding back to the house.
She fed them the same dry dog food she’d seen Frank give them the night before, and tried to keep her mind blessedly blank, her emotions firmly in check.
It wasn’t until she lay down on the sofa that the shivering swept over her. The shuddering began in her feet, then quickly suffused her entire body as she thought of the vision she’d had on the deck. What did it mean? What could it mean?
She curled up, trying to still the convulsive shaking. She hadn’t been asleep. She couldn’t dismiss the vision as a nightmare…not the way she had dismissed those she’d suffered the night before. She’d been wide-awake out on the deck. She had to face reality. The sight she’d seen in her mind’s eye was not a nightmare. It had been a memory…but a memory of what?
* * *
Frank smelled her before he saw her. The moment he stepped into the house, his nose picked up the distinctive scents of pine cleaner, furniture polish and whitening cleanser. Immediately following that initial assault, he smelled the faint, floral scent of her perfume. He steeled himself against its evocative whisper, not wanting to think of things feminine and soft.
He looked at his wristwatch and sighed. Nearly midnight. Jane was probably already in bed. He was almost grateful for that. It had been a hellish afternoon and exhaustion tugged heavily on him. He didn’t want to have to sort out why all afternoon as he’d worked, he’d been haunted by visions of a pair of green eyes and a wealth of dark, rich hair that made his fingers itch in anticipation of touching its softness.
