again. “That’s why you acted so strangely?”
He nodded. “I’d seen you in hospital before.”
She narrowed her eyes, thinking back. She’d been in hospital in her younger years, but …
Certain beyond doubt, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“No?”
The pin stabbed again, so deep it made her flinch. She held her chest and, a knee-jerk reaction, wound away from him. At the same time, a noise—a crunching kind of rattle—echoed to her left. Her gaze shot over. She expected to see—
She held her brow.
—she couldn’t think what.
She concentrated to form a picture in her mind, but she only saw those wallabies bounding off; they must have pushed loose gravel over the side. Now their boomerang tails and strong hind legs were catapulting them away, farther into the brush.
Here one minute. Gone the next.
Gone for good.
Those words looped around in her mind. She shivered and hugged herself tight. Her mind was playing tricks. Tricks that were seriously doing her head in. But she had a remedy.
Shaky inside, she feigned a smile. She hated to sound fragile, but she needed to lie down.
“Bishop, do you mind if I take myself off to bed early? Our late night must be catching up.”
“You have another headache.”
“No. Just … tired.” Taking her elbow, he ushered her inside. “Wake me up when you come to bed?” she asked.
As if to confirm it, he dropped a kiss on her crown. As they moved down the hall, she felt compelled to ask him to promise. That’s what a newly married bride would do, no matter how tired, right?
But the words didn’t come. And as that pin pricked again—niggling, enflaming—she only wished she knew why.
Ten
The following day, Bishop accompanied Laura into the office of a local GP.
Colorful children’s drawings hung on a corkboard, but Bishop’s attention was drawn to the top of a filing cabinet and a Hamlet-type skull, only this skull exposed the complicated mass that made up the mysterious chambers of a human brain. A little creepy but, in this instance, rather fitting.
Dr. Chatwin, a woman in her thirties, gestured to a pair of chairs.
“Please take a seat, Mrs. Bishop. Mr. Bishop.” While they made themselves comfortable, the doctor swept aside her long brunette ponytail and pulled in her chair. “Your husband spoke with me briefly this morning, Mrs. Bishop.”
Dressed in a pale pink linen dress Bishop had always loved to see her in, Laura crossed her legs and held her knees. “Please, call me, Laura.”
Dr. Chatwin returned the smile. “You hit your head last week and are experiencing some difficulties, is that right?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Laura’s clasped hands moved from her knees to her lap. “Not … difficulties.”
The doctor’s brows lifted and she leaned back in her chair. “Some issues with memory?”
Laura froze before her slender shoulders hitched back. “Some things have seemed … a little foggy.”
Swinging back around, the doctor tapped a few words on her keyboard. “Any headaches, dizziness, sleeplessness, nausea?”
“One headache.”
“Irritability, confusion?”
“I suppose some.”
While Bishop stretched his legs and crossed his ankles, happy to let a professional take charge, the doctor performed the usual tests with her stethoscope then checked for uneven dilation of the pupils. She asked a few simple questions. What suburb they were in. Laura’s full name. The date. She gave no outward sign of surprise when Laura announced a year two years past.
After tapping in a few notes, the doctor addressed them both. “You’d like to be referred to a specialist, is that right?”
Bishop replied. “Thank you. Yes.”
Without argument, the doctor began writing the referral. “Dr. Stanza is considered the best neuro specialist in Sydney. This isn’t an urgent case, however, so expect a wait.”
Bishop straightened. “How long of a wait?”
“Call his practice,” the doctor said, finishing the note. “They’ll book you into his first available slot.” After sliding the letter into an envelope, she scribbled the specialist’s name on the front. “As you’re both no doubt aware, there are instances of memory impairment associated with head trauma due to a fall. The doctor last week would’ve told you recollections usually return over time, although it’s not unusual for the events leading up to the incident, the incident itself and directly after to be lost permanently.” The doctor pushed back her chair and stood. “You’re not presenting with any physical concerns, Laura.” Her warm brown eyes shining, she handed the envelope to Bishop and finished with a sincere smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, particularly with your husband taking such good care of you.”
Five minutes later, Laura slid into the car, feeling tense and knowing that it showed, while Bishop reclined behind the wheel, ignited the engine, then slipped her a curious look.
“Something wrong?”
Laura didn’t like to complain. Bishop was simply making certain she was cared for. As she’d told the doctor, she had felt irritable on occasion. Some things were a little confusing … clothes she couldn’t remember in the wardrobe, a new potted plant in the kitchen … that truly odd feeling she’d had yesterday on the eastern porch when those wallabies had bounded away. But the doctor hadn’t seemed concerned. She’d indicated that the missing bits and pieces would fall into place soon enough.
The broad ledge of Bishop’s shoulders angled toward her. “Laura, tell me.”
“I don’t need to go to a specialist,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You heard Dr. Chatwin. No physical problems. Nothing urgent. I don’t want to waste a specialist’s time. It’ll probably cost a mortgage payment just to walk through the door.”
A corner of his mouth curved up. “We don’t have a mortgage.”
“That’s not the point. Dr. Chatwin said she was sure I’d be okay.”
“I’m sure you will be, too. But we’ll make an appointment with the specialist and if we don’t need it, we’ll cancel.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s a waste of everyone’s time.”
“If it is, then there’s no harm done.” His voice lowered and he shifted the car into Drive. “But you’re going.”
She
