How can he be dead and I can’t even remember him?”
Dr. Solomon touched his arm. “Give yourself time,” she said. “Maybe you should be thankful that, for the moment, you don’t have to face the pain this loss will ultimately cost you.”
“Thankful,” he mused, feeling anything but. Did she have any idea how frightening it was to feel nothing but a giant void inside your head?
The doctor handed him a small paper cup that held a trio of pills. As she poured water into a glass, she added, “You’ve had more than your share of excitement for today. Go to sleep now. Maybe when you wake up, all your memories will be exactly where you left them.”
“That’s what Dr. Bass said,” Ryder informed her. “Only he had fancier words for it.”
“It’s a psychologist’s job to have fancy words for everything,” Dr. Solomon said with a smile.
He downed the pills. Truth of the matter was, he’d had enough of this day, with people staring at him, waiting for him to remember them, waiting for him to remember anything. And, he admitted to himself, Hill had upset him. What was that guy’s problem?
A nurse appeared and he spent the next several minutes having his blood pressure checked and his temperature taken. He could live without any more medical attention, too. Eventually, apparently satisfied that he wasn’t going to expire in the next few hours, Dr. Solomon patted his blanket-covered leg and left the room with the nurse. Amelia fluffed his pillows. It seemed to Ryder that she was purposefully avoiding looking at him.
He caught her arm as he laid his head back against the cool softness of the pillow. Her skin was very smooth, like satin. He wondered how often he had touched her in the past, and what kind of feelings his touch engendered now. Did the feel of his skin against hers arouse her the way it did him? Judging from the way she stared at his fingers, the answer was a resounding no.
“I have a few questions I was hoping you could answer,” he said, still holding on to her hand.
She looked over her shoulder as though hoping help was lurking in the wings. “Such as?”
“Well, to start with, where are we? Specifically, I mean.”
“Seaport, Oregon. Good Samaritan Hospital, room 305. You were born in this hospital over twenty-eight years ago.”
“What do I do for a living?”
“You’re an attorney with Goodman, Todd and Flanders.”
Incredulous, he said, “I’m a lawyer?”
“According to Bill Goodman, a very good lawyer. A trial lawyer mostly, though we met when you helped me settle my father’s affairs after he died.”
He tried to picture himself in a courtroom. He tried to imagine himself defending a murderer, talking to a jury, approaching a judge. He knew lawyers did all that stuff—he simply could not recall himself in the role.
With a lilt to her voice, she said, “Does it bring back memories for you?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “Not a one.”
“The roses are from Miles Flanders. He says you’re not to worry about the Dalton case. People you work with have been calling.”
He could see she was waiting for all this to ring a mental bell, but the thought of practicing law was as foreign as everything else. Tearing his eyes from the vase of yellow roses, he peered at her intently. “Who, exactly, are you?”
“Amelia—”
“I know your name. But who are you? Start with who you are to me.”
She shrugged. She said, “We’re friends.”
He raised her hand to his face and kissed her fingers. She smelled like fresh flowers and sunshine, not at all like the hospital. He yearned to pull her into his arms and find out what her mouth tasted like. The expression on her face stopped him from doing it. She was staring at him as though he was mad, crazy! He said, “Friends? Is that all?”
“Ask me about something else,” she said firmly, withdrawing her hand. “Or better yet, go to sleep like the doctor ordered.”
He decided to temporarily let her off the hook. “Do I have other siblings I can’t recall?”
“No. You have just the two brothers.” A sharp intake of breath signaled she’d heard her own words. She said, “I’m sorry. You had two brothers, now you have Philip.”
“Was I close to…Rob?”
Her eyes immediately sparkled like distant stars. She took a deep breath and hesitated.
“Come on, Amelia. I’m at a distinct disadvantage with everyone around here. Just tell me the truth. Was I close to my twin brother?”
She wiped away the moisture from her eyes, ran a hand through her hair and said, “Not particularly.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re copping out on me,” he snapped.
She shook her head. For the first time, it occurred to him that she looked drained, both emotionally and physically. He’d been so aware of the unease in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed the dark circles under them. She’d been at his side in the hospital each time he awoke, so she’d probably been here off and on since the accident.
He said, “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
She paused a heartbeat before nodding.
Woozy, he rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes for a second. Damn! The pills were kicking in just as things were getting interesting. He said, “Who’s the father?”
She loosened his grip on her arm. Her eyes were huge as she stared at him. Finally, she said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But—”
“Please. Don’t ask me again.”
He wanted desperately to press her for details, but his eyelids each weighed a ton. As the world grew dark, he searched his mind for something to cling to. All he could find were a pair of gray eyes.
“It’s been almost two weeks,” Dr. Solomon said. Seated beside her was the psychologist, Dr. Bass, a man in his early fifties with slick black hair and an elegant pencil-thin mustache. He drummed his fingers against a thick file entitled “R. Hogan.”
“Which brings us to the conclusion that this amnesia is going to last a little longer than we hoped,” Dr. Solomon continued.
Amelia glanced at Jack and Nina who sat next to her at the conference table. They both looked worn to a frazzle. For different reasons, she knew exactly how they felt. Since awakening, Ryder had gravitated to her for support and comfort, and the struggle to remain friendly but aloof was taking its toll.
“Physically, he’s doing very well,” Dr. Solomon said.
The
