rational arguments against opening himself up to this disruptive intrusion in his life fled. He walked around the table and eased down beside her. Putting an arm around her slumped shoulders, he heard himself saying, “Of course, you can stay. We’ll sort this thing out.”
He felt a surge of protectiveness that was alien to anything he’d felt before. His cautious, rational approach to life deserted him as he was suddenly filled with desires that made him a stranger to a surge of bewildering hunger. He wanted to trace the sweet curve of her cheeks with his fingertips, and bury his lips in the smooth loveliness of her neck. He bent his head close to hers and as a soft breeze tugged at wayward strands framing her face, he knew that in another moment, he would forget himself completely.
Gently he withdrew his arm and took a steadying breath, hoping that she was unaware of his physical response to her nearness.
“There are things that we can do right away to find some of the answers,” he said, allowing his methodical intellectual nature to take over. Then he added as lightly as he could, “We’ll find out why you showed up like a drowned kitten on my doorstep, and it will all make sense. Until then try to relax, and let me see what I can find out. Okay?”
Gratitude made her voice unsteady as she thanked him. “I’ll try not to be an intrusion. Why don’t you let me sleep on the cot?”
“No, I like to work late, and sometimes get up in the middle of the night to try out an idea. It’s better if you take the bedroom.” He eyed her nearly untouched plate. “I guess you don’t like chicken.”
“Yes, I do.” She found herself relaxing for the first time since her rescue. “It’s strange, but I seem to know things like that—what I like and what I don’t like. I saw your guitar in the house and I know I like music but I’m not sure what kind. Some of the books on your shelves seemed familiar even though I can’t actually remember reading them.” She frowned. “That’s weird, isn’t it? I know a lot about myself, but none of the important things like what my name is and why I have a compelling instinct to hide.” She shivered. “None of it makes sense, does it?”
“It will make sense when we know the whole story.”
A sudden tightening in her chest made her plead, “But don’t let anyone know I’m here, not until we know for sure who I am. Promise?”
“Promise.”
Even though his mind had already been racing ahead to printing flyers with her picture on it, he knew she was right. If she had been a victim of foul play, it wouldn’t be wise to let other people know who and where she was until they found out the whole story.
“What do you think we should do first?” she asked, her spirits rising with hope for the first time.
“I’ll get a list of missing people in the area, and you can look over the names and see if any of them seem slightly familiar. We’ll go from there.”
His confidence was like a healing balm and when they went back inside the house, Trish felt stronger and less fearful than she had before, and she chided herself for not telling him sooner. She was able to look at her situation in a rational light for the first time. She belonged somewhere. She had connections to others. Every question in her dark memory had an answer.
“Getting impatient isn’t going to help,” Andrew had warned her earlier when she confided in him that not knowing the simplest things about herself was devastating.
She knew that he had been skeptical in the beginning, and who could blame him? This whole scenario was something out of a soap opera. But in the end, he had believed her. The warmth of his protective arm around her spoke volumes. She had an ally. She was no longer alone.
THAT NIGHT, ANDREW USED his computer to run off everything he could find on amnesia due to traumatic shock. When it came to facing any problem, he was always meticulous in his approach. That was just his nature, and one of things that made him successful in creating sophisticated software. By the time he turned off the computer, he had a fistful of research material.
He quietly went back into the living room and slumped down in his easy chair as he studied the printouts. The mantel clock was striking two o’clock when he finished reading.
Experts seemed to agree that hysterical amnesia resulted from a person’s desire to dissociate from a particularly intolerable situation when the victim chose to block out that incident and everything that went before it.
Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes as he tried to digest the information. One unrelenting question stabbed at him with demanding clarity.
What was the intolerable situation that made Trish choose to lose her memory?
Chapter Three
When Trish got up the next morning, Andrew was already gone, and her sense of well-being faded instantly as she faced another long day alone. Somehow she hadn’t expected him to go to the office two days in a row. Even though she was tempted to go back to bed, she dressed slowly in the undergarments she’d washed out the night before, and put on the same white slacks and blouse.
The same swirl of disorientation poured over her as she moved about the kitchen. Just like the first morning, he had made coffee, but there was no sign that he’d already had breakfast. Maybe he hadn’t gone to work. Her hands were suddenly clammy and cold even though they circled a hot mug. Could he have decided to take matters into his own hands and gone to the authorities? What if he reported that a strange, delusional woman had invaded his house? Surely, the authorities would come for her. And then what? Maybe she was responsible for something terrible. For the first time, she entertained an unnamed guilt, and a fear that whatever had happened to her, she had brought it on herself.
Panic suddenly overwhelmed her. She set down her coffee cup with such force that the liquid spilled all over the table. Everything that lay hidden in her mind seemed to crystallize in one thought—she had to leave the house before the danger lurking in the shadows of her memory found her.
She lurched up from her chair and started across the kitchen toward the back door, but before she reached it, she stopped dead in her tracks, frozen in horror. She was too late! The firm sound of footsteps warned her that someone was coming up the back stairs. They were already here! Before she could turn on her heels and flee, the door opened and she screamed.
Andrew stared at her in disbelief. “Trish, for godsake, what’s the matter?” He’d never seen raw terror on anyone’s face before, but he saw it on hers.
“Andrew,” she breathed, giddy with relief.
“You look as if you were expecting a ghost.” He was wearing a jogging suit, running shoes, and his moist sun-streaked hair was held back with a sweat-band.
“Not a ghost,” she managed, leaning up against the counter to keep her weak knees from buckling.
He searched her ashen face. Who had she expected to see coming through the door? Had her memory returned? “Tell me what’s going on, Trish. I’m not used to being greeted with bone-chilling screams when I come in the door—at least, not so early in the morning,” he added, trying to lighten the situation.
She ran an agitated hand through her dark hair. “I guess I let my imagination run away with me,” she admitted, totally embarrassed by the way she had lost control. “I’m sorry. When you weren’t
