her. “No.”
She heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Talk to you later,” he called on his way out the door, feeling the same way she did.
THE NEXT MORNING Belle spent an hour with Dr. Oliver and felt good about the visit.
“I’m so glad it’s finally happening,” Belle said, curled up on the peach sofa.
“Yes,” Dr. Oliver agreed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Do you have any questions?”
She shrugged. “No. Not really. I believe we’ve covered everything about a hundred times.”
Dr. Oliver smiled. “You’ve been one of those patients who desires to know everything and you’ve researched PTSD thoroughly. Just be patient and let your memory unfold. You may not even be aware of it at times, and at others you may be flooded with events and scenes. Dreams and flashbacks are normal. So are the headaches, but once your recall is complete they will be less frequent, then may disappear completely.”
Belle uncurled her legs. “Caleb is going with me to Beckett.”
Dr. Oliver paused in writing notes in a file. “I know.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t object to that,” she said with an impish grin.
“You’ve been confused many times with my cautionary words about Caleb.” Dr. Oliver looked directly at her. “When your memory is complete, you’ll understand them. They are for your own peace of mind. And that’s what I want for you—for you to be at peace with your past and your present, not torn between the two. Less trauma is what you need now.” She returned to her notes. “You trust Ranger McCain and so do I. I’m relieved that he will be with you.”
“He’s a wonderful man.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Dr. Oliver looked up. “And there’s probably a wonderful man waiting for you.”
“Mmm.” She chewed on her lip, wondering about the man she’d mentioned in the hospital. He wasn’t her husband. So he had to be a boyfriend. Yet, she couldn’t bring up his face. All she could see was Caleb. She wouldn’t tell Dr. Oliver that. She would handle her feelings in her own way because she knew them for what they were. That was the main thing.
THAT NIGHT BELLE had a restless sleep, tossing and turning as parts of her life flashed through her mind like a frenetic video. She was a little girl running to meet her father when he came home from work, then she was older and her mother was teaching her to cook and how to set the table. They were on a family trip to Six Flags Over Texas, laughing and having a good time. Then school and showing her parents her report card—all A’s and she was proud. Her parents were even prouder. Friends, Cathy and Gilda, stayed over and tried on makeup and they did each other’s hair. They talked about boys, dating and the prom. Graduation and smiles then college. Texas A&M at Corpus was close so her parents were thrilled with her choice. She had to make a decision about a career and it was easy. She’d go into law enforcement like her father.
Finally the video stopped and she fell into a deep sleep. She woke up refreshed as some of the fogginess had left her. She had a happy childhood and she’d remembered so many things that her head hurt from the reel running in her mind. Her memory was returning just as Dr. Oliver had said. Now she had to wait and the rest would fall into place. Soon she’d know the face of the person who’d shot her.
She quickly dressed in shorts and a tank top, making sure her back was covered. She had deep welts there from the beatings she’d received at the hands of the cult. The racist leader said she was evil because her skin and eyes denoted her lineage was from a group not acceptable to their faith. She had to be beaten to drive out the demons and this had gone on for months.
Now her life was within her grasp. She just had to keep remembering.
She hit the front door running, taking her usual route through the affluent neighborhood. It was barely six so everything was peaceful and quiet on this April morning. Birds chirped and she could hear an occasional plane or car, but otherwise she was alone. She kept her mind blank as she jogged down the sidewalk in front of the large two-story homes and manicured lawns. The fragrance of blooming flowers wafted to her nostrils and she sucked in the scent, but didn’t pause to admire the view. She needed the exercise more than the scenery or the elusive memories that were surfacing faster than she could take them in.
An hour later she jogged back through the door breathing heavily and walked through the house to the pool area, where she quickly changed. She dived in and swam until she was completely exhausted, then she crawled out, grabbed a towel and collapsed into a lounge chair. The sky roof was open and the early-morning sun poured in. She felt at ease and at peace for that moment. Prudy hopped onto her lap and Belle knew Ms. Gertie was awake. Strange, but she still thought of herself as Belle. She wondered how long that would last. How long before she made the journey back to who she used to be and accepted it totally?
“Morning, Belle, darlin’.” Ms. Gertie, in a blue flowing silk robe, took a lounge chair next to hers.
“Morning, Ms. Gertie.” Belle knew she had to tell Gertie she’d remembered her name.
“I told Martha we’d have breakfast out here. It’s such a beautiful day.”
“Yes, it is. I ran this morning and the yards are looking so nice and there’s a scent in the air that’s indescribable.”
“It’s spring, darlin’, and there’s pheromones in the air. Turns a head to thinking about love.”
Belle stroked Prudy, smiling. “Ms. Gertie, you’re a natural born matchmaker.”
“Mmm. Too bad I didn’t do too good with myself. Living alone is not much fun, but without Harry, there’s not much fun, either.”
Harry, hearing his name barked loudly. Gertie had named her dog after her husband. She said it brought her comfort.
Gertie reached down and picked up Harry, cuddling him. “So, Belle, my darlin’, don’t let real love slip by.”
Maybe if Ms. Gertie knew her memory was returning she’d stop her matchmaking with Caleb. “I have to tell you something.”
Martha laid a tray of bran muffins, fruit, coffee and juice on a small table between them. “Thanks, Martha,” Gertie said, reaching for a cup of coffee. “Now, darlin’, what do you have to tell me?”
Belle reached for a glass of juice. “I remembered my name.”
Gertie’s head jerked toward her. “Oh, that’s marvelous.”
“Yes,” Belle agreed. “And Caleb found out a lot of other information, too.”
“So what is your name?”
“Joscelyn Marie Beckett, but everyone calls me Josie.”
“Beckett?” Gertie’s fine eyebrows crinkled in thought. “Any relation to the Becketts of South Texas?”
“Boone Beckett is my grandfather.”
“Oh, my goodness. I think I need something stronger than coffee.”
“Do
