side by himself. He wore camo pants and a dark green T-shirt, fairly typical FBI field clothing. His elbows rested on his knees, and his right foot hadn’t stopped fidgeting since Austin had stepped into the room. The man could be worried about Maria or tense about meeting her husband, Austin thought wryly. He leaned against the wall, needing to stand for a few minutes while he sipped his coffee. Besides, the dark blue chairs lining the walls looked about as hard and itchy as sitting on a bale of hay.
The haze in his brain started lifting and he convinced himself that he’d stick around long enough to make sure Maria was in the clear and out of surgery. She may not even want him there. Camo Pants might be the one getting the nod to see her when she woke.
Anger filled his chest as he thought about how easy it seemed for her to be able to replace their relationship. For him, what they’d had was special. Apparently, not so much for her.
News that she was in recovery came two cups of coffee and little more than one hour later. Austin took it as a good sign. Camo Pants didn’t make a move when the doctor stepped into the doorway and asked to speak to Austin O’Brien. Austin double-checked Camo Pants for a reaction when the doctor said Maria’s name, too. He didn’t get one. Good. Austin wasn’t sure how he’d react if his replacement was sitting in the same room.
It struck him as odd that her fiancé wouldn’t be notified. But then, that was just paperwork.
Austin followed the doctor into the hall so they could speak one-on-one. After hearing medical-lingo for Maria was doing better than expected due to her strong physical condition, Austin asked how long she could expect to be in the hospital.
“Not long. Cognitively, she’s doing far better than expected,” the middle-aged doctor, who looked committed to a workout routine himself, said. He’d introduced himself as Dr. Burt and had a tired but competent look to his graying features. “A blow to the head like the one she took can scramble things up. Her mind seems clear. She knew her name and the day of the week. She also knew the current president and vice president.”
Austin didn’t know how to put this delicately, so he came straight out with it. “We’re going through a divorce, so I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for me to stick around much longer. I’d like to know that she’ll recover fully before I leave, though.”
“Leave?” The doctor’s brow shot up. “You were the first person she asked to see when she woke. She asked for her husband.”
Again, the delicate way to approach this seemed to take leave so Austin asked point-blank, “Are you sure she’s talking about me?”
“You’re Austin O’Brien, correct?” Dr. Burt asked.
“I am.”
“Then I’m absolutely talking about you,” he said.
“And she didn’t mention anything about sending me divorce papers or planning to marry someone else?”
“No.” A concerned crease dented the doctor’s forehead. “In fact, she seemed excited about heading back to the ranch with you.”
“The ranch?” Austin’s reaction seemed to catch the doctor off guard.
“She doesn’t live with you on your family ranch?” he asked.
Austin shook his head and worry lines bracketed Dr. Burt’s mouth.
“You said she took a blow to the head,” Austin said, fearing that she might’ve taken a bigger hit than they realized.
Dr. Burt nodded. “Short-term memory loss can be an issue with a head injury. I’ll set up a meeting with you and the nurse to check the accuracy of the information she provided. If she doesn’t live with you, where does she live?”
“She moved to an apartment in Austin more than a year ago,” Austin said honestly. He didn’t really want to get into the shortcomings of his relationship with his wife but it sounded like information they needed to treat her properly. He could get through a few uncomfortable minutes if it would help.
The doctor’s frown deepened. “Interesting. She didn’t mention anything about it.” He paused. “I’ll contact our trauma specialist for a consult and, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to be available for an interview, as well.”
“I’ll do what I can to help,” he said, unsure if he was the right person for the task.
Dr. Burt deposited Austin in a small office and then left, saying he’d return soon. The doctor’s words sent all of Austin’s warning flags flying at high altitude.
A few minutes passed before the door opened again and a white-haired doctor stepped inside.
“I’m Dr. Wade.” This doctor was a little shorter than Dr. Burt with a few more wrinkles.
The interview didn’t last as long as Austin’s cup of coffee.
“I’d like to confer with my colleague before making a recommendation,” he said, pausing at the door.
Austin thanked him and waited.
Three hours later, Dr. Burt stepped inside the room. “My shift is almost over but I wanted to speak to you personally before I left.”
“I appreciate it,” Austin said.
“Your wife is in recovery and doing well. After speaking to her, it’s safe to say that she’s suffering memory loss from the trauma her head received,” the doctor began, taking a seat across from Austin. “The blow was severe enough to cause some swelling to the brain.”
“Sounds serious,” Austin said, tamping down his fear that the doctor was about to deliver life-changing news.
“We’ll have to monitor her for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours but I’m hopeful for a positive outcome given her otherwise strong physical condition,” Dr. Burt said.
“And what about her memory?” Austin asked.
“That’s where it gets complicated. There are two basic types of amnesia, retrograde and anterograde,” Dr. Burt started. He leaned forward and touched the tips of his fingers together. “Amnesia is simple. We all know what that means. We had a memory once and now it’s gone.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “The memory is lost.”
Straightforward enough. Austin nodded his understanding.
“Anterograde amnesia erases short-term memories following an accident or trauma and a good part of that is due to injury to the brain itself. Chemicals shift and the balance is disturbed. Once that brain chemistry normalizes, systems work again.” He folded his fingers together. “Had a guy released last week who’d spent four months here but can’t recall anything before the last week of his stay.”
“Will those memories come back for him?” Austin asked after taking a sip of coffee that he’d refilled prior to the doctor entering the room.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dr. Burt made a seesaw effect with outstretched arms. “I’ve seen it go both ways.
“With retrograde amnesia, like in your wife’s case—” he paused “—a patient loses memories of events before the injury. For some, the loss will cover a few
