she told him that she couldn’t remember anything before he found her on the beach, would he believe her? He might think she was just trying to con him with such a tale, and show her the door. Where would she go?
Maybe a lie would be better, she reasoned. Almost any story would seem more acceptable than the truth. What kind of a tale could she weave that would make it reasonable for her to stay here until she had some glimmer of her Lost Identity?
The sudden ring of the telephone sent her into instant panic. She was afraid to answer. What if they asked, “Who is this?” And what was more frightening, someone might be trying to find her.
She held her breath until it stopped ringing. Too late, she realized that it might have been Andrew calling to see if she was still there. Maybe he had wanted to tell her that he expected her to be gone by the time he got home?
If only she could remember anything, even a glimmer, maybe she would know what to do. She hated the thought of going back down to the beach where he had found her, but maybe something there would trigger her memory. Nothing could be more terrifying than not knowing anything about what had happened to her.
Cautiously she opened the front door and peered out at a redwood deck that stretched across the front of the cottage on the ocean side. A small mahogany picnic table, benches and two matching chairs presented an inviting scene, but as she stood in the doorway, her feet refused to move outside. Her fear was stronger than her will.
Slamming the door shut, she leaned back against it with tears in her eyes and her fists clenched. Maybe she didn’t know her name, but there was one question that was imbedded deep in every cell of her being.
Had she been fleeing for her life when Andrew found her on that beach?
Chapter Two
Andrew returned home that evening just after the sun had set. Twilight was slowly creeping across the ocean, and turning relentless rolling breakers into a dull gray. When he saw that there weren’t any lights on in the cottage, he felt a momentary pang of disappointment. Although he was used to coming home to an empty house and grateful to be out of the hustle and bustle of the city, his mysterious houseguest had made this homecoming out of the ordinary. Just in case she might still be there, he had stopped and picked up some fried chicken and salad.
Well, so much for taking the time to plan supper, he thought, impatient with the whole situation. Even though he knew she’d been shaken by her ordeal, she could have had the courtesy to explain herself before she took off. She could have phoned him, he argued with himself, and then shoved the thought away. It didn’t matter. Maybe it was better that she disappear as suddenly as she had come. At least she’d locked the door before she left, he thought as he let himself in.
As the door swung open, Trish jerked up from the couch where she’d been lying, and her cry of terror was like a sharp knife renting the air.
“It’s just me, Andrew,” he said quickly as he flipped a light switch just inside the door.
“I thought…I thought…” She took a deep breath to steady her voice.
“I’m sorry I frightened you. The house was dark. I thought you’d gone, but I guess I woke you up?”
She wanted to run into his arms, let him hold her the way he had last night, and end the torturing long hours of trying to retrieve something that lay at the edges of her memory. His reassuring figure and concerned expression invited the kind of security that she desperately needed. Somehow, she knew she was safe now that he was home.
“Have you been sleeping all day?” he said, wondering why the telephone hadn’t awakened her.
She nodded, not wanting to admit that for hours she’d been staring at the ceiling, trying to hold on to flickering impressions that faded too quickly for her to hold and examine them. Several times the darkness curtain in her mind seemed about ready to lift, causing her to hold her breathe as sweat beaded on her forehead. And then nothing.
“I brought supper,” he said, holding up the sack that was redolent with the odor of fried chicken. “Did you raid the fridge and fix yourself some lunch?”
“I made some tea and nibbled on some cheese and crackers. I wasn’t very hungry.”
“Well, I’ll fix us a couple of plates and we can go out on the deck to eat. The sun has burned off yesterday’s rain, and it’s going to be a lovely evening. Did you get out at all today?”
The question was casual, but it brought a tightness in her chest. “No, I stayed inside.”
“I called a couple of times, but no one answered.”
“I—I guess I must have been sleeping too hard to hear it.”
He didn’t believe her. The way she was avoiding his eyes spoke volumes. Why was she lying to him, and acting as if she was trying to come up with some believable story? He wanted to ask if she’d phoned anyone, or made arrangements to go back to wherever she belonged.
“Well, you probably needed the rest.” She had touched a sympathetic chord in him, but loud and clear it vibrated with a warning. Her continued presence could completely upset his life. She’d already played havoc with his normal routine and he’d spent more time thinking about her than was wise.
“Why don’t you freshen up, while I get things ready?” he suggested. After they had eaten, he’d insist that she level with him. He deserved to know what in the hell was going on.
She sensed his simmering impatience, and her stomach tightened as she went into the bathroom. Staring at herself, she was embarrassed at her disheveled appearance reflected in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, her eyes heavy, and deep lines of worry and fatigue etched her face. No wonder he had suggested that she freshen up. She was embarrassed that she’d let anyone see her in such a washed-out state. Somehow she knew that she’d always tried to look her best.
I have pride, she thought with a deep sense of satisfaction as she washed her face briskly with cold water. This little discovery was like a gem shining in a foggy darkness. It strengthened an inner confidence that seemed natural to her, and she glimpsed a tensile strength that had not been destroyed in the throes of amnesia.
I’ll remember everything soon, she told herself as she carefully brushed her hair around the tender spot on the back of her head. She had just put the brush back on the shelf, and automatically reached out her hand to pick up something when she froze. Nothing was there.
For a split second the curtains of darkness in her head split and she could see a dark blue cosmetic bag decorated with bright butterflies just beyond her empty hand. The flash of remembrance was clear and unmistakable.
Joy like a surge of adrenaline shot through her. I own a bright blue-and-yellow cosmetic bag. My memory is coming back! Her heartbeat quickened and the palms of her hands were suddenly moist with sweat. It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning.
With a stronger step, she hurried out to the living room to join Andrew, but he was already outside on the deck. She saw him through the large picture window. He had lit some patio lamps, which sent a soft glow over the deck.
“Come on out. Food’s ready.” Andrew gave her an inviting wave of his hand.
As Trish stood in the doorway, looking out, her burst of well-being faded. Her mouth went dry and
