Читать книгу The Other Amanda - Lynn Leslie - Страница 11

THE EMOTION GLITTERING in Amanda’s eyes froze him, but Pat Newman leaned forward eagerly. He pounced, “Do you remember anything about the person who tried to hurt you?”

Jonathan watched her grow rigid, sweat forming on her brow, her hands clenching as she fought to remember. Then she closed her eyes and sighed.

“I can’t even remember how old I am. That detective said I’d been gone six weeks before that night, but I’ve lost a whole lifetime….” She lifted one hand in a pathetic gesture that tore at Jonathan’s heart. “Who hates me so much he would do this? Does someone want to kill me? Help me find out who I am. Give me back my life. Please.” She shut her eyes as tears slid down her cheeks.

“We will, Amanda. I promise.” Jonathan folded his fingers over her hand in a soothing grip. “I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

Pat Newman cleared his throat and moved away from the bed diplomatically. Jonathan suddenly realized he’d gone far beyond the doctor-patient relationship he was trying so hard to maintain and released her hand. “You’ve had enough for now. Try to rest.”

She smiled up at him with a slight curve of her mouth and winced as her skin pulled. He fought to maintain his objectivity, reluctantly following the other doctor into the corridor.

“Is something going on that I should know about, Jonathan?”

Even as he shook his head in denial Jonathan recalled the sensory tug he felt whenever he was near her. Her memories might be gone, but his were strong, heightened by her unexpected sweetness and vulnerability. He couldn’t keep fooling himself, but he’d be damned if he was going to let Pat Newman inside his head.

Newman hesitated, studying him, then capitulated. “Good.” Lowering his glasses to the end of his nose, he frowned. “She needs you to be completely objective. Tomorrow we start the real tests.”

In the morning, Amanda insisted she felt strong enough to walk to the first battery of tests. Jonathan had cleared his schedule, driving Bonnie to distraction, so he could observe. He sat near the door so Amanda wouldn’t be distracted. After one nervous glance at him, she turned to concentrate on Dr. Newman’s questions. The determined set of her mouth touched something deep inside him; she was obviously frightened but persevered anyway.

The first test dealt with general knowledge. Pat showed her pictures of actors, politicians and sports figures from different time periods.

“Can you name these people for me, Amanda?” he asked.

A spark came to life in her eyes. “That man with the powdered wig is George Washington.” Her smile blazed like a million-watt bulb. She didn’t have to ask if she was right; she knew it. Jonathan felt as if he’d taken a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach.

He couldn’t know for certain, but it seemed she did best with the historical group. The familiar faces of presidents since Jimmy Carter, and celebrities like Michael Jordan or Harrison Ford, were out of her reach. Her performance was exactly the same for the Famous Names Test.

He was amazed by how well she concentrated. He was getting tired just watching her efforts, but each time Pat asked if she’d like to call it a day, she insisted on continuing. The next tests, consisting of verbal and nonverbal priming tasks, were more difficult. She showed above average learning ability under trying conditions, further indicating that she hadn’t suffered any brain damage.

By now, she’d been at it for several hours. Because he was watching so closely, Jonathan saw a faint trembling begin in her arms and legs and signaled Dr. Newman, who stood immediately, as if this were the natural place to stop.

“Thank you, Amanda. You did very well today.”

“Did I?”

The strain around her eyes showed how hard she’d been trying.

“Yes!” Jonathan agreed. “Now it’s time for a nap. I’ll take you back to your room.”

Her steps were unsteady, but she didn’t seem to realize she was walking at a snail’s pace. He put his arm around her, only to steady her. Any doctor would have done the same thing, he told himself.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know the date the nation was born, but I don’t know my own birthday.”

This was dangerous territory. He should talk to Pat before he gave her any information, but he couldn’t resist her. Despite his doubts, he answered. “It’s August 9. You’ll be thirty.”

She thought about that for a moment. “How old are you, Jonathan?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Did we play together as children at the lake?”

Far too dangerous to go down this path. “No, not as children,” he answered truthfully.

“There you are darling!”

He was saved by Margaret. She and Randall were outside Amanda’s door, obviously waiting for her to return. He felt a sharp stab of relief. Right now, she didn’t need the baggage from their past.

“We thought we would be on time for your tests.”

Randall appeared to have aged ten years in the past three weeks, Jonathan thought. He saw his hand tremble as it reached for Amanda and gave her a gentle hug. He also noticed her flinch at the touch.

“Is everything all right?” Jonathan asked.

“I’m just tired. I need to rest.” She laughed, a genuine, carefree sound that transformed her bruised face. She looked straight into his eyes. “I’m beginning to sound like you.”

Whatever barriers he’d thrown up developed a few more cracks. He pushed open her door and urged her inside. “Take a nap. Doctor’s orders. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

She waved and sank down onto her bed. He pulled the door closed as Margaret turned to him.

“Well, what happened with the tests?”

Randall slumped against the wall, as if standing had become too difficult for him.

“It would be best for Dr. Newman to fill you in, Margaret.”

She turned on her heel and marched toward Pat’s office without another word.

Jonathan searched Randall’s tortured eyes. “I really believe Amanda will make a full recovery.”

In slow motion, Randall moved away from the wall, the effort draining all the color from his face. “Thank you for everything. This has been a very trying time.”

Jonathan watched him move. Randall’s steps were clumsy, heavy, especially compared to the determined stride of his wife. He made a mental note to check the last time Randall had been in for a physical.

He found Detective Savage waiting for him outside his office.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Dr. Taylor.”

Surprised to find him alone, Jonathan glanced around. “Your partner isn’t with you today?”

“Oh, no, sir. Officer Mahoney isn’t assigned to this investigation. I brought him along the other day hopin’ Miss Braithwaite might recognize him, since he was first on the scene.” He sat on the chair Jonathan indicated and stretched his legs. “She still has no memory of the night she was attacked?”

“No.” Jonathan sank into his swivel chair behind a desk piled high with paperwork. Bonnie, he noted, had formed two piles, one marked Urgent, the other Urgenter. He smiled absently before looking at the detective, who was regarding him with a curious gaze.

“Amanda only remembers me in the ER, before her surgery. That’s it—the rest of her past is a blank.”

“Well, that’s what I want to talk about.” Relaxing, the detective loosened his tie. “After givin’ the matter some thought and questionin’ a few of your old friends, it became clear to me that you and Miss Braithwaite have had a prior relationship. I mean before the night you performed surgery on her.”

Jonathan’s stomach clenched in warning.

“Had you and Miss Braithwaite resumed the affair durin’ the six weeks before she was attacked?”

He resented feeling as if he’d fallen into the middle of an old Columbo episode. “My relationship with Amanda Braithwaite has nothing to do with your investigation, Detective. Actually, I haven’t seen or spoken with her for ten years.”

Ignoring his icy tone, Savage continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “So, you know where she was those six weeks?”

“Damn you…” Before he could issue his denial, a sharp knock on the door interrupted him.

Margaret paused on the threshold to stare at the detective. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were busy.” Nonetheless, she shut the door behind her and joined them.

Both men stood, but Margaret refused to sit. She glared at the detective. “I’m surprised to see you here. Have you learned anything more about Amanda’s attacker?”

“No, ma’am, we haven’t. I was hopin’ your niece had regained some parts of her memory.”

“When that happens, we’ll let you know. Is there anything more we can help you with?”

Perhaps Margaret’s style wasn’t to his taste, but right now he found her refreshing. The detective looked like a man ready to call it a draw.

“No, ma’am. But I’ll be in touch.” He nodded in Jonathan’s direction. “Thanks for your time. I’ll get back to you.”

Margaret lifted her eyebrows in disdain as soon as he was gone. “Do you think that man has been watching too many old detective movies?”

Relieved that he wasn’t her target this time, Jonathan grinned. “He’s probably great at his job.”

“Well, I hope so!” Dropping down into the chair the detective had vacated, Margaret heaved a deep sigh. “I want to catch the monster who hurt Amanda. Which is why I stopped by.”

Her imperious anger was gone, replaced by a soft charm that almost disarmed him. “I know I’ve been difficult to get along with. I’m sorry. Between Randall’s falling apart and Mother Chambers’s health, I’ve been going a little crazy. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for Amanda. Dr. Newman thinks your presence is responsible for her progress with the tests. Can you tell me what’s next, Jonathan?”

“She has to take it one day at a time. So do we.” He turned the page on his calendar, although it was unnecessary. He knew what was there—it burned in big red letters behind his eyes. Tomorrow was the day he’d find out how well he’d done. “Tomorrow I remove Amanda’s plate and the wires. She should look more normal and will see her face for the first time. Let’s hope it helps her remember.”

TODAY WAS THE BIG DAY. Jonathan had promised she could see herself for the first time. She’d look in the mirror and know who she was.

When no one was watching, she’d begun to explore her face, touching it tentatively with her fingertips. High cheekbones. A wide mouth—of course the wires could have something to do with that. Her ears felt small and fit flat to her head. She’d kept her fingers away from the plate over her nose.

Sometimes she wondered why she hadn’t cheated, trying to see her reflection in the bathroom mirror. But Jonathan had seemed to think she should wait, so she had. His warning hadn’t kept her from exploring her head, though. On one side her hair was stubble, on the other silky and about shoulder length. She’d pulled a piece forward so she could see it out of the corner of her eye. It looked light, almost without color. Her skin was fair, she could tell from her arms. Her fingers were long, the nails strong ovals.

But she didn’t recognize any of it! And when she started to think like that, her head hurt. So finally she’d given up.

However, today was the day!

Whatever pill the nurse had given her made her feel as if she were floating. Jonathan and Bonnie worked in slow motion; his mouth moved so she knew he was talking, but she couldn’t hear a word he said. Despite her best effort, she finally fell asleep.

After a while she sensed someone at her bedside, but she couldn’t seem to open her eyes. Whoever it was stood over her for a long time.

“Jonathan,” she muttered, trying to fight the heavy fatigue.

No one answered, yet she could feel someone lean closer, feel the heat from a body over hers.

She moaned. Jonathan, where are you? Save me!

A glass was held to her lips as someone lifted her head. No! Instinct made her shove the glass away as she struggled back to reality.

When she woke, she was alone and frightened. The dream had seemed so real.

When she touched her pillow it was wet. Not a dream! For a moment she panicked, but then she remembered Jonathan had been here to take the wires out. She felt as if she’d been set free. Her jaws and mouth were lighter, softer, more mobile. She reached for the hand mirror conspicuously propped on the table beside her bed. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

“No, darling! Not yet!”

She hadn’t realized the door was open. Aunt Mar garet swooped into the room, dragging a tall, thin man behind her.

“I’ve brought your favorite hairdresser, Marcus. After you take a nice, hot shower he’s going to do something with your hair. Only then will I let you look in the mirror.”

Good. She could put off the much anticipated, much dreaded moment. And when she finally saw herself, she would be glad to look her best. Amanda allowed herself to be led to the bathroom and thrust under the shower. She hadn’t realized how she missed the feel of the water beating against her skin. She breathed in the delicate apricot scent of the soap and shampoo and decided this was going to be a very good day.

Aunt Margaret insisted she dress in a frilly pink nightgown and one of the lush bed jackets Randall had brought her. Marcus was waiting by a chair facing the window with what looked like an entire beauty shop of products at his feet.

“Sit, darling! Marcus is the miracle man.”

She wondered what he would do—her head had obviously been shaved on one side. He massaged her head gently through the towel before running his fingers through her wet hair.

“I can do wonders with this, Mrs. Chambers, never fear.”

Fear? A cold shiver ran through her. There was nothing to fear here in the hospital. Jonathan had promised her he would keep her safe.

A layer of hair fell into the towel across her lap. It wasn’t quite colorless, but very pale gold shot with silver; very intriguing and not at all what she expected.

Marcus leaned over her with the dryer. Hot air brushed her cheek and neck as he worked with the brush, pulling her hair over to one side. All the time he worked he talked; nothing consequential, he just droned on. She liked him, she decided. He didn’t put pressure on her by demanding she remember or by asking her opinion. He just did his job.

At last he was finished. He stepped back, and Aunt Margaret walked around her. Amanda could sense that Marcus was holding his breath, and for some reason she did, too.

“This will do.”

His thin face split in a self-satisfied grin. “I thought so. You can look now, Miss Braithwaite.”

Her breath seemed trapped in her lungs as her aunt held out the mirror. Tentatively she took it, concentrating first on her hair: a snug cap of waves, soft and touchable. An ache started in her chest. It was time.

She looked.

The face she saw was pale. There were a few purplish green bruises along her jawline, but she noted the well-defined bone structure, the narrow nose, the soft, wide mouth. Blue eyes, like Aunt Margaret’s.

A pleasant face. A strange face.

She knew they were waiting for her response. It wasn’t that this face displeased her. It was simply new to her.

“The hair looks very nice. Thank you, Aunt Margaret. Marcus.”

Marcus looked pleased. Her aunt Margaret smiled and patted her arm.

“There, there, darling. I know it’s been quite a day for you. Get some rest.”

It seemed as if people were always telling her to rest. After Margaret hustled Marcus out of her room, she was alone. She studied her face, trying to pull a memory out of the blank vault in her mind. Turning from side to side, she contemplated every angle. She opened the closet and stood looking at the full-length mirror. She had no memory of herself.

No identity at all.

This day, so long anticipated, was a disaster. She sat back in the chair by the window, the mirror still clutched in her hand. Outside, the world moved on, but she was stuck in here. She had no life. No friends. Nothing.

She allowed herself this one moment of self-pity before raising the mirror to look again. Something called to her from deep in those eyes. It told her to stop feeling so helpless. A powerful belief took root in her mind. She would discover each new thing as if she’d been reborn. She would put together the puzzle of her life. She wouldn’t let this defeat her. And if she became a whole new person, that would be all right, too.