Lost Identity. Leona KarrЧитать онлайн книгу.
drew in a deep breath to settle the quivering in her chest. “The truth is that I don’t know who I am. And I need a little time to figure it out.”
His mouth quirked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or let his irritation show. “That’s the metaphysical question for this generation, isn’t it? Who am I? I can’t believe how many people get on this quest—”
“That isn’t what I mean.” She jerked her hand away from his. Her eyes flashed as she said each word with loud emphasis, “Don’t you understand? I don’t know who I am.”
Andrew simply stared at her.
“I’ve lost my memory. I remember your rescuing me from the beach. But that’s all. Nothing before that.”
“I see.” An inner voice warned him to be careful. “You have amnesia.” Skepticism laced the statement.
Trish could tell from his tone that he didn’t believe her. He obviously thought she was trying to put something over on him. Her hopes that he would understand took a sickening dive. Any lie she could have dreamed up would have had a better response from him than the truth.
“Yes, I have amnesia,” she repeated firmly.
“Well, that is a problem, isn’t it?” he said as if he were addressing a child who had just told a whopper of a lie.
“Don’t patronize me,” she flared. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t remember anything from the moment I opened my eyes and saw your face bending over me.”
“But you said your name was Trish,” he protested. “Did you just make that up?”
She hesitated, and then answered thoughtfully, “I don’t think so. The name just kind of floated up and seemed familiar.”
“And you don’t remember anything else?”
“I know I have a blue-and-yellow cosmetic bag with butterflies on it. I remember that,” she said triumphantly.
He watched as her blue-green eyes lost their flatness. There was such joyful thankfulness in her face when she said she had remembered the bag that he had a hard time believing it was just an act. Still, it was a stretch to accept this bizarre story as the truth.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” She sighed, watching his brown eyes narrow as he looked at her, and deep lines furrow his forehead.
“Frankly, I don’t know whether I do or not,” he answered honestly. He’d heard of retrograde amnesia when a person would remember things after a trauma and nothing before. Clearly she’d been in a state of shock when he’d found her on the beach, but keeping such a frightening state to herself didn’t seem rational. Was this very appealing woman cleverly manipulating him to her own ends?
“I’m telling you the truth,” she insisted, reading the skepticism in his expression.
“You have to admit that you’ve been rather adept at keeping your loss of memory from me. I mean, I would have thought you would have told me right away.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…because I had to protect myself any way I could.” Her gaze dragged his face with pleading intensity. “Deep down I knew that I was being threatened by something or someone. By keeping quiet, I was just trying to protect myself—and you—until I could remember and know what to do.”
Andrew’s thoughts whirled like dry leaves caught in a devil’s wind. He knew that her nightmare had been real enough. Some of her vague answers and behavior could be symptoms of complete disorientation. When he thought about her behavior in the context of her not remembering anything, there was a ring of authenticity about it. Still, her determination to keep such an appalling state a secret bothered him. “You should have told me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“How long did you plan to keep me in the dark?”
“I thought—I hoped—that at any moment, my memory would come back. Plus I wasn’t sure you’d believe me if I told you the truth.”
He hesitated. “I’ve heard about people losing their memory when something horrendous happens to them.”
Her lips quivered as she looked across the table at him. “I don’t know why I’m in danger, but it’s a deep-gut feeling that I can’t deny. I feel safe here with you, Andrew, and that’s why I don’t want to leave. Please say that I can stay.”
All 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