A Gift to Remember (10 page)

‘I’m fine,’ she said, smiling at the sight of a friendly face. ‘Thanks for being so helpful yesterday, though. It was a weird morning.’

‘So what happened?’ he asked as Darcy pulled her striped Chaucer’s apron over her head and got ready to face her day. ‘Tell me everything, right from the
beginning.’

‘Well, as you know, I hit someone on my bike. His name is Aidan Harris.’

Joshua looked at her. ‘The guy was nice enough to tell you his name after you hit him?’

Darcy told him the whole sorry tale, starting with how Aidan Harris and his dog had stepped out in front of her at the intersection, followed by her visit to the hospital and then her impromptu
trek along the Upper West Side.

‘Ooh, a
rich
guy – was he cute?’

Darcy thought about it. She remembered his silky dark hair and pronounced jawline. ‘More than cute. He was very handsome, actually.’

‘Good, because if you’re going to sweep somebody off their feet like that, I think they at least need to be cute.’

Joshua really was irrepressible. ‘Are you absolutely sure you’re straight?’ Darcy teased. ‘And I didn’t sweep him off his feet, Joshua, I
knocked
him off
his feet. Plus now I still have the dog. The hospital wouldn’t take him, and I’m not sure what to do until I hear from the family.’

Joshua’s high-pitched laughter was almost loud enough to drown out Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’ currently playing on the in-store speakers. ‘You? Taking care of
a dog? Where is it now – in Lost and Found at Luigi’s?’

‘Close. Actually my neighbour is watching him for me.’

‘Your
crazy
neighbour? That scary old lady who only wears pink?’

‘Grace,’ she said, almost defensively. ‘And she’s not crazy actually – just a woman of few words.’ Darcy had come to this conclusion on her way to work.
Thinking about it, Mrs Henley had never really done anything other than resist Darcy’s attempts at neighbourly friendship. Which was reasonable enough in this town where you could just as
easily be living beside a grade-school teacher or a serial killer. ‘And she seems to really like dogs.’

‘And pink,’ he reminded her.

‘Oh God,’ Darcy groaned, her stomach now fluttering afresh at his words. Had she been too hasty in passing off Bailey to a complete stranger like that? Too eager to overcome the
work-related dilemma his presence presented? ‘Do you think she really is crazy?’ she asked him. ‘What if I’ve left Aidan’s dog with a lunatic? What if she’s
selling him on eBay as we speak?’

Joshua put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Relax. Ninety-nine per cent of the people in this town are crazy, and they still manage to care for their pets. I’m sure the mutt will be
fine.’

Suppressing her worries about Bailey’s welfare for the moment, Darcy once again checked her phone.

But much to her frustration there was still nothing from the Harris family, no missed calls, no messages. Well, adorable or not, she couldn’t keep looking after their dog for much longer,
she thought resolutely. If she hadn’t heard anything from them by midday, she’d just have to phone the hospital again and demand to speak to Aidan Harris himself.

The hours passed quickly in Chaucer’s and Darcy was kept on her toes by customers seeking out books with obscure-sounding titles – ‘Something about tequila and a bird?’
which Joshua eventually deduced was
To Kill a Mockingbird
and ‘a teenager who goes nuts on prom night’ (Stephen King’s
Carrie
) as well as looking for
recommendations, the part of the job Darcy enjoyed the most. There was simply no better feeling in the world than a customer returning to the store full of praise for a book she’d suggested
for them and trusting her again to choose another.

She’d had a couple of humdingers though. Just before lunch, a stern-faced businessman in his mid-forties brought a special edition copy of
Great Expectations
to the counter.

Darcy smiled as she rang up the purchase. ‘Wonderful book. Did you know that Dickens actually changed the ending after a critic told him that Pip spending the rest of his life single was
much too sad, and that the masses wouldn’t be happy with it?’ she offered conversationally. ‘So Dickens decided that Pip should meet Estella again after her husband dies,
providing a gentle suggestion that they would end up together.’

The man looked at her. ‘No point in my buying it then, is there? Now that you’ve given away the ending.’

Darcy was horrified. It had completely slipped her mind that not everyone had read the classics, and given that the man was buying an illustrated gift edition of the book, she’d just
assumed it was an old favourite, or indeed a gift.

She was still trying to get over her embarrassment and indeed the loss of a sale when from inside her apron, she heard her mobile ring.

It was a Manhattan number, one she didn’t recognise, and she looked towards Joshua, who was restocking the bestseller table at the front. He duly gave her a thumbs-up, indicating that she
should go ahead and answer it.

‘Hello, Darcy Archer speaking,’ she said, heading out back towards Chaucer’s broom-closet-sized stockroom.

‘Ms Archer, my name is Doctor Ingrid Mandeville, I’m calling from Roosevelt General.’ Darcy felt a sensation of dread rush through her. Had Aidan Harris’s condition
deteriorated, or had there been some kind of unforeseen complications maybe? Then she calmed a little, guessing that if this was the case, it was more likely to be the police, than the hospital
calling her about it. Not that that should make her feel any better.

She listened as the woman continued to speak. ‘Your number was passed to me this morning; I believe you were a witness to a collision involving one of my patients yesterday? A Mr
Harris?’

‘Well, yes.’ Darcy wasn’t sure if she should point out that she was actually the one who’d caused the collision, not just a witness to it, but she decided to wait and see
what else the doctor had to say.

‘This is unusual to say the least, but according to the note, you are currently in possession of Mr Harris’s dog?’

‘That’s right, yes. I’m not sure if the paramedics noticed the dog when they were tending to Mr Harris, but he was left behind so I thought it best to—’

‘Well, my patient would very much like to talk to you, Ms Archer. You see, and let it be known from the outset that I am speaking to you with Mr Harris’s full consent, it seems
he’s having some issues remembering events leading up to yesterday morning, and was hoping you might be able to enlighten him.’

Enlighten
him? How could Darcy possibly enlighten the guy as to what had happened, unless he really was trying to dispute who was at fault, in order to pin some of the medical bills on
her? Yet, he couldn’t possibly know that she was the one who’d run into him, could he?

‘I’m not really sure how I can help,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’m at work at the moment in any case, and if Mr Harris’s family could arrange to pick up his dog
as soon as possible, I’d be very grateful.’

‘Well, that’s part of the issue, Ms Archer,’ the doctor said simply. ‘We haven’t been able to contact the patient’s family, because he is unable to tell us
anything about them. It’s a rather serious situation.’

Darcy’s eyes widened and her stomach knotted once again. ‘A serious situation?’ she repeated, terrified. Oh no, despite the receptionist’s assurances yesterday, had Aidan
Harris since taken a turn for the worse? In which case . . . Darcy didn’t even want to think about the implications and how much trouble she was likely to be in.

‘Yes,’ the doctor confirmed, sending her heart plummeting to her stomach. ‘To put it succinctly, the only memory Mr Harris seems to possess at the moment is of his
dog.’

Every man’s memory is his private literature
.
Aldous Huxley

That evening after work, her mind filled with questions and her insides twisting with fear, Darcy made her way back to Roosevelt Hospital.

Dr Mandeville was expecting her, and she only had to wait a few moments at Reception before the doctor came to find her.

‘I realise this is unorthodox, but I really appreciate you coming in and I know Mr Harris will too.’ The woman went on to explain how temporary amnesia was often a side-effect of
such a collision, but she believed that Aidan Harris’s current condition was actually more down to shock following the accident than a fugue state.

‘Fugue?’ Darcy queried, familiar with the term but not entirely sure what it meant in terms of what was happening to Aidan Harris. It sounded scarily technical for one thing. Just
how serious was the damage she’d caused? She recalled reading once about how Agatha Christie had apparently disappeared one day, only to reappear eleven days later in a hotel in Harrogate,
with no memory of the events occurring during that time-span. When she asked if this was something similar the doctor shook her head.

‘No. The condition you mention is usually identifiable after the fact, such as when a person comes to after such an episode, and while he or she is in possession of normal day-to-day
memories, they have no memory whatsoever of that specific blackout period, be it hours or days. Mr Harris’s condition is more along the lines of simple reversible amnesia, typically
characterised by loss of personal identity, individual memories, personality, address, loved ones and other identifying characteristics.’

‘So did . . . did something happen to damage his brain that way – a hit on the head or something?’ Darcy was still afraid to admit to the doctor that she’d been the one
to run Aidan Harris over, because that would mean she was directly responsible for his injuries, and the implications. She couldn’t know whether or not the guy had hit his head following the
fall because she hadn’t seen it when she’d come off the bike herself.

‘No, actually there’s minimal physical trauma to the brain itself. This is more of a psychological condition: a dissociative response following a major stress event, not uncommon
after shock or psychological trauma, but not as a result of physical trauma to the brain,’ the doctor continued and Darcy breathed a sigh of relief.

OK, so at least she knew she hadn’t caused any serious damage to his brain then. By the sounds of it, he was just having trouble recalling a couple of things as a result of the accident.
Darcy could understand that; she too had been rattled by what had happened yesterday – she still was – and she wasn’t the one who’d been knocked out or ended up flat on her
back. So it was perfectly reasonable, Darcy reassured herself, particularly following his blackout, that Aidan Harris would be still somewhat in shock following the whole episode.

‘Things are foggy for him at the moment but he may well come out of it in a few days, typically once something identifiable – often with an emotional association – triggers his
memory,’ Dr Mandeville told Darcy as she led her towards an elevator and they both stepped inside. ‘But as you can imagine, he’s confused and upset that he can’t remember
who he is, and of course we can’t contact his next-of-kin to help illuminate the situation for him either. There were no ICE details in his wallet or amongst his personal effects. In Case of
Emergency,’ she added when Darcy looked blank.

As the elevator rose to the third floor, Darcy’s thoughts went back to the package he’d been carrying, now safely tucked away in a drawer in her apartment.

Was this something that could trigger his memory?

‘For now, all he remembers is a dog, and regardless of the circumstances we simply cannot allow pets in the hospital,’ the doctor continued before Darcy had a chance to enquire. She
led Darcy down a long, quiet corridor before stopping briefly outside a door. ‘When Mr Harris was informed that you were taking care of his pet, he insisted on speaking with you.’

Darcy nervously followed the woman into the room, not sure what to do or say. The automatic door at the end of the hall hissed open and snatches of ‘Jingle Bells’ filled the air for
a few moments before the door hissed shut again. The sound, usually so cheery, this time made her heart yammer even faster. Was there a worse place to spend the holidays? Did Aidan have a worried
wife and children at home waiting for him?

The room was bare and unadorned, with not a single floral arrangement or greeting card. When Joshua had had his gallbladder taken out last year and she’d come to visit, she could hardly
move, the room had been so jampacked with bouquets, cards and stuffed animals.

Now she wished she’d thought to bring something. But the request had taken her completely by surprise earlier, and anyway, she reminded herself, she didn’t even know this guy.

Aidan Harris lay silently on the bed in front of her. He was hooked up to tubes of every shape, size, colour and length, and Darcy gulped at the sight of them. She thought he looked cleaner now,
shinier somehow, than when she’d last seen him out cold on the busy street yesterday morning. His luxurious black hair had been washed and combed back, his face was cleanshaven, though his
skin looked worryingly pale. But it also gave her the chance to learn that his eyes, which she’d never seen open, were a soft hazel.

‘Aidan, this is Darcy Archer, the lady who is looking after your dog.’

He turned to look at Darcy and she had to remind herself not to stare. Aidan Harris had arresting, almost piercing eyes, heavy eyebrows and a well-defined jawline; the kind of masculine good
looks that might give Rhett Butler or Heathcliff a run for their money.

When he offered Darcy a smile, the skin around his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, and the light tan of his weathered-looking skin suggested time spent in the sun, or outside. He ran a quick
hand through the thick mop of hair and Darcy felt overcome by a desire to do the same.

To his hair, not her own.

She willed her hands to stay at their sides. How anyone could look so handsome and regal lying flat in a hospital gown and covered in white sheets was a mystery, and feeling unsettled by his
attractiveness, she snapped to in case it was obvious that she was ogling him. Not that she was an ogler. But rarely was she struck in a way that she would feel lost for words.