A Gift to Remember (11 page)

Darcy, who lived her life through words, suddenly had nothing to say. Aidan Harris looked a bit worried and she guessed he was probably wondering if she wasn’t just a little slow or
dim-witted. She felt a blush creeping up her neck and looked quickly at the ground; almost as bashful as she had been yesterday morning when Mr Darcy had populated her dreams, reminding herself
that this wasn’t Regency England and that Elizabeth Bennet would be frustrated by her tied tongue. Shrinking violet types in the twenty-first century were
so
not cool.

Clearing her throat, she said in her best Chaucer’s customer service voice, ‘Hello, Mr Harris. ‘I hope you’re feeling better after your accident.’

‘Not really,’ he replied simply, and there was a world of frustration behind those two words. Darcy once again felt desperately guilty for running him over and figured that if he
wasn’t aware of this before now, it possibly wasn’t the best time to reveal it. His voice was deep and gruff – surprising; she had expected someone a little more . . . refined.
And yet, she yearned to hear him speak again. ‘You told Reception you have my dog?’

This time she noticed the slight hint of an accent behind his words – an Irish accent perhaps? His name certainly suggested as much. Yet it was just that: a trace of a lilt beneath a
decidedly more recognisable New York twang. Darcy suspected that while Aidan Harris might well have been Irish by birth, he was an immigrant and had likely spent many years here in the city.

‘Bailey?’ she smiled. ‘Yes, he’s fine. My neighbour’s taking care of him at the moment. He’s a great dog. Really well behaved, and so intelligent.’

‘Bailey . . .’ Harris nodded absently, as if hearing the name for the first time.

‘Does the name mean something to you, Aidan?’ Dr Mandeville enquired. ‘Can you picture the dog in your mind, what he looks like, how long you’ve had him, where you were
walking him yesterday morning? Is there anything at all you can remember about him?’

As the doctor fired questions at him, the man gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles white with frustration.

Darcy’s heart went out to him, horrified that she had been the cause of all this.

‘No, the name doesn’t mean anything to me,’ he replied, his tone fraught with exasperation. ‘Like I said before, all I can remember is something about a dog – a
sort of grey dog that looks a bit like a wolf.’

‘That’s right; he’s a Husky,’ Darcy confirmed, somewhat relieved that he was remembering
something
at least. No doubt he’d piece together the rest once he
and Bailey were reunited, but of course as she already knew, dogs weren’t allowed in the hospital. She didn’t know how long Bailey’s owner would be here, but she supposed she
could always take a snapshot of him on her cell phone and show it to him.

Aidan Harris closed his eyes. ‘I can picture a dog in my mind, but that’s all; why the bloody hell can’t I remember anything else?’ He slammed an angry fist into the
mattress.

‘OK, Aidan, let’s not force things too much just yet. Why don’t you chat to Ms Archer about your dog for a little while, see if anything else rings a bell,’ Dr Mandeville
suggested smoothly, looking at Darcy who nodded, even though she was still terrified.

It was obvious that Aidan Harris was hugely frustrated about his condition, and given the level of his exasperation over the after-effects of the accident, she wasn’t looking forward to
admitting that it was she who’d run him over with her bike.

It must be awful, waking up like that and not being able to remember who you were or where you lived. The closest she’d ever come to something like that was drunkenly struggling to figure
out which apartment was actually hers after a ‘lively’ night out with Joshua a while back. She’d escaped a potentially close call by trying her keys in Mrs Henley’s door in
the early hours of the morning, but luckily for her, her neighbour seemed to sleep very soundly.

Then Darcy thought of something. ‘Doctor,’ she called out just as the woman was about to leave. ‘You probably know this already from Mr Harris’s ID, but if it’s any
help, I think he might live in a brownstone off Central Park West. I can give you the address if you’d like.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Thanks. I believe we did get that information from Aidan’s ID, however we’ve been unable to contact any family members there.’

Maybe he lives alone?
Darcy wanted to reply, and took a surreptitious glance at Aidan’s left hand. No wedding ring.

‘How do you know that?’ Aidan asked suspiciously, when the doctor took her leave. ‘About where my house is?’

Darcy coloured a little as she told him the story of how Bailey had refused to let her take him home until they’d tried his place first. She smiled as she recounted the Husky’s
exploits from the day before, although she left out the bits where she’d fed him pizza for dinner and pepperoni for breakfast. But then she thought of something.

‘So how long do you think you’ll be here – at the hospital, I mean?’ she asked him, wondering now just how long her house-guest would be staying.

His expression darkened. ‘A few days at least because of the damned concussion and the fact that I have no idea who the hell I am. They say they can’t let me out in case I go
wandering off somewhere – for insurance reasons or some other bloody nonsense like that.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘No, it’s fine.
I’m
the one who should be apologising, not to mention thanking you for taking care of my dog,’ he said, raising a smile which lit up his entire
face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Darcy gulped, looking away. ‘It’s been a pleasure. He’s a great dog. I’m sure he misses you though. You should have seen how anxious he was to get into the house
yesterday and couldn’t seem to understand why I didn’t have the keys.’

Aidan Harris frowned once again, and Darcy was worried that she’d said something wrong when he reached over to his bedside locker. Opening it, he took out a transparent Ziploc bag, and
from this withdrew a heavy set of keys.

‘They gave me these earlier and I immediately started wondering if I worked for Fort Knox or something. Look.’ He pointed out a heavy key-ring which to Darcy’s untrained eye
looked to be made of real gold; a selection of keys were attached to it. Next to this was a miniature baseball key chain bearing what Darcy recognised as a Mets logo.

‘So at least you know you’re a baseball fan,’ she said with a smile, although she would have betted on someone from his part of town favouring the Yankees.

‘So it seems.’ Harris sighed heavily. ‘Inconceivable . . .’

There was a brief silence and unsure what to say next, Darcy asked what sort of food she should be giving Bailey. ‘Does he have any particular favourites? Seeing as it looks like we might
be roomies for a little while longer.’

She noticed that Aidan seemed to be struggling internally with something. ‘I wonder – would you mind keeping an eye on him just until I’m back on my feet?’ he asked then.
He added apologetically, ‘Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, especially as you don’t even know me, but—’

‘It was me,’ Darcy blurted out then, and Harris stared at her. ‘On the bike. I was the cyclist who hit you. The lights were green and you and Bailey just stepped out in front
of me at the intersection . . .’

‘Ah, I see.’ He was silent for a while, and Darcy cursed herself for saying anything.

‘I couldn’t avoid you and there were witnesses, if you don’t believe me,’ she babbled eventually, wishing he’d say something, or show some kind of reaction.

Was he angry, furious even? It was impossible to tell.

Aidan Harris stroked his chin and looked sideways at Darcy. ‘So I guess that explains the dog-sitting then; I was just about to ask how you’d come across him.’

She winced and held her breath, desperately hoping he wouldn’t chew her out for running him over and being the root cause of all of his current woes.

But miraculously he shrugged. ‘Well, seeing as I can’t remember a thing about it, I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.’

Darcy looked sheepishly at him.

‘But if it’s any consolation, I believe you,’ he continued, his tone lightening a little, much to her relief. ‘When you say that there was nothing you could have done, I
mean.’

‘I was so worried when I realised you were out cold,’ she confessed. ‘And was terrified I’d caused untold damage – serious brain damage or something. I mean, I know
that not being able to remember things is surely no picnic for you now, but—’

‘But how were
you
, Miss Archer?’ he asked. ‘After the accident, I mean. I hope you came out of it all OK?’

Touched that in spite of everything, he was chivalrous enough to be concerned about her welfare, she smiled and said, ‘Please, call me Darcy. And I’m fine. Just a couple of bruises,
and a few broken spokes on the bike.’

‘Well then, Darcy, I’ll take care of that – whenever I get out of this bloody hell-hole,’ he snapped, his tone darkening once more.

‘There’s no need, really,’ she protested. ‘It’s fine.’

‘No, it’s the least I can do, especially when it seems that not only have you gone out of your way to take care of my dog, but also taken time out of your day to come and see me. I
appreciate that, since as you can see, I’m kind of on my own here.’

‘It must be very frightening.’ She smiled reassuringly, and tried not to betray the anxiety she felt about the logistics of having Bailey longer than she’d thought. It was a
small problem compared to the enormity of what his owner was facing just now. ‘But even though you can’t remember anything at the moment, I’m sure your family will find you very
soon. They’re probably phoning around the Emergency Rooms as we speak.’

He frowned. ‘Unfortunately, even if they are, thanks to some stupid bloody privacy rules, the hospital is not allowed to give out information to anyone unless I specifically tell them who
to give it to. But of course I can’t give permission for them to speak to specific people because I don’t know who the hell is supposed to be looking for me.’ He ran a hand
through his hair, frustrated yet again, and Darcy couldn’t help but sympathise.

‘Oh dear.’ Talk about a bureaucratic nightmare, she thought, wondering what administrative healthcare genius had come up with
that
one. While it was obviously in place to
safeguard patient information and privacy, it created real difficulties for people like Aidan Harris, effectively leaving them in the dark.

‘So I really need to figure out who in God’s name I am,’ he went on, his voice gruff. ‘And at the moment the only clue I have is that I own a Husky dog – and live
somewhere off Central Park, you said?’

‘Yes. A beautiful brownstone on the Upper West Side. With a lovely little potted maple tree outside the door,’ she added somewhat pointlessly, but she was trying to think of things
that might just trigger his memory for him. Then again, a simple tree was hardly going to yield the strong emotional connotations the doctor mentioned before, was it?

Feeling stupid, Darcy was silent again, not sure what to say. ‘I’m really sorry about this, Mr Harris,’ she said helplessly. ‘Truly, if there’s anything at all I
can do . . .’

Looking thoughtful, Aidan Harris was fidgeting again with his keys. ‘Call me Aidan, and if you don’t mind, I think there might just be something you can do actually.’ He paused
and fixed those probing dark eyes on Darcy’s own. ‘As you know, I’m kind of desperate here, and seeing as you were asking about dog food earlier and you already know where my
house is, I wonder if you could do me a small favour . . .’

A man’s house is his castle
.
James Otis

Once again, Darcy stood outside Aidan Harris’s brownstone off Central Park West, but this time she didn’t need to use the doorbell.

In the hope of helping him overcome his amnesia, Aidan had entrusted her with his keys and asked if she could go to his home and find something (or even someone) he’d recognise that would
help trigger his memory.

‘Perhaps a photograph or a notebook maybe, anything you think that might be important or significant in some way. Please Darcy, I really need to get out of this place. I need to get my
life back.’

He sounded so desperate that it was extremely difficult to say no, and while Darcy wasn’t convinced that she would be able to walk into a complete stranger’s home and identify
something that might be significant to them, she knew she owed it to him to at least try. And if nothing else, she mused somewhat selfishly, it would give her the opportunity to nab some decent
food for a dog of Bailey’s size without having to max out her own credit card.

She was still kicking herself for agreeing so readily to look after the dog and wasn’t sure how Luigi would react to finding out that Bailey wasn’t just an overnighter. To say
nothing of how she was going to keep a dog his size in her tiny apartment, when it was barely big enough for herself and her things as it was. Still, she’d made Aidan Harris a promise and she
was going to keep it. Bailey would just have to get used to more cramped living quarters and she would have to get used to giving up her space on the sofa as well as fluffy grey dog hairs on every
surface, she thought wryly.

Though judging by the size of Bailey’s real home, ‘cramped’ was an understatement.

Reaching into her messenger bag, Darcy fished out the set of keys Aidan had given her, trying to decide which one of them opened the front door.

Spotting the Mets keyring, she idly wondered if perhaps Aidan had at one point lived in Brooklyn, Long Island or Queens, where the majority of such fans were from. Being a Brooklyn girl, she
herself was very much a Mets fan, or at least she had been, she thought sadly, recalling how passionate her father used to be about baseball when she was growing up. She used to watch the games
with him on TV and he often promised to take her to the team’s then home Shea Stadium. But they’d never got the chance.

Over the years, she’d lost touch with what was going on with the team and baseball in general – Katherine wasn’t exactly a sports fan. Thinking about it, the only real thing
she could identify her aunt being passionate about was work, which was why Darcy had spent so much of her teens with only her books for company while Katherine was in Manhattan tending to what
seemed like a neverending succession of important commitments. Still, she couldn’t complain; her aunt had always done her best for her in what must have been very difficult circumstances, and
Darcy couldn’t help but contrast her own anxiety about having a mere dog as an unexpected house-guest to the utter shock her aunt must have felt back then on learning she was suddenly sole
guardian of a twelve-year-old girl.