Lost Identity (13 page)

“You’ve had this kind of nightmare before?” At Trish’s nod, she looked concerned. “And what does your psychiatrist say about them? Surely he could give you a sleeping pill, or something.”

Trish had to smile. Innocent Janelle. No sleeping pill in the world could erase the deep-seated anxiety that tormented her awake and sleeping.

“You’re going to tell him about this dream, and see what he thinks, aren’t you?” Janelle prodded.

Trish nodded. “I have an appointment with him to
morrow afternoon.” Then she glanced at her watch. It was two o’clock. “I mean this afternoon.”

Janelle slipped her arm through Trish’s. “We’d both better catch some sleep or we’ll be zombies come morning. I’ve got to come up with a fascinating story how I got this bump on my nose.”

Trish smiled at her gratefully. She knew that was Janelle’s way of saying that they’d keep the whole nightmare saga to themselves.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Janelle offered to drive Trish to her doctor’s appointment that afternoon, but she said she’d drive herself. She checked a map to make sure she knew how to get to the hospital.

“All right. I’ll make arrangements for the attendant to bring your car up for you,” Janelle volunteered. “And if you change you mind, just call me at the office.”

Trish took the elevator down to the foyer at the appointed time and was startled to see a white Porsche parked at the entrance. It didn’t seem the least familiar and she wanted to ask the young parking attendant if he’d brought the right car, but he tipped his hat, and greeted her with a friendly smile. “Have a nice day, Ms. Radcliffe.”

She was glad that the valet kept an extra key for each car. There were several personal items in the car like sunglasses and a pair of driving gloves which fit perfectly, but the most startling of all was a beautiful leather briefcase, embossed with her name lying in the front seat. She quickly opened it to see what was inside, but it was empty. Disappointed, she stared at the briefcase as if it could speak to her. When and why
had she left it there? None of the possibilities that came to mind made sense.

She left the city behind and took the New Jersey Turnpike to Havengate. At least skills like driving had not been affected by her loss of memory, she realized with relief. Once more she was grateful that the part of her brain that handled learned behaviors remained intact.

She had to wait nearly a half hour for her session with Dr. Duboise, and she found herself getting more and more tense as the minutes passed. She must have communicated her nervousness to Dr. Duboise in her greeting, because he apologized. “I’m sorry about the delay. There was a slight emergency.”

He motioned to her usual chair and picked up a file from his desk. “How are things going, Trish?” he asked casually as he took his seat.

Grateful that he hadn’t addressed her as Patricia, she answered honestly, “More confused than ever. I don’t know if I can even explain what it’s like to step into a stranger’s life and try to pretend that it’s yours.”

“Why don’t you just talk aloud to yourself about it, and I’ll listen?” He leaned back in his chair as if he had all the time in the world.

“All right.” She decided not to start with the nightmare because the doctor wouldn’t know any of the people in it—except himself. Her hands tightened on the arm of her chair as she told him about her first meeting with Curtis, Janelle, Gary and Darlene. Putting into words what she felt about each one of them was difficult because she wasn’t sure herself exactly what her feelings were.

“I like Janelle. She’s very supportive and patient with me. As for Curtis, I’d feel rather indifferent about
him if it wasn’t for the undercurrent of intimacy that he projects. How could I have been in a romantic relationship with this man, and not even recognize it on any level of my being?”

“Do you want to recognize it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you like to recognize an intimate relation with him?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said without hesitation.

“Why not?”

“He frightens me in a way that I don’t understand. He’s worried about me, I can tell that.” She told the doctor about the bouquet of roses and the card. “I’m not sure but, perhaps, he saw Andrew and me having dinner. Maybe the flowers were his way of letting me know that I’d already made a commitment to him. What do you think?”

As always, he refused to provide an answer. He gave her a reassuring smile and waited for her to go on talking.

Frowning, she tried to describe Darlene and her stepson, Gary. “Darlene is Perry Reynolds, my business partner’s young wife. Gary is her stepson, closer in age to her than was her husband. Darlene made it clear that she believes her husband’s disappearance is some kind of a conspiracy between Perry and me to cheat her.” Trish’s mouth quivered. “She doesn’t buy my story about not remembering, and her stepson wants his father declared dead so he can get his inheritance.”

Dr. Duboise leaned forward, keeping a steady eye on Trish’s face. “And you feel caught in the middle.”

“Yes.” In a halting voice, she told him about the
nightmare. “No matter which way I turned, I was blocked by someone—even you.”

“Maybe you’re trying to please everyone but yourself,” he suggested quietly.

“But I don’t trust myself. How can I? I don’t know these people or anything that’s happened in the past. I want to behave the way I should, but I don’t know what’s expected of me.”

“Do you think it’s wise to try and honor a lot of obligations that you don’t even remember?”

“How can I be sure I’m doing the right thing unless I depend upon someone else to tell me?”

“You still have feelings, insights and intuition, haven’t you? Why not trust them?”

“I’m not sure I can,” she said honestly.

“I find you to be a very intelligent, brave person, and I’m confident that you’re capable of handling every one of the people you’ve described to me.” He gave a rare chuckle. “And if any of them show up in any more of your dreams, including me, just kick us out!”

She laughed with him and left the session filled with a new confidence that she could handle the next round of challenges. Assuring herself that Andrew had invited her to drop by the cottage after any of her sessions, she didn’t bother to call, but headed her car in that direction.

A
NDREW WAS JUST COMING
up from the beach after a short run when he saw a white Porsche turn off the ocean-side road and head toward the cottage. He wouldn’t have noticed the dark blue coupe following a short distance behind if it hadn’t suddenly slowed,
pulled to the side of the ocean road and stopped in a spot partially hidden by a clump of trees.

Somebody with car trouble, Andrew thought idly, and his interest in it faded when he saw Trish sitting behind the wheel of the expensive car turning in his driveway. As she parked the Porsche beside his weathered old model car, the contrast was a poignant reminder of the difference in their economic status.

She waved and got out of the car when he was still some distance from the house. She watched as his strong legs covered the sandy ground in a graceful stride, his arms moving in rhythm at his side. A mellow afternoon sun turned his suntan to bronze and highlighted the golden cast of his hair. She leaned up against the car, waiting for him with a rush of happiness that defied everything else in her life.

“Pretty fancy wheels,” he said pointedly as he reached her, and raised his eyebrows at the white Porsche.

“They say it’s mine,” she answered with a hesitant smile. “So I decided to believe them.”

“Why not? Maybe you own two or three different models to suit your different moods.”

She could tell from his tone that the expensive car had already put some distance between them. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. “I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

“Not at all. I couldn’t seem to concentrate so I took a jog to clear my mind. I’m glad for the interruption. How did the session with Duboise go?”

She made a noncommittal answer. More than anything, she wanted to shut out all the upheaval of unanswered questions, and just renew herself in the quiet comfort of Andrew’s presence. This small cottage was
her refuge, and she looked at it with a sense of longing that made no sense at all.

“Would you like to have a drink on the deck?” he asked as if she were polite company.

She heard the reservation in his tone, and didn’t know what to do about it. Obviously, he’d had enough of her emotional drama. She knew she should refuse just as politely and leave, but she couldn’t.

“Yes, thank you,” she answered, matching his formal tone. Preceding him up the steps to the deck, she eased down in one of the patio chairs and crossed her legs. “Something cool would be nice.”

He felt the challenge in her manner, and he inwardly smiled. She was a study in feminine loveliness, he thought, eyeing her supple legs and the white silk dress, styled in simple lines of high fashion that molded her slim figure. A delicate gold necklace laced with pearls circled her neck, and matched the tiny earrings framed by her dark shining hair. He couldn’t even begin to guess the price tag of this one outfit, but it was definitely a sharp contrast to his cutoff jean shorts and faded cotton shirt. Only the violet shadows under her eyes assured him that she was still the frightened Trish that he’d found on the beach.

As he turned to go inside, his gaze flickered over the beach road and he saw that the parked car was still there. If the driver was out of gas, he’d have about a two-mile walk to the nearest station.

Andrew went into the kitchen and was filling glasses with ice and pouring lemonade into them when Trish joined him. Without an invitation she sat down at the small table, and stared out the window without saying anything.

“Don’t you want to go back on the deck?” he asked poised with two glasses in his hand.

She shook her head.

Putting the drinks down on the table, he took a chair opposite her. Thirsty from his run, he took several healthy sips of his drink before he realized hers remained untouched. After a long moment, he said gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she said quickly, straightened up and took a sip of her drink. “I’ve already had my tell-all session for the day. No need to burden you with the ugly details.”

“Who said it was a burden?”

She faced him squarely. “You did. Why are you treating me like I’m some distant relative who showed up on your doorstep? I thought we were friends. Last night…last night you made me think that I could come and see you anytime I wanted.”

“And you can.” He reached to touch her hand but she jerked it away.

“Then why am I feeling that it’s some kind of imposition? That I shouldn’t be here, taking up your time?” She spoke aggressively because inside she was weak and shaky, and more than anything she didn’t want to fall apart in front of him. “I thought that you were the one person who would be honest with me. If you want me to go, just say so.”

“I don’t want you to go.” And to prove it, he pulled her to her feet and folded her into his arms. So much for being sensible, he thought. The bravado of her words hadn’t fooled him, and more than ever, he was aware of her vulnerability. “I wish you could stay here.”

“Are you sure?” She searched his face as his hands
splayed across her back, holding her firmly against him.

“Yes.” His voice was thick, and without heeding any of the warnings racing through his mind, he wanted more than anything to show her how much he didn’t want her to go. He bent his head and kissed her, not a tender, affectionate kiss but one that threatened to destroy any emotional equilibrium he had hoped to maintain between them. As his questing tongue tasted the sweetness of her lips, and her arching body responded to his, all of his good intentions not to take advantage of her emotional instability were threatened. She returned his kisses with a fierceness that sobered him. With great effort, he drew back, creating a protective distance between them.

“Wow,” he breathed in a husky voice. “A burden, you’re not. I guess I proved my point.”

“I’m not sure I’m convinced. Would you like to try again?”

She started to put her arms around his neck again, but he laughed as he captured her hands. “I think that’s enough convincing for now. What do you say I change clothes and we go out for a bite to eat.” He knew he was running scared, but he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her for another minute when his hormones were firing like Fourth of July rockets. “There’s a small fish place just up the coast. They have wonderful baked salmon, jumbo shrimp and—”

She chuckled. “You don’t have to give me the whole menu. I understand. You think it’s better that we go out.”

“Right.” He flushed, feeling in some sense like an adolescent worried about coming on to a girl too fast, and in another like a caveman wanting to carry her off
to his den. “Yes, it’s better that we go out,” he echoed, and planted a benign kiss on her hairline before he turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

When he reappeared a few minutes later after a quick shower, he was wearing beige slacks and a yellow shirt that harmonized with the sunbeached hair. Trish wondered how a man could look so damn sexy without even trying.

“Shall we take your car or mine?” Andrew asked.

“Yours,” she answered readily.

“I’ve never driven a Porsche,” he said with a little boy’s yearning that made Trish laugh.

“Then by all means, let’s take the Porsche.”

As they turned onto the beach road, Andrew saw that the parked car was still there, and no sign of a driver. If a patrolman saw it sitting there, he’d ticket it for abandonment, Andrew thought, and then dismissed it from his mind.

The small oceanside café was called the Atlantic House, and was built on pilings that reached out into the water. The weathered building had survived countless storms and offered the best seafood in the area.

At first, Andrew was worried that Trish might be uneasy listening to the rippling of the surf and watching the ocean scene just outside the wall of windows, but she didn’t seem to pay much attention to her surroundings.