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“I missed my birthday.” For some reason, I turn my head to meet Arthur’s steady gaze.
His hair is a mess. Sometimes he pulls it back into a low ponytail, but today it’s loose, hanging around his face in rumpled waves. His starkly chiseled features are utterly stoic, but there’s something in his eyes that’s deeply unsettling.
Something akin to grief.
He’s basically a stranger to me. We were never close, and I never knew or cared much about him other than the fact that he was my dad’s friend and he didn’t stop taking my dad’s calls when all the shit went down last year. I don’t know why I can recognize emotions in his expression that are almost imperceptible.
It makes my stomach churn. I can’t stand it. I look back at the doctor’s harmless face. “What’s going on? Why can’t I remember?”
“You’ve had significant head trauma. Twice in the past six months.”
“Twice?”
“The first time in the car accident—the one you remember. And again earlier today.” Once more, he glances back toward Arthur.
I turn toward him too, steeling myself against the heavy sensation the man is evoking in me. “Another car accident?”
Arthur shakes his head. “You fell. Off a ladder in my library.”
“In your library?” My eyes widen. I know enough about Arthur Worthing to know he lives in a huge estate in northern Virginia, less than an hour from Alexandria. There he houses his family’s enormous collection of books and manuscripts. I used to explore the disorganized bookshelves when I was younger, a thrilling and intoxicating undertaking for a bookish girl like me. When I was working on my master’s in library science, Arthur gave me access to his set of Louisa May Alcott first editions for my thesis project.
That library was always like a treasure trove to me, so maybe it’s not so surprising that I was there earlier today.
Plus that would explain Arthur’s inexplicable presence here in the hospital room. He must have been the one to find me after I fell.
“Why was I there?” I ask the question of Arthur since he’s the one who must know the answer.
His jaw works visibly for a moment before he answers in an uncharacteristically mild tone. “You’ve been working for me. Cataloging my library. Ever since your dad died.”
My lips part at this new and shocking piece of information.
Closing my eyes again, I once more attempt to pierce the fog to recall events I’ve clearly lost.
I suck in a sharp breath at the stab through my head. “I can’t... I can’t remember. Any of it.”
“The last thing you remember is the car accident?” The doctor is peering closely at me. I know he saw my wince of pain.
“Yes. Is that normal? I think I remember everything else. All about my childhood and my life and my education and the job I had at the university library and all the shit that happened with my dad. Why is it just the recent stuff that’s gone? Is this some kind of amnesia? I thought that only happened in movies.”
He chuckles softly at my last comment. “Amnesia is real. But you’re right—it doesn’t normally look like this. Despite all the medical research that’s been done, our brains are still mostly a mystery to us. They do their best to protect us, and that will occasionally manifest itself in unexpected ways. You had two significant head injuries in a relatively short period of time. And you also had significant emotional trauma six months ago. The memory loss could be neurological. Or psychological. Or most likely a combination of the two. We’ll do some more tests, of course, but your other responses and what you’ve articulated so far are otherwise promising for no permanent brain damage.”
“So you think I’ll get my memory back?”
“I don’t know for sure. Every case is different. But often memory loss like this is temporary.”
I swallow and relax just a little. I want to look over at Arthur, but his quiet presence is making me nervous, so I don’t. “How... How long will it take?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea. Maybe hours. Maybe days. Maybe longer. I wish I could hurry it along for you, but I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”
Something about the words slices through my consciousness along with another stab of searing pain.
I stifle a whimper and raise my hands to cover my face like I can block out whatever is trying to force its way into my mind.
I sense something in the room. Motion. Tension. I manage to pry my eyes open in time to see the doctor shaking his head in Arthur’s direction and then Arthur moving back into the corner where he’s been standing.
He’d started moving toward the bed, but the doctor told him not to.
It doesn’t make any sense.
