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My realization humanizes him. So much so that my stomach twists. He’s not just a brilliant, isolated, standoffish friend of my father’s. He’s a man who loves his home.
His forehead creases with a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I start up the wide steps leading to the front door. It’s silly to let something so insignificant affect me. I’ve got more important things to focus on than Arthur.
We’re greeted at the door by a plump, attractive woman in her fifties with silvering hair and blue eyes. She smiles at me warmly and reaches out to squeeze my upper arm. “We’re so glad to have you back, dear. We were so worried.”
“Thank you.” I smile back, recognizing Stella as Arthur’s longtime housekeeper but not expecting such an effusive welcome. “I’m doing okay, considering. I’m so sorry I can’t remember anything about living here recently.”
“I know. Arthur called to let us know. What you need is rest. Soon you’ll be back to yourself.” She sounds so kind and so confident that my throat tightens up.
I hope what she’s saying is true, but I have no way of knowing for sure. “Thank you.”
“Come on to your room. Billy will carry your things.”
Billy is Stella’s husband. He takes care of routine maintenance and manages the grounds. The two of them are Arthur’s live-in domestic staff, and they bring in extra help for large jobs when they need to.
My rooms are on the second floor at the end of the hall. It’s a large suite with a high ceiling, luxurious bathroom, cozy sitting area, and a huge four-poster bed with a gauzy canopy.
It’s gorgeous. I’m gazing around in pleasure when I notice Arthur peering at me again.
He’s standing completely still, not moving a muscle, and his dark eyes are focused on my face. There’s nothing evident in his expression to provide a clue, but I’m sure he’s watching, waiting, almost holding his breath.
I realize why. He’s wondering if I’ll recognize something. If it will start to bring back more memories.
I love these rooms, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before in my life.
“This is beautiful,” I say mildly. “Thank you.”
If someone can slump without making a single move, Arthur does. He gives me that slight nod. “I’ll let you get settled. Feel free to go anywhere you want in the east wing, but I’d rather you not venture into the rest of the house without someone with you. It’s in disrepair, and I can’t vouch for its safety.”
“Understood. I’ll stay in this section. Is it okay for me to wander around in the gardens?”
“Of course. This is your home.” He clears his throat. “It was your home.”
My laptop is resting on a small writing desk near a window. I walk over to run my fingers over the closed top. One of my cardigan sweaters is draped over the chair.
This is my stuff. I did live here. I must have felt at home.
I have no idea how.
“Thank you.” I’m not sure what else to say to Arthur, who is still lingering, watching me in that unnerving way he has.
He murmurs thickly as he starts to leave, “You don’t have to thank me again.”
***
ISPEND THE REMAINDERof the day resting and wandering around aimlessly, hoping for something to trigger a memory. I’m so uncomfortable and anxious that I accept Stella’s offer to bring dinner up to my room and eat alone, watching an old television show I like on my phone.
It’s better than trying to make polite conversation with Arthur.
The following day, my friend Jenna comes up to see me from Charlotte. When I ask Arthur about a good nearby hotel for her, he insists that she stay here with us.
It’s an immense relief to see someone I know and love—someone I’m certain of my relationship to. We hang out and have lunch at the estate but then go shopping in the afternoon.
Jenna was in graduate school with me, but she got married early and already has three children. She’s one of those warm, outgoing, nurturing people I’ve always been drawn toward. Basically the exact opposite of me. She makes conversation easy in a weird situation, telling me everything that’s happened to her and her family in the past six months and then asking about how things have gone since I woke up in the hospital.
She doesn’t ask anything harder until we’re browsing through shoes in a department store. “So does it feel like your dad just died to you?”
