The Other Amanda. Lynn Leslie

to reality.

      When she woke, she was alone and frightened. The dream had seemed so real.

      When she touched her pillow it was wet. Not a dream! For a moment she panicked, but then she remembered Jonathan had been here to take the wires out. She felt as if she’d been set free. Her jaws and mouth were lighter, softer, more mobile. She reached for the hand mirror conspicuously propped on the table beside her bed. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

      “No, darling! Not yet!”

      She hadn’t realized the door was open. Aunt Mar garet swooped into the room, dragging a tall, thin man behind her.

      “I’ve brought your favorite hairdresser, Marcus. After you take a nice, hot shower he’s going to do something with your hair. Only then will I let you look in the mirror.”

      Good. She could put off the much anticipated, much dreaded moment. And when she finally saw herself, she would be glad to look her best. Amanda allowed herself to be led to the bathroom and thrust under the shower. She hadn’t realized how she missed the feel of the water beating against her skin. She breathed in the delicate apricot scent of the soap and shampoo and decided this was going to be a very good day.

      Aunt Margaret insisted she dress in a frilly pink nightgown and one of the lush bed jackets Randall had brought her. Marcus was waiting by a chair facing the window with what looked like an entire beauty shop of products at his feet.

      “Sit, darling! Marcus is the miracle man.”

      She wondered what he would do—her head had obviously been shaved on one side. He massaged her head gently through the towel before running his fingers through her wet hair.

      “I can do wonders with this, Mrs. Chambers, never fear.”

      Fear? A cold shiver ran through her. There was nothing to fear here in the hospital. Jonathan had promised her he would keep her safe.

      A layer of hair fell into the towel across her lap. It wasn’t quite colorless, but very pale gold shot with silver; very intriguing and not at all what she expected.

      Marcus leaned over her with the dryer. Hot air brushed her cheek and neck as he worked with the brush, pulling her hair over to one side. All the time he worked he talked; nothing consequential, he just droned on. She liked him, she decided. He didn’t put pressure on her by demanding she remember or by asking her opinion. He just did his job.

      At last he was finished. He stepped back, and Aunt Margaret walked around her. Amanda could sense that Marcus was holding his breath, and for some reason she did, too.

      “This will do.”

      His thin face split in a self-satisfied grin. “I thought so. You can look now, Miss Braithwaite.”

      Her breath seemed trapped in her lungs as her aunt held out the mirror. Tentatively she took it, concentrating first on her hair: a snug cap of waves, soft and touchable. An ache started in her chest. It was time.

      She looked.

      The face she saw was pale. There were a few purplish green bruises along her jawline, but she noted the well-defined bone structure, the narrow nose, the soft, wide mouth. Blue eyes, like Aunt Margaret’s.

      A pleasant face. A strange face.

      She knew they were waiting for her response. It wasn’t that this face displeased her. It was simply new to her.

      “The hair looks very nice. Thank you, Aunt Margaret. Marcus.”

      Marcus looked pleased. Her aunt Margaret smiled and patted her arm.

      “There, there, darling. I know it’s been quite a day for you. Get some rest.”

      It seemed as if people were always telling her to rest. After Margaret hustled Marcus out of her room, she was alone. She studied her face, trying to pull a memory out of the blank vault in her mind. Turning from side to side, she contemplated every angle. She opened the closet and stood looking at the full-length mirror. She had no memory of herself.

      No identity at all.

      This day, so long anticipated, was a disaster. She sat back in the chair by the window, the mirror still clutched in her hand. Outside, the world moved on, but she was stuck in here. She had no life. No friends. Nothing.

      She allowed herself this one moment of self-pity before raising the mirror to look again. Something called to her from deep in those eyes. It told her to stop feeling so helpless. A powerful belief took root in her mind. She would discover each new thing as if she’d been reborn. She would put together the puzzle of her life. She wouldn’t let this defeat her. And if she became a whole new person, that would be all right, too.