“All right.” Dr. Johnson made her answer seem perfectly natural. “Listen, what would you like for dinner? We want you to be happy here.”
“I don’t know what I like. I can’t seem to remember. All I know is Jonathan.”
Johnson threw him a look that made him squirm inside. “All right. Don’t worry about it for now. Jonathan and I are going to go outside for a few minutes.”
She huddled under the sheets, looking at Jonathan with tortured eyes. “You’ll come back?”
“Yes. I promise.” Shocked at the rough edge of emotion he heard in his voice, he pulled the door shut behind him forcefully. The automatic brake caught it, closed it gently, pushing the air into the corridor on a sigh, mirroring his own feelings.
Johnson frowned. “We’ve got problems. Better call in someone from the traumatic brain injury unit.”
Jonathan braked his inappropriate emotions. They had no place in what had to be done. “I’ll get Patrick Newman down here. He’s the best psychiatrist in the state.”
It didn’t take Newman five minutes to respond. They briefed him while he nodded. Jonathan had questions, but Pat waved him away.
“Let me do my job, fellas.” He turned to enter the room as Jonathan stepped forward. “Alone.”
IT WASN’T JONATHAN. She was disappointed, but tried not to show it. The stranger wore the same white coat over his clothes as Jonathan and Dr. Johnson, so he must be a doctor, too, she reasoned, feeling pleased with herself.
“Where’s Jonathan?” she couldn’t help asking. This doctor was different somehow. His eyes were…kind.
“Jonathan will be in soon. I’m Dr. Newman. Jonathan sent me to ask you some questions about your past.”
“I don’t know anything,” she said, confused that they didn’t understand her, or maybe they just didn’t believe her. They could ask all the questions they wanted, it wouldn’t help. Her past was a dark tunnel broken only by the bright light that had brought Jonathan to her.
“Do you know your name?”
His gentleness persuaded her to try again. Of course she should know her name! “Everyone calls me Amanda.”
“How old are you, Amanda?”
She struggled. Panic, like a storm in her brain, threatened to send her out of control. “I…I don’t know.”
“Tell me something you do know.” He ignored her panic, remaining calm and reassuring.
“Jonathan helped me. He was surrounded by…by a white light. Then the darkness came. And the voices.”
He smiled down at her. “Good. Tell me about the voices.”
“I heard Jonathan. And…and other voices.”
“Did you recognize the other voices like you recognized Jonathan’s?”
Her head pounded as she tried to find something in the darkness, just one tangible memory. “No. Please. This makes my head hurt.”
“You did well, Amanda.” Dr. Newman patted her arm.
“Can Jonathan come in now?” She felt alone and afraid without him. The dark emptiness in her head was terrifying.
“Yes. I’ll send Jonathan to you.”
She sighed. As nice as this doctor seemed, he wasn’t Jonathan. She sank back into her pillow, willing the tension to recede.
IT SEEMED FOREVER to Jonathan before Pat Newman came out of Amanda’s room. “Well, what’s the verdict?”
“I need to do a whole range of tests over the next several days for a complete assessment. However, she appears to be suffering from autobiographical memory loss, atypical in these cases. However, it does occur.” Newman seemed to evaluate him. “You’re going to have to be very careful, Jonathan. She remembers nothing before you on the night she came into ER. She’s developing a very strong attachment, which for the sake of her mental health we can’t sever, but we can’t let her grow too dependent on you. She wants to see you now, in fact.”
Newman searched his face, all business. “Can you handle this?”
“Of course.” Jonathan rubbed his face with both hands, trying to disguise his feelings. “I’ve dealt with the doctor-patient thing before.”
Except his other patient hadn’t been so terrified and so alone, or evoked such provocative memories. Every time he looked at Amanda, a knife twisted in his gut. Would the beautiful, sensual, headstrong woman he had once cared for ever return?
“Doctor Newman!” Margaret Chambers, with Randall in tow, headed toward them.
Jonathan looked to Newman for guidance.
“She’s not ready to see them.” Dr. Newman squared his shoulders. “They’ll only confuse her more.”
“You know Randall. He’ll insist on it. C’mon. We’d better all talk to them.” Carl moved purposefully down the corridor to intercept them.
“Pat, you help Carl stall as long as possible. I’ll try to prepare Amanda.”
She was lying still, her eyes wide, then her fingers began pleating the sheet. Careful not to get too close, trying to walk that thin line between doctor and friend, Jonathan stayed at the end of her bed.
“Jonathan!” she gasped, as if she’d been holding her breath until he returned. The soft trembling of her voice begged for reassurance. A tear trickled down one cheek.
“Amanda, everything will work itself out.” He spoke briskly, professionally. “You don’t have to be afraid. Dr. Johnson, Dr. Newman and the rest of the staff are here to help you. I’m only the plastic surgeon. To get you well, we’ll need lots of help.”
“I’m sorry.” A deep sigh rippled through her body. “It’s just that to me you’re the only real thing in this world. To make any sense out of the rest of it, I have to have a…a lifeline. For me that’s…you.” With a quiet sob, she turned her face away.
Could he handle this? The power she offered him could have enormous consequences. Could he forget the past? Treat her like any other patient? Ruthlessly he switched off all the red lights flashing in his head.
“I understand, Amanda. But your family is here, and they’re very anxious to see you. They’ve been here every day just waiting for you to wake up. I know you don’t remember them, and they may seem a bit intimidating at first, but your aunt and uncle love you and want to help you.”
She raised her head, frightened but determined, and very, very vulnerable.
He couldn’t resist. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you. We’ll do this together.”
Her grateful response triggered something he thought had died a long time ago. Without warning, memories rushed over him. The taste of her mouth. The feel of her body under his. The passionate abandon they’d shared that summer.
“I don’t remember my family. Will they think I’m crazy?”
“You’re definitely not crazy.” Was that why she seemed so fragile? Why hadn’t Newman reassured her? “There’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed with a little time. Now close your eyes and rest.”
Like a trusting child, she obeyed him, and that small action tore at his heart. Maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t handle this after all. Pausing at her bedside, he critically assessed the healing process. He’d remove the gauze wrap tomorrow, the wires and metal plate next week. She’d have bruising and swelling to deal with for a time, and the hair would grow out where they’d shaved her. He was used to dealing with the transient consequences