Page 5 of Amnesia

There was nothing.

“I don’t remember…” I whispered.

The doctor seemed to soften. “I know this must be very scary, to wake up and be so disoriented.”

I laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. I wished I were disoriented right then.

“You’ve been through a lot. Give it a few days. Now that you’re awake, your mind will catch up and you will remember.”

“I will?” I asked.

“There’s a good chance.”

Disappointment speared me. “If I don’t?”

“Let’s take it one day at a time.” He placated me.

“Easy for you to say. You know your name.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Time.” He reminded me.

The nurse came through the door, holding a syringe, and I cringed away.

“I don’t think we’re going to need that,” the doctor told her.

I let out an audible sigh.

He glanced around again. “Now that you’re awake, I’ll get you down for testing.”

“What kind of testing?” I asked.

“Routine stuff for someone who’s been in a coma.”

Nothing about this was routine. I was in coma… fortwomonths. And I didn’t even know my name.

When both the nurse and doctor were gone and I was alone, my eyes overflowed with tears and a formidable feeling of dread crowded inside me. The doctor said there was “a good chance” I would remember my name very soon.

The problem was it wasn’t just my name I needed to remember…

It was everything.

Lake living was slow paced, especially small-town lake living. I didn’t mind it much. In fact, I liked it. It was one of the reasons I never left as I’d planned to all those years ago.

Lately, things hadn’t been just slow; they’d pretty much halted. The days were endless, the nights even worse. Inside, I paced all the time, even when my body stood still. It was amazing how exhausting waiting could be.

The store was in top shape, though. Without anything left to do, I put my agitation into organizing and updating the place.

The familiar scent of a brown paper bag wafted up toward my nostrils when I lifted it off the stack and shook it out. The sound it made was also very familiar. After packing the contents from the counter into the bag, I ripped off the receipt and slipped it inside with the purchases.

“Have a good day, Mrs. Grady,” I told the woman as she picked up her stuff.

“Thank you, Eddie. See you next week.”

The second the bell sounded and the door closed behind her, I leaned back against the long counter and rubbed the back of my neck. Just a couple more hours ‘til closing time. By experience, I knew there would likely be a last-minute “rush” of people who were hurrying to get what they needed before I closed for the night and maybe a few travelers getting supplies before heading back to wherever they came from.

After I locked up, I would hit the gym and then swing by the hospital, even though it probably would be the same as the day before.

Against my upper thigh, my cell began to vibrate. Reaching beneath my apron, I fished out the phone, recognizing the number of the hospital. My pulse and breath quickened.

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