Page 8 of The Liar I Married
Forcing back tears, I reach for a glass of water and take a few sips. “I’m okay. I just miss my girls.” As suddenly as they’d gone, the twins’ faces fill my mind and I suck in a deep breath in relief. After not recognizing my best friends, and now forgetting my girls’ faces, I figure my head is more muddled than I realize. I reach out and touch Maria’s arm. “Keep listening. After hearing my husband gave away all my things to Goodwill, I believe anything is possible. I’m a woman of means and will reward you for any information you bring me, the moment I’m up and about.”
The sound of footsteps in the hallway has Maria scuttling away and the next moment Dolly walks in the room. I look at her. Maria hadn’t cautioned me against Dolly, so maybe I could trust her. “I would love a cup of coffee the next time you’re brewing a fresh pot. Lunch seems like a year ago. I do believe I’m regaining my appetite.”
“That’s good to know.” Dolly removes packets of drugs from a paper sack and places them in a dresser drawer. “You’re doing very well with your walking now and as soon as your mother-in-law leaves, I’d like you up and about. The more you walk the stronger you’ll become.” She goes back to the hallway and returns pushing a walker—the type older people use after a hip operation. “You can use this and it will help you get mobile again. If you get tired, it has a seat so you can rest for a time.”
Voices in the passageway catch my attention and almost at once the doorway fills with the robust figure and stone face of Eloise Harper. I recognize her at once and a chill runs throughme at the sight of her arrogant expression. She doesn’t believe I’m good enough for her son. I went into the marriage penniless and the only things that make life easier between us are my family name, my grandmother’s house, and the fortune that goes with it. Although when I married John I had no idea my grandmother would leave the house and fortune to me. I always imagined she would leave it to my mother as she’d raised us in the house but it was my grandmother’s intention for me to raise the twins on the estate.
“There you are, Jessie. It’s good to see you.” Eloise peers at me over the top of her glasses and waves her hand absently at the woman beside her. “This is Amanda Blake, the Realtor we’ve engaged. We’ll be here taking some measurements. Don’t worry, we won’t get in your way.”
I stare at her, uncomprehending. “It’s nice to see you too, Eloise. Before you rush off, would you mind explaining exactly what you are doing inmyhouse?”
“Oh, didn’t John tell you?” A flash of annoyance crosses Eloise’s face. “He plans to convert the house into either prestigious luxury apartments or a hotel. On this estate, Amanda informs me they would command millions. The same would be for an exclusive hotel for the rich and famous. Can you imagine the marketing on something like that? ‘Spend your vacation in the lap of luxury at Stonebridge Manor.’” She writes in the air as if seeing a billboard.
I shudder and give her a direct stare. Desperation gnaws at my belly. “I’m sure he’ll get around to it. Eloise, how are the girls? You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”
“I…” Her mouth puckers like a cat’s anus and she turns on her heel and rushes from the room.
“You know the doctor’s instructions.” Dolly comes to the bedside and pulls back the blankets. “All personal information is to be placed on pause for a week or so to allow you to get yourbearings. With regard to your children and the accident. In here—” she taps her temple “—you know what happened, and when the memories come back, the doctor will take it from there. Okay? So don’t keep asking. Just let the memories come back naturally.”
I stare at her. “I remember them fine, so why the secrets?”
“Okay.” Dolly’s face holds an unreadable expression. “Tell me what happened three days before the accident, or even what happened on the night of the accident? Let’s start with where were you heading?”
I stare into a space between her head and the wall. The dream comes back in flashes but the space where memories of that night should be is empty. Nothing. “I remember taking them to dance classes on Tuesday night, was it on the way home?”
“You wrecked the SUV on a Friday.” Dolly sighs. “That’s all I can tell you and no doubt the doctor will haul me over hot coals because I mentioned it. He’ll be by to see you in two weeks. By then he’ll be able to suggest if you need any further assistance. Maybe hypnotism.”
I turn my gaze on her. “Why do they need to get to the bottom of it?” I swallow the fear rising in my throat and restricting my breathing. “Did I do something bad? Did I cause the wreck? Is that why I can’t see my girls?”
“There you go getting upset again and all I did was tell you the day you wrecked the car.” Dolly crosses her arms over her chest. “This isn’t helping. I don’t want to sedate you but I will if you don’t calm down.”
Sucking in a deep breath, my mind is working overtime. I can’t allow her to see. “I’m fine. I just need to get out of this room for a time. It’s getting like a prison cell.”
“Okay.” Dolly relaxes and nods. “Exercise is good; just don’t overdo.”
I slip from the bed and push my feet into the slippers. My legs wobble as if I can’t take my own weight. I stand there, swaying like a tree in a storm, before I get my balance. Taking tiny hesitant steps, I push the walker around the room. I admit it’s helping me. “I’ll try and make it to the library.”
“That’s good.” Dolly smiles at me. “I’ll make up your bed. It’s much easier to change the linen without you in it.”
So slowly, inch by agonizing inch, I shuffle my way along the passageway. I bypass the library and head straight for the family room. I need to see my twins even if they’re in a photograph. I push my way inside and the walker slows on the plush carpet. I’m exhausted but take in the familiar room. It’s old-style luxury, padded chairs and a long sofa. The other furniture purchased in the 1930s is very much the art deco style, all straight lines and angles. I’ve spent many happy hours in this room, and recall coming downstairs to find brightly colored gifts under the Christmas tree. My grandmother’s spaniel, whose name was Arthur, used to bark and go crazy when we tore the paper off the gifts. You see Grandmother would tell him not to touch them. I had a beautiful childhood growing up in this house and as I inhale the familiar scents of woodsmoke and pine cones, I can almost catch the lingering smell of my grandmother’s lily of the valley perfume.
I go to the sideboard and stare at the silver-framed photographs set out on a lace doily. It’s handmade and was brought home after my grandmother’s honeymoon in Europe. I take a walk down memory lane as I recall the stories behind the images. I run a finger over the photographs of my grandmother’s wedding, my mother’s wedding. My brother’s and my christenings are there alongside the photographs of my wedding. I touch John’s handsome face, and my love for him glows inside me. He is still the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. I move on, anticipation of seeing the girls’ faces again racesmy heart. I stare in disbelief—the christening photographs and birthday images of my twins have vanished. In fact, all the photographs I remember of my parents with my girls, from Christmas and birthdays, that filled the sideboard are missing. I desperately search the room, and open drawers, but there’s no trace of them.
Trembling, I push the walker to the fireplace and stare at the mantle. Pictures of my grandfather in his military uniform and one of my grandmother holding my mother as a baby. All the other photographs I know should be here are missing. I shake my head. Bewilderment grips me in a rush of uncertainty. I recall giving birth, seeing John’s happy face as he held the newborns in his arms. Watching them walk, taking them to school for the first time. It is all inside my head. Why did Dolly tell me that I must remember what happened to the girls and my parents? A vivid image of John’s cold and remote expression when I’d asked him about the girls fills my mind. The love that I’d basked in for seven years is gone. Is what happened too horrible to face? Was the accident my fault and I’ve blocked it out? Does everyone believe I wrecked the car on purpose—that I tried to kill myself and my kids? Suddenly the remoteness from the love of my heart makes terrible sense and I can’t for the life of me remember what really happened. God help me.
NINE
9 MONTHS BEFORE THE ACCIDENT
The day my grandmother died still haunts me. The stroke that eventually took her life had also taken her speech. It’s so clear. I can see every second in my mind.
I’m standing beside the bed in those final moments, and I know she is trying to communicate with me. I remain there alone as dark shadows creep across the hospital grounds. The family has come and gone during the day, the doctors informing them that the end is coming but they can’t put a time on it. John has stood beside me for an hour or so, his solid strength and warm press of his hand comforting. The scene is dreamlike as if it can’t possibly be happening. I grasp my grandmother’s winkled hand. It reminds me of a chicken’s foot. Fine boned, with dark veins that extend to her pathetically thin arms. Only her eyes appear to be normal. “Blink twice if you’re trying to tell me something, Grandma.”
When she blinks twice my heart races. “Is it about someone in the family?”
She blinks twice again. I grab the family photograph beside the bed and hold it in front of her. Slowly I point to each person and say their name. I watch her closely and when I come to myfather, she blinks twice. “Is there something you need to tell me about him?”
She blinks twice.
