Intimate Strangers (16 page)

Lying with her eyes opened wide, the undulating darkness of her room making her nerves taut, Sara twisted and turned, trying to fall asleep. She yearned for a few hours of blankness, forgetful-ness. The sheets clung to her, making her feel sweaty and uncomfortable. Exasperated, she kicked the top sheet to the foot of the bed. What was she going to do? Roarke went out shortly after their return from the picnic, and Sara ate alone in her room. Long after she gave in to her exhaustion and went to bed, she heard him come home. She listened to his footsteps on the stairs and stiffened when they paused by her door. She held her breath, waiting for the sound of the doorknob to turn or of the hinges to rub harshly if the door was opened. But after a few torturous minutes she heard the faint latch of his door and heaved a shuddering sigh.

Staring at the faint light filtering in around the edges of her closed door, she tried to cry, wanted to cry, anything to relieve the pain in her chest and the lump in her throat, but no tears would fall. Her eyes burned from the need to cry. But her pain was too deep and the constant assault on her emotions these past months had just about broken her spirit. She was nearly resigned to whatever contorted design her life would take and felt powerless to stop it.

Sara rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, tucking her feet under her nightgown. This afternoon she had been so happy, but it had been just a mirage created by Roarke's need of her and her love for him. She had been deceived, enticed by a vision of how their life could be. All she had wanted from Roarke was a little reassurance, that if she did have a total reversal of personality when her memory came back he would help her, stand by her, comfort her. His blind spot, his refusal to face the fact that one day her memory would come back, puzzled her. She loved him so much, but the obstacles in their path seemed insurmountable.

Then the specters she had seen in the mirror floated in her mind. The memory of her shrewish, accusing voice echoed in her ears, the kaleidoscope of images filling her brain until she couldn't stand it another second. Putting her hands over her ears and clamping her eyelids shut, she rolled around trying to escape the ghost of the woman she had been.

Could she really blame Roarke for how he behaved? She had been equally guilty of unthinking actions. Even now, with her love for him burning inside her, in a petty act of anger and hurt, she had tried to get even. Her snide remark alluding to his impulsive behavior concerning other women must have seemed to him that she was reverting back to the person she had been. Maybe she was! At last, tears scalded her lashes.

Was there no way out of this mess? "What's going to happen to us?" she whispered to the darkness.

Sara clutched her cup of coffee in both hands, letting its warmth relieve the iciness of her fingers. She was light-headed from lack of sleep and the turmoil that churned inside her.

"Sara!"

Tensing at the sound of his voice behind her, she slowly turned and glanced in his direction. Roarke stood just inside her room, waiting for her response.

She couldn't answer him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. He came over and sat across from her. "I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me."

Sara shook her head and continued to turn her coffee cup in her hands, absorbing the warmth that emanated from the cup.

Roarke scrutinized her face. "You look like hell. Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

"Thanks for the compliment. As a matter of fact, I didn't sleep very well." She rose from her chair and went out onto the balcony. She really wanted to get as far away from Roarke as possible. She wanted to end the misery for both of them.

She felt the warm touch of the sun on her skin, but the heat couldn't penetrate the bleak frigidness beneath. Her misery was bone-chilling. She tilted her face to the sun and closed her eyes.

"Do you want more coffee? There's a fresh pot here."

Sara walked back into her room and sat down at the table again. Roarke poured her coffee, the spout of the pot clinking against the edge of her cup. The silence thickened and was deafening. She glanced at Roarke's face. It was drawn and tense, with dark puffy circles under his eyes. The lines running from his nose to his mouth were deeply creased. He looked haggard, but she couldn't feel even a twinge of concern or sympathy. She was incapable of expending any emotions on him. She didn't have any.

In a raw voice he said, "Martha mentioned you have a doctor's appointment this morning." Roarke leaned back in his chair, his steel blue gaze wary.

Sara nodded. "It's supposed to be my last one."

"I'll drive you in, if it's all right with you. Bradley's busy and I'm free this morning."

"It's all right. I don't care as long as I get there."

"Sara…"

"My appointment is at ten, I'd better start getting dressed."

The hum of the motor roared in Sara's ears. The windows were down and a brisk wind blew through the car as they drove onto the George Washington Parkway.

"Would you like to go somewhere for lunch after your appointment?"

Roarke's sudden question surprised her. Figuring that at best, until she got her memory back, their lives would be an armed truce, she was stunned that he'd ask her to go anywhere with him. "Why, Roarke?" she asked with a dead calm.

"I have to take you back home anyway and I thought you might enjoy it. If you don't want to… it's up to you."

"I'm just surprised you asked me."

He gave her a quick look. "I don't understand! Why is it so surprising? We used to go out for lunch frequently."

"You also told me once you were sick and tired of my behavior when we went out."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Roarke, don't try to hide the past from me!" She pounded her fist on the dashboard. Her voice suddenly went flat. "After we came home yesterday, I was sitting in front of my mirror and like an old movie, I could see the two of us reflected in it. Apparently we'd just come home from a party and were fighting over some woman. It was horrible. I accused you of being her lover and finally I screamed at you and told you to leave and… and… you did…" Sara's voice trailed away.

"I only left you for a couple of days. I came home to get some clothes and you… we made up." His voice was low and Sara looked over at him. She wondered what he had left unsaid.

"Did we fight like that often?" she asked. The vestige of the memory still haunted her. She shuddered when she thought of the anger and viciousness she had witnessed in the mirror.

"Yes," he said so low Sara could barely hear him.

"I see." She turned away from him, devastated by a past she so desperately wanted to remember. "Roarke, how did we stand it? How did we survive, tearing each other to pieces like that?" Sara choked.

"We didn't…"

"Are we back to that again, Roarke?"

"Back to what, Sara?" Roarke pulled the car into a parking space in front of Ted's office. Sara mechanically opened the door and, like a robot, got out, and closed it. Leaning in the window, she drew a deep breath. "I guess that's up to you, Roarke." She turned and walked away without waiting for his response.

When she got to Ted's waiting room, she saw there were other people waiting to see him. Spying a vacant chair in the corner, she moved toward it. As she walked passed Ted's receptionist, she murmured her name and asked the woman to let Dr. Maxwell know that she was here for her appointment. She sat for a few minutes, staring at a painting on the wall across the room from her. She had to try to concentrate on something to get her mind quieted down. Ted was so perceptive, she didn't want him to know she was upset.

To distract herself, she picked up a local magazine that was on the table beside her chair. Flipping through the pages, a warning bell went off in her head, and she sat perfectly still, holding her breath, staring at a photograph. The banner headline above the photo was "Who's Kissing Him Now?" It was a local gossip column that had covered a charity event and the picture was of Roarke and Suzanne. She was hanging onto his arm, smiling and gazing up into his eyes.

Sara stared at Roarke's image. He was laughing down at Suzanne, and the photograph caught an aura of intimacy between them. Sara began to read the story that accompanied the picture. The words seemed to leap out at her, scalding her eyes.

Roarke Alexander, the brilliant business executive who parlayed his late father's sagging construction company into a multi-million-dollar empire, can't seem to apply the same expertise to his women. Suzanne Morrison seems to be the one who's kissing him now but, then again, maybe it's his wife, Sara! She was recently in a bad car accident and our sources at the hospital tell us Roarke has been at Sara's side as much as possible. In fact, while she teetered between life and death in Intensive Care, Roarke Alexander never left the hospital… he even slept there!

Sara scanned the story. It told of her leaving Roarke and moving into an apartment they owned in the city. The columnist told of seeing Sara on the arm of many different men but that Roarke's steady date seemed to be Suzanne.

According to gossip, it doesn't seem that a divorce is in the immediate future, but things don't bode well for what has been one of Washington, D.C., society's most popular couples.

Sara dropped the magazine into her lap and leaned her head back against the wall. Suzanne! Roarke has been dating Suzanne!
They both lied to me. Was Roarke so anxious to see Suzanne that he'd have her come to the house pretending to be my friend? And she did it… came to see me, saying she was so worried about me. How could she? Unless she was in love with Roarke
!

She looked at the date under the picture. It seared into her brain. He had gone out with Suzanne while she was in the hospital.
That's how much he cared about me! All his reassurance that we'd get through this and he'd help me… it was all lies. And Ted said Roarke loved me. What a farce
! Against her will, her eyes moved back to the printed page.

It seems that Marriage-Go-Round Roulette is the new game being played by Washington's super-rich stratum. The game is—who will Roarke choose? Will it be his ailing wife, Sara? Or will it be the glamorous Suzanne, who has been his constant companion for over a year? In this columnist's opinion, Suzanne seems to be the sure winner. Bets, anyone?

Sara felt the blood leave her face. She was stunned and humiliated. How could anyone write such trash? Her whole life, a life she couldn't even remember, was printed in a magazine for everyone to see, for everyone to inspect, dissect. "Oh, what can I do?" Sara whispered aloud.

"Sara… Sara, what's wrong?" Ted was kneeling in front of her, rubbing her hands and looking worriedly into her face.

She opened her eyes and looked down at Ted with tears of anguish shimmering in them, ready to spill over. "Oh, Ted." Sara started to sob. The hurt spread its paralyzing fingers around her heart. She wanted to curl into a little ball. Ted gently helped her to her feet and walked her into his office. He guided her to a chair and perched himself on the edge of his desk facing her. Handing her some tissues, he waited for her to pull herself together.

Sara sniffled and looked up at Ted with a watery smile. "I'm sorry, Ted. I'm not sick, at least not physically. It's this damned article." She waved the magazine under his nose that she held tightly clutched in her hand.

He took the magazine from her and quickly scanned the story then looked over at Sara, sharing a little of her misery. "Damn, I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't know. If I had, I would have thrown the stupid thing in the trash, where, I might add, it belongs." He leaned over and brushed some stray hair off Sara's face. She started crying again. She couldn't cope with his sympathy.

"Everything's there for everyone to see and gossip about. Did you read, people are making bets over who gets Roarke, Suzanne or me? I didn't know," she sobbed. "How could I have known he's been dating her for over a year. Suzanne came to the house the other night, telling me she was my friend… my friend?" Sara jumped to her feet and started pacing the office. "He lied to me too. He let her pretend to be my friend. Why? And… and, I thought maybe we could mend our marriage, and here my husband has a girl friend."

She swung around and pointed an accusing finger at Ted. "And you knew we were separated before the accident! You knew and didn't tell me, and you call yourself my friend."

"Sara." Ted's face blanched white, sorrow turning his eyes dark. "Yes, I did know," he said compassionately. "Roarke begged me not to tell you."

"Begged?" Sara broke in. "Roarke begged? The only reason he begged was so he could have his cake and eat it too. And you… you're an accessory. How could you do this to me, Ted? How could you?"

The gray head lowered. "I didn't go along with Roarke to hurt you, Sara. How would you have felt if I had told you that you were going home with a husband you've been separated from for some time? Would you have gone? Besides, I'm thoroughly convinced you have to remember on your own. It's the only way it's going to work. I'm sorry, Sara. I would never do anything to hurt you."

She stood by the desk, wringing her hands, ignoring Ted's plaintive explanation. "Did you read what they said about me? It sounds as if I went out with a different man every night. Is Roarke right about me, am I a spider spinning webs, trying to capture any and every man I can? And I thought the love I feel for him would magically make it work out. How naive!" Her voice rose hysterically.

"Sara, Sara, calm down. You have to calm down. Why are you letting this upset you so much? This is just gossip! There has to be an explanation. He doesn't care about Suzanne. I saw a shell of a man wait three days at the hospital for one word about you. I know he loves you. Can't you believe that?" Ted went over to Sara and put one of his huge arms around her shoulders.

She buried her face in his chest for a moment, then lifted her eyes and cried out, "He keeps putting walls between us, Ted. Just when I think I'm getting close he builds another wall. I don't understand him. When I compare the face I see to the one in this picture, it's like he's two different men. What happened to make him like this? Why can't he be honest with me about the past? He's afraid I will remember. Why?" Sara pulled away, holding Ted's eyes with her sad ones. "I'll be honest, Ted. I don't know if I want to remember either. There's something bad in the past that's disturbing to Roarke, and I'm afraid too."