Intimate Strangers (3 page)

The extremely handsome man stood in the doorway observing Sara stare at him. She lowered her eyes and looked down at her hands held tightly clenched in her lap. Again Sara felt disoriented. It was as though she was thrust back into the middle of her nightmare.
Am I awake or asleep? Is this some trick my mind is playing on me? This is my husband? Is he real
? She glanced back up at him and met the cobalt blue eyes that unwaveringly watched her.

Then a slight smile lifted the corners of his full lips. "From the expression on your face, anyone would think you just saw a ghost." His deep voice had a rich warm timbre that resonated around the room. The smile on his lips crinkled his eyes at the corners. Looking around for a place to put the flowers, he handed them to the nurse who took them and left the room. "Have I changed that much, Sara?"

Sara wanted to cry out to the nurse not to leave her alone with this—this man she didn't know, but by the time she opened her mouth to call her back, the white figure disappeared. She watched as the dark-haired man walked over to her, and when she saw his arms reach out to her, she flinched and tried to bury herself deeper into the pillows. But his arms slid around her and she felt herself gently but firmly being nestled against his body. The aroma of his cologne and the faint smell of tobacco made the strangest sense of peace come over her. She sighed deeply and for a moment leaned her head against his chest.

"You didn't answer my question, Sara. Why did you look at me so strangely?" he murmured in her hair as he kissed the top of her head.

Even though his voice was no more than a husky whisper, she could feel its vibrating on her cheek. She stiffened and pulled away from him. "I don't know how to answer your question. I… I… don't know you, so how would I know if you've changed? Seeing you in the doorway startled me because I : . . I think I dreamed about you last night."

The stranger took her face between his hands and looked at her with the tenderest expression. "Dr. Maxwell told me you have amnesia, but I find it hard to believe. Don't you really know me? Sara, don't you remember anything at all? How could you dream about me if you don't remember me?"

Sara put her hands over his and pulled them away from her face. "Please, don't, I'm so confused. I don't know why I dreamed about you because I don't know you," she repeated emphatically.

The imposing figure straightened up and he stood with his fists on his hips, never moving his eyes from her face. Sara wanted to scream at him to quit staring as if she were some side-show freak. Much to her relief, he sat down in the chair beside the bed, but his examination of her face still made her feel like a specimen under a microscope. His eyes narrowed just the slightest bit as he scrutinized her. Then he reached out and took her hand in his. She felt like she was touching something searing hot. Her fingers recoiled, but his grasp tightened and imprisoned her very cold hand.

"Sara, thank God you're going to be all right. When I think of what could have happened…" His lids closed down over the piercing blue irises and a small shudder ran through his body.

Sara impulsively tightened her hand; for some reason a feeling of compassion rose in her for this man. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be such a worry to you. It's just so confusing. In fact, it's frightening not to be able to remember anything. There are so many things… I didn't even know my own name until Dr. Maxwell told me." Her eyes filled with tears and she became angry with herself. She just wouldn't break down and cry right now. If she let her self-pity overcome her, he would begin to pity her and she didn't want this man's pity. She wanted his help.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm weaker than I thought." Sara turned her head away then looked back at him. "Am I really married to you?" she asked pleadingly.

"Stop apologizing, I feel sure you'll remember everything soon." He dropped her hand, stood up, and walked to the foot of the bed.

Sara saw the opaque curtain drop over his clear eyes. He had rebuffed her and she felt embarrassed.
How can I get my memory back if I don't have his help
? she thought dejectedly. She felt her embarrassment growing.
I can't ask this man any questions, even if he is my husband, if he shuts me off like this
. She searched desperately for the right thing to say, but the silence between them grew. The phone rang and Sara, startled out of her black thoughts, tried to reach it but gasped, grabbed her side, and fell back on the bed.

"I'll answer it," the pacing man said tersely. After a few words into the black receiver, he turned to Sara. "It's my office, do you mind?"

Shaking her head, Sara studied the man who was concentrating on what was being said to him over the telephone. He was a tall man and powerfully built. The dark suit fit snugly across his broad shoulders and followed his body smoothly, tapering at his narrow waist and hips. His hair was dark and wavy with just a dusting of silver at the temples. His large hands and graceful long narrow fingers gripped the phone receiver, and his handsome face with its straight nose and strong jaw was taut with intense attention that made the sensuousness of his mouth harden into a straight line. But the most arresting thing about him were his eyes. They were a warm, vibrant blue and his dark tan made them appear even more startling. Her emotions were in a turmoil. How could she forget such a man? How could anyone forget a man who looks like he does? Why didn't his face evoke any memories?

He hung up the receiver and came over beside her again. "Do you need anything? Would you like me to bring in some of your own nightgowns?"

Sara stared at him mutely. A picture had suddenly flashed in her mind. She saw two people in a bedroom. The man was sitting up in a bed, his bare, hairy chest exposed above the light-colored sheet. His head was thrown back against the pillow and he was laughing at a girl who was standing beside the bed wearing the silliest pajamas. "Darling, where on earth did you get that thing? No one over five would wear pajamas like those." The girl was pretending to be insulted. "I thought you'd love them. You complain about my cold feet all the time." The girl beside the bed was pirouetting so the man could see the full effect of her outfit. The pajamas were one-piece with a zipper up the front and bootielike feet. The man was still laughing as he reached up and drew the girl down onto the bed. Slowly he pulled the zipper down and, as he nuzzled her neck, he whispered, "It's not your cold feet that really bother me… it's you that bothers me!"

The picture faded and Sara realized the man standing beside her was staring down at her, puzzlement clouding his face.

"Are you all right? Do you want me to get the nurse?" He took her hand in his and a warmth flooded through her body.

She felt confused both by the flash of memory and her reaction to his touch. "No, I don't need a nurse, I'm fine."

A concerned frown flickered across his brow. "Then what's wrong, Sara?"

She grasped his hand tightly. "I've just had the strangest thing happen. When you asked me if I wanted my own nightgown, my mind was suddenly filled with a picture of you lying in bed laughing at a young girl who was showing off some ridiculous pajamas with feet." Sara glanced up at his face to see his eyes dancing with the memory.

"Oh, yes, that awful red flannel outfit!" He laughed and kissed the back of her hand. The touch of his lips flustered her. "The girl was you, Sara, when we were first married. When you came out of the bathroom that night in those outrageous pajamas, I just about fell out of bed laughing. You looked so cute… silly, but cute." He smiled at her lovingly.

Sara tore her eyes away from his. This man loved her and she couldn't remember him except in connection with some stupid pajamas. She felt guilty, then sorrow surfaced through the guilt. She knew she had lost more than her memories; she had lost their sense of intimacy.

"Don't look so sad, Sara, we'll work this out together, I promise," he murmured fervently, his voice husky. He bent down and kissed her on the temple, his lips lingering on her brow. "I have to leave now, but I'll be back this evening with some of your things," he assured her. "If you should need anything before then, call me at this number." He handed her a small card on which a telephone number was written. "I'll see you this evening, my love." His eyes moved over her face. His brow was slightly creased and there was a poignancy to his expression as he lightly touched her bruised cheek.

Sara winced inwardly and closed her eyes. His tender gesture expressed his love and sympathy for her more clearly than words.
How must I look to this man, my husband
? Tentatively she raised her hand to her cheek.
If only they would give me a mirror
.

Sensing his withdrawal, she opened her eyes and realized he was near the door, ready to leave. Calling out to him, she said in a small wispy voice, "Please, forgive me…" she hesitated.

"Forgive you for what?" he asked gently.

Her eyes found his and as she gazed deeply into the blue depths, she found the courage she was seeking. "Would you tell me your… your…" she stammered, "your first name?" She broke their eye contact and lowered her lids; she didn't want him to see her embarrassment.

"It's Roarke, Sara," he stated simply and quietly opened the door. He turned back to her and said, "Darling, please don't be embarrassed; we'll work this out. I'll help you any way I can; I just want you well again." Roarke walked through the doorway and out of Sara's line of vision, just as he had in her dream.

Turning to look out the window, Sara's thoughts drifted back over the long, lonely, fearful days she had spent in this nightmare. She was feeling better; she knew her physical health and strength were improving daily. Smiling to herself, she remembered the first time the nurse had helped her to get to her feet and taught her how to use crutches. It had been miserably funny. Her side pulled and twinged as she learned to hobble around her room and she'd fall into the chair by the window exhausted from her attempts to become mobile.

Then frustration and fear mixed with a little sadness welled up in her throat.
Damn
, she thought, pressing her forehead to the back of the armchair,
when am I going to get well mentally? When will my memory come back? When mental images do flash through my mind, they fade away too fast for me to hold on to them
.

Dr. Maxwell's and Roarke's visits were the bright spots in her days although Roarke's emotional swings mystified and sometimes terrified her. He could be so charming and loving one minute that she would almost wallow in gratitude. Then that dark curtain would fall over his eyes, especially when she asked anything about their past It was as if he didn't want her to remember, and her feeling that he had spurned her and her attempts to get answers rankled her. If he did answer her questions, it was with terse replies. It was as if he were building a wall between them.
But on the other hand
, Sara thought,
I really can't blame him. It must hurt him that I can't remember our life together
.

Most of her half-formed feelings about Roarke were of sadness and regret Sara had thought several times that maybe they had had an argument before her accident, but she hesitated to ask him. She didn't know if she wanted to hear that answer right now or could cope with what she might hear.

But today was going to be something special and maybe a day that would see an end to this mystery that engulfed her. Dr. Maxwell had promised her that today she could have a mirror. Impatiently she waited for the doctor to arrive; her anticipation and apprehension were becoming unbearable. Would she recognize the face reflected in the glass? What did she look like? What color were her eyes? She wanted to get out of the chair and run away from the possibility that the face in the mirror would be the face of a stranger. But where would she go?

"Good morning, Sara. You look pretty good today. I do believe you have dimples in those cheeks when you smile." Dr. Maxwell stood in the doorway with his warm, friendly smile, squinting his eyes.

Sara turned when she heard his voice and her half smile changed to a scowl that wrinkled the bandage on her forehead. "Good morning, did you bring me a mirror?" she asked impatiently. This was the moment she'd been waiting for all this time. She was edgy and wanted to know if she'd remember the face… her face. Would the reflection in the glass unlock the door to her memories? When the knowledge that was locked away somewhere in her brain was released, would she be prepared to face her past? Instinctively she felt there was something back there that she was afraid of.

Sara's impatience didn't budge the smile from the doctor's lips. He knew how important this was to her; he only hoped it would help her. If it didn't, could she endure it? He couldn't let her know how worried he was about all the ramifications of her not remembering. He withdrew a hand mirror from one of the large pockets in his white coat. "I never break a promise if I can help it. Now, remember, you still have some bruises, but I assure you they will fade in time. If the face you see in the mirror isn't familiar, try not to be too disappointed. Just remember what I've told you. Don't force it; your memory will return on its own." He walked over to her chair and handed her the mirror.

Sara's hand trembled as she reached for the glass. What if the face wasn't familiar? What would she do then? But she had to find out, she couldn't stand not knowing much longer. Gulping some air into lungs that felt constricted, she closed her eyes and brought the mirror up in front of her face.

Slowly opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was the small bandage over the cut on her forehead. Almond-shaped, amber-colored eyes stared back at her. The dark yellow eyes flecked with brown looked frightened. The long blond hair was pulled back away from the face. Sara found herself looking at an attractive stranger but not anyone she knew. Bursting into tears, she threw the mirror away from her and buried the strange face in her hands.

Dr. Maxwell kneeled beside her, placing comforting arms around her shoulders. "Sara, give yourself some time. I told you it might not be an overnight process."