Bishop's Rock

“What about my family?”

He gave her a patient look. “We’ve been through that. There’s no one.”

She closed her eyes on a sigh. “It’s just so hard to believe. No parents, no siblings, no one at all?”

“You have me.”

“And I’m grateful for that. Truly. You’ve no idea how terrifying it was waking up in that hospital, not knowing who I was or how I’d gotten there. I felt so alone and helpless—”

He cut her off. “Why even go there? I’m here now and I’m not leaving. Try to relax, okay? This place will be good for us. It’s quiet and secluded and no one knows us here. We’ll have a chance to get reacquainted before people start poking their noses in our business.”

She gave him a doubtful glance. “Isn’t that just putting off the inevitable? I’ll have to face them sooner or later.”

“But not today.” He slid his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers. Another smile flashed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Trust me, Lea. This is all for the best.”

* * *

HE HAD BEEN thoughtful enough to book separate rooms.

“I know you need your space.” He stood at the window with his back to Lea, a tall, elegant man who meant nothing to her. As if sensing her discord, he turned. “I’ll be right next door if you need me. I’ve entered my number in your new cell so that wherever you are, I’m only a phone call away.”

“Thank you.” Lea sat down on the edge of the bed, at a loss as to what to do next. Her gaze fell on the unfamiliar luggage that had been placed on the rack. The suitcase looked expensive. Everything about her husband suggested money, and plenty of it, and yet the notion of a privileged life seemed foreign to her. She supposed unpacking the luxurious bag would be a bit like opening a present on Christmas morning. She had no idea what she would find inside. Andrew had taken care of everything.

A new wardrobe for a new beginning, he’d said.

You don’t think I should wear my normal clothes? Maybe a favorite sweater or scarf would help jog my memory.

You’ll have plenty of occasions to wear your old clothing. Right now I feel the need to pamper my wife.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just...

Please don’t do that.

What?

You still look so hopeless at times. So lost. But it’s all going to be okay. You’ll see. I’ll take good care of you, Lea. I’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is get well.

“Did you hear what I said?”

She snapped back to the present. “I’m sorry. Something about dinner?”

“It’s at seven. Plenty of time for a bath or even a nap if you need one.”

“That sounds nice.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He went into the bathroom and came back with a glass of water and her medication.

“I feel fine,” she protested.

“I saw you rubbing your temple just now. You have a headache, don’t you?”

“Just a small one.”

“Take this before it gets worse. Doctor’s orders.”

She complied, washing down the blue pill with a generous sip of water. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. Just get some rest. And call if you need me.”

He left the room without a backward glance.

Lea remained motionless for a moment, trapped once more by a wave of panic and despair that threatened to engulf her. She desperately wanted to believe that everything would be okay. The doctor had been confident that her memories would return in time, either all at once or over the course of weeks, months, even years. Sometimes all it took was one cue. So much about the memory remains a mystery, he had explained. Each case of amnesia is unique. We can explore certain therapies, of course, but time and patience is key.

What if her memories never came back? What if she was destined to spend the rest of her life suspended in this strange, dreamlike existence? How long would Andrew wait for her? How soon would her condition and his patience wear thin?

She got up and walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Patting her skin dry, she stared at her reflection as she’d done dozens of times over the past several days, searching features that were as strange to her as the man next door. Brown hair, hazel eyes, light to medium complexion. She was attractive, but not a woman to turn heads. Rather, she would blend easily into a crowd. Even without all those fading bruises, no one would give her a second look without Andrew Westin at her side.

Which begged so many questions. How had the two of them met? How long had they been together? When and where had they been married?

All in due time, Lea. The doctor warned against overwhelming you. Once we’re all settled in at the retreat, we can start filling in the blanks little by little.

She went back into the bedroom to unpack, snipping off tags with the cuticle scissors she found in a well-stocked makeup bag. At the bottom of the suitcase was a stack of new underwear, nothing too racy, but the lacework was beautiful. She found shoes, too—sneakers, sandals, heels. A pair for every occasion. Lea wanted to enjoy the elaborate purchases, but it seemed like such a waste when she undoubtedly had everything she needed at home.

But maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’d moved everything out of their house when they decided to take a break. Andrew might not have a key to her new place. He might not even know her address. Instead of telling her the truth, he’d bought her a new wardrobe to mask the seriousness of their marital situation.

Don’t borrow trouble, Lea warned herself as she finished unpacking.

She hung dresses in the closet and stored T-shirts and jeans in a dresser drawer. As she lifted the lingerie from the suitcase, a photograph fell to the floor. She bent to pick it up, the task at hand completely forgotten as she sat down on the edge of the bed to study the couple in the image. It had been taken of her and Andrew at sunset at the top of Bishop’s Rock. Their backs were to the camera, but something about the ease and intimacy of the pose triggered not a memory, exactly, but a fleeting sensation of déjà vu. Andrew’s arm was draped around her and her head lay against his shoulder. Their bodies were pressed closely together as if they couldn’t bear even an inch between them.

Tears of frustration stung Lea’s eyes. How could she have forgotten the beauty of that sunset and the contentment of that moment? How could she have forgotten the feel of her husband’s arms around her or the whisper of his lips against her hair? How could she have forgotten him?

She checked the back of the photograph, but there was no date or inscription. Nothing at all written to commemorate the moment. She wondered if that climb had been only one of many adventures during the course of their marriage.

After propping the photograph against the dresser mirror, she went out to the balcony to enjoy the late-afternoon breeze. Leaning her forearms against the railing, she stared across the rugged countryside, trailing her gaze up the vertical face of Bishop’s Rock. Hard to believe she’d once climbed to the top for the simple pleasure of viewing a sunset. The shadowy summit seemed forbidding to her now and as mysterious as her past.

The back of her neck prickled as a feeling of being watched crept over her. She slid her gaze across the landscape, telling herself she was imagining things. After everything she’d been through, it was only natural to be wary. Nightmares still plagued her sleep and she had caught herself more than once glancing over her shoulder for no discernible reason. Even though she couldn’t remember the vicious attack, her instincts had built a protective wall. All her anxieties would start to dissipate as she healed, the doctor had told her. Once she felt safe again, the barriers would come down. Give it time.

The sun had dropped below the treetops. She could hear the wind in the trees and the eerie whispering sound the water made as it bubbled up from the underground springs. She had just turned to go inside when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Someone was coming up one of the trails, walking quickly as if on a mission of some great purpose. Glancing behind him, he left the trail and strode across the grounds toward the house, stopping short at the edge of the patio when he saw her staring down at him.

Their gazes touched and for a moment, Lea felt suspended in time. Frozen in the terror of her nightmares.

She knew that man. She didn’t know how she knew him, but she was certain she’d seen him before. He was tall, perhaps even taller than Andrew, slim and as fit as her husband, but there was something unsettling about this man’s vitality. He seemed stealthy and cunning and dangerous.

He was dressed in jeans, dusty boots and a plain black T-shirt—all of which had seen better days. His dark hair was clipped short for convenience and scruff shadowed his lower face.

He squinted up at her so that she couldn’t tell the exact shade of his eyes, but they were light and piercing and she imagined them to be as cold as ice.

Her impulse was to retreat back into the room and lock the door, but the same instinct that had erected those protective walls held her rooted to the spot as a voice in her head whispered, Don’t let him see your fear.