Not Without The Truth

“Absolutely,” she said. “Except that I have this…memory problem—”

Her father broke in, his tone switching to a more professional level. “I understand but I don’t want you to worry about that, Lauren, okay? It’s a temporary setback and you’re going to be fine. Once you’re back home, we’ll get you in to see Dr. Gladney right away. The two of you can work everything out, just like you did before. You’ll be fine in no time.”

To Lauren’s ears, his manner seemed forced, but maybe he was simply overwhelmed with worry. “Dr. Gladney?”

“She’s your therapist, honey. You don’t remember her?”

“I don’t remember me,” Lauren replied, half joking, “how could I remember her?”

He took her question seriously and Lauren got the impression that he probably took most things that way. “Dr. Gladney is a specialist in psychotherapy as it relates to traumatic reassessments and integration, Lauren. She’s worked with you for years, ever since—”

He broke off and Lauren asked, “Ever since what?”

For a moment, a static silence whispered down the line, then he spoke again. “Ever since your mother died. You don’t remember that, either?”

A vague reaction tugged at the back of her mind—something forbidden and scary and chaotic. She tried hard to pull more out of the fleeting sensation but failed. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to…”

“It’s okay.” She could tell he was trying to hide his shock. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about that later.”

Lauren pressed him. “Tell me now,” she insisted. “Dr. Torres said all I might need is a single memory and everything else might come back. I want to know.”

“It’s complicated—”

“Then simplify it.”

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “The truth is your mother took her own life when you were ten. It was a very sad time for all of us and it was especially traumatic for you. You found the body.”

“I—I can’t believe I wouldn’t remember something like that,” she said in sudden shock. “It must have been horrible…”

He hurried to reassure her. “Your reaction is extremely typical, Lauren. I’d be surprised if you did remember it. Don’t worry about it, all right? We’ll handle everything when you get back. Dr. Gladney and I will help you, I promise. You’ll be fine as soon as we get you home.”

He sounded as if he thought she were about to crash and burn. Losing your mother was a terrible thing but it’d clearly happened years before. He was acting as if he were afraid she might fall apart completely. What kind of fragile flower had she been?

“When do you think you can make it back to Cuzco?” Her father’s question cut into her thoughts. “That’s the largest town nearby. I’ve already checked the flights for you and there are some going out at the end of the week. I’ve wired some funds to you, as well. The doctor will collect them and get them to you. I know you lost your things. There should be more than enough cash for you to buy some clothes and anything else you might need until you come back but if you need more, let me know. I’ve contacted the embassy and your replacement passport is in the works. I’m not sure which flight would be the best but the earliest one is next—”

Lauren interrupted his flow of orders. “I’m not ready to come back. I have things to do here.”

His voice revealed his surprise. “Lauren, don’t be silly! You have to come home now. Forget about the article. The magazine doesn’t expect you to finish that! I’ve already spoken to Neal—”

“Who’s Neal?”

“Your boss,” he answered. “He said the topic was all your idea anyway and he’s not even sure when it would make the magazine. Your health is more important than writing—”

Lauren gripped the edge of the bed, the realization coming to her that she’d apparently allowed her father to tell her how to run her life. “I appreciate your help,” she interrupted him one more time, “but I’m not coming back until I’m ready. I’ll let you know when that is.”

In the quiet that followed, she could sense his disbelief. His voice changed subtly. “I really think you need to return, Lauren. You can’t possibly get the care you need down there.” He paused. “I’m a doctor myself, sweetheart, and I know what’s best, especially for you. I’m sure Dr. Torres is…all right, but I know your case. After all, I’m your father. He’s a stranger.”

She looked out the screen door where Armando stood. Her father might be correct in what he said, but just the opposite felt true. She sensed no connection whatsoever with him but strangely enough, Armando Torres had seemed like someone she knew—and knew intimately—from the minute she had seen him. The idea was disturbing.

“I appreciate your concern,” she repeated. “But I have things to do here. When they’re done, I’ll leave.”

They hung up and Armando came in shortly after that for his phone. While Lauren got ready for bed, the dynamics of the conversation that had taken place between herself and the man who’d said he was her father replayed in her mind. She was a grown woman and had her wits about her—why did he feel the need to tell her what to do? Even more importantly, why did she feel the need to stay where she was? When he’d told her to come home, she’d declined instinctively. Why? She worried over the situation for a while longer, then sleep overcame her.

She woke abruptly at 2:30 a.m., her scream still echoing in the empty ward. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed so hard, the scrapes on her palms had opened and begun to bleed again.

A blond man had been leading her across a rope bridge. She was almost to the other side when he magically appeared on the bank ahead of her, but before she could reach him, the rope went slack. For two seconds, Lauren was suspended in space and then she was falling.

She blinked and the images faded but, without any warning, she recalled the moments before she’d gone into the water. She’d been going over the river on a rope bridge. And she’d fallen.

She sat up in excitement and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The sheets and her hands were a mess but she barely noticed she was so stunned by her memory. If she could remember this, she told herself, she could remember the rest.

She stood on shaky legs and crossed the empty room for the desk that served as Zue’s nursing station. A glass-fronted cabinet behind the chair held bandages and tape.

Her mind on her discovery, her nerves ringing, Lauren didn’t see the shadow standing at the door of the clinic until it was too late. The door squeaked open and she jerked her head toward the sound, almost losing her balance in the process. Armando stood on the threshold.

“You’re bleeding!” He came to her side in three long strides and took her hands in his. “What happened?”

They were inches apart and Lauren could feel the energy that seemed to be part of the air whenever Armando was near. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her closer to the desk and opened the cabinet she’d been approaching.

“I—I had a dream,” she stuttered. “When I woke up, I had scraped my hands on the railing—”

“I can see that.” He began to clean her palms with a strong antiseptic, his movements swift and efficient, but kind at the same time. “Is that why you screamed?”

Still holding her hands, he turned from her to pick up the clean dressings, and Lauren realized she had a decision to make. She had to reconcile the disparate ways she felt about Armando and she had to do so quickly.

She made her decision impulsively.

“I’ve begun to get some of my memory back,” she said. “I think I know how I ended up in the river.”

ARMANDO WENT QUIET, Lauren’s statement freezing him. “Tell me,” he said.

She licked her lips and briefly told him her dream. As she explained about the bridge, an uneasiness built inside him he didn’t like. He knew the crossing she described and he’d heard nothing about that particular bridge being down. In fact, once a year, Manco made sure it was replaced so accidents like that wouldn’t happen.

“Are you quite sure the rope went slack and then you fell?”

“Absolutely, yes. I’m positive.”

He returned to tending her palms, his attitude as neutral as he could make it. He’d had a lot of questions about Lauren’s presence from the very beginning, but what had really happened to her was near the top of the list.

He tied off the bandage, his voice noncommittal. “If the rope gave way, I’d say it was frayed then, wouldn’t you?”

“Not necessarily. Someone could have worked on it before I got there and weakened the twine. My weight in the center would have been enough to get the job done.”

Armando hid his surprise at her astuteness. “But why would anyone do such a thing? Do you think someone’s out to hurt you?”

“No, I don’t think that, but who knows? I ended up in that river and I want to know why.”

He put a final piece of tape in place, then released her, replacing the tools and antiseptic in the cabinet behind them. “You need to get back into bed.”