LITMIR.BIZ

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      A fashionable resort hotel had been built on the beach in the center of a landscaped square bordered by inviting tourist shops. Driving slowly past the hotel, Andrew gave her a chance to look at the front of the building. Through large front glass windows and doors, they could catch glimpses of the elegant interior. He reasoned that if Trish had been staying at the hotel, she would be familiar with it and the surrounding stores.

      Just as they passed the front entrance, two men and a woman came out the front door of the hotel, and instantly Trish hunched down in the seat.

      “Do you think you know them?” Andrew asked quickly. “Do they look familiar?”

      She shook her head. Nothing looked familiar. Not the hotel. And her driving instinct was to hide from any stranger. How could she make him understand that this total lack of recognition was the reason enough to hide from an unnamed terror that kept her from remembering?

      “How about any of the shops? Any of them ring a bell?” He asked as he parked the car so she could view the front of the various stores.

      After a moment of letting her searching gaze rove around the busy plaza, she reluctantly shook her head. Sitting there in her one set of clothes, there were dozens of things in the colorful window displays that she wished she could walk in and buy, but none of the store names or fronts registered any recognition. If she had shopped there, she didn’t remember anything about it.”

      “Well, just relax and be a people-watcher for a few minutes. I’ll be back right back.” He opened his door and slipped out of the car.

      Before she could protest, he had taken off with a leisurely stride and headed down the walk toward the hotel. She didn’t know whether to yell at him to come back, or go after him. In the end, she did neither.

      “It’s all right,” she told herself, taking some deep breaths to center herself. She had to trust him. There was no reason to believe that he was going to abandon her. She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. She knew that the fatigue that swept over her body was born of a fear of betrayal.

      Betrayal. The way the word shot through her, startled her. She sat up with a jerk. A flash of betrayal triggered a series of vague images that slithered by too fast for her to grab them. A sudden, slight lifting of the shadows in her mind caught her off guard. A memory was almost there, but it lacked form. It was like waking up from a dream, and not quite remembering. Only the emotion remained. She felt weak and shaken, and yet, strangely elated. She had been betrayed. She knew it!

      When Andrew returned to the car a few minutes later, he was startled by the change in her posture and expression. Her earlier glazed, dull expression was gone. Her face was animated and her blue eyes were shining.

      “What happened? Did you remember something?”

      “Almost,” she said, smiling. “I almost remembered something.”

      “Almost?” He had been ready for her to declare that she remembered who she was. His elation faded slightly as he asked, “What happened?”

      “I saw some images. Just for a few seconds,” she explained. “They flickered past too vague and quickly for me to examine them.” She saw disappointment tug at the corner of his lips so she grabbed his hand. “Next time I might be able to hold on to them long enough to really recognize and remember them. It’s a start—don’t you see?”

      Her excitement was contagious. Her sudden animation took him by surprise. For the first time, he caught a glimpse of a vivacious, confident woman who would not be defeated by the devastating shock she had suffered.

      “Yes, it’s a start,” he agreed, smiling even though he didn’t know exactly what she was talking about. Had she wanted to remember something so badly that her mind was playing tricks on her? “Do you know what triggered these images?”

      “Not really. I was just sitting here wondering if you had abandoned me.” She shot him an apologetic look. “The feeling of betrayal seemed to take over for a few seconds and that’s when it happened.”

      “I really don’t know what to say, Trish.” He squeezed the hand still locked in his. “Let’s give it some thought, and see what we should do next. I checked at the hotel, pretending to be a reporter doing an article on the storm. I asked if all their guests were accounted for, and they assured me that they were, but, of course, there’s no way of knowing if you were registered—unless we show them a picture.”

      “No,” she said firmly, withdrawing her hand. You don’t give your enemies an advantage. She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until she saw his startled expression.

      “If you really believe that, Trish,” he said firmly, “then it’s time to get you some professional help. What happened today might be a breakthrough if you had the right kind of counseling.”

      “You mean psychiatric care?” she flared. “Just because I can’t remember, doesn’t mean I should be committed to some booby hatch.” Even as she heard herself, she knew she was like a child throwing a tantrum because she didn’t want to go to the doctor.

      “I’m sure we can find a respectable clinic that can provide the kind of help you need,” he said in a quiet, reassuring way. “Just think about it.”

      She fell silent as he drove back to the cottage. Even though she desperately wanted a breakthrough as quickly as possible, the idea of putting herself in the hands of perfect strangers was terrifying. She wasn’t even sure that she could depend on Andrew to remain as her main anchor. Maybe he was urging her to seek help because he didn’t want to be involved with her any further.

      When they got back to the house, he suggested that she take a nap while he caught up on some work. As soon as she was settled in the bedroom, he left his computer and took his cell phone out on the deck. One of his female co-workers had spent some time at a small mental health hospital after a nervous breakdown, and she’d only had positive things to say about the care she’d been given. He made a quick call to her and she gladly gave him the number he needed.

      Andrew phoned the hospital, and asked to speak to one of the resident doctors concerning the admittance of an amnesia patient. He was referred to a Dr. Jon Duboise. As succinctly as Andrew could, he explained to the doctor about Trish’s condition.

      “She has a deep fear that someone will find her before she can remember what happened to her. Whatever it was must have been something traumatic.”

      “Reason enough for her to block out the memory,” the doctor agreed. “The loss of memory about an emotionally traumatic event is usually the result of a person’s desire to dissociate from a particularly intolerable situation.”

      “And once she’s willing to recall that event, will she get her memory back?” Andrew asked hopefully.

      “If it’s hysterical or post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, it’s very likely,” Duboise explained. “But even with therapy, it could take time.” He asked a few more questions, and then assured Andrew that privacy was a top priority at Havengate Hospital.

      Andrew thanked him and hung up without committing himself to anything. He sat out on the deck for several minutes trying to come up with the best way to handle Trish. Her aversion to exposing herself to anyone was clear. He knew that she would accuse him of withdrawing his support if he insisted that she check herself into a hospital. She had already admitted that she feared his betrayal.

      He decided to wait until evening before saying anything. When she emerged from the bedroom, he noted that she had, undoubtedly, taken his advice and had a long nap. She was more rested than he’d seen her. At dinner, she even ate a nice helping of his spaghetti and meatballs.

      They had coffee in the living room, and impulsively he picked up his guitar and began strumming some familiar tunes. Trish curled up on the couch, smiling as she watched his dexterous fingers find the chords with an easy pleasure. She could tell that he was used to spending evenings in the company of his guitar. A soft wave of blond hair drifted forward as he bent his head over the instrument. Her

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