“Exactly what does this mean?”
Dr. Klingman smiled at her as if she were a young child incapable of intellectually grasping what he was saying. “The accident damaged part of your brain.”
“All I have is a little cut on the back of my head,” she protested.
“You suffered a blow that caused a hairline fracture, which resulted in internal bleeding. The bleeding stopped, but not without destroying a number of cells.”
“I feel fine,” she insisted. “Really, I do.”
Dr. Klingman studied her for a moment. “I’m sure you
feel
well, but what do you remember about the past?”
“Nothing
…
yet. But it’s right there. I can feel it.”
The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid you will never be able to remember everything.”
What did he mean? she wondered with a grim sense of foreboding. Wasn’t she going to remember her own name? She
looked at Greg to see what he thought and saw he was frowning at Dr. Klingman.
“Just what won’t she be able to remember?” Greg walked over and stood beside her. She reached out and touched his hand. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then his strong fingers curled around hers.
“The accident could have left her paralyzed or wiped out her entire memory bank, not just part of it.” The doctor turned to her. “Then you would have had to relearn everything again as if you were a baby. Walking, talking—everything.”
Her breath solidified in her chest, becoming a dead weight, as she realized what he was saying. No, she wanted to scream. It couldn’t be true. She glanced at Greg and saw her knuckles were ridges of bone. She had a death grip on his hand. She let go and clutched the sheet instead.
“Am I going to remember my name?”
Dr. Jorgen smiled encouragingly. “You’ll remember your name as soon as the shock of the accident wears off because you’ve undoubtedly said it and written it thousands of times. It’s stored in the part of your brain with the rest of the information you’ve learned by rote.”
She felt as if a noose were circling her throat, choking her. This could
not
be happening. Surely, this was a dream and she would wake up. She gasped for air and realized she’d been holding her breath. Greg reached for her, hesitating a moment before his hand settled on her shoulder, steadying her trembling body.
“I’m not going to remember
anything
about my life?”
“I’m afraid not.” Dr. Klingman smiled that indulgent smile again, and she battled the urge to scream. This was her life, not some textbook curiosity. “You see, there are three types of memory systems. Semantic, or learned memory, is what we’ve consciously studied and mastered like mathematical equations or a foreign language. The second type of memory is procedural. If you do something often enough, you learn
what to expect. A baby learns that fire is hot and won’t stick his hand into the flames.”
“
What about my past? Things that happened to me?” She heard the threat of panic in her voice and knew Greg heard it, too. He comforted her with the pressure of his hand.
“That’s episodic memory. It’s the collection of events, feelings, and thoughts we accumulate over time.” He shook his head sadly. “That’s the memory system you’ve lost.”
Her heartbeat jarred her chest as the full impact of the doctor’s words hit her. “Lost?”
“It could be worse,” Dr. Klingman said. “You still have your sense of smell.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” The irritation in Greg’s voice was unmistakable. Evidently, he found this as perplexing as she did.
Dr. Hamalae spoke up. “For some reason memory and the sense of smell are centered in the same area in the brain. When smell is wiped out, the memory systems collapse. All you have then is short term memory. You can’t remember anything for longer than—say—ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, my God!” She was truly lost and having them tell her that it could have been much worse didn’t make her feel “lucky.” It terrified her. She imagined being tossed overboard into a fathomless sea with no hope of reaching shore.
“Don’t worry,” Dr. Jorgen assured her with a warm smile. “Your family will tell you all about your past. They’ll have photographs maybe even home movies. The mind is a funny thing. Give it enough information and it’ll fill in the blanks.”
She understood that Dr. Jorgen was trying to make her feel better. But she wasn’t buying it. He didn’t know what it was like to encounter a black void when you asked yourself what you looked like. “You’re telling me the past is gone,” she heard the anger in her voice and paused to temper it. “All I’ll have is what other people tell me. I won’t know how I used to feel.”
None of the doctors denied it. She didn’t know whether to
cry or to scream. If she did either, she probably wouldn’t be able to stop. Greg gently squeezed her shoulder, but even his reassurance didn’t help.
“Let me get this straight,” Greg said. “She’s going to remember how to drive a car, yet she won’t remember the plot of a book she read once.”
“Right,” Dr. Klingman agreed. Now he looked positively bored.
“What does
Gone With the Wind
mean to you?” Dr. Jorgen asked.
She realized it was a loaded question; she
should
know what the term meant. “Something blew away in the wind. That’s all.”
“It’s a famous book that was m
ade into a movie. Undoubt
edly you read it or saw the movie. Probably both.
”
Dr. Jorgen’s eyes were filled with compassion. Unlike the other doctor, he at least cared. “You’ll get the chance to experience a great many things again like rereading
Gone With the Wind.
”
Screams of frustration and denial rose to her throat. She clamped her lips shut, telling herself they’d taken time from their conference to study her case and blaming them was infantile. Still, anger burned inside her, and it was all she could do to control herself.
“I’ve never heard of Hoyt-Mellenberger syndrome,” Greg said.
“It’s extremely rare,” Dr. Klingman-explained. “Usually the entire memory bank is destroyed, and the person simply has to relearn everything.”
The doctors talked, discussing memory loss and using terms like
temporal lobe
and
right brain
and
left brain.
None of it made much sense to her. All she understood was that her sense of desolation, of being alone in the world was a permanent condition. She
was
lost. And even when her family managed to find her, her life was never going to be the same.
Never forget. I love you.
The words she couldn’t get out of her mind had a bittersweet ring to them now. If someone did
love her, she wasn’t going to remember him. He would be a stranger just the way her own reflection was.
She tried to tell herself that she was fortunate to be alive. Lucky. Everyone kept tossing the word around, but she didn’t feel the least bit lucky. The truth was her life had vanished. Gone with the wind, she thought, wondering if that so famous book/movie was about someone whose memory had disappeared. It seemed to fit perfectly.
She barely realized the doctors were leaving. Dr. Hamalae said he would see her in the morning while Dr. Jorgen offered to return and show her the tests so she could see for herself where the damage had occurred. She muttered her thanks, doing her best to sound sincere.
Greg sat down on the bed beside her, and gazed at her, his blue eyes as intense as ever, yet there was a flicker of compassion or—oh, God, maybe it was pity. She hated that thought. The only person on this earth she truly knew was Greg Braxton. More than anything she wanted him to like her, not pity her.
“
You’re lucky to be alive,” he said, and she had the distinct impression that he was at a loss for words.
“Yes, just call me Lucky.” She tried not to sound sarcastic. After all, Greg was her only friend. He’d risked his own life to save hers—or what was left of hers. “I realize I could have died or have been left a vegetable. I must focus on the positive.
”
She touched his arm and he glanced down at her hand. Why did he keep looking at her hands? It must be the horrid nail polish. “I don’t want you to think that I’m not grateful to you for saving my life. I truly am. It’s just that this is such a shock.”
His eyes met hers and he nodded slowly. She couldn’t help wondering what he was really thinking. “I’m supposed to leave in few minutes,” he announced. “Dodger and I
are flying to San Francisco…
”
Greg paused, and she decided he was wondering if she k
new where San Francisco was. “
San Francisco: a city in northern California. A huge bay. The Golden Gate Bridge. Cable cars,” she said, the words spewing out as if a robot were speaking.
She stopped for breath, realizing for the first time that there were things she knew and others, like
Gone With the Wind,
that she would have to relearn. “I’ll ask if I don’t understand something. I’m going to deal with this memory thing openly.”
He nodded his approval and checked his watch. “I have to leave right now if I’m going to catch the last flight to San Francisco. Dodger is scheduled to take the certification test so he can be registered as a disaster dog. We don’t have to go. If you need me to stay, I will.”
She almost hugged him. Including the day of the accident, she had been missing three days. Where were her friends and her family? Gone with the wind, apparently. All she had was Greg Braxton, and just the thought of him leaving brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Of course, she wanted him to stay, but she had no right to ask.
She reached down and petted the dog’s sleek head. “No. It’s important that Dodger be certified. After all, we know he’s the
best, don’t we? I’ll be fine…
honest.”
“You sure?” he asked, and she managed a confident nod. “My brother’s not going to arrest you until he does a little more checking. I’ll bet he finds out you didn’t steal that car.”
She opened her mouth to assure him that she wasn’t a thief. Suddenly, she recalled the weird-looking woman in the mirror.
Who knew what she might have done?
I
t was after midnight by the time Cody left work and was driving along the moonlit road toward his home in the up-country. He didn’t live close to the station, preferring the cooler hills at the base of Haleakala. The dormant volcano was Maui’s crowning glory, and along its slopes was fertile ranch land. If it hadn’t been for the ocean glimmering in the distance, the up-country could be mistaken for Tennessee.
But it wasn’t the lush green grass or the whitewashed fences that attracted Cody to the up-country. He’d moved here, stretching his finances to the limit to keep his family away from the
tourist area. Here his boys could ride their horses when they weren’t playing soccer, and Sarah could have a garden. If they lived closer to the beach, they would be stuck in some tiny condo surrounded by tourists who threw their money around like confetti, and his children wouldn’t have a sense of value.
He pulled into the driveway of the dilapidated home that he and Sarah were still restoring and parked the Bronco. The breeze, always cooler here than on the coast, was moist against his face and filled with the fragrant scent of plumeria, as he strode up the walk. The house was dark except for the light in their bedroom. Sarah was waiting up for him the way she always did. He entered through the back door, taking care not to make noise and wake the baby.
He tiptoed into the twins’ room. Phew! The place smelled of gym socks and looked as if there had been a preemptive strike on a sporting goods store. Although they were just eleven, his sons lived for sports. He and Greg hadn’t been much different, he thought, stepping over the bat that lay in the middle of the floor.
“Sleep tight.” He kissed each boy on the cheek, saddened that they were at the age where they no longer wanted him to kiss them. Let them know you love them, he told himself. It’s the most important gift you can give a child.
Dodging the clutter, he left the room, thinking of his own childhood. The only person who had loved him had been his brother. After their parents had been killed, Cody and Greg had been sent to Hawaii to live with Aunt Sis. It would never have occurred to the old bag to kiss them. She was too busy yelling at them, finding fault with everything they did.
Greg had received the brunt of Aunt Sis’s anger, shielding Cody whenever he could. Sometimes Greg had even lied and taken the blame for something Cody had done. Through it all, though, Greg had loved his brother in a way that he’d never been able to love anyone else, even his wife, Jessica.
Greg simply refused to open himself to others. Sure, he was good with animals. He was the most skilled volunteer in the
S and R unit, and he had a stellar reputation for his work with whales at the Marine Research Institute. Yet when it came to people—especially women—Greg gave only so much. With Jessica, it wasn’t enough.
You can’t change the past,
Cody reminded himself, feeling the too familiar depression returning. He missed his brother so much that at times he actually felt physical pain. At least they were talking now, but he doubted Greg would ever forgive him.