Chapter Thirty-Four

 

In the twenty-minute drive to the hospital Paul asked the same questions every four minutes. Except when I snapped at him. Then he apologized and said he was thinking that he might have asked me the same question before. Then I apologized for snapping. Four minutes later the exact conversation started over.

Dan thought the whole thing was amusing as hell.

At the hospital I followed Paul into the admitting office to help answer questions. Paul growled freely at me then. Evidently, he didn't like someone he "didn't know" answering for him -- but easily half the questions the admitting clerk asked he answered incorrectly. The address he gave her was for the apartment he'd lived in, in north Seattle. He didn't even remember living in the apartment at my aunt and uncle's despite my reminding him.

The ordeal was no picnic for the admitting clerk, either. She slammed her hand on her desk when the answer to "emergency contact" brought Paul and me within decibels of screaming at each other.

"You," she said to me. "Be quiet and let the man speak."

"But --"

"Or I'm sending you back to the waiting room." She narrowed one eye and cocked an eyebrow.

I set my jaw and shut up. But Paul's answer sent me diving into my purse for a pen. The only paper I had was a grocery store receipt, so I scribbled Delores' name and address on the back and shoved it across the desk to the clerk. She snatched it up, and leveled an "I'm warning you" look at me before addressing Paul.

"Who's Delores Salatini?"

"Oh, yeah. She'd be a better emergency contact than my parents. She's my aunt. Lives in Snohomish."

The clerk shrugged at me and started typing the information I'd given her. Encouraged, I scribbled my address and phone number on the back of another receipt and reached it across the desk.

Paul grabbed it out of my hand and read it. "Whose address and phone number is this?"

I kept my lips sealed. The clerk stood and plucked the paper out of Paul's hand, read it and looked at me.

"Permission to speak," she said.

Jeez. "It's yours." I said to Paul.

"It's not," he said to me, then turned back to the clerk. "It's probably hers."

The clerk shot me a questioning look.

"It is," I said. The woman rolled her eyes and wadded up the paper. "Don't do that! I'm his girlfriend. He lives with me."

She paused.

Paul gave me a disbelieving look and turned to the clerk. "You know, I think I'd remember someone as annoying as her."

She smoothed out the paper.

"She doesn't even act like a girlfriend," he protested.

"You're right," she said. "She acts like your wife. Now, both of you shut up and let me finish this so I can push you off onto a doctor. They don't pay me enough." The last bit was muttered to herself.

Paul glared at me, and I looked away. I glanced at him when he dug his wallet out for his insurance card (he could remember he had insurance, but he couldn't remember me!). All the hostility that was in his expression minutes before was gone. I doubted he remembered any of our argument.

The nurse wouldn't allow me in the exam room with him, so I paced the waiting room while Dan read a magazine.

"Do the two of you always yell at each other?" he asked as I passed him.

"No," I spat. "Not that it's any of your business."

"You might want to consider counseling," he commented after I'd passed him a couple more times.

"Shut up." I kept pacing.

"Just want my little girl to be happy." He glanced up and smiled.

I glared at him. He went back to his magazine.

"I recall your mother being a pacer." He didn't look up.

I sat and picked up a magazine. I didn't miss his grin.

Long after I'd finished the coffee Dan had bought me, the admitting clerk came into the waiting room with a middle-aged man in a lab coat. She pointed at me. He strode over, a little grin sneaking onto his face. I jumped to my feet. A grin was good, right?

"You're with Paul Hudson?"

"Yes. That's me. I'm Thea Campbell. Is he okay? Does he have his memory back?"

"He'll be fine. We stitched him up and sent him downstairs for a CAT scan, just to be sure there's no swelling in the brain or bleeding. I'm fairly confident we won't find anything unusual."

"So he's going to be okay? Does he remember what happened?"

"Not yet."

"Does he remember anything at all?"

At least his smile was kind. "Probably not any more than he did when you brought him in."

"Oh." My chin quivered. I pressed my lips together.

"His brain's been rattled. Think of it like the hard drive in your computer that's not tracking quite right. He's not laying down new memories, and some of the old ones are being skipped over. It'll probably take twenty-four to forty-eight hours for him to regain his memory, and then it's likely there will be some things he won't remember at all --"

At this point my brain got stuck and I stopped hearing what the doctor was saying. Was it possible Paul wouldn't ever remember me? What was I going to do? My entire future, the one I'd envisioned with him, was threatened. I didn't want to go back to Thea-Campbell-forging-her-future-by-herself.

The doctor cleared his throat. "I said, the nurse will give you discharge instructions. Be sure to read them. Okay, Miss Campbell? And don't let him get the bandage wet when he showers."

"Yes, of course."

"I'll put the phone number of a neurologist at the bottom of the sheet in case he's not improving or if he seems to be getting worse."

Oh, joy. "Thank you."

I called Delores as we drove back to Andrea's. We couldn't stay there any longer -- Paul couldn't, and he couldn't be alone. He'd need to be watched, and he couldn't be trusted to drive much less take care of himself. Delores agreed he should stay with her. It would be foolish to take him home when he didn't even remember me, much less where he lived. Not trusting Dan, I took Paul with me to pack the suitcases. He didn't say anything, but looked around curiously as we walked through the gallery, past the living room and down the hallway. I opened the door to our room and stopped.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

The place had been trashed.

Paul looked past me into the room. "I take it this room is normally neater."

I crossed to the phone, which still sat on the nightstand, and dialed Richard's number. He arrived within moments, but the state of chaos stopped him. This was the second time I'd seen shock on his face. And all in one day.

"Is anything missing?" he asked.

"I don't know. I can't tell…I haven't touched anything. I…I." My voice trembled. I was dithering and worse, I couldn't think.

"Call Detective Ross," he said.

Thank God. A man with his wits about him. In short order I was spewing the whole disjointed tale between shocky gulps of air. Dave's advice was to pack and take Paul home. And try not to touch anything in the room that wasn't ours. He would be at the estate shortly and see what he could find. I was to let him know if anything was missing. Paul and I were done.

And Paul was clearly confused.

"Have we been sharing this room?" he asked, swinging a pair of my panties from his index finger as I flung clothing into our open suitcases.

"Yes." I snatched my underwear out of his hand and tossed it into my suitcase. I was getting tired of explaining. He didn't believe me anyway.

"I wish I remembered."

His half smile set my face burning. I was upset and overwhelmed, and he was being lecherous. Freaking men and their one-track minds. Best we -- I -- finish packing as quickly as possible and leave. I jammed my hairdryer into my suitcase and zipped it. Then I looked around for my computer.

It was gone.

"Damn it to hell."

"What's wrong?" Paul asked.

"Have you seen my computer?" No, of course he hadn't. "My computer's missing. Someone took it."

"Maybe you left it somewhere."

"No, it was here, I'm sure."

I grabbed my cell phone out of my purse and called Dave. He was already in route, thanked me for the additional information and repeated his instructions to go home. He assured me he would call later and let me know what he'd found. Richard loaded our suitcases, I said a quick good-bye to Andrea, and within minutes we were on our way back to Snohomish. I should have been relieved, but for the next hour I answered exactly the same "what happened?" and "who are you?" questions I'd been fielding all morning -- with the addition of "why are you driving my car?"