has had would have driven a weaker man to that. It would have been easy enough to escape into madness. It was almost expected of him. Instead, through a combination of intelligence, creativity, and will, Nicholas Brewer's mind grasps at survival, defending itself with periodic bouts of amnesia, a loss of self, a surrender of the whole in favor of the parts. I believe that in a desperate scramble to survive, Nicholas has pieced together a highly structured form of traumatic neurosis, shell shock, or posttraumatic stress. He seeks a way to buffer himself from real life but never to withdraw from it completely, as many with less reason than he would have. But the most important thing is that Nicholas -- Cole is a survivor. He'll survive this."
"What can I do for him?" asked Trissa, wiping her tears away with the palms of her hands.
"Do you love him?"
"Yes. Oh, yes."
"Good, because you will need that and more. He will not remember you. You are part of Nicholas' memory, not Cole's. Cole may reject you. He may do things to force you away from him. He shuns human attachments. He thinks himself unworthy of them. But if you love him, if you stick by him, you may be able to reach that part of him he hides so well and bring it to the surface. If that happens, he may be on his way to becoming whole once again.
Chapter Sixteen
Trissa rested her forehead against the cold, metal bed rail and watched Nicholas -- Cole -- sleep. Her eyes burned with the salt of her tears and every muscle in her own body ached with fatigue. In the hours since Dr. Fitapaldi had left, Cole had not stirred, or muttered, or moaned with pain.
The nurses who came to check his vital signs and change his IV bottle seemed to smile a little more. They had lost the cool distance Trissa imagined they must have to maintain with a patient they would lose. Nicholas' thick lashes lay against cheeks that were pinker now, and when she stroked them with the backs of her fingers, they seemed warmer.
Her long discussion with Fitapaldi had caused her to miss Bryant Edmonds before he went on duty. So now she would have to wait until Dr. Cummings arrived for his rounds to find out if the improvement she saw was more than wishful thinking. She did not know if she could will her exhausted body to stay awake that long. She scooted her chair a bit closer and lowered the rail. She lay her cheek on Nicholas' hand and dozed.
"You should be at home in bed. You won't help him by making yourself ill." Bryant Edmonds' tone was dryly efficient, a prescription delivered. "He's out of danger now. The chart looks good. I could drive you home if you want. I'm on my way out."
Trissa raised her head and rubbed her eyes. "Dr. Edmonds. It's so late. I thought you'd already left. Thank you for the good news and the offer, but I want to be here when he wakes."
"I figured, so I brought you this." He held out a couple of danish rolls he had hidden behind his back. "They'll be in with coffee and juice in just a minute. I have a friend in the kitchen."
She smiled and took a peach-filled roll. "I am hungry. Thank you."
"May I join you?"
"Yes, if you like."
He settled in a chair near the window. She patted Nicholas' hand then moved her chair back so she could talk quietly with Bryant. He spoke first. "I wondered about this Dr. Fitapaldi you talked to last night."
Trissa shrugged. She and Fitapaldi had worked out a story. It did not include informing everyone about Nicholas' alarming background. "He's an old friend. He knew Nicholas in Michigan years ago. He was in town and came to visit."
"Yet I see his name on the chart. He received permission to consult on the case." Bryant picked four raisins out of his cinnamon danish and set them on the windowsill. After inspecting the roll closely, he took a bite out if it.
Trissa watched him repeat the process for his second bite before she responded to his comment. "Is that unusual? I told you, he's an old friend."
He looked up from his roll and studied her over the rim of his glasses. "He's a psychiatrist, Trissa."
"I know that," she answered without emotion.
He frowned and brushed cinnamon sugar off his chin. "Did the police catch who did this