her, sitting up with her all night and seeing to her needs. She soothed and petted like Marnie was her child. But that can’t be right, can it? No. No, it couldn’t. Alice calls me Miss Marnie. She wouldn’t call her own daughter “Miss.”
Doctor Means was straightforward enough. She thought it was unusual for a doctor to make house calls. He said the hospital was full, and she certainly was too weak to go to a doctor’s office, so maybe that’s why he came. She wondered if anyone else in the house would have taken care of her if it were necessary.
How am I connected to this man . . . David? His face is so serious each time I see him. Is it because he is worried about me? Has he been concerned about what happened to me? When he stood at the door that first time he looked angry and sad at the same time. Maybe he is my employer. Did I make some terrible mistake? Mess up something? That would explain why the woman I saw yesterday was so angry. But what kind of job do I have that entitles me to my own room here in this house?
Marnie couldn’t image doing anything illegal, but the woman in the downstairs hall made it seem like she did. Why else would she threaten to send me to jail?
Oh, I don’t know who I am, she thought. I might do illegal things. I might be a terrible person. I just don’t remember. Marnie covered her face with her hands and shook her head. How horrible that would be, to get my memory back and find out I’m a bad person!
Her surroundings seemed strange to her, even though she obviously lived in the house. Her pajamas and gowns were here, because Alice had ready access to them. But it just didn’t feel like a home should; it wasn’t comfortable. Even with her memory gone, she instinctively knew she would want to live in a place with light, bright colors, and windows that let the sunlight in, not in this room of deep, dark shadows and oversized, intricately carved furniture. The sound of a bump against the door caused her to turn, and she saw a small figure dart out of sight.
Strange, she thought, that looked like a child. She yawned, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 3
“Good afternoon, Marnie.”
The doctor set his black leather bag on the table beside the bed and opened it. “Alice tells me your fever is down and you haven’t had any more chills.”
Marnie pulled herself a little higher in the bed. “That’s right. I’ve had some fever, but nothing like before, and no chills.”
Taking the thermometer out of his bag, he said, “Hold this under your tongue while I listen to your lungs. How have you felt today? Are you keeping the broth down all right? Drinking plenty of water?” He removed the thermometer from her mouth and checked the reading.
“I’m still very weak. Alice has to help me to the bathroom, and I slept most of the day. But I’m beginning to feel a little hungry.”
“That’s a good sign. I’ll tell Alice to start giving you some soft food.”
When he had finished his exam, he settled into the chair at her bedside. Folding his hands over his round belly, he surveyed her with a serious expression.
“Marnie, I’ve known you since you were just a little thing. I think you were about six years old when your mother first brought you in to see me. Do you remember that?”
She shook her head.
“You were getting your immunizations before starting first grade. From then on, you were in my office every few months to get patched up from one scrape or another. It seemed like you were always going somewhere you shouldn’t or doing something dangerous.
“I remember when you followed some boys in the neighborhood when you were ten. They told you not to climb the ladder into their treehouse, so you climbed another tree and tried to jump over. You sure fussed at me about the cast on your broken arm. You would always do exactly what someone told you not to do. Remember what you once told me?”
As the doctor recounted her childhood, Marnie tried her best to remember it, but nothing came to her. Slowly, she shook her head.
“I don’t remember, Doctor. I don’t remember a thing. Not you, not this house, not even who I am.”
He studied her intently. “Marnie, is