Distant Memory Read Online Free Page B

explain why your left side is sore. You were driving.”
    “How can you know that?” she asked with disbelief.
    “The direction of the bruise. You said it ran from your left shoulder to your right hip. That’s the direction of the driver’s shoulder strap. It would explain the bruise across the lap area. I’d bet money that you were in an auto accident. Probably rolled the car, hitting your shoulder on the side window as well as your head. That’s where the knot on your forehead came from. As far as your foot goes—well, that just proves that you were driving. Most likely you hit your foot on the brake pedal when the accident happened. You’re lucky, really. I had a friend whose foot was broken that way.” She reached up and touched the sensitive lump on her forehead.
    “An auto accident. That might explain …” she trailed off.
    “Explain what?”
    She didn’t answer.
    “Okay, then. Let me guess. You seem quite confused, and you’ve been hesitant to say anything about yourself or what has happened to you. You’re fearful, even paranoid. No offense intended.”
    “None taken.”
    “That’s good,” he leaned back and took a long sip of coffee, his eyes darting over her as if he could see into her very being, peering through each layer of emotional defense like an x-ray machine through flesh. “You don’t know who you are, do you?”
    “That’s ridiculous,” she snapped defensively. “Who could forget something like that?”
    “Accident victims for one. The traumatized for another.” His words were steady yet soft, devoid of any accusation. “Am I right?”
    Tears began to brim in her eyes, and she lowered her head. Thisnightmare was real. This was no dream from which to awake. She was sitting in a strange restaurant in a strange little desert town talking to a strange man who might be the only person she could trust.
    Leaning forward, Nick reached out a hand and gently touched her arm. His hand was warm and smooth. It felt good, reassuring. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want to help.”
    “I don’t know who I am,” she said in a soft but forced whisper. “I have no memory. I don’t remember a car accident. I don’t remember you picking me up on the road. I don’t remember going to the motel. My past, even my name, is a mystery to me.”
    “No identification?”
    She shook her head. “Not that I could find.”
    “That makes sense,” he said flatly, leaning back in the booth.
    “How does that make sense? It sure doesn’t make sense to me.”
    “You’re a woman. Women often carry their identification in a purse, seldom on their person. Men are just the opposite. We tuck our wallets in our back pockets. If you were indeed in an accident and sufficiently stunned by it, it is quite possible that you wandered away from the wreck leaving your purse behind.”
    “If I was in a collision, why didn’t the other person help?”
    “Maybe it wasn’t a collision. Perhaps you fell asleep at the wheel and went off the road. It was late when I found you. It’s possible that you veered off and crashed and that no one saw you.”
    “I suppose.” She thought about that. It made some sense, but it didn’t sit right. Something was missing. “I’m very confused,” she admitted. The words were inadequate to describe her consternation. She was far more than confused—she was bewildered, disoriented, and panicky.
    “I can imagine. Would you like me to take you to the hospital?”
    The thought frightened her and she tensed. “No.”
    “What are you afraid of?” he asked softly.
    I don’t know
. “I’m all right.”
    He cast a doubtful look.
    “Physically, I mean,” she said. “I’m sore, but I don’t think anything is broken. If only …” she trailed off.
    “If only what? If only you knew who you are?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s why I want to take you to a hospital. Let the doctors take a quick look. Maybe they can fix you right up.”
    “No,” she insisted without