The Memory of All That Read Online Free Page A

trouble—whatever it is—started. She tried to imagine him smiling at her, kissing her. She smiled herself as the image of his lips on hers flitted through her mind. Is that a memory or my imagination? I can’t tell.
    Marnie sighed and sat up, throwing the cover aside. She was sleepy again, although it seemed all she did was sleep. Sliding her legs over the edge, she gingerly stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She had rummaged through the cabinet that morning and found a new toothbrush and some toothpaste, and she used it to make her mouth fresh once again.
    Not that he’s going to kiss me, even if he is my husband, she thought. He’s too mad to do that. I’m not even sure I’d want him to. Since I don’t remember him, it would be like kissing a stranger. Suddenly, that thought was exciting, not scary.
    Might as well get ready for bed . Taking a washcloth, she cleaned her face. Looking in the mirror, she surveyed the woman she saw. The shoulder-length hair that curled around a pale oval face was tousled and in need of a thorough washing.
    Not beautiful, but it’ll do. Maybe clean hair and some makeup would improve my appearance. Or maybe just getting well will.
    She hung the cloth on the towel rack and started back toward the bed. With her strength gone, she held to the wall in the short hall back to the bedroom. Alice was there, straightening the bedcovers.
    “I was just smoothing everything so you can rest. Maybe tomorrow, if you feel like it, you can shower and wash your hair, and I can change the sheets on the bed,” Alice said as she gave the pillows a final punch.
    “Yes. I was looking in the mirror and saw my hair. I hope I’ll be up to doing that.”
    “There’s a bench in the shower you can sit on while you wash, and I’ll be here if you get to feeling shaky.”
    Marnie climbed into bed and fell asleep with thoughts of a hot shower and warm lips kissing hers.
    As soon as Marnie stepped from the shower, Alice wrapped her in a terrycloth robe before she became chilled.
    “Do you want to put pajamas back on or do you want to get dressed today?”
    “Do I own any sweats? I don’t really want to get dressed, but I don’t want PJs either.”
    “Why don’t you look in your closet, Miss Marnie? I don’t know what all you have.”
    “Where is my closet?”
    “Land sakes! You don’t even remember where your closet is?” She walked into the hallway between the bedroom and bathroom. “It’s right here,” she said and opened a door Marnie had noticed earlier. “This is yours, and the one on the other side,”—she pointed across the hall—“is Mr. David’s.”
    Racks of clothes filled two walls, while the outside wall held a window surrounded by drawers and shelves. A chair was handy for donning shoes, and a cheval mirror offered her a full-length view.
    She was stunned by the abundance of clothing in every color and fabric. There were lace, satin, and silk evening gowns, some adorned with beads and sequins, each more elaborate and beautiful than the last. Suits of wool, silk, and other cloth took up several feet, followed by casual dresses in a variety of styles and colors. The rack on the other side held slacks and a whole section of jeans. There were blouses and shirts, along with skirts. Marnie couldn’t imagine wearing a skirt as short as the ones hanging in her closet. In fact, she couldn’t imagine where she would wear most of the clothes. I must go to a lot of formal events to need all these evening clothes. There were several coats, including the brown plaid one she had on when she woke up in the park.
    She pulled out a long-sleeved shirt from among the casual clothing she thought might be comfortable to wear and found “Bitch” written in sparkling stones across the front. Shuddering, she hung it back on the rack. Why on earth would I buy a shirt like that?
    She settled on a set of pink sweats. They weren’t plain, but they didn’t have vulgarities plastered across the