Chapter 3
“Thank you for working me in early, before my original appointment.” I knotted a Kleenex in my hands while I sat in the plush chair and talked to Dr. Chen in his office. “So, you have heard of someone losing their memories a second time? After they come out of the first bout of memory loss?”
Dr. Chen looked over his glasses at me, steepling his fingers. “The brain is a mystery. We understand only so much about how it functions. But, yes. Selective memory loss, post-memory loss, has been known to occur.”
The vocabulary of it was dizzying. I tugged at the Kleenex so hard it fragmented, little fibers and dust motes floating onto my black trousers.
“But is this a new amnesia, or is it the same one?” Basically, I wanted to ask what to expect. “Is it possible that during my memory loss period, I had a … personality shift?”
“What do you mean by that? Please don’t be quite so concerned about the fact you’d forgotten your third-grandmother’s name. Constance, it’s an unusual name, to be sure.”
“Would I have forsaken my core values?” My heart palpitated. “I have some photos of myself doing uncharacteristic things during that time.”
Dr. Chen raised a brow. “Jumping out of a plane-type photos, or like robbing a bank-type photos? Or …”
“Cooking.”
Now both his brows rose. “I see.”
“To actually see, you have to know that I don’t cook. The world at large knows this. It’s one of those immutable facts like gravity or the multiplication tables. But in the pictures, doctor, I cooked meals. Meals.” And I’d kissed Jeremy Hotston. I prayed nothing beyond that.
“That’s not unusual.” He scrawled something on a legal pad. It was probably a doodle of my face with the word crazy next to it in block letters and arrows pointing at my head. “What you should know is that many of the struggles we have in life are the result of the limitations we place on ourselves based on our thoughts.”
“I used to tell myself I could toast bread without burning it. It never worked. I’ve tried all that mindset stuff, believe me.”
“Not all of it, apparently. And I’m happy for you. You’ve got some tangible evidence you can now point to, proving that life the way you see it now isn’t the only way it could be. You can expand your vision for yourself. What a gift. Not a lot of people get that in life.” He reached over and patted the air near me. “Accept the gift you’ve been given. Accept that if you tried a new sport or learned a new skill or didn’t burn toast in your Amnesia Episode of life, it proves you can do anything you set your mind to. Even make a new friend.” He gave a knowing smile.
Ugh. Even Dr. Chen had heard about me and Jeremy Hotston, apparently. I darted a glance at the wall, and there hung a plaque declaring him a golf champion at the Wilder River country club.
“I’ve forgiven you for overextending your return time for the golf cart the other day. You and your companion, I was told, needed it very much for your … activity.”
If only someone would saw a hole in the floor in a big circle around my chair and let me fall through it. “I honestly don’t have any recollection of that.”
“More’s the pity.” Dr. Chen reassured me that I was normal, gave me hope that I’d eventually be able to recall the events that happened over the past two months, and then ushered me out of his office.
“Not even a CT scan for my time?”
“The nursing staff will schedule that for later in the month, as originally planned.”
Oh, right. I’d come in a week early.
Outside, I waited for Mom to drive up. Until the CT scan, I wouldn’t be cleared to drive. Which was fine. The way things had been going, I might lose or gain memories any second—so, could I lose the ability to drive a car any second, too? Who knew! No way was I endangering others’ lives by driving yet. Even though it required humbling myself and asking for rides.
From my mom.
The back seat of Mom’s sedan was filled to the brim with groceries.
“Well, dear. How’s Dr. Chen doing?”
“He seemed fine. He’s a good golfer. He might like a nice golf glove for Christmas.”
“You’re always thinking about what people might like. Even now.” Mom beamed at me while we waited at the stoplight. “After everything you’ve been through.”
“I learned from the best.” I patted her arm. “What’s with all the shopping?”
“Well, you seemed so interested in cooking lately. The last few times I’ve talked to you, it’s been recipe, recipe, recipe, ingredients, ingredients, ingredients. Is your new boyfriend a chef?”
“I don’t have a new boyfriend.” If I had to endure this conversation with Mom, it’d be a long sixty miles back to Wilder River.