The Second Mrs. Adams

“There’s nothing ‘stupid’ about amnesia,” Corbett said gently. “And you didn’t have a choice in acquiring it. You suffered a head injury, and it’s going to take time to heal.”

“It will heal though, won’t it? You said—”

“There are no guarantees but, as I’ve told you, I’ve every reason to believe your memory will return.” Corbett drew out the bench from the vanity table and sat down facing her. “Right now, I’m more concerned about what you call this ‘wooziness’ you felt tonight. Did it come on suddenly? Or was it precipitated by some event?”

She sighed. “It didn’t happen out of the blue, if that’s what you’re asking. I…I remembered something. Not much, there was just a momentary flash…but it startled me.”

“So, it was the shock of remembering that made you feel…what? Dizzy? Weak?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“And then?” Corbett prompted.

“And then, David told Mrs. Timmons to phone you and he brought me up here and…and…” Her voice trailed off.

“And you quarreled?”

She thought of how David had undressed her, of how he’d let down her hair. Of how he’d kissed her and how she’d responded with heated, almost unbearable passion…and of how he’d reacted then, with an anger that had bordered on disgust.

“Joanna?”

Color washed over her skin. “You could say that,” she murmured, and looked down at her lap.

Corbett reached for his leather medical bag. “Very well. Let’s just check a few things, shall we?”

“Check whatever you like. There’s nothing wrong with me. Not physically, anyway.”

She was right. The doctor’s examination was thorough and when it was over, he pronounced her in excellent health.

“In excellent health,” Joanna said with a bitter smile. “It’s like that awful old joke, the one about the operation being a success but the patient dying.”

“You’re making fine progress. You’ve started to remember things.”

“A picture of a bottle of beer flashing through my head isn’t exactly the same as getting my memory back, Doctor.”

“Joanna.” Corbett took her hand in his. “You must have patience. I know this is difficult for you and for your husband, but—”

“Oh, please!” Joanna snatched back her hand. “Don’t waste your sympathy on David!”

“Surely, you realize your condition is affecting him as well as you?”

“Look,” she said, after a brief hesitation, “I know I must sound like a shrew. But you can’t imagine what David’s like.”

“No,” Corbett said mildly, “I can’t. I only know what I’ve observed, that he came to the hospital every evening of your stay, that he agreed to bring you home when you seemed unhappy at Bright Meadows, that he’s stood by you during a most difficult period.”

Joanna stared at the doctor. Then she gave a deep, deep sigh.

“You’re right, I suppose. And I have tried to keep in mind that this can’t be easy for him.”

“Joanna, the worst thing about loss of memory is the pressure it brings to bear on a relationship. That’s why you both need to be patient as you restructure yours.”

“Yes, but…” She hesitated. “But it’s hard,” she said softly, “when you don’t know what things were like between you in the first place. I mean, what if…what if things had been shaky for a couple—a hypothetical couple—in the past? How could they possibly restructure a relationship successfully? One of them would know the truth and the other—the other would be working in the dark.”

Corbett smiled. “There are those who would say the one working in the dark was fortunate.”

“Fortunate?” Joanna’s head came up. “That I don’t know—that this hypothetical person doesn’t know what sort of marriage she had?”

“Without a past, there can be no regrets. No anger, no recriminations… It’s like starting over again with a clean slate.”

Joanna laughed softly. “I didn’t know they taught Optimism in med school.”

“Philosophy was my love before I decided on medicine.” Corbett chuckled. “Sometimes, it still comes in handy.” He patted her hand, then stood up. “I’m going to give you something to help you sleep. And I’m going to leave you a prescription you must promise to follow.”

“What kind of prescription? You said I was healthy.”

“I want you to stop worrying about the past. Carpe diem, Joanna. Seize the day. The past is lost to all of us, not just to you. It’s today and tomorrow that matter.”

A slight smile curved across Joanna’s lips. “More leftover class notes from Philosophy, Doctor?”

“Just an old-fashioned mother who loved quoting the classics.” Corbett took a vial of tablets from his bag, shook two into her palm and poured her a glass of water from the thermos jug on the night table. “It’s time you started living your life again.”

“That sounds terrific, Doctor Corbett, but I don’t know what ‘my life’ is.”

“Then find out,” he said briskly, snapping shut his bag. “Surely you had friends, interests, things you enjoyed doing…?”

“From what I can gather, I seem to have made an art of doing as little as possible,” she said with a faintly bitter smile.

“Then try something new. Something you can share with David, perhaps. But don’t go on moping and feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Me?” Joanna handed him the glass. Her voice rose in indignation. “But I haven’t…” Her gaze met Corbett’s. She laughed and fell back against the pillows. “That’s some combination,” she said wryly, “philosophy and medicine.”

Corbett grinned. “Just think of me as Ann Landers, M.D.” He waved a hand in salute and shut the bedroom door.

* * *

The doctor’s advice made sense.

She couldn’t recall the past. Much as it upset Joanna to admit it, she didn’t even have any guarantee that she ever would.

So whatever condition her marriage had been in didn’t matter. It was what she made of it now that counted.

David didn’t seem to like her very much. Well, she thought early the next morning as she pulled on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, maybe she hadn’t been a very likeable person.

No. That couldn’t be, she thought with a smile…

But it was possible, wasn’t it?

Or maybe they’d hit a rough patch in their marriage. Maybe they’d begun to drift apart.

Not that it mattered. The doctor was right. Carpe diem. The past was gone and only the present mattered, and when you came down to it, she didn’t know all that much about the present, either, especially as it related to her husband.

Share something with David, Corbett had advised.

But what? What did her husband do with his spare time? What were his interests? Who were his friends?

Joanna glanced at her watch as she

pulled her hair back into a ponytail and secured it with a coated rubber band. She had lots of questions and hardly any answers. Well, starting today, she was going to go after those answers.

Quietly, she opened the door to her bedroom and stepped out into the corridor.

David was in for a surprise.

* * *

“Surprise” wasn’t the right word.

“Shocked” came closer to the truth, judging by the look on his face when he came trotting down the steps ten minutes later and saw her.

“Joanna?” He stared at her as if she might be an hallucination. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. She’d been doing stretching exercises while she waited, using one of the marquetry benches that flanked the foyer door for support.

“Good morning,” she said, as she finished her last stretch. “And it’s not really so early, is it?”

He tore his astonished gaze from her and glanced at his watch.

“Are you kidding? It’s just after six.”

“Well, I was awake so I figured, instead of just lying in bed vegetating, I might as well get up and do something useful.” She jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen. “I made a pot of coffee.”

“Yes. Yes, I thought I smelled coffee.”

“Would you like some?”

“No. Ah, no, thank you.” He edged past her, as if she might vaporize if touched. “I prefer to wait until after my run but you go ahead and, ah, and have a cup.”

“I already did.” She followed after him, to the front door. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“That you made coffee? No, of course not.”

“That I’ve decided to run with you.”

He swung toward her. “That you’ve…?” His gaze flew over her again, taking in her gray sweat shorts, her tank top, her ponytail, her running shoes. She’d decided to run with him? His brain couldn’t seem to process the information. She hadn’t run with him in months. In years. She hadn’t done any of this in years, gotten up at this hour, put up the morning coffee, worn this tattered outfit that had once made his pulse beat quicken…hell, that still made his pulse beat quicken because she was the only woman he’d ever known who could fill out a shirt that way, or pair of shorts, the only one whose early morning, unmade-up face was a face that would have put Helen of Troy to shame…