Page 25 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

“Can you tell me your name?”

Something isn’t right. My brain is stuck and won’t work. Why is Lois wearing glasses?

“Do you know where you are?”

I shake my head.

“You’re at the University Medical Center of El Paso.”

That can’t be right… but maybe it is. I don’t know.

“You were brought here two days ago.”

I’m confused. Lois doesn’t sound like Lois anymore. I try to raise a hand to shield my eyes from the glare, but I can’t move my arms and legs more than a few inches.

Lois looks at the end of the bed and says to a woman in green, “Contact her parents and let them know she’s awake.”

Yeah. Once Momma and Daddy come they’ll make Lois leave me alone.

A man with dark hair walks into the room and asks, “Are you finally awake?” as if I’m not staring right at him. He’s wearing a white dress shirt and a tie with dogs playing poker on it. “Do you know where you are?”

That’s the same thing Lois asked. I’m still confused but this time I nod.

He pulls a penlight from his breast pocket and shines it in my eyes. “I’m Doctor Greg Perez.”

I try to lift my hand to push his little light from my face, and this time I look over and notice the padded restraints.

“We can take those off if you stay calm.”

I’m so calm, I’m about to doze off. “Why…” I want to ask why I’m tied down, but my throat is dry and I can’t get the words out. Did I do something crazy? Commit a crime? Pass out from one too many Texas Hurricanes again?

Dr. Perez shoves the penlight back into his pocket and unbuckles my right wrist. I watch Lois unbuckle my ankles and move to the left side of the bed. “If you swing at me, I’ll put the restraints right back on,” she says. What is going on? I’m a lover, not a fighter.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Brittany.” My eyes are so heavy that I can’t keep them open. “Brittany Lynn Snider.” Sleep pulls me under and I sink into a place filled with the brightest tulips imaginable. This place looks familiar. I’ve been here before, but I don’t recall when. There’s a woman with me; she has platinum-blonde hair and tells me I’m special and wonderful and I’m confused. I know her, but my memory of this place and of the woman is foggy. It’s there but I just can’t grasp it.

She refers to me as a rich bitch, which just goes to show how much she knows. The closest I’ve ever come to being rich is when I won twelve bucks on a Powerball ticket. As for the other, I can get real aggravated and fly off the handle, but I don’t think I’m a bitch. I try to be kind to everyone. Well, everyone but Dingleberry. The last time I saw Dingleberry I flipped her off. It was a few weeks ago, when Lida and I walked into the Drunken Buzzard for some nachos and Miller Lite and she yelled “Tubby Toast” at me from across the bar. She was with her husband, Wally Bob, and they were acting like a happily married couple. I had to laugh because everyone knows Wally Bob’s a hard dog to keep under the porch, no matter how many times Dingleberry takes a stick to him.

Bless her pea-pickin’ heart.

The woman in the tulip garden waves her hand in front of my face to get my attention. “You’re doped up on something.”

“I am?”

“But no matter the circumstances, you cannot tell people that your name is Brittany Lynn Snider.”

“What?”

“You’re Edith Randolph Chatsworth-Jones now.”

“Who?”

“You have amnesia, remember?”

In the foggier part of my brain, I know this.

“Edith took your portal and you took her place on earth.”