Page 15 of The Liar I Married

THIRTEEN

NOW

I woke this morning with dread gripping my stomach.

Rebecca Lawson is coming today and I’m sitting here in a hospital gown.

John hasn’t supplied me with any real clothes, or as much as a pot of moisturizer.

I sent Maria to my mother’s old bathroom in the hope of finding some cosmetics but it’s apparently empty.

She was, however, able to supply me with a few of my grandmother’s toiletries.

She did indeed have expensive tastes, and the creams and lotions rescued from her bedroom are of the finest quality with many of the boxes unopened.

Maria also found a gown and brought it to me fresh from the dryer.

I sit in bed, trying to make myself look as reasonable as possible, which isn’t really easy.

I’m very thin and my legs stick out from under the short nightie like twigs.

The gown will cover them and at least match the silk slippers I’ve been wearing.

There’s no way I’m going to speak to Ms. Lawson in bed.

I will be in the office when she arrives.

One thing is for darn sure, she won’t see me using the walker.

It takes me time to climb from the bed and grasp the walker.

I look out of the window. The sight of the rose garden calms me.

I insist on having the windows open. It’s the middle of summer, and the smell from the garden is wonderful.

I walk around the room and the only thing I recognize are the drapes.

They are the same throughout the house. Heavy and old fashioned, they look like something that would be found in an old English mansion.

I recall the walls had many pictures on them.

The one of a bunch of daffodils in a glass vase which I’d always admired is missing; in fact at least four pictures are missing.

I push my way along the passageway to view the other reception rooms. I find it difficult to open the heavy wooden doors.

I must be weaker than I imagine as they were easy to open even as a child.

I’m surprised to discover the furniture is covered with dust covers, and in this room all the pictures have been removed from the walls and even the figurines and the clock I recall above the mantle are missing.

Perhaps they have been put in storage for safekeeping?

Each room I come to is the same and it makes me feel so disoriented.

In my mind I was only in here a few days ago, for the reading of my grandmother’s will.

But it wasn’t a few days ago, was it? Halloween decorations were going up all over the night I had the accident.

In my recurring dream, I see a jack-o’-lantern hanging from the tree my SUV is heading for.

I lean against the walker, trying to remember that night.

How much of it is a dream and how much of it is the truth?

I recall reading about people who have experienced bad things and never recall what happened.

It said their brains are telling their minds that if they know the truth it will damage them in some way.

What was the name, ah yes, anterograde amnesia.

I smile; parts of my memory seem fine. If that’s what’s wrong with me, I wonder how I can unlock the secrets.

Finding out what happened before the accident is the key.

I recall Grandma’s diary and the revelations about my father.

Maybe reading it will jog a few brain cells into action.

I shuffle to the library and time does a shift.

I’m suddenly back hunting down the diary but this time I know exactly where I hid it.

I go to the bookshelf and edge my way toward the window to the very last book.

I remember pushing the diary back into its hiding place and run my fingers between the small space. It’s gone.

I turn on the lamp and peer into the tiny space.

No one knew where I’d hidden it and I’d never told a soul.

I stare at the bookcase and swallow hard.

Is this another delusion? Am I imagining a past that never happened?

Who would know? If I ask anyone, I just get generic answers.

I must discover the truth of the lost days before the wreck.

It’s the only way I’ll get to know about the girls.

Where are they? They won’t even tell me if they’re dead or alive.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes and I’m trembling as I try and gain control.

I can’t allow Dolly to see me upset. Or she’ll sedate me again.

Getting well is the only way to discover the truth.

“Mrs. Harper. A vehicle has pulled into the driveway. I believe it’s the lawyer. Should I organize refreshments?” Maria hurries to my side and examines my face. “Are you well?”

I smile at her. “Just sad to see the rooms covered up is all. I’ll wait for her in the office. Please bring refreshments.”

I push the horrid walker slowly along the passageway and into the office.

The desk has been cleared at my request and the books placed neatly in a pile on a table.

I push the walker behind one of the thick tapestry drapes, and taking slow wobbly steps, make it to the office chair.

I’m hot and exhausted but when I sit down, calm comes over me as I smell a hint of my father’s cigars.

Everyone hates them but for me the smell means he is close by and not working away in his office in Manhattan.

All the men in my family worked there, in flash glass and steel buildings with wide windows.

Another memory that’s clear, I can recall every inch of John’s office.

His leather topped table was much like this but this one has been here through generations.

I run my fingers over leather oiled by many hands, and wish I’d known all of my family who’d sat in this very chair.

Rebecca Lawson breezes in the door. She’s wearing a black business suit with a blue silk blouse, and I can’t help but notice how short her skirt is, but as John considers her attractive, I guess it’s all part of her work ethic.

Her black stiletto heels had heralded her arrival, and sounded like the clip-clopping of a horse.

That thought is in my mind as she drops a folder on my desk in front of me and holds out a hand.

I imagine she must have forgotten the day I discovered her with my husband in the bistro having lunch.

“Rebecca Lawson.” She shakes my hand. “How are you? I believe John mentioned I’d be coming to see you about signing some papers. I’m the corporate lawyer working at Titan Brokerage with John.”

I stiffen as I look down at her wrist and the world tips sideways.

She’s wearing the same Tiffany bracelet John gave me on our wedding day.

I consciously look down at my wrist. I’ve never removed it and it was the first thing I noticed missing when I woke from the coma.

Is she wearing my bracelet? If so, did John give it to her?

Did he remove it from my cold wrist believing I was dying to give to his girlfriend?

My lunch curdles in my stomach and bile rushes up the back of my throat.

I glance at Maria who is hovering in the doorway, looking at me.

“Maria, would you please bring coffee and maybe some cookies or whatever you have on hand?”

I turn my attention back to Ms. Lawson. “Yes, Mr. Harper did mention that you would be dropping by. Exactly what is it my husband wants me to sign and why does he need a lawyer to deliver it rather than bring it himself?”

“He is exceptionally busy and believed you might need professional guidance before signing the documents.” She sits down and crosses her legs before reaching for the folder.

The sheer stockings make a swishing sound as she moves her legs and dangles one patent leather shoe.

“These are power of attorney documents. When you sign these the estate will be released into John’s hands to act on your behalf.

Since the will went through probate after you had your wreck, it has been in limbo for the last twelve months while we wait for your recovery.

You are in no fit state to run the business.

John… ah, Mr. Harper believed now that you are awake you would be only too happy for him to take over the stress of running the estate. ”

I recall quite clearly what my lawyer told me about Michael informing Grandma that John had been unfaithful.

Her wishes were that he never gained control of the estate and here is this woman trying to insist I sign over everything I own to him.

I don’t even look at the paperwork in front of me but clasp my hands over it and look her straight in the eye.

“Are you a specialist in coma patients, Ms. Lawson?”

“I’m not exactly sure what you mean, Mrs. Harper.” Ms. Lawson looks down her nose at me, a folder clutched against her chest.

I smile at her. “I mean, how are you qualified to determine if I’m fit enough to run the estate? Do you believe that my mental capacity is diminished in any way? I may not be fit enough to do the New York City Marathon this year but I’m quite capable of running the estate.”

“I believe you have a long road to recovery. John mentioned that you weren’t yourself yet and are having memory problems. I don’t know you well enough to offer an opinion on your mental state, I’m afraid.

” Ms. Lawson raises both eyebrows, making her smooth forehead pucker.

“I’m sure, John only wants to make life easier for you. ”