About Face

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About Face Page 5

by Fern Michaels


  “Have we met before?” She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her shift as she waited for his reply.

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Can I offer you a lift?” He walked over to the passenger-side door and opened it, indicating she should get inside.

  Not knowing what to do, she went with her gut instinct. Don’t get in the car with strangers. Someone must have told her that. Was it a memory? Or another factual thing she just knew.

  “No thanks, I’m walking home. I was supposed to get a ride, and well . . .” She was rambling. Not having had a conversation with a normal male in so long, maybe never, she wasn’t quite sure how to brush him off.

  “In this heat, you’ve got to be kidding! This humidity is too high for you to be walking about. In other words, it’s not a great day for a Southern stroll. I wish you’d take me up on the ride.” He looked at her and smiled, revealing even, white teeth. The grin reached dark brown eyes that crinkled at the corners, telling her smiling was a way of life for him.

  Should she? He seemed harmless enough. It was only a short distance. After the hateful reception at the clothing store, his kindness was welcome. Pushing short strands of hair behind her ears, she stepped toward the car.

  “Good decision.” He hunched to fit his large frame in the confines of the car. Starting the engine, he shifted into gear, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

  She couldn’t believe she was doing this! Barely away from the hospital an hour and already she was doing crazy things. Maybe she was crazy.

  “Do you have an address? I’ve spent most of my life here in Sweetwater. I should be able to get you home.” Humor laced the deep voice. Curious, Casey turned to the man and handed him the slip of paper with her address.

  “How far do I have to go?” She watched as he scanned the address.

  Emotions danced along the sculpted face of her benefactor. Shock. Surprise, then astonishment. Did she know him? Were they connected somehow? Casey stared at the stranger, amazed at the whirl of emotion dancing in her belly. And below.

  “My God! I should have guessed! Your dress.” He glanced at her shift pocket.

  Casey looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted a ride after all. Weirdos came in all shapes and sizes, according to Sandra.

  He turned to her, questions simmering in his maple-colored eyes. His mouth, the upper lip as full as the lower, almost a pout, moved, yet no sound came out. He raced along Sweetwater’s untraveled roads, silent.

  What now? She didn’t know how much more public scrutiny she could take. And in such a short time, too. She wanted to question him, but something held her back.

  Glancing out the window, she tried to admire the scenery. Having had the same view for so long at the hospital, an eagerness to discover anything new overwhelmed her. Realizing her freedom held no boundaries, she turned to Blake. Her question still lingered, unanswered. Anxious to get home, she asked again. “Is it far?”

  Apparently he hadn’t heard her. Annoyance turned to alarm as she watched him maneuver the car off the shoulder. Oak trees stood along the length of the road, giving a would-be rapist plenty of protection against an outside view if he chose to drag her into the wooded area. Casey cringed at the imagined scenario and forced the horrific image from her mind. She stuffed her trembling hands into her pockets.

  “I can’t believe it! What did you say your name was?” His eyes were wide with amazement.

  “I didn’t.” Did it really matter? As Blake studied her, she sensed he was truly curious. The look on his handsome face was too shocked to be that of a rapist or serial killer. Sandra had been big on educating her charges with tales of what went on in the outside world.

  “It’s Casey Edwards.” The air was thick, almost electric.

  A flick of his wrist silenced the engine. A stillness penetrated the confines of the car.

  “No wonder! I got busy at the office when I realized the time. Do I ever feel like an idiot.” With an elbow on the steering wheel, he palmed his forehead, shaking his head from side to side, loose black curls resting on the collar of his shirt. Casey was captivated by this stranger as she’d never been by another. At least she didn’t think she’d ever been captivated by a stranger, or anyone else for that matter.

  “Why?” She couldn’t figure this strange man out. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  “You really don’t know?”

  “What am I supposed to know?” Do I have a psychic hot line number posted on my forehead and am not aware of it? I don’t think so.

  “I should have told you. It was rude of me not to.” He looked at her, shock still etching his sharp features.

  “Then do it, now! Please, all this . . .” She threw her hands out in frustration. What sort of game is he playing? “What exactly do you know about me?”

  “You’re a mystery in the medical community for starters. And locally, too.” His gaze never wavered.

  “How do you know this?”

  He hesitated before answering. He eyed her up and down, then cleared his throat.

  “I read a few articles about your case in medical school. Amnesia of your caliber is almost nonexistent.” He let the statement hang in the air.

  “Just who are you?” Had she misunderstood the implication of his statement? Was he really a doctor? Had this been planned?

  “I told you my name. And I’m not saying anything, other than what the entire medical community has said for years. Your case is unique.”

  “Take me home.” She didn’t want to hear any more. For years she had been subjected to every form of hypnosis, trances; anything they could do, they did, until she was no longer willing to play guinea pig for the doctors. It had been months since an attempt was made to poke and pry into the recesses of her empty memory bank. Except the drugs; they’d never stopped until recently.

  “That’s where we’re headed. A few more minutes.” The engine purred at his command. He pulled back onto the road, not bothering to look for traffic. Not that there was any. The residents of Sweetwater remained hidden behind lace curtains and locked doors. Casey observed an older couple on an afternoon stroll braving the sultry heat, no doubt for a look at the latest sideshow.

  And what did he mean?

  “We?” she questioned.

  “I guess you really don’t know.” His voice held a trace of excitement.

  “Enlighten me.” Sarcasm spewed from her mouth, surprising her.

  “Look, I’m sorry. Eve should have told you. She’ll be back in town tomorrow.” Blake tramped on the accelerator, and the car lurched with a sudden rush of speed.

  “Stop!” Angry with herself more than anything, she wanted Blake to answer her. Now. He seemed quite expert at avoiding her questions.

  “Casey,” he paused, and looked at her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the road. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

  Chapter 4

  “No, I don’t.” Confusion shook her. She looked at Blake. A flash. A brief splash of vibrant red, then nothing.

  Trees passed in a dark green blur as they sped along Sweetwater’s dusty roads. “I’m Adam’s best friend. He’s your stepbrother.”

  Unaware she’d been holding her breath, Casey relaxed, a sigh escaping her tight lips.

  Blake’s brown-eyed gaze traveled the length of her, stopping to rest on her face.

  Wondering if he perused all women in such a manner, Casey asked, “Well?”

  “I’m lost.” He smiled at her again, and like a magnet to metal, in spite of her confusion, she found herself drawn to her newfound. . . friend?

  “How do I measure up?” This boldness was new to her. She discovered she liked speaking her mind, never having been allowed to do it at the hospital. A sense of freedom washed over her like a tidal wave, drenching her with questions.

  Blake turned to her, his gaze probing. The warmth of his slight smile echoed in his voice.

  “You’re not what your mother said
you were. Or your stepfather. Of course, he only knows what Evie tells him.”

  “I don’t understand.” Casey stared out the window, the scenery passing in a colored blur, with an occasional house emerging out of the shelter of tall oaks draped with Spanish moss.

  “He was never allowed to visit you after the first time. Apparently it was a disaster. He never tried again. Besides, your mother was always so upset after the visits, John just tried to stay out of her way.”

  Curious now, the questions pummeled her as fast as the passing trees.

  “When did he try?”

  “I don’t remember. I was away. I didn’t come home that often, at first. Adam will be able to tell you more. Do you remember Adam at all?”

  Puzzlement replaced his smile of moments ago. She shook her head.

  “At first? I don’t understand.” She let the question hang.

  “After you were . . . hospitalized. Your mother, Evie, married John. Adam and I were away at Emory University in Atlanta. Adam’s practice is there now.” He turned to her, his embarrassment obvious. Casey felt sure he didn’t want to explain her family’s history, and for a moment she was sorry for this man who had been asked to deliver her home. To the unknown.

  Casey pondered Blake’s remark, and asked, “If he did visit me, I don’t remember.”

  “I think at the time, Evie wanted you to get well. She stayed with you those first few months, day and night. You were out of it, according to her. After a while, the doctors told her it might be best if she stayed away.”

  Blake turned the wheel with the ease of one used to being in control. He drove up a slight incline, making a sharp right turn. Another mile and they stopped. Blake spoke to the guard at the gatehouse. The boys had been truthful, after all. The small brick guardhouse caused her insides to clam up. A fine line of sweat beaded her upper lip at the sight of the heavyset man. His navy pants and blue shirt reminded her of the guards at the hospital. The only adornment this man had that hospital security hadn’t displayed was the revolver strapped to his rounded hip.

  A laugh from the man inside the gatehouse and a loud whoop from Blake said the two were on friendly terms. And why wouldn’t they be? Casey wondered. All guards weren’t the same. Were they?

  Blake sped through the iron gates as they opened. For a minute Casey felt as if she were Jonah about to enter the whale. Now where had that thought come from?

  Would she have the courage to confront Eve? It was hard to think of the strange woman as her mother. Last month during her visit she acted as if Casey were simply visiting a luxury hotel, soon to return home. No talk of why she was there, what she would do when she came home and took her place in the family. Casey secretly had hoped her mother would pull her into her arms and comfort her, telling her how wonderful it would be to have her home again. Of course, she told herself, she wasn’t a little child anymore. Maybe she had never been a little child. If she had been a child, why couldn’t she remember. Did she expect too much?

  The cloud of mystery surrounding her return was becoming dark and ominous. Despair descended on her, resting on her shoulders like a thick fog.

  “What do you think?”

  Blake’s question brought her back to the present. Surprised at the unexpected view before her, Casey drew in her breath as she admired the scenery.

  Oak trees parted gracefully, their wide arches shadowing the dirt-covered road. Sun filtered through the leaves, briefly shooting flashes of light through their lacelike pattern. Blake slowed the car. Nestled in a bowl of green below them stood Swan House. Dozens of magnolias surrounded the red brick mansion. A circular drive outlined a bouquet of vibrant colors. Never had she seen such a display of flowers. Their colors were so bright, she felt gray and dull in their presence.

  Casey continued to gaze in muted silence at the structure below. Surely she would have remembered if she had ever lived there. The house looked as if Scarlett had lent a new and improved blueprint of Tara to an architect, and, together, they designed the antebellum mansion of her dreams. Another thought she couldn’t explain. How was it she knew about Scarlett and Tara but couldn’t remember other things?

  Casey closed her eyes. She could visualize carriages, ladies in satin dresses, their hooped skirts billowing out before them, bonnets resting on their heads with colorful ribbons fluttering in the warm summer breeze. She imagined she heard the high-pitched squeals of young girls’ delight as they trotted down the dust-covered path on their way to destinations unknown.

  “What do you think of your new home?” Blake asked.

  “I never imagined it so huge! It’s almost the size of the hospital.”

  Thick white columns held up the balcony that wrapped around the entire front of the mansion. Standing at attention, eight perfectly lined columns ran the length of the dwelling.

  A glimpse to the right told her the columns ran around the entire structure. Red brick chimneys peered out from the cover of oak trees. As if in mock salute to her arrival, the tree branches waved gently in the late-afternoon breeze.

  “It’s been in the family for hundreds of years. Generations of Worthingtons have left their trademark. John added on another eight or ten rooms, a ballroom, and a sunroom. Then he added the indoor pool a few years back. Swan House has all the amenities.” His last comment was almost mocking.

  After the severity of the hospital, with its lack of warmth and general bleakness, she wondered if she could ever get used to such a lavish lifestyle.

  Roughly, Blake shifted the car into gear. As they traveled downhill to Swan House his quiet voice filled the confines of the car.

  “Appearances can be deceiving, as I’m sure you know.” Casey felt his mood change. Friendly before, he seemed dark and threatening. His comment sent shivers down her spine. Feeling a sense of unease, she ignored his remark.

  “I can’t wait to explore the grounds. There must be a hundred acres!” Her forced enthusiasm must have jarred Blake out of his mood. When he glanced at her, his smile was back in place.

  “Actually I think it’s one hundred and fifty, but who’s counting? You’ll have plenty of time once you get settled in.”

  They reached the bottom of the hill and stopped at the edge of the circular drive. Wooden doors burst open and a small, spritelike woman ran down the brick steps, her arms held out, as if trying to embrace the world.

  Blake got out first and walked around to Casey’s side of the car. The door was barely open before Casey felt the little woman tugging at her hands, crushing her in a surprisingly powerful hug. Did she know her?

  The small woman stood back as Casey got out of the car. Feeling as though she were under inspection, she stood ramrod straight and stared at Blake, who by then was standing behind the unknown lady, barely containing his laughter.

  “Well, I’ll be damned! It really is you! Oh pardon me, I don’t usually cuss like that, well not often anyway.” Just a smidgen over four feet, the little white-haired woman reached for her flowered apron and touched a corner to her shimmering blue eyes.

  “Yes, you do.” Blake’s affection for the woman was etched in the crinkle lines of his smile.

  “Stop interrupting, darn you. And who asked you anyway?” The woman looked up at Blake and smiled.

  “See? That mouth of yours will be the death of you yet. Casey, meet the mouth of the South, Flora Farley, our . . . I don’t know what she is! She looked after you on occasion and helped out your mother when you were a child.” He affectionately placed his arm around Flora’s shoulders.

  “Mouth of the South? Is that what you’re callin’ me now? Why you just wait, Mr. Blake. When you want one of my famous pecan pies, I’ll give you one all right—filled with shells!”

  Casey watched as Blake continued to tease the little woman. By the looks of it she was enjoying every minute. Her smile revealed apple cheeks and a perfect set of dentures. Flora affectionately pushed Blake aside and grabbed Casey in a motherly hug.

  “Come along, Casey, we’ve g
ot work to do.” Flora directed her to the double doors, pulling her along behind her. Blake shook his head.

  Casey found her tongue. “Work?” Not that she would mind, but she thought a day or two of rest, getting used to Swan House and reacquainting herself with her mother, would be first on the agenda. Did her mother expect her to work for her keep? If so, she’d show her she hadn’t a lazy bone in her body.

  Flora led her up the oak stairs covered in well-worn carpet. She didn’t bother to stop at the three landings leading to the top floor. Flora continued to pull her along. Obviously, she hadn’t heard her, or she chose to ignore her comment.

  They walked to the end of a long hall on the fourth floor. Casey barely had time to stop before she slammed into the elfin woman.

  “I’ve put you here.” Flora nodded toward the double doors. “I know it’s far away, but you’ll thank me for it later. I thought you would want to be as far from the noisy kitchen as possible, after the hospital.”

  Flora opened the door to the bedroom. Casey gasped at the view. All that separated her from the lush gardens below was a sheet of glass. She’d never seen such a panorama. Admiring the beauty, Casey walked over to the window and gazed out at the lavish gardens. A visual display of flowers she couldn’t begin to name were scattered about the lawn, a kaleidoscope of nature’s splendor.

  “Well, Missy, I can see by the looks of you, I’m not going to have trouble getting you to listen. You haven’t uttered a single word. They are something, aren’t they?” She gestured toward the window. “Mr. Worthington tends to them when he can, but Hank’s our head gardener. You better watch out for him, too. Just because he was a gardener in England to some duke or something, he thinks he’s king of the manor here. He does a fine job, though.”

  Enchanted with the glorious gardens below, Casey scarcely heard Flora’s prattle in the background. As she turned to face the woman, a sense of unease invaded her. Casey looked back at the window. In the center of the gardens she eyed a stone path leading to a large fountain. A glint of sunlight caught a cascade of water in the smaller fountain perched in the middle of the garden. Curiously, she felt drawn to the light. Not understanding, she stepped closer to the window, the rays of light beckoning, as if daring her to merge with their brightness. Drawn into the vortex of sunlight, she went with it, no longer hearing Flora’s constant chatter.

 

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