Flora’s rosy cheeks were suddenly the color of Mabel’s flour. “What in the world makes you think that?” she asked, her voice high-pitched.
“Today before the accident, Blake asked me to visit his office. We had lunch together. He said he had something he thought I should see. Apparently, he’d cleaned out his father’s patient files and found mine.” Casey waited, expecting Flora to finish the story, hoping she’d have an explanation for the awful suspicions the elder Dr. Hunter had.
The housekeeper remained silent, wringing her hands like a damp dishcloth.
She persisted. “Blake told me you used to take me for checkups, that sort of thing. I told him I couldn’t understand why my mother didn’t do this.”
Flora sat down on the bed, something Casey knew she wouldn’t normally do.
“After your grandmother Gracie died, Buzz would send you to me. His hands were full with Ronnie and your momma. They always seemed to be in some kind of mess. Nothin’ to concern yourself with, but it was always somethin’.”
Casey noticed Flora’s Southern accent became more pronounced when she was upset.
“Ronnie’d get in some sort of scrabble over at the school, then Miss Evie would go an’ try to make things right. She’d end up in as much trouble as the boy.”
“It seems strange to me my mother would go to such trouble, especially when she couldn’t be bothered with me. I mean a simple visit to the doctor’s office couldn’t have been half as stressful as her apparent confrontations where Ronnie was concerned.” Casey heard the childish whine in her voice, but couldn’t help herself. She’d been without her mother for so long.
“You were no trouble, Casey. For me or your momma. I enjoyed every minute you spent in my care. You were such a good girl. Always doin’ as you were told. Never a minute a sassin’ like your brother. Though I think your momma secretly delighted in fightin’ with the teachers. Seemed she would egg ’em on whenever she could. Then a course with Buzz dead and all, Miss Evie had way more than she could handle. That’s when she took to drinkin’.”
“I wish I remembered, Flora, but I don’t. I think the information in that file might be the key to unlocking my memory.” Casey paused for effect. “Could you possibly help turn the key?”
She could see Flora in a mental battle with her conscience. She took a deep breath. Her conscience won. “You’d been acting strange. Remember I said what a good girl you were? Little by little I noticed you becomin’ a bit rebellious. I’d ask you to do somethin’, and you’d tell me no. You quit talkin’ my leg off. And when bath time came around, why you was downright ornery. You’d hide in the bathroom until I promised not to come in. I never believed in locks, just trust. You knew this, too.
“One afternoon your momma called, all upset, and asked me if I could come and get you. Of course I told her I would. When I got there, it was obvious you’d been cryin’, and your momma looked like she was about ready to pull her hair out. Ronnie was nowhere to be found.
“I took you back to my place. I remember you never uttered a word. Earlier that day I’d made your favorite peanut butter cookies. I’d been plannin’ on takin’ them over to you that evenin’.
“A bit of a spark returned to those bright green eyes of yours when you spied those cookies. Then it was snuffed out like a candle. I remember thinkin’ that was odd.”
Casey interrupted, “Why did you think that? Maybe I just wasn’t hungry, maybe I didn’t like them anymore.” Casey knew that couldn’t be true because to this day peanut butter cookies remained her favorite.
Flora took her hand and patted it. “I look back now and think that day was one of the worst in my life. You were like my own daughter.”
“You asked me if it was okay if you took a bath. I told you of course it was. I thought your askin’ me to bathe odd. Usually I had to drag you into the tub.
“I fixed you a plate of cookies and told you your clean panties and a fresh romper was in the top drawer like always. I kept several changes of clothes for you at my house. You bathed, then came to the kitchen and had your snack, all the while, you hadn’t mouthed a word. I was thinkin’ a callin’ Doc Hunter, then I thought better of it.
“I went to the bathroom to clean up, and that’s when I knew I’d better call Doc Hunter.” Flora squeezed her hand and took a tissue from the box next to the bed. She blotted her eyes and went on with her story.
“You’d left your clothes in a pile behind the door. As I was puttin’ them in the hamper, I noticed your little underwear was dirty. They were your new pink day-of-the-week panties I’d bought you. While Miss Evie wasn’t the greatest housekeeper in the world, she’d always seen to it that you kids bathed and that your clothes were washed proper. I thought this just another strange thing in an already strange day. I was about to drop your panties in the hamper when I noticed the blood.”
“Blood! My God, surely I was too young to menstruate?”
“That’s what I thought, too. You were nine, if memory serves me right. Though it did explain your odd behavior. I thought it best to take you to the doctor, just to make sure there wasn’t nothing else wrong.” Flora blushed as she said this. Casey’s palm dampened. Flora took her used tissue and patted her hand with it.
Suddenly Casey saw flowers. Pink tulips. And a blue background.
“What is it?” Flora asked.
Casey stood and walked to the window. The gardens stretched so far back Casey couldn’t see their end. She turned quickly and looked at Flora.
“Does Hank have tulips planted? Pink ones?” The words rushed out of her mouth.
Flora’s already white face whitened more. She put a trembling hand to her mouth. “Hank don’t have no tulips that I know of, Casey. Why are you askin’?”
“I’ve seen them before.” The room became silent.
Flora drew in a deep breath. “That’s what you was wearing that day.”
“What day?” Casey spun around. Suddenly she knew; she just needed to hear it from Flora.
“The day I took you to see Doc Hunter.”
“I remember. The dress, it had a sky-blue background. Pink tulips. The material was covered in pink tulips.” Casey’s eyes pooled with unshed tears. She’d actually had a clear memory.
Flora took her in her arms and rocked her. Maybe like the child that came to her that day so long ago, looking for comfort?
Casey blew her nose and smiled. “This is good. I don’t remember much else, but I recall that dress. I think it might have been my favorite. Was it?”
“It sure was. Your grandma Gracie made it for you. She made a lot of your things when she had the time.”
“This is so wonderful, I can’t wait to tell Blake.” She hugged herself, wishing it were Blake’s muscled arms around her.
“You can. Tomorrow. You’ve had a long day. I think you need to eat and get some sleep.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Casey said, as the little woman readied herself to leave the room.
“Don’t what?” Flora inquired, her face a mask of feigned innocence.
“You’re not about to leave me hanging this time. Sit.” She gently pushed Flora back to the bed. “You can share this with me.” Casey indicated the platters of food. “There must be enough here for ten people.” She filled the plates with cold roast beef, juicy ripe tomatoes, and Caesar salad. Slices of garlic bread were still warm. Casey handed Flora a plate.
“Where was I?” Flora asked.
Between bites of ripe red tomato and tangy Caesar, Casey filled Flora in.
“Oh, yes. My memory, old age an’ all. Gettin’ back to what I was tellin’ you. I thought you was much too young to be bleeding. It was about time for your checkup. I called the doc, and he told me to bring you right over.
“You fought me at first. I’ll never forget you kickin’ and screamin’. You told me you hated me and never wanted to stay with me again.”
“Oh, Flora, I was an awful child. I’m sorry.”
“No, sweet thing, you
wasn’t a bad child. You were scared and hurt. That was just your way of gettin’ it out. You never said a word when we walked downtown. Seems like that particular day all of Sweetwater was out and about. They looked at me like I’d hurt you.”
“And you should have. You should’ve spanked my bottom, Flora. I was awful to you.”
“That wouldn’t have helped matters.
“Doc Hunter saw you wasn’t your normal self. He thought it might be a good idea if he talked to you alone. I’d already told him on the phone what I suspected. He took you in his office. My Lord, you were there forever. Doc Hunter finally came out and asked where your momma was. I told him about her callin’ me and havin’ me come after you.
“He’d given you a puzzle to work and sent you upstairs to wait in the front room.”
Casey had felt a sense of déjà vu in Blake’s living room before. Now she knew why.
Chapter 12
“I could tell by the look on the doctor’s face the news wasn’t good. We were in his office, the one Blake uses now. He told me to sit down and not to say a thing until he was finished.”
Flora looked at Casey, her gaze direct.
“He said, ‘Flora, we’ve got a problem. Something’s going on at the Edwards place. I think you and I both know what it is.’ I wasn’t real quick, but after a minute I followed what he was gettin’ at. He told me the blood I’d discovered wasn’t menstrual blood. Said you put up such a fight he almost didn’t get to examine you. He said he suspected you’d been . . . hurt. Though that wasn’t the word he used,” Flora explained.
“There seemed to be some tearing inside you. I asked the doc if it could’ve happened from that bad fall you’d taken on your bike the week before, but he said no. I’d hoped that’s all it was, but I knew there was more.
“I asked him if he thought you’d had . . . intercourse.” Flora blushed at the word and fidgeted with the blanket at the foot of the bed.
“He told me that’s what he was afraid of. My heart fell to my knees. My little girl, so innocent, so fun-lovin’. All that gone by the hand of some evil bastard.” Flora cried, and Casey grieved for her lost innocence even though she had no memory of it.
Flora’s muffled cries filled the room. Casey didn’t know what to say. Rage took over coherent thinking. Doc Hunter had been right. Who would do something so vile and evil to a child?
No longer able to control her anger, Casey took her plate and hurled it against the wall. Then she took Flora’s and did the same. Not caring, she then took the tray and sailed it like a disc through the air. With a thud it hit the wall, exposing the drywall.
“Why?” she screamed. “Why did Momma let it happen?” Gut-wrenching sobs sent her to the floor. She cried until her eyes felt like sandpaper. Her breath burned deep in the back of her throat. At that moment she knew what murderous rage felt like.
Flora took that moment to slide up the bed, next to her. With Flora holding her, Casey wept for the childhood she’d lost, cried for the physical pain she must have felt, and, more than anything, a slow, simmering rage began to boil. Rage at her loss of innocence and the person who’d stolen it from her.
She felt weak. With her chin resting on Flora’s shoulder, she looked out the window through eyes now reduced to tear-swollen slits. The sun set low on the horizon, the last twinkle of light dancing across the gardens. Beauty maintained by wickedness, the thought came to her.
Surrounded by broken glass and the remains of her unfinished meal, Casey untangled herself from Flora and began scooping up the evidence of her fit of rage.
“Here, let me do that.” Flora swatted her hand at Casey.
“No, Flora. I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me. For years it seemed I was no more than a ghost walking around in shadows. Now those dark, wispy images I’ve lived with for so long are becoming real to me. I’m afraid when I do remember. What will I do?” Casey held out her arms in search of answers.
“You’ll do what the good Lord planned for you. You’ll forget those terrible things and put them behind you. You’ll start a new life. You’re a young woman with a bright future ahead of her. Don’t let the blackness from your past color your future.” Flora dumped the last of the glass into the wastebasket.
“You’re right. It’s just hard to fathom something like this could’ve happened to me, and I can’t remember it.” Casey plopped down on the bed, hugging the pillow to her chest.
“Stop thinking about it now or you’ll drive yourself insane.” Flora’s pearly white face turned a deep shade of crimson.
“See? Everything you or anyone else says all comes back to the one thing I’m supposed to forget. Where I’ve spent the past ten years. I can’t do that, Flora, no more than you can forget your past. The hospital is my past. I just need to remember why I was sent there in the first place.” She leaned back onto the plump pillows. She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, and there didn’t seem to be a damned thing she could do about it.
“And you will. Right now you need to rest. Do you want me to run a hot tub?” Flora asked.
“No, I’ll have a quick shower. I’d probably fall asleep in the tub and drown I’m so tired. Don’t worry Flora, I’m fine really.” Casey sat up on the bed and a touch of a smile lifted her mouth. “Go on, I know you’re exhausted.”
“We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“I’ll look forward to it. By the way, Flora. Dr. Hunter’s notes indicated he might’ve known who was responsible for molesting me. Did he happen to mention a name to you or my mother?”
Blake tossed the flimsy fax paper on the table next to him. He’d gone over the records so many times he’d memorized them.
Ten years and nothing. Not even a spark of recognition. There’d been a few articles on Casey’s medical history in some issues of the Journal of the American Medical Association. Adam had shown more of an interest than Blake had at the time because of his area of specialization. Blake hadn’t given much thought to it other than he’d remembered Casey coming into his father’s office as a child. Now, however, he wished he could remember what they’d said.
Day after day, month after month, and year after year—nothing. It seemed this Dr. Macklin had done all the required tests, given all the medications required for a patient suffering from trauma-induced amnesia, and still no results.
All of that changed about two months ago. Dr. Macklin’s attitude appeared to have changed. Casey’s records were much more detailed. Dr. Macklin noted on several occasions he’d been amazed at Casey’s sudden recovery. Casey was able to converse normally; she kept herself scrupulously clean, according to his notes, and even helped the staff with domestic chores. The doctor had been optimistic but cautious. He’d eased her off the medication. When Casey’s mental health appeared to equal his own, Dr. Macklin had recommended her release. Then nothing. Her medical records stopped there.
Blake looked at his watch. Ten o’clock, too late to call. He’d tried to call Dr. Macklin twice that evening and hadn’t been able to reach him. He’d hesitated about leaving a message on his machine. He wanted to talk to the doctor. Something didn’t feel right.
He thought about going to Bentley and demanding the records, but he couldn’t stand the sight of the pompous ass. He’d call Adam and have him arrange a visit with Dr. Dewild, or was it Dewitt? He couldn’t remember. Casey would be in good hands. According to Adam, this young doctor was the best in the South.
He put aside Casey’s mental health and thought of her as the woman who in just a few short hours had managed to latch on to his heart. Twice that day, an overwhelming sense of protectiveness consumed him. He’d wanted to block out the world and keep her with him where he knew she’dbe safe. When she’d cried in his arms, his libido kicked in, reminding him that good doctors didn’t get aroused when they offered their patients comfort.
Who in the hell were you trying to kid, Blake old boy?
When Casey’s memory returned, he would con
sider their possible future.
A little voice whispered in his ear, You know there’s a chance. You saw the look in her eyes. What other evidence do you need?
Evie snapped the gold compact shut and tossed it back into her Chanel bag. The hospital lighting was horrid. Plastering a smile on her face, she entered John’s room.
In the middle of the private room the standard metal-framed bed held her once-robust husband. Pale blue mini-blinds prevented the morning sun from removing the gloominess Evie always associated with hospitals. Disinfectant couldn’t cover the smell of death, disease, and urine. A vase of yellow roses from the garden at Swan House rested on the bedside table next to John. She’d had Hank clip them for her the day before.
A pencil-thin nurse took John’s blood pressure, and Dr. Foo, his neurologist, removed the metal chart attached at the foot of his bed.
“One-thirty over ninety, Doctor.” The nurse released the cuff, and Evie heard the gush of compressed air being released.
“Very good. I see our patient is following orders quite well.” Dr. Foo said. Evie waited in the doorway. If it were she, no matter how great Dr. Foo’s reputation was, no way would she allow a foreign doctor to touch her. She didn’t trust them. Look at Vietnam and that Korean thing. My God, she thought, they could be planning to slowly kill every American they touched.
“Eehhie,” John screeched as he tried to sit up in the bed.
Dear God, if this was all that was left of him, maybe Dr. Foo’s plot to kill the Americans should begin with John.
She smiled and walked to the side of the bed. “Dear John.” Evie smoothed a strand of white hair from her husband’s forehead and cringed. His skin felt like parchment, and his hair was limp from lack of washing. This wasn’t her John. Her John had been meticulous in his personal hygiene habits. Who was this shrunken clump of gray matter?
“What is his prognosis?” Evie asked as she turned to the doctor.
Dr. Foo, a small man in his mid-fifties, with thick black hair and glasses that perpetually slid down his nose, placed John’s chart at the foot of the bed.
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