For Better, For Worse

by Rebecca Winters

  By eight o’clock the next morning, she’d had some juice and a sweet roll provided by the motel, then gone straight to the hospital’s emergency room desk. Relief flooded through her when she was given permission to go straight to the ICU. Dr. Penman met her at the door and took her aside.

  “Your husband had a good night and is resting comfortably. So far, there are no complications, no fever. Even so, I’m only allowing you to see him for a moment because he’s a little hazy and confused.”

  “Is that normal?” Kit asked in alarm.

  He nodded. “Quite often we see post-op head-injury patients experience this reaction. It doesn’t usually last very long. But every case is unique and no two patients respond the same way. I wanted you to be aware of this so you wouldn’t say or do anything to upset him. Just behave naturally. Shall we go in?”

  Her emotions ranged from longing and anticipation to fresh anxiety as she hurried into the room ahead of the doctor. Rafe lay perfectly still in the hospital bed, his head swathed in a white bandage, his hard-muscled body hooked up to monitors. He was awake, following their progress with his eyes.

  The relief of knowing he’d come through the operation so well and that his color was so much better had her rushing to his side. “Darling?” she whispered. She reached out to touch his upper arm where the bronzed skin was exposed below the hospital gown. “How are you? I’ve missed you,” she said anxiously.

  His interested gaze wandered over her mouth and eyes, the shape of her face. But there was no hint of recognition. Until this moment she’d never seen him look at her with anything but desire and passion. And anger, when she’d told him she couldn’t see him anymore because their relationship was destroying his family.

  The change in him staggered her.

  She rubbed his arm gently, hoping the physical contact might help. “Darling? It’s Kit. I love you.”

  “Kit?” He said her name experimentally, with that light Spanish accent she loved.

  “Yes. Do you remember we were married last night? I’m your wife now.” He still didn’t respond. She fought to quell her rising panic. “How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

  He muttered some Spanish phrases she couldn’t understand, then closed his eyes. Dr. Penman signaled to her from the other side of the bed, where he’d been conferring with the nurse. In acute distress Kit followed him into the hall.

  “He didn’t know me!” She choked on the words. “When you told me he was confused I thought—” She shook her head. “I had no idea he wouldn’t even recognize me.”

  The doctor looked at her with compassion. “This is only temporary. Do you remember the skier last year who fell during a race in Switzerland? She suffered a concussion and temporary amnesia after her fall. Give your husband another twenty-four hours and he’ll be himself again, just like she was.

  “Call the desk tonight after I’ve made rounds. If he’s more lucid, you can visit him for a few minutes. If not, call again in the morning after eight.”

  Kit phoned twelve hours later but there’d been no change in Rafe’s condition. When seventy-two hours passed and he still had no memory of her or what had happened to him, Dr. Penman ordered another CT test, along with blood tests and a toxicology screen. But the results indicated that nothing was organically wrong.

  Feeling as though she were in the middle of a nightmare, Kit met with Dr. Penman and a Dr. Noyes, the staff psychiatrist who’d been called in for consultation.

  “Why doesn’t he remember me, Dr. Noyes? What’s going on? I’m frightened.”

  “I don’t blame you,” the psychiatrist replied. “Memory loss is not only disturbing to the patient, but to his loved ones, as well.”

  “Have you ever seen a patient take this long to snap out of it?”

  He nodded. “At the end of the Vietnam era, I was finishing up my residency in California. I worked with several patients who’d lost their memories as a result of a closed head injury during the war. These were men like your husband who had no prior physiological problem and no other complications.”

  “How long did it take them to recover their memories?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, and Kit gasped quietly. “Please allow me to explain, Mrs. Mendez. That was years ago and I only worked with them for a three-month period. Most likely all have regained their memories by now.”

  “Three months?” She sat forward in the chair. “How can you compare war injuries to an accident as straightforward as my husband’s?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “In my opinion, your husband could be suffering from what we call psychogenic loss of memory. What that means in lay terms is memory loss when there is no organic disease present. In other words, the onset of amnesia by a head injury because of a stressful event prior to the injury. With soldiers, it’s battle fatigue, terror, isolation—all things the mind would want to suppress.”

  Taking off his glasses to rub his eyes he said, “With most other people, the stress generally comes from serious financial problems or an insoluble family crisis such as a disturbed parent-child or sibling relationship. In such cases, the patient’s amnesia serves to help him escape from an intolerable situation. He can’t find a rational way to deal with the circumstances, so he retreats. Is there anything in your husband’s past like that? A problem so serious that he’d want to suppress it?”

  “Dear God,” Kit mused aloud and she sprang to her feet.

  “What is it, Mrs. Mendez?”

  Without pausing for breath she told the doctor everything about her association with the Mendez family, leaving out only the most personal, intimate details.

  When she finished he nodded. “In an aristocratic family such as you’ve described, duty and honor are of overwhelming importance. Your husband’s intolerable burden no doubt comes from the conflict between his feelings for you and his sense of family responsibility. With an autocratic father and a vulnerable, dependent brother, not to mention a mother who by culture and upbringing remained helpless in the face of such tension—well, all of that could trigger the amnesia.

  “And think of the trauma he must have felt when the woman he obviously loved enough to risk disturbing the delicate family balance ran away, making it all but impossible for him to ever find her again. What you have, then, is a man who couldn’t take any more.”

  “But he did find me!” she cried out. “We were married before he went into the operating room.”

  “That explains his almost irrational need to marry Mrs. Mendez before he went under the anesthetic,” Dr. Penman interjected.

  “Exactly,” Dr. Noyes concurred. “Mrs. Mendez, your husband’s situation is classic. His injury occurred before your marriage which is why he’s blocked the marriage from his memory. For the time being, he’s wandered away because the pain of losing you over an intolerable family situation is too great. And according to you, it still isn’t resolved.”

  Kit was listening carefully. Though she was terrified of the answer, she had to know. “How long will this amnesia last?”

  Dr. Noyes did nothing overt, but she could sense she wouldn’t like his answer. She couldn’t help shuddering.

  “Patients respond in two different ways. The first group emerges with a full resumption of identity and an amnesic gap covering the loss of memory or the fugue, as we call it.”

  “And the second?” she whispered, her heart contracting with fear.

  “In the second, which is very rare, patients have an awareness of their loss of personal identity, and an amnesia for their whole life.”

  “No!” she cried out and clung to the desk for support. Dr. Penman was the first out of his chair to steady her.

  “I realize this is a great shock to you,” Dr. Noyes said in a gentle voice. “I’d like to tell you that his amnesia is temporary and will go away in a matter of hours. That may well be the case, but I just don’t know. However at the mo
ment, my concern is more for you than your husband, Mrs. Mendez.”

  Kit lifted her head from her hands, wondering how he could say such a thing.

  “The fact of the matter is, your husband has lost none of his motor skills or his ability to take care of himself. For example, he knows to brush his teeth and take care of his bodily functions. He knows it’s Friday and that tomorrow is Saturday. He’s even aware that he’s in Idaho and that he comes from Spain. He functions like you and me and acts appropriately without drawing attention to himself by any abnormal behavior. In fact, he’s no different from before the operation except that he can’t remember the past. But he’s not unduly distressed about it yet because no one is pressing him to recall incidents that his subconscious is suppressing.

  “Whereas you have total recall. And you’re a brand-new wife, married to a husband who has no knowledge of you. That’s a very painful situation, Mrs. Mendez. Dr. Penman and I are here to help you deal with this in any way we can.”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea where to start!”

  “We know that,” Dr. Penman said. “No two amnesia cases are the same, which means that it’s an extremely unpredictable disorder. But for the next while, your husband needs to recuperate from the operation. In a few days I’ll have him transferred to a private room, where you can sit at his side day and night if you wish. It will give you time to come to grips with the situation. Until then, however, we feel it’s best if you don’t see him.”

  Her expression must have prompted Dr. Noyes to say, “Feel free to talk to me whenever you wish.”

  “When I do see him, what am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to act?”

  “Do what your instincts tell you. Be yourself. In the course of time, daily events will probably trigger something in his brain and he’ll recover his memory. Your biggest problem will be to hide your anger from him.”

  “My anger?”

  “Oh, yes, Mrs. Mendez. You’re going to get very angry before long. It’s a natural part of the grieving process. And it’s healthy as long as it doesn’t last too long. We’ll talk about it again before he’s discharged from the hospital.”

  After they left Dr. Noyes’s office, Kit wandered through the halls in a daze. She thought back to the wedding ceremony, remembering the chaplain’s words. “From this day forward, do you, Kit Spring, promise to take this man, Rafael de Mendez y Lucar, as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

  With tears streaming down her cheeks, Kit relived her fervent response and made up her mind that from this day forward she’d do everything in her power to help Rafe recover his memory. And if he didn’t, then she’d make him fall in love with her all over again. They’d face the future together, no matter how difficult or uncertain. Eight weeks’ separation had shown that, for her, a life without Rafe wasn’t a life at all.

  Chapter Three

  SIX ENDLESS DAYS after the surgery—three days after her conversation with the doctors—Dr. Penman informed Kit that Rafe had been transferred to a private room and she could start visiting him. When he called her with the news, she happened to be standing in front of the motel room mirror. She gasped at the haggard-looking woman staring back at her. Her mouth was drawn tight and her eyes were noticeably dull. Many times in the past Rafe had told her how much he loved the fullness of her mouth and the slight almond shape of her gray-green eyes with their curling lashes. Right now he wouldn’t have known her even if he’d had his memory!

  Without wasting another second, she gave herself a thorough makeover. With her hair freshly washed and wearing a minimum of makeup, just enough to emphasize her golden tan, Kit felt more like the woman who had captured Rafe’s attention from the very first moment he saw her.

  She purposely wore the same dress he’d admired then, an expensive, form-fitting navy Italian knit that buttoned up the front from the hem to the square neck. A bright-red knit border at the hems and up the front gave it a sophistication and outlined her curves, drawing male interest wherever she went. But she wanted only one man’s interest…. She dabbed on his favorite scent and fastened the gold earrings he’d bought her in Tangiers.

  According to Dr. Noyes, Rafe’s memory could come back at any time and there was no way to predict exactly what would trigger it. Kit determined to do whatever it took to hasten the process. The possibility that he’d never regain his memory was something she refused to consider.

  “What I’d give for your figure,” the nurse on duty murmured as Kit passed by the desk on her way to Rafe’s room. “In fact, what I’d give to be married to a gorgeous man like your husband.”

  A smile curved Kit’s mouth. “When we met, I remember thinking that I’d never seen a more beautiful man. After I got to know him, I realized the person inside was even more wonderful.”

  The nurse sobered. “We’ve all heard about your husband losing his memory and we’re praying it comes back soon.”

  “Thank you. I am, too.”

  “The orderlies brought him down a little while ago. He’s getting restless. Now that he’s out of ICU and his tests are over, he wants to leave the hospital. He insists he can do everything himself. He’s a fighter, and I’d say that’s a good sign.”

  “I hope you’re right. My husband has always taken responsibility for others. He’s not used to depending on anyone.”

  “Yes. I noticed.” She gave Kit a wry smile. “He may have forgotten the past, but there’s nothing wrong with the rest of him…if you catch my drift.”

  Kit’s eyes smarted, and she managed a weak smile in return. “I intend to have a real marriage.”

  “If you want my opinion, you won’t have any problems, not looking the way you do.”

  “Beneath this facade, I’m terrified.”

  “I know you are. I would be, too.”

  “Do you have any advice?”

  The nurse cocked her head. “You obviously love him, so show him that love in every way you can. I know that doesn’t sound very professional, but in his case there’s no guideline to follow.”

  Kit nodded and started for his room, so nervous that she couldn’t stop shaking. She’d only seen him once, that first morning after the operation. Since then, both doctors had asked Kit to be patient while they ran tests and learned as much of his history from her as possible. The rest of the time they talked with Rafe to work him through the first stages of accepting his memory loss.

  To help pass the time, she ate most of her lunches and dinners with Diego in the hospital cafeteria. The chaplain joined them when he could. Diego stayed at a motel near the airport and, to Kit’s everlasting gratitude, acted as the go-between for her and the Mendez family, regularly advising them of Rafe’s progress. His kind words of encouragement and the chaplain’s compassion were all that had sustained her through the long week of waiting, but now it was over.

  When she entered the room, Rafe was sitting in bed in his hospital gown watching a television program. He looked perfectly normal. In fact, from her vantage point near the door, she couldn’t see anything but a small patch of white bandage where the incision had been made. His luxuriant black hair covered most of it. He was more attractive than ever and certainly showed no sign of having undergone anything as serious as brain surgery.

  When he saw her, he turned off the TV. His dark gaze appraised her in that familiar, bold manner of his. For a breathless moment she expected his eyes to ignite in passion, the way they always did when the two of them were together. But there was no melting warmth this time.

  She wanted to cry aloud her frustration. Instead, she busied herself putting down her handbag and placing a small suitcase with some of Rafe’s clothes in the room closet. Mustering her courage, she moved closer to his bed. “Do you remember who I am?”

  “I remember seeing your face when I woke up from the operation,” he said in a hesitant voice. “Among many other things, th
e doctors have told me that you are my wife of one week. Kit.” He said her name experimentally. “Why do you not use the longer name, Kitty, the way most women do?”

  It was strange to think that his basic knowledge of life was in no way impaired, yet the amnesia had blotted out the tiniest memory of her from his mind. “When I met you for the first time in January, you asked me the same question and I told you my parents named me Kit.”

  He appeared to digest her explanation before muttering, “January. It’s April now.”

  She nodded. “The twenty-fourth.” She watched closely to see if the date held any significance for him. In the middle of May, less than a month off, the town of Jerez celebrated its vintage fair. According to Jaime, Rafe, as head of the estate, was expected to open the fair and parade his prized horses around the plaza before the crowds, a sight Kit had once hoped to see. Until everything fell apart….

  One dark brow quirked. “In a four-month period, we met and married?”

  Without stopping to think she blurted out, “If it hadn’t been for some complications, we would probably have been married after a few weeks.”

  His eyes narrowed on her mouth. “Have we slept together often? Do you carry my child?”

  Rafe’s direct way of talking about intimate things had always brought a blush to her cheeks, and today was no exception. It would be so easy to tell him they’d been lovers from the beginning, that it was a distinct possibility she was pregnant. But a marriage based on lies had no hope of enduring.

  “The answer is no to both questions,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “And why is that?” A puzzled expression crossed his face. “You have golden hair and a beautiful body. Any man would desire you.”

  But not you, Rafe. Not now…

  His compliments should have brought her pleasure instead of deep, searing pain.

  “Did I marry you because I couldn’t get you in my bed any other way?”