Stephen hugged her and moved on. Behind him were Imani and Tara, both of whom were called Ms. Smith, and Gianna was happiest to see them. The three of them had been close. They ate lunch together every day and traded gossip. You wouldn’t think there would be much gossip among middle school teachers but oh, the stories they would tell. There was something exciting about peeking behind that respectable teacher facade and viewing the dirt on the other side. There were cheating scandals galore, and not the Atlanta Public School System kind. Married teachers are the biggest hoes. And then there were the afterschool bar trips and subsequent DUIs. And who could forget the petty dramas that created warring factions between the teachers? It was ridiculous, and aside from listening to the stories, Gianna stayed out of all of it.
Tara had tears in her eyes when she hugged Gianna and she couldn’t get any coherent words out.
Imani hugged her next. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said as she rubbed Gianna’s back. “Everybody was so worried. How are you holding up?”
“Just taking it one day at a time,” Gianna answered. She saw Imani’s lips moving again but she didn’t quite hear her because she was distracted by the man who was next in line. He looked to be in his 30s, light-skinned, average height, average weight, with a shiny bald head and a goatee. He was one of those men who would look unremarkable without facial hair but with it, he was kind of sexy. His name was Sherrod, or Mr. McKinley, and he taught Biology. She remembered that clearly. But there was something else about him that was bugging her.
He stepped around Imani, who was still talking, and bent down to hug Gianna. She reached up to hug him back, feeling a bit disoriented, and the smell of his cologne wafted into her face. It was familiar to her, too familiar, and it evoked a rush of emotions.
She knew that smell. She’d smelled it on him. She’d tasted it by mistake after planting clandestine kisses on his neck in his classroom after school. She’d even worn that smell home after a long day of work and rushed to wash that smell out of her clothes before her husband noticed.
She knew the smell intimately. She knew the man intimately. And it was more than she could bear. Her anxiety began to overtake her and she knew if she didn’t find an escape, she would pass out right there in the teacher’s lounge. She broke the hug and began to cough, waving away all the hands that swarmed her to pat her on the back. She focused her gaze on the floor and spat out “restroom” until a path cleared for her. She passed three of them on her way to the car.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE SHOCK OF SEEING her sidepiece had Gianna so shaken that she called and moved her therapy appointment up three days. She had to beg Dr. Ferris to see her. The woman was apparently so popular that she was booked three months out. The good doctor showed mercy on Gianna and squeezed her in for a 20-minute appointment.
Gianna’s stomach churned and roiled the whole way there. She calmed down once she arrived at the office but even throughout the small talk with the receptionist and the stack of papers she needed to fill out, Sherrod McKinley was never far from her mind. What is wrong with me?
Dr. Ferris’ reception area was generically appealing. It had a minimalist glam feel to it with its light grey walls and mirrored accent pieces. A stainless steel Keurig sat its sexy self in the corner and secreted coffee pheromones all over the room. Dr. Ansley had vetoed caffeine and alcohol but Gianna was starving for the former. She almost succumbed to the temptation, but just before she gave in, Dr. Ferris opened the door and called her name.
Dr. Ferris was a teeny little thing, not unlike Arilyn. She was older, probably early 50s, with a librarian’s face—always pleasant but you just know she never takes shit from anyone. She smiled as Gianna approached. “Come on in, dear. We’re right down here at the end of the hall.”
They walked down a long hallway until they got to the office. It smelled like lavender and relaxed Gianna a little. She sat and waited, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap.
Dr. Ferris took her seat behind her desk and took a drink from a large jug of water. “So, Gianna, you’re looking well, all things considered.”
“So you know all about my situation?”
“I do.”
“I’m feeling better. I’m a little nervous, though.”
“Why are you nervous?” Dr. Ferris asked. Her voice had a soothing quality to it.
“Just not sure what to expect.”
“Well let me put you at ease. All we’ll be doing here is working to get your memories back. I understand that interested parties have made your memory of that night a priority but we’ll let our work be guided by you. For me, in here at least, the priority is cognitive healing.”
Gianna exhaled. “Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad.” She tapped her foot under the chair and swallowed hard.
Dr. Ferris smiled. “Good, good. There’s no need to be afraid. This office is a safe place for you. Now, before we start, I’d like to know if you’ve had any trouble retaining memories since that night.”
“No, I’m doing okay there, I think.”
“Okay, good. Why don’t you tell me what you want out of your sessions.”
Gianna took a deep breath. “I want my memories back. I think. Some of them, anyway.”
“Why only some?”
“I’ve been...learning some things about myself that I don’t like.” She stared out of the small window to her right and hated the view. Most of it was of the brick building next door. Only a tiny sliver of sky was visible in the top left corner of the window.
“Things you don’t like,” Dr. Ferris repeated. “Do you have an example?”
Gianna sighed loudly. “It’s embarrassing.”
Dr. Ferris shrugged. This wasn’t her first rodeo. “It stays here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I don’t want you to think less of me.”
“I don’t place any moral value on what my patients tell me in this office.”
Gianna raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t buying it but she needed to talk about it. “Okay. Alright. Here’s the thing. I—”
“Shhhhhhhhhhh.”
Gianna jumped and looked from side-to-side. “What was that?”
Dr. Ferris looked embarrassed. “Oh, goodness. I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you my air freshener releases every ten minutes. That’s what you smell.”
“That scared the shit out of me. Excuse my language.”
“It’s fine.”
Gianna clasped her hands together again and waited for her heart to stop racing. “Okay, what I was gonna say was that I...apparently I cheated on my husband.”
“I see. And is that something you remembered?” Dr. Ferris asked, completely without emotion. She was good at this.
“No. My best friend told me. She thought I would wanna know, with the investigation going on.”
“And this best friend, you trust her?”
“Yes. I—wait, why wouldn’t I?”
She hesitated. “Just asking. So you don’t remember being unfaithful?”
“Not at first but then I met the man I cheated with. His cologne jogged my memory, I think.”
Dr. Ferris nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me. Often times a smell, a song, a familiar food, or any number of sensory experiences can trigger memories. How do you feel about it?”
“I feel like an asshole, excuse my language.”
“It’s okay,” she said again, waving her hand.
“I don’t remember anything that would justify what I did. I mean, I know there’s never any justification for cheating on your spouse but there had to be something going on that drove me to it. Right?” Gianna asked, mentally pleading.
“Maybe.”
At that moment, Gianna wanted to hear that her husband probably didn’t give her what she needed, or that the man she cheated with filled a void. Something, anything that would absolve Gianna, even a little bit. But Dr. Ferris didn’t strike Gianna as the type to tell her what she wanted to hear.
“I don’t
know what to do with it at this point,” Gianna said.
“When you say you met him, what was the context of the meeting?”
Gianna stared out the window again at the little sliver of daylight. “I went to my job—I’m a teacher—to get acclimated as Dr. Ansley suggested. He’s one of my coworkers.”
Dr. Ferris raised her eyebrows. “I see. Well, that’s...tricky.”
Gianna scoffed. “It’s okay, you can say it.”
“What?”
“It’s ratchet.”
Dr. Ferris laughed. “I’m not here to judge you.”
“I’m judging me. No wonder my mother-in-law hates me.”
“Do you think she knew?”
“I don’t know.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Of course. It’s your session.”
GIANNA ELECTED TO DO something less upsetting, so Dr. Ferris conducted a few memory exercises. Some of them were even fun, and Gianna found herself laughing and enjoying herself. Sherrod was still taking up space in her mind but he was further away than he had been when she first arrived. Therapy was alright.
Just before the end of their session, Dr. Ferris got serious. “Gianna, as you move forward I want you to be careful. I’ve found that many of my cognitively impaired patients find themselves being manipulated by the people they love. This manipulation isn’t necessarily malicious, but it can be harmful.”
“You think my best friend is manipulating me?”
“I think you’re in a vulnerable state, emotionally, and certainly cognitively, and the people around you know that. Don’t be surprised if they use your condition to make themselves look or feel better. People who have hurt or wronged you may suddenly become saints. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“I think so.”
“You may even be fed false memories, and you may also find people withholding important information that, frankly, they’re relieved you forgot. It’s not a certainty but it is something to watch out for.”
Gianna nodded, her mind racing. It was a lot of information to take in and she felt like she was floating. “I can say for a fact that my best friend is telling the truth.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“How will I know what’s true and what’s not?”
“You won’t at first. That’s why you should go slow and be careful.”
“Careful? You make it sound like my family is out to get me.”
“Well no, not careful in that sense. It’s like...okay, consider social media. You log on and what do you see? Everyone looks happy and in shape and in love and wealthy. We filter our pictures and crop out the negative. We present our best selves because it makes us feel good to do so. And we all do it, right? But social media is an unreliable narrator. It lies, and that’s why it’s vital to maintain the proper perspective. At this stage of your recovery, you’re going to hear stories and anecdotes and you’re gonna have to relearn somethings. What I’m saying to you is this: for right now, you need to consider everyone—even your own memory—an unreliable narrator.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GIANNA STEPPED OUT of her car and walked toward the brick building, her stomach in knots. Her skirt kept riding up on her hips and she tugged at it repeatedly to no avail. Despite its abysmal food offerings there, she had put on a little weight in the hospital. She silently cursed herself for not wearing something looser. Ill-fitting clothes were so uncouth.
It was a chilly day and the wind whipped around her, blowing against her body, pushing her back toward her car. She leaned into it and braved her way up the walkway and in through the glass doors. A quick trip to the ladies room revealed that her bun was no worse for wear.
She made her way to the sixth floor and gave the receptionist her name. He led her into an office. Williams and Debreaux were already there, and they stood when she entered. “Thank you for meeting with us, Mrs. Harris,” Williams said. “First of all, how are you feeling?”
Gianna shook both of their hands. “Better than I was but not at 100% yet.”
“What does your doctor say?” Williams asked as he took his seat behind the desk. Debreaux sat in the office chair to Gianna’s right. Both detectives had mugs of coffee and the smell made Gianna’s mouth water. It didn’t help that she passed four Starbucks locations on her way there.
“What does she say about what, exactly?” she asked.
“About your...condition. Is your memory still spotty?”
“Well...yes. The clinical term is amnesia.”
“Of course. Sorry. You’ll have to forgive me. I don’t know all those fancy medical terms,” he said with a smirk. He seemed different today. “Anyway, I want to get some clarification from you. Why were you and your husband on your way to the hotel?”
“We were coming up on our anniversary. We were supposed to take a trip to Barbados but the hurricane hit.”
“Right, right. And is this something you remembered?”
“Actually, someone told me.”
“May I ask who?”
“Yes. A family friend. Tremaine Odum.”
“Gotcha. Let’s go back that night. What do you remember?”
“The only thing I’ve been able to remember is opening my eyes. It was raining, I saw flashing lights, there was blood on me, and there was excruciating pain in my head and face. I don’t remember anything about how I got there.”
Williams frowned. “I see. So basically what you told me at the hospital.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I must say, I’m a little disappointed.”
“I had my first session with the psychiatrist yesterday and we just talked. It was kind of informal. I think she was easing me in,” Gianna said. To her right, Debreaux slurped her coffee loudly and Gianna tried not to roll her eyes. No home training.
“I thought you told me last time that your session was next week.” Williams flipped through his pad. “Yeah, that’s what you said.”
“I got her to squeeze me in yesterday.”
“Why is that?” Debreaux asked softly. Innocently. Like the spider to the fly.
Gianna chose her words carefully. “I’ve been feeling anxious and I just needed to talk about it.”
Williams sat back in his chair. “Why are you anxious?”
Gianna frowned. “Because somebody killed my husband and tried to kill me and they’re still out there. Wouldn’t you be anxious?” She looked from Williams to Debreaux, expecting them to be reasonable.
The two detectives glanced at each other. “Makes sense,” Williams said. “So no progress on the memory front?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay well, I guess I’ll save the rest of my questions for afterward.”
Gianna was relieved. “So we’re done for today?”
He chuckled at that. “Oh, no ma’am. I have a whole other set of questions. Now, to your knowledge, is there anyone who would have wanted to hurt your husband?”
“Not that I know of.”
“No enemies?”
“No.”
“And what about you? Is there anyone who might have been targeting you?”
“Not that I know of.”
Williams and Debreaux looked at each other again and Gianna’s breath caught in her chest. Something was up.
“You don’t have any enemies?” Williams asked.
Gianna chuckled. “When I hear the word enemy I think of a superhero movie. But no, I don’t have any enemies. I teach middle school. Why are you asking?”
Williams cleared his throat. “Mrs. Harris, we have reason to believe you may have been the target of the attack.”
“Me? Why would you think that?”
“We can’t tell you that just yet.”
She glared at him. “But you brought it up.”
“Yes ma’am, to see if we can’t jog your memory on a few points. Have you ever been involved in an extra-marital relationship?”
Gianna froze. How could they p
ossibly know about that? Arilyn didn’t tell. She was sure of it. Damn! “I—what do you mean?”
“He means have you ever cheated on your husband.” Debreaux slurped again and smiled, clearly enjoying this. At that moment, Gianna would have given anything to punch her in the mouth.
Her heart pounded in her ears. “No, I don’t remember anything like that.” It was as close to the truth as she could get at that moment.
Williams wasn’t satisfied. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I don’t recall cheating. I’m not that kind of person.”
He nodded. “I see. Besides the most recent events, have you ever been the victim of any other violent acts?”
Where are they going with this? “Not that I can remember.” She was beginning to feel frustrated. They were leading her somewhere and she was in the dark about it. They had her completely off balance.
The two detectives glanced at each other again and Gianna felt sick. “Never?” Debreaux asked, speaking as if she was giving Gianna one last chance to confess before the ax fell.
“I don’t think so.”
Williams reached inside a manila folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. There it was. The ax. “Do you recognize this document?”
Gianna leaned over and stared at the paper, recognizing the faint rubbery smell of the copy machine. She wanted to touch it and see if it was still warm but she restrained herself.
It was a legal document, for sure. She could see the words on the paper but she couldn’t make any sense of them. She only recognized her name and signature at the bottom. “It looks like I signed it but I don’t know what this is.”
“It’s an order of protection, filed by you in September of this year. Do you recognize that name?” Williams asked, tapping the paper with his finger. Gianna leaned in closer to get a better look, read it to herself twice, and felt her blood run cold.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I Will Remember You Page 7