by Nikki Soarde
And that, perhaps more than anything, terrified him.
* * * * *
“Push against my hand, Mr. Johnson.” Marnie felt a faint pressure on her palm. “Come on, Arnie, you can do better than that.”
“Just one little kiss, sweet cakes, and I’ll be as strong as an ox again.” He grinned his wide, toothless grin, and Marnie shook her head at her eighty-year-old Casanova. “Ah, come on, sugarplum,” he cajoled. “I may be wrinkled like a prune and only have one leg, but I’m still good for one more romp in the hay.”
“One more romp in the hay, Arnie, and you’ll be pushing up daisies.”
“Ah,” he said with eyes rolled back in ecstasy, “but what a way to go.”
“Now, enough fooling around. I have other patients to see, you know. I can’t spend all my time with you no matter how much you sweet talk me.”
He grumbled quietly but Marnie ignored him. Arnie Johnson had been married four times in his eighty years and he often joked that Marnie was destined to be number five. He promised her gold and riches if she would agree to be his. It was a sweet gesture, but Marnie took it all with a huge grain of salt. Not only was Arnie as poor as a church mouse, but he made the same offer to anything female that walked within fifty yards of him.
“Let’s try this again,” she said as she picked up his hand, which was afflicted with painful arthritis. “Push against—”
“Marnie?”
Exasperated, she looked up at the hospital volunteer who had tapped her on the shoulder. “Yes?”
“Are you Marnie Grant?”
“Yes, yes. What is it?”
“They want you in ICU. They sent me to come and drag you with me if necessary.”
Marnie just stared at her. This had to be about Lucky, but she had patients to attend to.
As if reading Marnie’s mind, Nora Maynard, one of Marnie’s colleagues, stepped up to the pair. “That’s okay, Marnie. I’ll cover for you. You go and see what’s up.”
She stood and tossed Nora a grateful glance. “Thanks. I’m sure it’s about Lucky, you know. I can’t imagine any other reason—”
“Go already!” said Nora with a grin. “Me and Arnie here will make out on the couch until you get back.”
Marnie chuckled as Arnie’s cackle followed her out the physiotherapy department doors. Once outside, she left the volunteer in the dust and sprinted toward the ICU ward at the other end of the hospital.
She burst through and breathlessly asked the receptionist what was up. The young girl informed Marnie between snaps of her gum that the neurologist was with John Doe and needed her immediately.
The bed in the corner had the curtains drawn, so Marnie quietly asked permission before entering. She was greeted by a stony-faced patient. He sat propped up on pillows, looking defiant and determined. A nurse and the man she recognized as Dr. Russo, the neurologist who had consulted on Lucky’s case, seemed relieved at her arrival.
Dr. Russo stood and extended a hand. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Grant.”
“That’s all right, I—”
“Marnie!”
She was momentarily startled but couldn’t hide the smile that stole across her features at Lucky’s insistent tone. He was extending a hand toward her that communicated in no uncertain terms his desire for her to approach.
She glanced at Dr. Russo for tacit permission before taking the offered hand and squeezing firmly in greeting. “Are you giving the doctor a hard time? He’s just trying to help you, you know.”
“I…” He licked his lips and started again. “I needed you here.”
It thrilled Marnie to hear those few words squeeze past his lips.
“He allowed the physical exam, but refused to speak to me unless you were present,” said the doctor with a puzzled furrowing of his brow. “You seem to have cast quite the spell over him.”
“It’s no spell, Doctor. I think he just got to know my voice over the last few weeks, and since he has no one else—” She interrupted her own thoughts and turned to her charge. “You’re speaking much better today.”
He nodded and the first hint of a smile touched his lips. “It got…” he seemed to struggle a little with the next word, “better last night. I…I understood.”
Puzzled by his cryptic comment, Marnie looked to the doctor as if he had the answers.
He just shrugged. “His speech has definitely improved over what was noted last night, but he has yet to share any information with us. I was hoping maybe you could help.”
Marnie nodded understanding and turned back to the lonely figure on the bed. “Okay, I’m here. So now, can you tell us who you are, and if there’s anyone we should contact? I’m afraid no one’s come forward to identify you.”
She instantly felt the tension settle in his hand as he looked anxiously from the doctor back to her.
“What? Are you afraid of something? What is it, Lucky?” She frowned and shook her head. “See, I hate to keep calling you that. It’s not really much of a name and—”
“I don’t know.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“What? What don’t you know?”
He chewed on his lower lip for a moment and let go of her hand, touching his face as if he still couldn’t believe it was his. “My name.” He dropped his hand to the bed and suddenly looked so forlorn that Marnie’s heart ached. “I don’t know my name, and I don’t know where I’m from and…I don’t know where I am.”
“You’re in a hospital in Calgary, Alberta,” contributed the nurse.
“But what’s Calgary?” He focused on his hands clasped on the sheets in front of him. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew more. I wish I could help.”
Marnie sank into a chair beside the bed and stared helplessly at the man who, apparently, wasn’t so lucky after all. What’s Calgary? The implications of that simple question were staggering. Not only did he not know who or where he was, he seemed to have lost his knowledge of simple geography. And if that was the case—what else had he lost?
She heard Dr. Russo take a deep breath. “That’s all right. We’ll figure this out, but I want to be clear on a few things. You said you don’t know your name, or where you’re from.”
Lucky shook his head miserably.
“Do you remember anything about what happened to you? The gunshot wound? The fall from the cliff?”
Again, a shake of the head.
“Are you familiar with places like Canada or the United States?”
He blinked slowly, obviously trying to make an association to those words, but finally shook his head.
Dr. Russo was scribbling furiously. “Do you remember anything like driving a car, riding a bike, a favorite food?” He tapped his pen on his note pad. “Anything like that?”
Lucky cocked his head, and at that moment he looked like a little boy who had been asked if he had remembered to put the milk away. A moment later he trained his eyes on the doctor again. “I remember blue.”
“Blue?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. I remember a lot of blue and feeling—” He looked to Marnie as if she could help, but she just shook her head and shrugged uncertainly. “Helpless,” he said at last. “And angry…I think.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Russo was writing more slowly. “That’s interesting but I have no idea what it means.” His pen tapped again. “Maybe we should focus on emotions. Maybe that will spark something. Do you remember feeling happy? Sad? You’re wearing a wedding band—do you remember being in love?”
Lucky glanced at the ring on his finger and something washed across his features that Marnie couldn’t identify.
“No,” he said at last. “But I think I remember being angry.”
“Okay, focus on that. Does that bring any specific images to mind? People? Places?”
Lucky reached for Marnie’s hand, and she took it gratefully. She found it odd that he was the one under all the pressure, and yet she was the one who seemed to need the comfort of physical contact.
“No.
Nothing.”
Dr. Russo raked his fingers through his hair. “Well, at least you can speak. Your slate wasn’t wiped completely clean, so to speak.” He glanced down at his notes, and then back at Lucky. After a moment he returned his gaze to the paper and wrote something very precisely and in very large print. After a few moments he held up the paper so that Lucky could see it. “How about reading? Do you remember how to read? Can you read this?”
Lucky studied the large block letters for an agonizing amount of time before finally passing his verdict. “I know the letters.” Marnie saw his Adam’s apple bob, and she squeezed his hand encouragingly. “But—” He looked away from the paper. “But I don’t know what they say.”
Dr. Russo sighed heavily before setting the paper down. “This is a fascinating case, I must admit. It’s definitely affected your long-term memory, and the damage is extensive. But the loss seems to be somewhat selective. We can hope that, with time, things will begin coming back to you, much like you found your speech last night.”
“But it might not?” Lucky’s voice was low and hesitant.
“Amnesia is an unpredictable condition. Many people eventually regain everything that was lost, but many don’t. I wish I could say it seems to depend on the injury, and the length of time spent in coma, but that seems irrelevant.”
Dr. Russo stood and stretched, apparently preparing to leave Lucky to his own devices. “But for the time being there are more pressing matters to consider.”
“Such as?” asked Marnie, suddenly feeling the urge to be Lucky’s advocate.
“Well, his neurological exam was encouraging and he seems stable enough to deal with the police.” He directed his words to the nurse. “You can notify them now that he’s awake, but I want you present while they question him. At the first sign of distress or agitation I want you to cut them off immediately.” He paused and smiled, the expression touched with arrogance. “On my authority.”
“Police?” whispered Lucky. “Why do they want to talk to me?”
“They want to find out who did this to you,” replied Marnie. “They’re hoping you can tell them something that will help them do that.”
He just nodded, but his expression seemed bleak.
With a reassuring squeeze of Lucky’s hand, Marnie looked back at Dr. Russo. He had picked up Lucky’s chart and was making another notation. Probably his instructions regarding the police. She waited, but he said nothing more.
“And?” she prodded.
He glanced up at her. “And what?”
“And then what?” she asked impatiently. “What happens to him then?”
“Oh.” Dr. Russo tapped his pen on the chart again as he considered the question. “Well, I think he’ll be moved out of ICU shortly. I’d guess he has another two weeks in hospital at the most. His physical injuries are almost healed, and he may need more facial surgery, but that isn’t pressing and certainly doesn’t warrant him staying in hospital.”
Marnie blinked as she started to grasp the implications of Lucky’s situation.
“He apparently has no next of kin to take him in. They may well be out there, but without his memory—and considering the publicity that has yet to yield results—it’s doubtful we’ll find them. I also doubt he’ll be able to work for a number of months. Depending on the return of his memory, he may need extensive therapy and retraining.”
“And where will he live through all this? What will he live on?”
“That is the problem. I’m sure Discharge Planning can come up with something. We certainly won’t put him out on the street. And I’m sure we can arrange for welfare or some sort of disability pension until he gets back on his feet.”
That all sounded so cold, and Marnie couldn’t bear the thought of the man beside her taking up residence in some hostel or welfare complex. He had the look of a man used to working hard and supporting himself. The thought of his going on some dole was humiliating.
“I’ll get by.” His voice cut through her thoughts like a dagger.
“No,” she heard herself saying.
Doctor Russo halted his progress through the curtain. “Pardon?”
The more she thought about it the more certain she became. “No, he can come live with me.” She stood and pushed her glasses back up her nose to emphasize that she had reached a decision and that it was final. “If we find his family, of course I’ll defer to their wishes, but if not there’s no reason he can’t stay with me. I have a townhouse with two extra bedrooms, and I can help him with his physical therapy. I can even teach him to read again if necessary. I—”
“Ms. Grant,” Dr. Russo interrupted. “Can I speak to you alone for a moment?”
She hesitated only briefly. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said to Lucky, whose eyes had gone wide. Then she followed the doctor out into the ward.
He led her to an isolated alcove near the doors. “Do you have any idea what you’re taking on here?”
“I think I do. I work full time, but he’s hardly an invalid. Once I get him acquainted with the household and the city I’m sure he’ll cope just fine while I’m at work. I actually have a month’s worth of vacation that I haven’t taken. Maybe I—”
“That’s not what I mean. I know you’re a medical professional and have a good idea of the mechanics of what’s involved. But what about emotionally? He’s in a very vulnerable position. He’s already developed an attachment to you. If handled improperly it could become unhealthy. Not to mention the fact that you know nothing about him. You could be inviting an ax murderer to live with you.”
Marnie rolled her eyes. It seemed that too many people thought ax murderers lurked around every corner. “I hardly think that’s a danger. He doesn’t remember how to drive and he barely remembers anger. I hardly think he’s going to suddenly develop an urge to chop me up in my sleep.”
“I don’t know about that, Ms. Grant. His psyche is under incredible stress right now. Personality changes are not uncommon in these situations. He just might at that.”
She shook her head. Lucky was too innocent, too much like a child with a whole world to discover. She knew instinctively that he wasn’t a violent person and she knew she had nothing to fear. In fact, the idea of helping him rediscover his world seemed incredibly appealing. It sent shivers of anticipation down her spine. How many people got that chance? To see the world all over again through the untainted eyes of a newborn?
“I know what I’m doing, Doctor. And I’m perfectly willing to take my chances.”
He glanced back at the curtain that hid her new charge from their view. “All right, assuming the patient is agreeable as well, I guess I can’t stop you. This is a personal decision and has nothing to do with your position here. Speak to Discharge Planning and let them know your intentions.” He stepped away in a gesture of dismissal, but then he stopped and fixed her with a steady stare. “And, Ms. Grant…?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t forget, somebody tried to kill him once. Don’t assume they won’t try again.”
She hadn’t considered that. It was a sobering thought, but only made her feel more protective.
Dr. Russo continued. “And good luck. I hope your Lucky fares better with his second shot at life than he did the first time around.” He strode away, and as his words sank in she came to a realization.
Purposefully she strode back to the curtained-off stretcher and stepped inside. Her new charge instantly objected. “Marnie, you don’t have to do this. I’m a stranger, I—”
“That’s enough,” she said, surprised by the level of authority in her voice. “I’ve made my decision and, barring unforeseen circumstances, I intend to stick with it. It’s completely selfish, you know.”
He frowned, his dark brows knitting in confusion. “Selfish?”
“Yes. I haven’t had a date in years. If I have to kidnap a helpless invalid from the hospital to do it, then so be it.”
“Date?”
She laughed at herself. Her
humor was apparently going to need some adjustment. Most jokes needed a common knowledge base that Lucky seemed to lack—or at the very least his frame of reference was spattered with holes. “Forget it. I’ll explain later. But for right now we have something more important to attend to.”
“We do?”
“Yes. You need a name.”
“Lucky’s fine.”
She smiled and settled down in the chair beside him. She studied him thoughtfully. His crooked nose and the blazing scar already evoked feelings of warmth and familiarity. How could she possibly turn him away when it was within her power to help? Perhaps there were those who would see her offer as a grand sacrifice, but truly she was giving up so little. In fact, she felt she was giving up nothing. She had nothing to lose and, perhaps, so much to gain.
She returned her thoughts to the problem at hand. “No, it’s not. You’ll have to trust me here, but Lucky is not a suitable name for a man of your…character.” There was no denying it, this man’s face oozed character, and it definitely did not scream out the name Lucky.
“Well, I don’t know names so—”
“It’s up to me?”
He nodded and turned those expectant blue eyes on her.
She considered for a moment, thinking how long it took most couples to decide on a name for their child. But this wasn’t her child, and she had better be wary of starting to think of him as such. It would be tempting, considering that he would look to her for so much. But she didn’t want to fall into that trap. She wanted to be his friend, and possibly his teacher. Nothing more.
In a flash of insight it came to her. “Luke.”
“Luke? That sounds a lot like Lucky.”
“Exactly. But while you don’t look like a Lucky, you definitely look like a Luke.”
“Okay,” he said simply. “But don’t I need another name?”
“Right.” She considered Luke Lucky, but that was just too cute. Luke and cute just didn’t go together. “What was it you said you remembered? A color?”
“Blue. I remember a lot of blue.”
She still found that to be so strange, but it felt right. “How about Luke Blue. It’s unaffected and strong—much like you.”