Amnesia

by Andrew Neiderman

“Feel so . . . so temporary. I needed to see those documents, to see some of my history in a sense.”

  “Aaron . . .”

  “No, you don’t understand it all, Megan. I don’t either, and that’s what scares me sometimes. This afternoon,” he said after a pause and a deep breath, “I realized I was crying and I didn’t know why. I was like Sophie, tears running down my cheeks without my realizing it. It frightened me,” he admitted.

  Rather than looking sorry and compassionate, Megan appeared angrier.

  “That’s not unexpected,” she said sharply, “for someone who has had your problem, but it would end quicker if you would stop fighting everything.”

  “Fighting?”

  “Looking under the bed, in closets, scouring through old papers and pictures. You’re behaving like some trapped animal, clawing at the walls.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you are,” she said angrily. “What did you think that stupid video meant anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. She looked aggressive enough to leap off the chair and do all the clawing herself. It occurred to him that she was feeling terrible, distrusted, even a little betrayed. He really didn’t know what the video meant, and now he felt foolish for creating such a crisis. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re right about me.”

  “Look,” she said in a calmer tone. “You’ve suffered and you have symptoms and you have some problems to overcome. Nothing new here since this all began, Aaron. Just try harder to relax. Enjoy your new life.Please. You’re going to make bigger problems for us,” she warned.

  “Us?”

  “What happens to you, happens to us,” she said. “Don’t you believe that?”

  “Yes,” he said, relenting.

  “I think we both need an early night, Aaron. I’m going up to do some reading in bed and relax.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Nothing to be sorry about yet. Call the doctor tomorrow and go ask her more questions and get yourself the relief you need from these concerns, Aaron, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good,” she said, smiling. “Want me to run you a nice hot bath? You always liked that when you were upset.”

  He nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll even wash your back,” she offered with that now familiar lusty smile.

  He laughed. “Okay,” he said.

  “Oh, it’s more than just okay, Aaron. It’s a lot more than that,” she said and left to go upstairs.

  He looked after her, smiling to himself for a moment. It was just as he thought: nothing to write home about.

  Funny expression to come to mind, he thought as he stood, especially since he was home.

  The steamy, fragrant water reached his nostrils in undulating waves stirred by Megan’s gently dipping the soft sponge into the bath and then bringing it tohis back and shoulders, washing his neck and his shoulders in small, delightful circles. She guided his head back to rest on the soft foamy pillow stuck to the rear of their whirlpool tub, and then she brought her hands around and down his chest. He had his eyes closed, but when he opened them, she was hovering over him, naked, her breasts grazing his face. He moaned his pleasure. She smiled and reached lower and lower.“Happier now?” she asked.

  “Like a pig in warm mud,” he said, and she laughed.

  “Exactly,” she said.

  She got him aroused, and then she stepped over the edge of the tub and lowered herself into the water. They kissed and she rested her head against his shoulder, keeping the sponge on his lower stomach, tantalizing him with her small, effective caressing.

  “Why can’t you just accept what we are now, Aaron?” she asked as she kissed his ear, his cheek. “Why can’t you do battle against any and all challenges to that?”

  “I will,” he promised. “I will.”

  She brought her lips to his, and then they made love in the bathtub, slowly, with long, deep thrusts that seemed to draw him deeper and deeper inside her, inside himself. He felt like a man gradually loosening his grip on the sides of a deep hole, dropping himself into a place so soothing and warm, it rivaled the womb.

  This was as close to erotic ecstasy as he would ever be, he thought and vowed not to do anything to spoil it.

  Afterward, he slept like a baby, and when he wokein the morning, he couldn’t remember why he had been so uptight the day before. Some forgetfulness is good, he concluded. He ate a full breakfast and went off to work like a man who intended to brand his name on the hide of history.

  Over the next week his work went exceedingly well. He and Harlan Nolan had a number of meetings at the site. He made some changes, adding another small green area with benches and a Roman fountain. Again, Harlan agreed quickly and made no complaint about the additional costs. Aaron truly enjoyed having so great a sense of creative freedom. Every time they met, Harlan bragged about another retail shop signing a contract.

  “And it’s all because of your concept, Aaron. People will come from all over to see this place,” Harlan assured him. “You’re going to get a lot more work because of it.”

  His enthusiasm for this project spilled over to David Carpenter’s. They, too, had a number of meetings. In fact, his work absorbed him and ate up so much of his time, he began to fear he was returning to the type of husband and father Megan had described him being before the Event, as they both liked to refer to it now.

  Megan laughed at his fears. “Don’t worry, Aaron,” she said. “I’ll let you know when you’re neglecting us. That’s a promise.”

  Except for the occasional day when she or he was late coming home from work, their family evenings did seem sacrosanct. They made it a cardinal rule not to answer the phone during their dinner hour, andboth of them made sure to spend quality time helping Sophie do her homework.

  That weekend he called Sophie into his home office, and they began together to design her new tree house. She had made a number of new friends, and she had informed him that they, as well as she, were waiting anxiously for the finished product.

  “We might declare it our clubhouse,” she told him. “If it’s big enough.”

  “How many members of your club do you expect to have, Sudsy?”

  She thought a moment, her eyes moving back and forth as if she was reading the names of her classmates in the air and deciding whom would be chosen and whom would not.

  “I should think at least four, Daddy,” she said with an air of certainty that brought a smile to his lips. She could sound so much older at times.

  Indeed, Sophie was developing her own personality, he concluded, especially after this week of activity with her. She’s a little like me, a lot like Megan, but really more and more different from the both of us. At times she was intense, determined, focused even more than he could be, and at times she was suddenly a dreamer, back to being an innocent child with an imagination that knew no boundaries. Logic and reason were tossed out the window. She would pretend to have magic powers and make her eyes small while she looked out at someone, or some thing, she was going to change.

  “There,” she would tell him, “it’s done. The flower is alive again” or “That car is now pink.”

  She was so convincing, she made him laugh. How he enjoyed her, enjoyed the affected way she would turn her hands to express herself, holding up her pinkie finger, or spin herself around after asking for something and cry, “Please, Daddy, please, please, please.”

  She was truly a magical child. How could he ever turn her down or even discipline her—not that there was much need for discipline. A more obedient child would have to be robotic, he thought. Megan simply had to tell her something, and she would obey. Rarely did Megan or he, for that matter, have to explain why or why not. Sometimes he thought Sophie instinctively knew it all anyway. Sometimes, she seemed older, wiser than any other child her age, not that he was all that familiar with children and child psychology. It was just an observation, and observing is what he often caught himself doing.

&n
bsp; Frequently he would sit back or step away and watch his daughter as if he had just arrived from another planet and wanted to learn about Earth children. He caught the way she would scrutinize her work, how her eyes fixed on purpose, or how the smile took form on her face when she achieved whatever she set out to do, and then suddenly, as if she had a sixth sense, she would look up at him and see how he had been staring at her. Neither of them seemed embarrassed by it. It was almost as if she understood it was something he couldn’t help, something she expected.

  “I’d like my tree house to have a steep roof this time, Daddy. Okay?”

  “Hmm,” he said, thinking. “You mean like our house?”

  “Yes, wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “I suppose it would, but I don’t know how much room we have on that tree, Sudsy. Let’s go do some measuring,” he decided, and the two of them went out.

  Megan was on the phone in the kitchen talking with Laurie Corkin.

  “Laurie’s found someone,” she whispered to him. “Apparently, she’s been seeing him often. He’s a very successful CPA. She’s thinking of inviting him to Mrs. Masters’s Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Great. We’re going to plan our new home,” he said, nodding at Sophie.

  Megan smiled and watched them leave through the back door.

  They approached the tree, and he stepped back to contemplate how he would hinge the tree house safely, what branches he would cut.

  “It’s got to be bigger than the one we had before, Daddy,” Sophie instructed, “and I need more windows and I want curtains and maybe we could have the rug on the floor, too.”

  He thought for a moment and looked at her.

  “Is that what we did in the last one?”

  She laughed.

  “Of course, Daddy. It took you a week to build it last time. Can you build it faster this time? I’ll help. I’ll have my friends help, too, if we need them.”

  “A week?”

  He looked back toward the house and thoughtagain. How come he had been so good a father when it came to building the tree house? How long ago had he done it? Was Sophie confusing him with Jason again? Jason would have been gone by then, and anyway, Megan had given him credit for building the tree house. He remembered that. Still, Sophie might have that confusion again.

  “Did your uncle help us?” he asked softly, practically holding his breath.

  Sophie stared ahead as if she hadn’t heard him.

  “No one helped us then, Daddy,” was her reply.

  “Okay,” he said quickly. “I’ve got it in my head. Let’s go draw it and see if it will work for you.”

  She nodded and started back toward the house. He gazed up at the tree. Why didn’t he have vivid recollections of this sort of thing? He had really done well over the last week, not having a single strange hallucination. That all seemed to be coming to an end, just as the doctor had predicted, but the subsequent return of good memories wasn’t following as rapidly as Aaron had hoped. He felt as if he was not only being cheated by losing the happy times, but he was cheating his daughter as well.

  I’ve got to do something to stimulate it all, he thought, and came up with an idea. Without knowing why, however, he felt sure Megan would not approve. She was content, very content, with his not making any efforts that would in any way disturb the smooth and successful course they had taken and were now following. Nevertheless, despite his new and vibrant happiness, he needed more. Megan wouldn’t want to hear about that. She would come back as she oftenhad with, “Why do you need any more than this? Why would any man?”

  He supposed that was so for most men, at least most of the men he had met in Driftwood. Whenever he talked with them, spent time at dinners or lunches, he had the sense that they were complacent and as content as—and it made him smile to think it—pigs in mud. Morgan Asher had told him that night at dinner that most of the men here didn’t care what they knew and what they didn’t know about their wives’ financial endeavors. They had what they wanted to make themselves very comfortable, and nothing else seemed to matter. It was as if they were truly locked up in the present. Worrying about the future, reliving the past didn’t occur, didn’t have a place in Driftwood.

  In a real sense, Aaron thought, they were all just drifting. What looks more contented that a log floating along, bobbing gently in the water, not concerned with direction? Everyone here, especially the men he knew, was on his back, hands behind his head, soaking in the sunlight and smiling. Why do anything to change that?

  Why indeed?

  He debated all the next day, sometimes concluding that he shouldn’t do it and sometimes feeling he had no choice. In the end he decided it could do little harm just to look, just to take a few quick glances to see what it brought back.

  He was thinking of going home, returning to the house in Westport, walking on the property. Maybe the old tree house was still up. Maybe the new owners wouldn’t mind his coming into the house. What harmcould any of this do? It actually excited him just contemplating it.

  On Saturday he had the lumber for the new tree house delivered. Late that day and most of the next, he worked on securing the floor and building a safe ladder. Megan stepped out to watch during the morning, sipping coffee and smiling at Sophie and him. Later, Terri Richards and Debbie Asher came over to have lunch and visit and watch as well. Sometimes, when he looked back at the three of them sitting on the patio, they all had the same strange expression of deep concern on their faces. They did a lot of whispering and some laughing, but for the most part, they sat as if they were in some sort of theater enjoying a serious performance of some very serious play.

  He even kidded them by asking, “Well, what are the reviews like?”

  “It’s going to be a beautiful tree house, Aaron,” Terri said with so wistful a smile, he had to laugh. She made it seem as if he were building her dream house and not a child’s playhouse.

  “I’d have you build our new house any day,” Debbie said. “We’re thinking of it, you know.”

  “Oh, are you?”

  “We’re all thinking of building bigger houses, Aaron,” Megan said. “We should. We deserve it, don’t you think?”

  “This is a pretty nice and unique house,” he replied. “And plenty big enough.”

  “Of course it is and that’s why it will be easy for us to sell it when we are ready to,” she said. “We’re all thinking of building on the crest of Aeaea Circle. Wethought it would be wonderful to have our own private custom home development.”

  “Aeaea Circle? Where’s that?” he asked, smiling.

  “It’s really behind Mrs. Masters’s property. We’re thinking of getting it developed within the year,” Debbie said. “Morgan’s doing the preliminary work for us.”

  “Oh. You never mentioned it to me,” Aaron told Megan.

  “It’s just in the wishful-thinking stages at the moment,” she replied.

  “Doesn’t sound like it if Morgan’s doing preliminary work,” he shot back.

  The girls held their soft smiles, but their eyes met and then turned back to him.

  “Aeaea Circle? Who came up with that name?” he followed.

  “We all did,” Megan replied quickly. “At work one day. You know what it is? It’s a palindrome.”

  “A what?”

  “A palindrome, a word that’s the same when read backward or forward.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t you like it?” Terri asked. “It’s Greek and sounds sort of mythical.”

  He shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said. “Whatever keeps the boys close to home,” he added, and they all laughed as if he had said the most hysterical thing.

  “That’s it exactly,” Debbie said.

  “Yes,” Terri added.

  Aaron smiled, shook his head at them and returned to work. Their own housing development, Greeknames. They made it all seem so simple. How could he be upset with them anyway? he thought. They were attractive, bright, and took joy in everything, keepin
g the world around him and themselves rose-colored. Sometimes, being with them made him feel as if it was always the holiday season in Driftwood, with happy surprises waiting under every tree.

  Nevertheless, on Tuesday morning, he made the impulsive decision to visit the old house instead of going to work.

  He didn’t know it yet, but that would change everything.

  . . . seventeen

  he had not yet corrected the address on his driver’s license. He glanced at it before he left. If it wasn’t for that, he might not have remembered where exactly to go. It was part of that gray area that swept in over his memory like fog, mixing numbers, names, and places in a potpourri of images and recollections that often made no sense. Megan apparently had done a good job of having their address changed at the post office and informing everyone and every company with whom they had business or contact. Not a single envelope arrived withForward Tostamped on it. It was truly as if their former address had popped into thin air along with so much of his past life.Tuesday began completely overcast. He feared a heavy downpour and almost decided to postpone his trip, but around nine the clouds began to break up and shafts of sunlight, almost like the beams of an enormous search light or spotlight, glittered on the roads and streets, encouraging him to travel.

  As Megan was leaving with Sophie that morning,he told her he would be in and out of the office and might have lunch with David Carpenter.

  “So don’t be concerned if you call and I’m gone for a while,” he said.

  “Okay. Oh. Terri mentioned the possibility of our joining her and Leonard for dinner tonight,” Megan said. “How’s that sound?”

  “Fine. You know,” he added, “I was wondering about Mrs. Masters. How come you don’t mention her when it comes to going out to dinner or anything on weekends?”

  “She travels so much during the week, she values her private time, especially on weekends. She enjoys having people over for her grand dinner parties more. Don’t forget, Thanksgiving dinner at her house Thursday. Laurie will definitely be unveiling her new male discovery.”