The First Wife (14 page)

That wasn’t all. There was something else, but she couldn’t remember what.

Queasiness rolled over her, and he suddenly felt too close. His mouth on her hand
too familiar. She shrank back against the pillow. “Don’t.”

He looked devastated but loosened his grip on her hand. “Baby, what’s—”

“Good morning, Mr. Abbott!” a nurse called cheerfully as she entered the room. “There’s
a fresh pot of coffee at the nurses’ station, if you’re interested.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “She’s awake.”

The broad-faced woman crossed to the bed and smiled down at her. “My goodness, she
is! Welcome back, Mrs. Abbott. It’s good to see those pretty, blue eyes open.”

The nurse looked back at Logan. “When did she wake up?”

“Just before you arrived.”

She nodded and returned her gaze to Bailey’s. “Dr. Bauer’s here for rounds, I’ll get
your vitals, then let him know you’re up.”

She busied herself, chatting the whole while. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“Thirsty,” Bailey answered, the word coming out a croak. “Headache. Bad.”

“I’ll bet you do have a headache. That was some tumble you took.” She raised the bed
slightly. “I’ll get you a cup of water.”

“Wait.” Bailey touched her sleeve. “How long … was I—”

“Out? About three days.” The woman patted her hand. “And this sweet man of yours never
left your side.”

A shudder rippled over her. Something … there was something she should remember. About
her husband? To tell him? Or—

No, that wasn’t right. Bailey squeezed her eyes shut. About True? Was that—

“Mrs. Abbott? Are you all right?”

She looked into the nurse’s kind eyes. “I don’t remember … I need to—” She choked
back a sob. “What’s happening to me?”

The woman’s expression altered subtly. She exchanged a glance with Logan. “I’ll call
Dr. Bauer.” She smiled reassuringly. “He’ll be able to tell you everything you need
to know.”

A moment later, Logan held the cup and straw to her lips. His hand shook slightly.
“Tiny sips,” he said. “That’s right. Take it slow.”

After several, she turned her head away and closed her eyes. Like a dripping faucet
somewhere in the back of her brain it plucked at her.
Remember … Remember … Remember.

Why couldn’t she?

“It’s going to be all right, baby. I promise it is.”

She opened her eyes, looked at him. “Are we going to be all right?”

“Yes.” He squeezed her hand. “Of course we are.”

“Were we fighting?”

“Fighting? When?”

“Before my accident.”

“Why do you ask that, Bailey?”

She shook her head slightly. Even the small movement hurt.

“No, baby. Everything was perfect between us. The way it always is.”

Then why did she feel this way?

“We were happy?”

He seemed to flinch at the question. “We
are
happy. You’ll see. You need to rest—”

“No.” Her voice rose; her head throbbed. “What happened to me? Why can’t I … I
need
to know, Logan!”

A song popped into her head. Her own off-key voice singing with it.

Shatter every window ’til it’s all blown away …

Carrie Underwood on the car radio, she realized. A brilliantly sunny day. She’d been
happy. Deliriously happy.

Even as the memory spilled over her, realization struck.

A car accident. She must have been in a wreck.

Bailey imagined it. Imagined the crunch of metal and glass shattering. Imagined hurting
someone, their blood on her hands. Spilled across the pavement.

Her pulse began to race; it felt as if her heart were flinging itself against the
wall of her chest. The monitor by the bed screamed.

“The accident … Did I hurt—”

“Calm down, sweetheart. You have to calm—”

She clutched his hand, the screaming monitor like a knife in her skull. “Please …
you have to tell—”

“Nurse!” he shouted.

The nurse from earlier flew into the room, an aide with her. “We were just talking,”
Logan said, jumping to his feet. “She got upset. I didn’t know what to do!”

The nurse instructed him to move aside. “Mrs. Abbott,” she said firmly, “look at me.”
Bailey did. “You’re going to be all right. Calm down.”

The aide took the other side of the bed. “Nurse Flynn’s administering a mild dose
of Ativan, it’ll help. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“But I … please … I need to— So … much … blood…” The medicine’s effect was almost
instantaneous. Her heart slowed and her anxiousness melted away. She rested her head
against the pillow and closed her eyes.

When Bailey reopened them, only she and Logan remained in the room. He stood by the
bed, looking hollow-eyed and anxious. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

“How do you feel?”

“Groggy. Head still hurts.”

“Want a drink of water?”

“Yes, please.”

He held the cup and straw to her lips; she sipped, then rested her head back against
the pillows. “What did they say they gave me?”

“Ativan. Nothing that would hurt the— They were afraid you would hurt yourself.”

“Logan, tell me what happened. Please.”

“Let’s not do this now. You’ve been through a terrible trauma. We both have.”

“I won’t get upset this time. I just … I need to know.”

He hesitated, then pulled over the chair and sat. He gathered her hand in his. “No
one was hurt but you.”

Her breath came out in a soft whoosh. She closed her eyes. “Thank God.”

“But you weren’t in a car accident, Bailey.”

She looked at him. “But I just … I remember being in the car. I was singing to the
radio.”

“No. Bailey, sweetheart, you were on Tea Biscuit.”

Bailey stared at him, struggling to come to terms with his words. She was scared of
horses. To the bone terrified.

“You were in the woods, off trail. Knocked off by a low-hanging branch.”

A low-hanging branch? Knocked off?
She frantically searched her memory. The incident wasn’t there.

She looked at him helplessly. “But I don’t ride.”

“August was helping you overcome your fear. So you could surprise me.”

She remembered. “That’s right. But how—”

“Paul told me. He overheard you and August talking about it.” A smile touched his
mouth. “No more surprises, okay?”

“Okay.” Tears filled her eyes. “I remember now, working with August, but not the accident.”

A frown creased his brow. “Not how you came to be on Tea Biscuit? Or why you were
in the woods?”

She brought a trembling hand to her head. To the bandages. She felt faint, and breathed
deeply and slowly, in and out. How could she not remember?

“Bailey, there’s something else about your accident. Something I haven’t told you.”

Something bad
. It was there, in the deep recesses of her brain, taunting her.

“The police, they’re going to need to question you. It’s about Henry.” Logan paused,
his expression stricken. “He’s dead, Bailey.”

Bailey stared at him, the strangest sensation moving over her. Of being lost in the
middle of an ocean, pushed and pulled with the movement of the water. Helpless to
change her own course.

Tears filled her eyes, blurred her vision. She pressed her trembling lips together,
overwhelmed. “I don’t understand. I just saw him.”

His grip on her hand tightened. “When?”

She thought back. Or tried to. It made her head hurt. “I don’t know. I can’t recall
what day.”

“It’s okay. It’ll come.”

“What … happened to him?”

“Somebody shot him. A hunting accident is what the sheriff’s deputy thought.” He looked
away, then back. There were tears in his eyes. “Damn poachers.”

“Then … I don’t understand. Why do the police want to question me?”

“You were in the woods around that time. It happened the same day as your accident.
Maybe you saw something?” He paused. “Or someone?”

Was it her imagination or had his expression sharpened? She looked away, uncomfortable
with the intensity.

“Bailey, it’s important for us that you—”

A tap on the door interrupted him. A small, square man in a white coat. “Good morning,
Mrs. Abbott,” he said. “I’m Dr. Bauer.”

He crossed to the bed and smiled down at her, the twinkle in his eyes comforting.
“You gave us all a terrible scare. But you’re awake now.” He patted her hand. “How
do you feel this morning?”

“Sore. Confused.”

“I’m not surprised by either.” He flipped through her file. “You took a serious blow
to the head.”

Logan moved to the head of the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder. “She can’t remember
what happened, Dr. Bauer. None of it.”

The physician made a notation on her chart. “When you came to, did you know where
you were?”

“In a hospital, yes.”

“But not how you came to be here?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you recognize your husband?”

“Logan. Yes.”

“Do you know where you live?”

“Wholesome, Louisiana. Abbott Farm.”

“How long have you lived there?”

“Since January.” She looked at Logan. “We got married on New Year’s Day.”

“Congratulations.” He flashed a quick smile. “Before that, your childhood? What do
you remember?”

“Everything, I think.”

“Your full name?”

“Bailey Ann Abbott.”

“Maiden name?”

“Browne.”

“Mother’s name?”

“Julie. She died recently.” Tears stung her eyes. “Cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Father’s name?”

“Gregory. He left us when I was little.”

He asked her a series of other questions: her birthdate—February fourteenth, she was
a Valentine’s baby—elementary school—Kennedy—childhood best friend—Meredith—and the
name of a childhood pet—she never had one.

“Good,” he said. “What’s the last thing you remember before coming to this morning?”

Logan answered for her. “She was driving.”

“No.” She shook her head, then winced as pain knifed through it. “That’s not right.”

“But before, you said—”

“I know.” She brought her hand to the bandaged head, trailed her fingers over the
bandages, as if it would help her remember. “I was wrong. I wasn’t in the car. That
song’s stuck in my head but … It’d been raining. For days. But had finally stopped.
I was with Tony.”

“Who’s Tony?” the doctor asked.

“The dog. He— We were going for a walk. He was excited. Dancing around. We’d both
been cooped up too long.”

“Because of the rain.” The doctor nodded, looked at Logan. “We had all that rain last
weekend.”

“Yes. It started Sunday and didn’t stop until early Wednesday.”

“Mrs. Abbott, the day before the rain started, do you recall it?”

She thought a moment. “Yes. Saturday.” She glanced at Logan. “I did some planting,
in the front garden. Impatiens. Blue and white.”

“Sounds nice.” He jotted her comments on her chart. “That night, what did you have
for dinner?”

“Mahi. We grilled out. We figured it’d be our last chance before the rain came.”

He looked at Logan in question. “Is she describing the events of Saturday, April twelfth?”

Logan nodded. “Perfectly.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

Bailey thought back and came up blank. “That’s it. Next thing I remember is waking
up here.”

The doctor nodded, made a notation on her chart, then looked at her once more. “And
since waking up? What do you remember?”

“Everything, I think. Logan, the nurse, getting upset, how I felt, what I was thinking.”
Her hands trembled and she clasped them together in her lap. “What’s wrong with me,
Dr. Bauer?”

“Nothing dangerous. Or permanent. You suffered a traumatic brain injury, Mrs. Abbott.
In your case a mild one. Amnesia with this type of injury isn’t uncommon. In fact,
it’s called traumatic memory loss. In your case it’s retrograde amnesia, meaning you
can’t recall events immediately preceding the accident.”

“But three days preceding?” Logan asked.

“Not unusual. I’m sure you’ve heard stories of people who come to in a hospital with
no idea who or where they are. It happens. The good news for you, Mrs. Abbott, is
that retrograde amnesia is typically short-lived.”

Tears stung her eyes and she blinked against them. “What does that mean, Dr. Bauer?”

“I’m a neurologist, not God, but there are a couple of ways we determine when memory
will return, and both have to do with the injury itself, its severity and the amount
of time you were out. Yours, Mrs. Abbott, was mild, and you were out approximately
three days. I’d say memory recovery should be within a couple of days to a week. It
might even be today.”

“That soon?” Bailey looked up at Logan, excited. “Did you hear, Logan?”

But he looked at her strangely, as if he hadn’t heard. As if his thoughts had drifted
far from this room.

Bailey frowned slightly. “Logan?”

He looked at her; his gaze cleared. “Yes. Great news.”

“One caveat,” the doctor went on. “If you failed to make the memory, there’s nothing
to retrieve.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“With traumatic memory loss, you haven’t actually lost memories. All the events of
those three days are stored in your brain. Right now, you’re just unable to retrieve
them.”

“But?”

“Sometimes, with an injury like this, the brain fails to make a memory.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“That you can’t retrieve what’s not there,” Logan offered, eyebrows drawn together
in thought.

“Exactly. You may never remember the accident, the moments before or after.”

“Never,” she repeated, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“It’s a possibility. If your brain didn’t lay those memories down.”

Henry was dead. Somebody shot him.

She had to remember.

Bailey frowned slightly, the queasy feeling from earlier returning.

“What, baby?”