Time Tantrums (7 page)

“Good morning, Sunshine. Did you sleep well?” David seemed perky.

“Actually, I didn’t. I’m more confused than ever.”

“What about, honey?”
 

She feared telling him she’d gotten out of bed, but there was no other way to ask her questions without confessing.
 
“About what’s out there.”
She pointed toward the window.

“Outside?”
 
He glanced to the blinds then back at her.

“I looked out last night because I wanted to see what caused the lights.” She paused and waited for his explanation.

“Taylor, sweetie, you know you aren’t supposed to be out of bed yet. Not until the doctor says.”

Mariah bristled at his continuing use of endearing terms and the strange name, but didn't mention it. At the moment, getting the answers she needed was more important than anything else. “David, help me understand where I am.”

“You’re in St. Anthony’s Hospital. The doctor told you that. Don’t you remember?”

“I know that, but all around me are things I don’t understand, things I’ve never seen before.”

“Give me an example.”
 
He cocked his head and stared at her.

“You, the moving lights outside, the tall buildings, the roads, this place… all the strange contraptions. I don’t recognize any of this.”

He grasped her hand. “The doctor said it would take time.”

She recoiled from his touch.
“Time?
How much time? Not remembering you is one thing, but how could I forget buildings and those light things? What are they? I hear squealing like suffering pigs, and other sounds I can’t even describe. I’ve never heard them before in my life. How could a body forget all that?”
 
Her mouth went dry.

“I don’t know what you mean.”
 
His brow furrowed. “I want to help you remember, but show me what you’re talking about. Let me help you to the window.”

He lifted her off the bed and she didn't struggle. For a moment, being in his arms offered a feeling of security, but
  
they weren't Frank's, and the sensation faded as fast as it'd surfaced. She stiffened.

David wasn’t her husband, and she couldn't pretend differently. If she had memory loss, why was everything about her family so fresh in her mind?
 

He carried her across the room and placed her in a chair. With a yank on a string, he caused the slats to collapse and rise to the top of the window. She stared up, her mouth agape.

Afraid to look out, she hesitated, but David helped her stand. Her fingers gripped the sill as she forced herself to peer through the glass. Daylight had erased all the colored lights from last night. The large sign was now just words and a picture of a beautiful woman holding a glass of yellow liquid. Mariah glanced at the street below. No moving lights, now just a myriad of darting colors. Still, what she saw made no sense.

“Those, those.”
She clung to the sash with one hand and pointed to the objects below with the other. “What
are
those?”

David shot her a worried look. “Do you mean the cars
? "
 
He slowly shook his head. "Oh, sweetheart, maybe we shouldn't wait for the doctor. If you are trying to tell me you don’t remember what a car is, this is a little more memory loss than I suspected.”

Mariah turned from the window and stomped her foot. “Don’t you think if I’d seen something like this before that I’d remember? Why won’t you believe me? There is nothing wrong with my memory. My name is Mariah Cassidy. My husband’s name is Frank. I have two children, and I live on the Rocking C Ranch.”

David wrung his hands for a moment before patting her shoulder. “Wait right here. I’m going to ask the nurse to call the doctor. We need to sit down and discuss your prognosis. I’ll be right back.”

She was near tears when he left the room. How could she get him to listen? She turned back to the window and stared at the sky.
Please, Lord, tell me what day this is. How long have I been here?
She walked back to the bed and climbed in. Rolling to her side, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She wanted to sleep, wake up and have everything be as she remembered. A tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the pillow. “Oh, Frank, my darling Frank, where are you?”

* * * *

She kept her back to David when he returned. Although she didn’t want him to see her cry, her sniffling gave her away.

“It’s okay. Don’t cry, honey. Dr. Shaw will be here soon. Maybe we can get some answers for you.” David patted her hip in a gesture she considered far too familiar. She slid from beneath his touch and turned to face him. “What day is this? What year?
 
How long have I been here?” Time had come for some answers.

 
“Maybe we should wait for the doctor.” David’s throat jiggled with a hard swallow.

 
“How long have I been here? I want to know!” Mariah's demand bordered on hysteria.

“Okay, okay."
 
David displayed his palms in surrender. "Calm down. You’ve been here for almost three weeks. Today is May 28, 2002. Why?”

Chapter Seven

“Oh shit, I’m still here!”

Taylor fell back against her pillow and sighed.
 
If all this was some kind of joke, she didn't find it a bit funny.
This morning, she'd hoped to wake
up
 
in
her own bedroom next to the husband she knew. Her patience waned and her body tenses. Although Frank seemed nice, he wore on her nerves. Every time she asked for something, he pretended not to understand her meaning. As soon as she felt a little steadier on her feet, her first priority was to find the phone and call for a taxi. If only she could find her clothes.
 
She sat on the bed's edge until she was able to stand.

Listening for footsteps and hearing none, she decided to explore the strange, antiquated room. She crossed to the armoire, and passing the mirror, glanced at her reflection. Her eyes were still discolored, but lighter hues of purple and yellow shone beneath them. She leaned in for a closer look. “It’s funny how swollen eyes can make you look completely different. I don’t even look like the same person.”

Taylor started to open the armoire door, but an odd image flashed through her mind. What color hair had she just seen?
Removing her hand from the knob, she took three steps backwards to the mirror. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped.
“
Red
?”
She fingered the coppery strands. “I don’t have red hair! Oh my God, this is so not funny.”
 

“Frank! Frank," she screamed. "You get in here right now!” She opened the door “Frank," she hollered again. "Do you hear me?”

He climbed the stairs at a breathless pace, his cobalt blue eyes clouded with panic.
“Heavenly days, Mariah.
What’s the matter?”

Taylor stomped her foot. “For the umpteenth time, my name is
not
Mariah, and this joke has gone far enough. Who in the hell dyed my hair?”

Frank seemed to ponder her question then rolled his eyes. “Is that what all this is about? For heaven sakes, you’ve always had red hair.” His voice deepened in annoyance.

“Like hell I have.” She looked around for something to throw. Not seeing anything she could readily pick up, she wagged a finger at him. “Now you listen to me. I like
my
 
blonde
highlights and so does my husband. I
hate
red hair, and I’m getting really tired of this whole charade. I have better things to do with my time than play games. I have a life. I have a job. I’m pretty sure everyone wonders where in the hell I am. I don’t expect you even called my office, did you?”

Frank stood toe-to-toe with her. The veins in his neck bulged. “Now looky here, lady. There’s only so much a body can stand and I’m getting pretty gol’ darned fed up with this myself.
It’s hard sittin' around and waiting' for you to get your memory back.
The kids are haven' a pretty hard time with it, too. Because of your injuries, we missed the spring dance that Callie counted on. She was sorely disappointed, but that didn’t keep her from worrying' about you none. We have lives, too, you know? That dance was important to her, but she didn’t complain. Now, you repay all her worrying' by bein' rude. This isn’t easy on any of us. We’ve all put everything on hold to take care of you and help you recover. I can’t even let Jacob come up here because I don’t want him exposed to your nasty temper and vile mouth.”

“Nasty temper?
Vile mouth?
You haven’t seen anything yet, buster.” She scanned the room. “Where is my purse? I need to get my day planner out and find a phone number.”

“There you go with that ‘phone’ thing again.” His voice rose. “What ever it is, we
don’t
have one. Get it through your head. And what the heck
is
a day planner?”

Exasperated, Taylor clomped to the armoire and yanked the door open. She glanced over her shoulder. “Would you leave? I’m getting dressed.”

She turned back and couldn’t believe what she saw.
“What the hell kind of clothes are these?”
She examined the length and fingered the cottony material. “What happened to the outfit I had on? I just bought it. It’s a designer label, not one of these... these milkmaid costumes.”

Frank had his hand on the doorknob, but he spun around and walked back to the center of the room. He glared at her.
“Dadgummit, woman!
You have me so confused and frustrated I don’t even know what name to call you. Nothing you say makes any sense at all. You don’t like anything around here, and you’re just downright unpleasant. I’d send for the doc, but he can’t do anything for hysterical women. Since he’s due back here tomorrow to check on you, can we just make peace until then?”

Taylor clenched her fists, her anger matching Frank’s, but she mellowed and threw her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait for your doctor, although I doubt it’s going to make any difference.
But,
tomorrow is the last day I’m putting up with this shit. I want my clothes and I want out of here.” She plopped on the bed and crossed her arms.

Frank marched back to the door, opened it, but glanced over his shoulder. “Go ahead and
act like
a sulking child if it helps. We’ll see what the doc has to say tomorrow.
 
In the meantime, I’d appreciate if you'd refrain from sin' cuss words. You never used them before and a filthy mouth really isn’t ladylike.” He walked out and closed the door before she had a chance to respond.

“Well, I never.
How dare he tell me how to talk?”
 
She pounded her fists into the soft, feather bed. “How dare he tell me to do
anything!
He’s nothing to me.”

 
She stopped and took a deep breath.
Calm down, Taylor.
Breathe deeply.
She bent to peek under the bed, still searching for her purse. “Damn it, nothing but dust.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

 
“Do you hear me, Frank? I’m cussing,” she yelled toward the door.

She slid off the bed, crossed to the mirror, bent in and examined her face. She ran fingers over lips that appeared much wider than she remembered. Maybe they were swollen like her eyes. Fingering her hair again, she sneered at her reflection. “God, I hate red. It even feels different…not as thick.”

 
She glanced down at her body. The baggy nightgown she wore hid any curves she recalled. She pulled the waist tight and stood on tiptoes to see her reflection. Her breasts looked smaller. How strange.

Her stomach roiling, she sat back on the bed, rested her head in her hands and pondered all the strange things going on. Maybe someone in a higher position could help.
 
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling.
Please, God. I know you may not know me very well, but I really need help right about now. I’m beginning to think I’ve gone crazy.

* * * *

A commotion sounded outside. Taylor pushed the curtain aside and peeked. Doc Samuels arrived in some weird-looking contraption right out of the musical, Oklahoma. She almost heard strains of the song, “Surrey with the Fringe on Top”. She let the curtain fall back into place and plopped down on the bed. “Great! I wonder what kind of cornball remedy he’ll come up with today,” she grumbled.

Within minutes, Frank walked in with the doctor on his heels. “Look, dear, it’s Doc Samuels.”

Taylor clapped her hands in a mocking manner.
“Oh goody, goody.
Now I can get my memory back and go home.”