2. If Only You Knew

When morning comes I am grateful to find that the natural light of day diminishes the need for excessive lighting, greatly cutting down on the glare. My room is still bright white, the flowers still sit on the nightstand. I have to shut my eyes again when I realize that I am not dreaming. I am still... I don't know what I am, anymore.

My morning is filled with doctors and nurses flitting in and out, keeping busy with meaningless tasks, asking me questions. Particularly Dr. Thorne.

"Can you state your full name for me, Evelyn?" he asks, shining a pen light into my eyes.

"Evelyn Isabel Carnahan."

"What's your brother's name?"

"Jonathan. You know that."

"These questions are standard. I just need truthful answers, all right?"

I nod, thinking this must have something to do with that stranger. No! I'm trying not to think about him. It's too confusing.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

His brow knits together slightly as if somehow I've given the wrong answer, but he doesn't mention it. "What's the date today?"

"December fourteenth," I tell him. "Did I do the math right?"

He just smiles benignly and pats me on the shoulder. "Don't worry about that. Just answer truthfully. And the year?"

"1924. Right? Am I right?"

He looks sad, now. Aren't doctors supposed to be in control? He takes a chair from the wall and pulls it up to my bed. "No, Evelyn. I'm very sorry."

My head, already throbbing, practically reels with doubt and terror. "What do you mean?"

"You took a very serious blow to the head, Evelyn. You're fine, and the baby is fine. But you're very lucky you're alive, you're lucky that your husband..." He stands now, pushing the chair back and laying a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "The date is October 16, 1925."

"I've been in a coma for..."

"No, no. You were asleep for about six days. The injury was sustained on October 9, a week ago."

I feel compelled to play the part of the patient, though I'd really rather just stay in the dark for the rest of my life. "But then how..."

"We think you have something called amnesia, or memory loss. It sometimes occurs when there is severe head trauma. Think of it as a partial eclipse of your mind. The sun is still shining, but there's a tiny sliver of the pie missing."

"So I..." My mind does the math even though I will it not to. "I've lost the last ten months of my life? Will it ever... Will I ever remember?"

He shrugs. Not very comforting. "Maybe. It may just take time. Something specific may trigger your memory. It can come back in bits and pieces, or all at once. There's really no telling. For now, all you can do is surround yourself with the people and places that might help your brain regain what it's lost. If you have any more questions, I think your brother is probably the best person to answer them."

The first hope I've felt since I woke suddenly comes to life. "Is he here?"

"He's just outside. I'll go get him."

Dr. Thorne gives me another smile and leaves me alone. Moments later Jonathan enters, pushing an empty wheelchair. "Hey, baby sis," he says, almost shyly. "Feeling up for a stroll?"

A few minutes later Jonathan pushes me down a little garden path just outside the building. It's a sunny day but the wind is chilly, only fitting for October, I suppose. October! Last thing I remember I was thinking about Christmas presents and New Year's celebrations.

Jonathan wheels me over next to a bench and sits across from me. "Feeling all right, Evy?" he asks.

"Not really. What's going on, Jonathan?"

He bites his lip. "Uh...Dr. Thorne told you...about, I mean, that you--"

"Dr. Thorne told me I have amnesia."

"Right. Right. Yeah. You really can't remember?"

I shake my head, slowly. I'm not sure I want to remember. "No. Everything's different now, isn't it? Who was that man?"

"He's..." Jonathan sits back on the bench, then slides forward again. "His name is Rick O'Connell. We met him about, oh, seven months ago, he, uh... We went on a dig with him, to Hamunaptra."

"Hamunaptra?" I'm so shocked that I can almost forget my current situation. "Did we get there? Did we find anything? How long were we there? What was the--"

"Evy, Evy, please!" Jonathan waves his hands around in a gesture of surrender. "We'll fill you in on the details later."

"Sorry. So...what happened next?"

"Well, when we got back to Cairo, the two of you... Well, I mean, the two of you..." He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "You got married. You're married. He's your husband."

By this time my brain is so dazed I can only vaguely register the information. The only thing that keeps me from decrying it entirely is that Jonathan would never lie to me. "For how long?"

"Six months, whereabouts."

"I only knew him for a month?"

"Yeah." Jonathan grins, and a bit of my older brother peeks through his flustered veneer. "Love at second sight."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Jonathan..." I take a deep breath, though my chest feels so constricted I can barely get the air. "I'm pregnant, aren't I?"

A sad smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. You're four months along. Look, Evy, I know all this must be the most incredible shock, but we're going to--"

"Mrs. O'Connell."

"What?"

For some reason I try to hold my tears back, although I don't think Jonathan or anyone else could blame me for shedding them. "Evelyn O'Connell."

"Yes."

"You know, I... I always thought that when I got married, I wouldn't change my name."

To my surprise Jonathan laughs at my statement. I don't know why. I was most certainly not joking. "Oh, there was a bit of a tiff over that, Evy, believe me. Rick won out in the end; you two never told me why."

"If I ever remember, I'll tell you."

"Deal."

I look away, still wanting to hide my tears from Jonathan. Standing in the second-floor window, I see a man that looks vaguely familiar. It takes me about ten seconds to remember why, and it hits me like a bucket of ice water.

My husband looks down at us as he leans against the frame of the floor-to-ceiling window. Even from this distance I can see his face, sad for reasons I don't want to comprehend. All at once I wonder who he is, what he's like, how I could have possibly fallen in love with him in such a short space of time. He's an American, I gathered that from the accent. He didn't seem particularly refined, nor does he appear to be the scholar I always pictured myself ending up with. I can feel my own emotions start to spiral down into a despair that matches his own expression. I have no idea who he is, and that thought depresses me no matter how much I try to push it away.

After much arguing I've managed to convince Dr. Thorne that I can get from the clinic to the car without the benefit of a wheelchair. I still feel weak, but I refuse to appear pathetic, and I am confident that I need no help to walk ten feet.

This is not only a matter of pride on my part, it also has to do with....him. I know he would offer his assistance, his arm maybe, a little support for the wife who was in a coma for six days. I've tried very carefully not to say two words to him whenever he happens to be near (which is often, although he usually just hovers as if he's not sure what he should be doing) but whatever sort of message I'm trying to send is not getting through. I don't know what I'm trying to do. Maybe I think it'll all go away if I ignore him.

Obviously, that is not going to happen, for Rick is waiting outside the moment I step out the door. "The car's this way," he says without preamble. No 'how are you,' no 'would you like some help,' nothing. Before I can decide if I'm relieved or disappointed, he snatches my suitcase from my hands.

He leads me to a nearby parking space and for a second I think he must be joking. There's no way I own half this car. This car costs what I make in a year. Rick sees my dumbfounded look and says, "This is a car. You open the door, sit in the seat, buckle the--"

"Don't patronize me."

"Just trying to help."

"If you wanted to help you'd just..." I stop myself before I can say 'go away.' Everyone seems to think that even though I don't remember any of it, I still have some sort of responsibility to this life. To him.

He opens the door and waits for me to settle in, then gets in the driver's side. "You seem surprised about something," he says, turning the ignition. "Didn't expect a car as part of the bargain?"

"It's a very nice car." For some reason he chuckles, as if this were very amusing. "What?" I ask. "What?"

"Nothing."

"It's not very nice to be keeping secrets from your wife."

Rick glances over, probably surprised at my willing use of the term. "As if you tell me everything that goes on in that devious little head of yours."

"Devious? You're calling me devious?"

"Do you disagree with my use of the word?"

"It's not very nice."

He takes both hands off the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender, keeping them in the air just long enough to make me nervous. "Put your hands back on the wheel, would you?"

"As you wish, madam."

"Stop talking to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a stranger. Do you always talk to me like this?"

He sighs. "Look, this is bizarre for both of us. I probably know you better than any other person on this planet, and the only thing you remember...know, about me, is my name."

"Bizarre doesn't even begin to describe it." I decide to divert my attention from my fidgeting hands, where my eyes have been focused for the duration of the trip, to the outside. If I can figure out where I am, maybe I'll feel a little less lost. Less alone. "Where do we live?"

"785 NE Long Standing Lane."

"Never heard of it."

"Funny. It's a little house, about a half an acre. Nice division, a lot of British officers and their families."

"How can we afford a house, we've only been married...um..."

"Six months."

"Right. And...why do we have this car?"

"Because it's neither convenient nor safe to walk all over Egypt on foot."

"No, I meant..." I decide to just say it. I have to start asking questions sometime. "...It's a rather expensive car."

"Oh." He shrugs. "A little."

He doesn't supply any more information. "Well?" I say.

"Well, what?"

"Are you rich or something?"

"Blunt, aren't we?"

"You're not answering any of my questions."

"Persistent, too."

"I would have thought you'd know that about me by now."

He opens his mouth but shuts again abruptly, like he was going to say something he shouldn't. We pull into a driveway, but the intensity in his eyes dares me to look anywhere else, even to take in my new house. "You want me to tell you about you?" he asks, then seems to change his mind again and yanks his car door open, exiting in a huff. I don't know what I said wrong.

~*~*~*~