Life as I Know It Read Free Page A

You went into cardiac arrest. We had to shock you again to bring you back. Once we’d got you back with us we concentrated on rehydrating you. That’s just normal saline in the intravenous drip you have there. Then we dressed the burns. After that it was just a case of waiting for you to wake up.”
    “To see if I was brain damaged,” I said, shaken that I had actually needed to be resuscitated, and again watching for his reaction.
    “I would like to schedule you for a head MRI scan,” Dr. Shakir continued smoothly, ignoring my comment and studiously avoiding my gaze. “But in the meantime you will have to trust me that you are the mother of those children and the wife of Mr. Richardson.”
    I looked at him skeptically. He was hiding something, I was sure, but there didn’t seem much else to say. I glanced toward the door and remembered with a sick feeling deep in my stomach that the family out there was waiting to visit me.
    “Please, I’m very tired,” I pleaded, fighting down the panic that was rising in my chest. “Could I rest before I see… anyone?”
    The doctor paused as if considering my request, then nodded briefly and left. I lay back against the pillows as the door closed behind him, sifting through my memory for any clue to this unknown family of mine, while the heart and blood-pressure monitors bleeped on beside me. The frustrating thing was that, despite everything the doctor had told me, my memories seemed perfectly intact—they just weren’t the ones I was supposed to be remembering. After half an hour of alternately dozing and agonizing over my predicament, I heard my purported husband at the door asking to be let back in. Part of me was curious to see if he still thought I was his wife. I hoped he’d take one look at me and declare that he’d made a terrible mistake, but something deep inside told me that was a vain hope.
    To stall for time, I brushed my hair carefully with a brush I was told belonged to me (even though I’d never seen it before in my life), then I sat up rigidly in the narrow bed and waited apprehensively for the stranger to come in.
    The man who came toward me was slim and tall, maybe a bit over six foot. He had reddish-brown, slightly wavy hair and freckled skin. He was wearing a black polo-neck shirt under a tweedy jacket, but he didn’t look professor-like in it. I wondered vaguely what he did for a living and it occurred to me that it was strange I was supposed to have picked this man for a husband, when redheaded men had never appealed to me in the least.
    As he approached, I realized with a sinking heart that the charade was still on. He bent to kiss me, but I turned my head away and he straightened quickly, his face flushing slightly.
    “I’m sorry,” I said firmly as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to the bed. “But I have no memory of you.”
    He stared at me, and I could see he appeared to be fighting some internal battle. After a moment he seemed to come to a decision.
    “Dr. Shakir told me you’ve lost your memory, sweetheart. I was hoping he’d got it wrong.” He sighed deeply, then forced an uncertain smile and held out his hand formally to shake mine. “I’m Grant,” he told me. “Grant Richardson. I’m thirty-seven years old, and we’ve been married for ten years.”
    His grip on my fingers was cool and steady, but somehow the smile seemed unsure. I suppose it was a lot to come to terms with, finding his wife had lost all memory of him and their life together. I knew I was certainly finding the whole situation bizarre, and my heart went out to this stranger. If I was struggling to get my head around what was happening, what must it be like for him?
    I didn’t know what to do. I could hardly say, “I’m Jessica, nice to meet you,” so I looked away from him to a point halfway along the wall to where a cart stood stacked with medical supplies, and said nothing while he continued to hold on to my hand.
    “Have you got any questions