voice had become dry and scratchy again. She cleared her throat and said, “But that’s just about all I’m able to remember.”
He hadn’t entirely relinquished his frown, and the lines in his broad, square face became sharply etched once more. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t remember where I live... or what kind of work I do... or whether I’m married...”
He studied her for a moment, then said, “You live in Newport Beach, California.”
As soon as he mentioned the town, she could see her house: a cozy Spanish-style place with a red tile roof, white stucco walls, mullioned windows, tucked in among several tall palms. But no matter how hard she thought about it, the name of the street and the number of the house eluded her.
“You work for the Milestone Corporation in Newport,” the doctor said.
“Milestone?” Susan said. She sensed a distant glimmer of memory in her mental fog.
The doctor looked down at her intensely.
“What’s wrong?” she asked shakily. “Why are you staring like that?”
He blinked in surprise, then smiled somewhat sheepishly. Clearly, smiles did not come easily to him, and this one was strained. “Well... I’m concerned about you, of course. And I want to know what we’re up against here. Temporary amnesia is to be expected in a case like this, and it can be easily treated. But if you’re suffering from more than temporary amnesia, we’ll have to change our entire approach. So you see, it’s important for me to know whether the name Milestone means anything to you.”
“Milestone,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s familiar. Vaguely familiar.”
“You’re a physicist at Milestone. You earned your doctorate at UCLA a few years ago, and you went to work at Milestone immediately thereafter.”
“Ah,” she said as the glimmer of memory grew brighter.
“We’ve learned a few things about you from the people at Milestone,” he said. “You have no children. You aren’t married; you never have been.” He watched her as she tried to assimilate what he’d told her. “Is it starting to fall into place now?”
Susan sighed with relief. “Yes. To an extent, it is. Some of it’s coming back to me ... but not everything. Just random bits and pieces.”
“It’ll take time,” he assured her. “After an injury like yours, you can’t expect to recuperate overnight.”
She had a lot of questions to ask him, but her curiosity was equaled by her bone-deep weariness and exceeded by her thirst. She slumped back against the pillows to catch her breath, and she asked for more water.
He poured only a third of a glass this time. As before, he warned her to take small sips.
She didn’t need to be warned. Already, after having consumed nothing more than a few ounces of water, she felt slightly bloated, as if she’d eaten a full-course dinner.
When she had finished drinking, she said, “I don’t know your name.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. It’s Viteski. Dr. Leon Viteski.”
“I’ve been wondering about your accent,” she said. “I do detect one, don’t I? Viteski... Is your heritage Polish?”
He looked uncomfortable, and his gaze slid away from hers. “Yes. I was a war orphan. I came to this country in 1946, when I was seventeen. My uncle took me in.” The spontaneity had gone out of his voice; he sounded as if he were reciting a carefully memorized speech. “I’ve lost most of my Polish accent, but I suppose I’ll never shake it entirely.”
Apparently, she had touched a sore spot. The mere mention of his accent made him strangely defensive.
He hurried on, speaking faster than he had spoken before, as if he were eager to change the subject. “I’m chief physician here, head of the medical staff. By the way... do you have any idea where ‘here’ is?”
“Well, I remember that I was on vacation in Oregon, though I can’t remember exactly
He hadn’t entirely relinquished his frown, and the lines in his broad, square face became sharply etched once more. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t remember where I live... or what kind of work I do... or whether I’m married...”
He studied her for a moment, then said, “You live in Newport Beach, California.”
As soon as he mentioned the town, she could see her house: a cozy Spanish-style place with a red tile roof, white stucco walls, mullioned windows, tucked in among several tall palms. But no matter how hard she thought about it, the name of the street and the number of the house eluded her.
“You work for the Milestone Corporation in Newport,” the doctor said.
“Milestone?” Susan said. She sensed a distant glimmer of memory in her mental fog.
The doctor looked down at her intensely.
“What’s wrong?” she asked shakily. “Why are you staring like that?”
He blinked in surprise, then smiled somewhat sheepishly. Clearly, smiles did not come easily to him, and this one was strained. “Well... I’m concerned about you, of course. And I want to know what we’re up against here. Temporary amnesia is to be expected in a case like this, and it can be easily treated. But if you’re suffering from more than temporary amnesia, we’ll have to change our entire approach. So you see, it’s important for me to know whether the name Milestone means anything to you.”
“Milestone,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s familiar. Vaguely familiar.”
“You’re a physicist at Milestone. You earned your doctorate at UCLA a few years ago, and you went to work at Milestone immediately thereafter.”
“Ah,” she said as the glimmer of memory grew brighter.
“We’ve learned a few things about you from the people at Milestone,” he said. “You have no children. You aren’t married; you never have been.” He watched her as she tried to assimilate what he’d told her. “Is it starting to fall into place now?”
Susan sighed with relief. “Yes. To an extent, it is. Some of it’s coming back to me ... but not everything. Just random bits and pieces.”
“It’ll take time,” he assured her. “After an injury like yours, you can’t expect to recuperate overnight.”
She had a lot of questions to ask him, but her curiosity was equaled by her bone-deep weariness and exceeded by her thirst. She slumped back against the pillows to catch her breath, and she asked for more water.
He poured only a third of a glass this time. As before, he warned her to take small sips.
She didn’t need to be warned. Already, after having consumed nothing more than a few ounces of water, she felt slightly bloated, as if she’d eaten a full-course dinner.
When she had finished drinking, she said, “I don’t know your name.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. It’s Viteski. Dr. Leon Viteski.”
“I’ve been wondering about your accent,” she said. “I do detect one, don’t I? Viteski... Is your heritage Polish?”
He looked uncomfortable, and his gaze slid away from hers. “Yes. I was a war orphan. I came to this country in 1946, when I was seventeen. My uncle took me in.” The spontaneity had gone out of his voice; he sounded as if he were reciting a carefully memorized speech. “I’ve lost most of my Polish accent, but I suppose I’ll never shake it entirely.”
Apparently, she had touched a sore spot. The mere mention of his accent made him strangely defensive.
He hurried on, speaking faster than he had spoken before, as if he were eager to change the subject. “I’m chief physician here, head of the medical staff. By the way... do you have any idea where ‘here’ is?”
“Well, I remember that I was on vacation in Oregon, though I can’t remember exactly
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