The Lewis Legacy Series Box Set: 4-in-1 Special Edition Page 39

  “What’s not appropriate, Natalie?” He squeezed the hand under his. He had to know.

  Her eyes flew open. “Holding my hand isn’t standard procedure, I’m sure.” She withdrew her hand, her frown deepening, and it sent a swift, sharp pain to his gut. Her voice conveyed little warmth or emotion other than irritation. Dread and fear snaked its insidious path into his consciousness, wrapping around his mind and shooting like a bolt of lightning straight to his heart. What was going on? Whatever it was, he’d never experienced such a deep-seated, overwhelming fear.

  Trying to cover his shock, Marc turned aside. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Ducking his head, he left the room. While he didn’t want to alarm her, a part of him was dying inside. His heart. “Nurse,” Marc said, standing in front of the nurse’s station, “I need to speak with Dr. Adams. Now.” He employed the same commanding tone he used with his employees when he wanted to put the fear of God in them. It usually worked, but then again, the hospital personnel weren’t on his payroll.

  “Yes, Mr. Thompson?” The unfamiliar nurse gave him a pleasant smile. “Is your wife awake?”

  “Yes,” he muttered, his voice a low, slow growl. And looking at me like I’m a total stranger. Never in his wildest imagination could he imagine his sweet Natalie would look at him through such blank eyes, so unaware and dispassionate. Even when she didn’t really know him early on in their relationship, she always had a sparkle in her eyes. Now there was nothing.

  “I’m certain Dr. Adams is nearby and will be here momentarily. He asked to be alerted as soon as your wife woke up. I’ll page him.” She punched in a few numbers on the phone.

  “Mr. Thompson . . . Marc.” Dr. Adams was as calm as ever when he strode down the hallway a few minutes later. Good thing someone could be calm. If only the physician could be the voice of reason he craved. “Tell me what’s happening now with Natalie.”

  Marc’s jaw clenched as he stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, Dr. Adams, you tell me. My wife apparently believes I’m her overly-familiar nurse.”

  One brow raised. “Did you ask her any questions?”

  “No, I was too dumbstruck. She’s speaking clearly and seems coherent. She was thirsty, and took several long sips of water.”

  The doctor nodded. “Good.”

  His anger rising, Marc shook his head. “No, not good.” He marched back into the room and stood beside Natalie’s bed. She stared at the slatted window blinds filtering the early afternoon sun.

  “Natalie, hello. I’m Dr. Adams.” Walking to the opposite side of the bed, one hand on the bedrail, he gave her a nonthreatening smile. Natalie stared at her hands twisting on her lap. It was the only outward sign of nerves. “Do you remember what happened?”

  Marc knew her well enough to see the tiny lines forming on the sides of her eyes, the tension around her mouth. His heart lurched when he saw her do a little dance with her fingertips on top of the bedcovers. She did that when she concentrated and wanted to avoid direct eye contact.

  Her lips curved in a semblance of a smile. “I’m guessing you’re from the UK, maybe near Cambridge?”

  Dr. Adam’s grin stretched his lips wide, making him appear much younger. “You would be correct. Do you know of it?”

  She nodded, but looked confused. “Yes. I . . . I think so.”

  Her summers spent in England. Great. This was encouraging. Marc shot the doctor a glance and tried not to get too excited. Best to let the professional handle it before he jumped in and made an even bigger fool of himself.

  “Do you recall your last name, Natalie?”

  “Combs.” She shook her head. “What happened to me, Dr. Adams?” Her eyes moved around the room, skimming over Marc, before settling again on the doctor.

  “You took a rather nasty spill down the basement stairs in your home last night. You’re in the hospital in Boston. We’re checking you over and running a few tests.” He paused while Natalie digested this information. “We want to make sure you’re okay before we send you home.”

  Marc leaned closer. Standing on the other side of the bed, his skin was crawling, making him want to jump up and down. He could contain himself no longer. “Do you remember where you live?” He had to find out what she knew. It was a slow-burning fire inside, threatening to implode.

  She put a hand to her head and closed her eyes. “I live with my college roommates in an old house in Newton.”

  That statement was encouraging and confusing, all at once. “Where do you work?”

  “I’m a kindergarten teacher,” she answered after considering the question, her brow furrowed.

  Marc forced a deep, controlled breath. “Do you remember the name of your younger sister?”

  Natalie’s eyes traveled to meet Marc’s gaze. “Lisabeth. For a nurse, you ask a lot of questions.” She looked over at Dr. Adams. “I asked him if I could get something for the pain. At least now I know what happened to me, and it explains why I feel so horrible. I think every muscle and joint in my body is sore.” Her eyes darted briefly to Marc’s before looking toward the window. She was no doubt irritated he hadn’t followed through on her request like the nurse she thought he was. Averting his gaze, he pressed his lips together.

  “Of course,” the doctor said. “I’ll have something sent in for you straight away.”

  Marc’s chest tightened, and he lost the momentary ability to breathe. His next question sat trapped in his throat. So many things he wanted to ask, but not a one came out for fear of the answer. He shot an incredulous look at Dr. Adams. Indicating for him to follow, he stormed out of the room, feeling all the more ridiculous on the slippery floor in only his stocking feet.

  “You rest now,” Dr. Adams told Natalie in his calm voice as he headed out of the room. “We’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll have some meds and lunch sent in for you.”

  Get out here now and tell me what’s happening with my wife, Marc silently demanded, alternately pacing and sliding back and forth on the shiny, sterile-looking hallway. Stalking over to the nurse’s station, he anchored one hand on the counter, waiting.

  “Try to calm yourself, Marc,” Dr. Adams said, closing the door to Natalie’s room and walking toward him.

  Marc glared. “How exactly do you suggest I do that? Put yourself in my place. Try being a newlywed with the love of your life in a hospital bed, looking at you through eyes that don’t even seem to know you. Then we’ll talk. Natalie remembers certain things, but it’s like she’s stuck in some kind of . . . weird time warp. It makes no sense.” He met the doctor’s eyes, and crossed and uncrossed his arms, not knowing what to do, what to think, what to say. “Look, I know I’m acting like a world-class jerk, but I’m not used to feeling helpless.”

  “No one likes that, and there are no rules. I’m here to help you. We’ll figure this thing out together, but it’s going to take some time.”

  Marc counted to ten under his breath, closing his eyes before opening them. “Please just tell me what you think is happening to her.” He waved his hand in the air. “Put aside all the medical jargon and tell me what your gut is telling you.” Surely even upper crust British physicians had instincts.

  “Go home, take a shower and get something to eat. In the interim, we’ll run what tests we can. By the time you get back in a couple of hours, hopefully we’ll know more.” The doctor’s eyes bore into him, leaving no room for argument.

  Marc couldn’t relent and quietly slink away. Not yet. “Not until you tell me what you think is going on with my wife.”

  The doctor sighed. “It would appear your wife might be suffering from some form of amnesia. Retrograde, in Natalie’s case, meaning she recalls certain things from the past, even her childhood, but more recent events are more . . . difficult for her to grasp.”

  Marc was speechless. “Is retrograde amnesia another term for a bruised brain?” His fists clenched. He loved how doctors were oh-so-politically correct and weighed every word. It was most likely a
self-preservation thing, a defense against medical malpractice or other lawsuits. But it didn’t help him now in trying to understand what was happening to his injured wife.

  “It’s not common, but it’s possible considering the type of trauma she suffered.” His voice low, Dr. Adams began to explain what might be happening in Natalie’s brain.

  “Cut to the chase, Doctor. Bottom line, amnesia is only temporary, isn’t it? She’ll regain her memory soon, right?”

  “In most cases, it’s short-term, yes. However, in other cases, the extent of the brain injury can be more . . . significant.”

  “Significant?” He didn’t like the way the doctor hesitated. Lord, be with me. I can’t handle this. I’m falling apart here.

  “Let’s not speculate until we’ve run more tests.” Again with the shoulder pat. “Take my advice and go home and refresh yourself. By the time you return, I’ll try to have more answers.”

  Tests. Always more tests. At least he made it personal instead of using the customary, collective we. Marc stared at the doctor, hardly daring to breathe. Amnesia might explain that horrible, blank look in Natalie’s eyes, the withdrawal from his touch. He had to see her one more time.

  As he walked back into the room, Marc felt Natalie’s eyes following him. But for the first time in his life, he hated to look at her. Turning with a great sense of dread, he knew what he’d find. Her cheeks bloomed with a bit more color, but staring at him were the eyes of a stranger. No matter what the doctor told him, all the tests in the world would only confirm what he already knew. It made him physically ill, and Marc’s stomach churned as he departed the room without another word.

  Natalie was gone.

  Chapter 5

  Maybe not physically, but the love of his life—the woman who pledged her life and love to him two short months ago—was not in that hospital bed. The realization broke Marc’s heart, ripping it down the middle.

  Congratulations, God. You won this round. You’ve got her now.

  Through some miracle, his car was still parked outside, right where he’d left it. With a ticket. Snatching the green envelope from the windshield, he crumpled it, shoving it deep in his pocket. If only the nightmare happening inside the hospital could be pushed aside so easily. A young man—a hospital valet judging by his uniform—bounded over to the car. With a frown, Marc lowered the automatic window.

  “Sir, I watched over it for you. Fine car like this, I knew its owner had a good reason for leaving it where you did.”

  “Thanks.” Reaching for his wallet, Marc pulled out a crisp twenty and offered it out the window.

  “Sorry about the ticket, but at least they didn’t tow it.”

  This kid was annoying, but enterprising. He reminded Marc of himself at seventeen, a hothead kid who parked cars for tips at the country club in Clayton, Missouri, rubbing elbows with the businessmen, and sweet-talking the high society ladies and their pretty daughters. It was one of the few places he ever dropped his dad’s name to garner a little extra attention.

  Feeling nostalgic, he pulled out another twenty and handed it over. As he drove out of the parking lot, he heard the boy holler his thanks. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Marc caught the smug look on the kid’s face as he pocketed the money. “Spend it wisely.” Blinking hard, he struggled to sit up straighter in the leather seat and cranked up the talk radio.

  A few tears flowed unchecked as he drove home. “I don’t care what you say, Dad,” he muttered under his breath. Sometimes a guy needed to cry. The events of the past hours more than justified it. Tears for the end of his marriage perhaps. Married only two months, he might already be headed for an annulment or divorce. How was he supposed to feel? What should he do? Never had he felt so completely helpless in the blur his life had become.

  He hadn’t wanted to leave Natalie, but he needed space, time to think, time to get feeling back in his body instead of the unbearable numbness. Maybe being numb was preferable? Nothing made any sense. The word surreal took on new meaning. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel and focused on getting back to the house in one piece. Having an accident wouldn’t help anyone, especially his wife.

  Tossing his keys on the kitchen table, Marc dragged himself up the stairs. His feet moved by instinct, and he slid to his knees by the side of the bed where he cried out loud in the quiet of the room. His hands touched the beautiful quilt Natalie’s grandmother made for their wedding gift. Natalie treasured it so much, and the love represented by the precious gift. Marc ran his fingers over the stitches made by her Grandma Lacey’s arthritic fingers. You can’t put a price on something like that.

  His fingers touched something smooth, silky. With a slight groan, he lifted his head and fingered the lacy pink camisole Natalie had worn right before her fall. Those expressive eyes, those tempting lips, had promised so much. Next thing he knew, she was lying in a heap on the cold, hard floor. Now, his beautiful bride lay in a hospital bed and looked at him like they’d never met.

  “God, you can’t be this cruel!” Raising one clenched fist in the air, he let it fall back on the quilt. In his heart, he knew it wasn’t God’s fault, but he needed to place blame or responsibility somewhere. It wasn’t Natalie’s fault. No, he alone was responsible for not fixing that rotting stair. He let out a curse and burrowed his head in the quilt. When his sobs quieted a few minutes later, he prayed. Even the good Lord must be confused by the see-saw of his emotions. Next, he vowed to get her back. I will not accept defeat. Natalie belongs to you, Lord, but she also belongs to me for a little while longer.

  “I’m going to get her back.” Saying the words out loud gave him small comfort. He repeated it several times over, hoping it wouldn’t negate his prayer. Old Mr. Davis wouldn’t be pleased with him, and he wasn’t proud of it, but he did feel poised in one corner of the boxing ring, God in the other. The Almighty knew he hated to lose. In a fog, Marc moved into the bathroom and twisted the shower knob, cranking up the temperature. Shedding his clothes, he left them in a rumpled heap on the floor. As he stepped inside the stall, he closed his eyes and lifted his face, allowing the rush of steamy water to engulf his body.

  “God, please hear my prayer,” he mumbled as the water from the shower streamed down his face, intermingling with his tears.

  ~~**~~

  Slightly reenergized after his shower, Marc pulled on a pair of navy dress pants and one of his best Armani shirts, one normally reserved for his most important client meetings. Or a special date with Natalie. Maybe it was pointless to dress up to go to the hospital, but he wanted to wear the gold monogrammed cuff links she’d given him for his birthday. He couldn’t very well wear them with his Henley and jeans. The slightest grin tugged the corners of his mouth upward as he recalled the numbers game Natalie concocted for him to find where she’d hidden the box with the cuff links. She didn’t really get the calculations correct on all the clues, but he could care less. She tried, knowing he’d love it. Like Grandma Lacey’s quilt, no material gift could measure up to a gift from the heart.

  Pausing as he buttoned his shirt, his smile faded. If what the doctor suspected was true, Natalie might not remember much of anything. Wouldn’t remember splashing in the rain outside in the garden last week. Neither one had a green thumb, but they’d had fun making a muddy mess and rinsing each other off with the garden hose. Laughed until they were both hoarse. She might not remember working side-by-side to refinish the hardwood floors in the family room, slow dancing in the living room, biking or jogging together several times a week. Or washing dishes and not finishing as they chased each other up to the bedroom? Sitting on the floor of the guest bedroom, arms wrapped around one another as they shared their dreams of one day turning it into a nursery?

  That thought sent him back across the room. Marc’s head dropped to his hands as he sat down on the bed. Natalie’s pregnant and having our baby. In all the trauma, he’d forgotten. How could he forget something so important? What kind of man, what kind of husband, was h
e—not to mention future father? He hadn’t thought to tell her mother, but that might have been providential. He wasn’t sure whether Natalie knew she was pregnant yet. Would he be the one to tell her, or Dr. Adams?

  Marc raised his head to the ceiling. “Please let the baby be okay.” It was bad enough Natalie had been hurt, but he’d never forgive himself if he’d done irreparable harm to their child because of his negligence. He slapped his forehead several times with the palm of his hand. “How could you do this to your wife and child?” Staring into space, he tried to comprehend it all. Guilt could paralyze him if he let it. But he was stubborn, and had more important things to do. Like get back to his wife. God would have to forgive him, even if he couldn’t forgive himself.

  A calm surged through him from somewhere unknown, like a blanket thrown around his shoulders, keeping him warm, soothing him. He felt . . . loved. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Natalie, or her mom, was sitting beside him. Shivers ran down his spine, but not from fear. Whispers in his heart, in his mind, telling him everything would be okay.

  “God, is that you?” Marc darted a quick glance around the quiet bedroom. Maybe he was going crazy, but he didn’t think so. He’d never experienced anything like it before. Could this be what the pastor meant by the presence of the Lord? Jumping off the bed with renewed energy, he shoved his feet into his leather dress shoes before heading back into the bathroom to finish his grooming. Passing through the kitchen a few minutes later, Marc opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottled water. With a quick glance at the food inside, he closed it again. He couldn’t begin to think of feeding his stomach. Couldn’t even remember the last time he ate. It didn’t matter, although he could hear his mother’s voice reminding him he needed to eat to keep up his strength. Maybe it wasn’t the Lord whispering to him in the bedroom. Maybe it was his mother’s voice in his head.