“The police, they’re going to need to question you. It’s about Henry.” Logan paused, his expression stricken. “He’s dead, Bailey.”
Bailey stared at him, the strangest sensation moving over her. Of being lost in the middle of an ocean, pushed and pulled with the movement of the water. Helpless to change her own course.
Tears filled her eyes, blurred her vision. She pressed her trembling lips together, overwhelmed. “I don’t understand. I just saw him.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “When?”
She thought back. Or tried to. It made her head hurt. “I don’t know. I can’t recall what day.”
“It’s okay. It’ll come.”
“What … happened to him?”
“Somebody shot him. A hunting accident is what the sheriff’s deputy thought.” He looked away, then back. There were tears in his eyes. “Damn poachers.”
“Then … I don’t understand. Why do the police want to question me?”
“You were in the woods around that time. It happened the same day as your accident. Maybe you saw something?” He paused. “Or someone?”
Was it her imagination or had his expression sharpened? She looked away, uncomfortable with the intensity.
“Bailey, it’s important for us that you—”
A tap on the door interrupted him. A small, square man in a white coat. “Good morning, Mrs. Abbott,” he said. “I’m Dr. Bauer.”
He crossed to the bed and smiled down at her, the twinkle in his eyes comforting. “You gave us all a terrible scare. But you’re awake now.” He patted her hand. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Sore. Confused.”
“I’m not surprised by either.” He flipped through her file. “You took a serious blow to the head.”
Logan moved to the head of the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder. “She can’t remember what happened, Dr. Bauer. None of it.”
The physician made a notation on her chart. “When you came to, did you know where you were?”
“In a hospital, yes.”
“But not how you came to be here?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you recognize your husband?”
“Logan. Yes.”
“Do you know where you live?”
“Wholesome, Louisiana. Abbott Farm.”
“How long have you lived there?”
“Since January.” She looked at Logan. “We got married on New Year’s Day.”
“Congratulations.” He flashed a quick smile. “Before that, your childhood? What do you remember?”
“Everything, I think.”
“Your full name?”
“Bailey Ann Abbott.”
“Maiden name?”
“Browne.”
“Mother’s name?”
“Julie. She died recently.” Tears stung her eyes. “Cancer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Father’s name?”
“Gregory. He left us when I was little.”
He asked her a series of other questions: her birthdate—February fourteenth, she was a Valentine’s baby—elementary school—Kennedy—childhood best friend—Meredith—and the name of a childhood pet—she never had one.
“Good,” he said. “What’s the last thing you remember before coming to this morning?”
Logan answered for her. “She was driving.”
“No.” She shook her head, then winced as pain knifed through it. “That’s not right.”
“But before, you said—”
“I know.” She brought her hand to the bandaged head, trailed her fingers over the bandages, as if it would help her remember. “I was wrong. I wasn’t in the car. That song’s stuck in my head but … It’d been raining. For days. But had finally stopped. I was with Tony.”
“Who’s Tony?” the doctor asked.
“The dog. He— We were going for a walk. He was excited. Dancing around. We’d both been cooped up too long.”
“Because of the rain.” The doctor nodded, looked at Logan. “We had all that rain last weekend.”
“Yes. It started Sunday and didn’t stop until early Wednesday.”
“Mrs. Abbott, the day before the rain started, do you recall it?”
She thought a moment. “Yes. Saturday.” She glanced at Logan. “I did some planting, in the front garden. Impatiens. Blue and white.”
“Sounds nice.” He jotted her comments on her chart. “That night, what did you have for dinner?”
“Mahi. We grilled out. We figured it’d be our last chance before the rain came.”
He looked at Logan in question. “Is she describing the events of Saturday, April twelfth?”
Logan nodded. “Perfectly.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
Bailey thought back and came up blank. “That’s it. Next thing I remember is waking up here.”
The doctor nodded, made a notation on her chart, then looked at her once more. “And since waking up? What do you remember?”
“Everything, I think. Logan, the nurse, getting upset, how I felt, what I was thinking.” Her hands trembled and she clasped them together in her lap. “What’s wrong with me, Dr. Bauer?”
“Nothing dangerous. Or permanent. You suffered a traumatic brain injury, Mrs. Abbott. In your case a mild one. Amnesia with this type of injury isn’t uncommon. In fact, it’s called traumatic memory loss. In your case it’s retrograde amnesia, meaning you can’t recall events immediately preceding the accident.”
“But three days preceding?” Logan asked.
“Not unusual. I’m sure you’ve heard stories of people who come to in a hospital with no idea who or where they are. It happens. The good news for you, Mrs. Abbott, is that retrograde amnesia is typically short-lived.”
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked against them. “What does that mean, Dr. Bauer?”
“I’m a neurologist, not God, but there are a couple of ways we determine when memory will return, and both have to do with the injury itself, its severity and the amount of time you were out. Yours, Mrs. Abbott, was mild, and you were out approximately three days. I’d say memory recovery should be within a couple of days to a week. It might even be today.”
“That soon?” Bailey looked up at Logan, excited. “Did you hear, Logan?”
But he looked at her strangely, as if he hadn’t heard. As if his thoughts had drifted far from this room.
Bailey frowned slightly. “Logan?”
He looked at her; his gaze cleared. “Yes. Great news.”
“One caveat,” the doctor went on. “If you failed to make the memory, there’s nothing to retrieve.”