“Take your medication,” Brian ordered.
I nodded obediently; I knew whatever it was he’d been giving me wouldn’t help even if I did have a headache. I leaned forward, picking up the pill as Mrs. Smith came through the door with the breakfast plates and I used the distraction to palm the pill instead of swallowing it. I couldn’t afford to be drowsy today.
I listened to the conversation between Brian and his father, only speaking when a question or comment was directed my way, which was not very often. The topics were mainly business. Throughout the entire breakfast I noticed there was a sense of animosity between the two which I could remember feeling before. I had thought that once Brian and I were married I would somehow bring the two of them closer; to be more of a family. I had hoped that one day these breakfasts would include some laughter instead of the veiled resentment Brian showed his father and the cold demeanor he in turn showed towards Brian. It had never happened. I never understood why they insisted on these weekly breakfasts.
I barely touched the bowl of oatmeal in front of me. I disliked oatmeal intensely unless it was covered in brown sugar and cream. I knew, without asking now, that wasn’t an option. My bottom lip suddenly trembled as I fought the wave of emotion that ran through me. I didn’t want this. I wanted a plate of Joshua’s rather lumpy scrambled eggs and his slightly charred toast. I wanted Joshua looking across the table at me shrugging his shoulders, his eyes dancing as he watched me eat his latest attempt at breakfast. I thought of his warmth. How just being in the same room as him made me feel safe and content. I caught my bottom lip in my teeth as the trembling increased.
I was so caught up in my thoughts, I startled when I heard Brian voice my name in annoyance, bringing me back to the present and the cold atmosphere of the dining room. I blinked at him, praying he would blame the behavior on the headache rather than anything else. He frowned at my seeming lack of concentration, but only reminded me of my appointment with the trainer that afternoon. I nodded, picking up my cup of tea to hide my trembling lip. He instructed me that there would be a car waiting for me at 9 a.m. to take me to the library the next day and would return at 3 p.m. to pick me up. I managed to remain calm and acknowledged his statements quietly.
Brian placed his elbows on the table and looked at me. His voice was steady as he informed me a bodyguard would be accompanying me at all times when I left the house in the morning. I wanted to snort with laughter when he stated stiffly that it was for my own protection since the people who had kidnapped me were still at large. Instead, I nodded and thanked him quietly for his concern, the whole time my fingers dug into my leg, fighting the desire to stand up and scream at him that I knew the truth. To tell him I remembered the horrid way he had treated me; that I remembered everything. But I remained silent.
After breakfast, I went up to my room, relieved for the brief time I wouldn’t have to struggle to hold back my emotions. I sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to relax while my brain raced.
A bodyguard. I felt the growing dread inside my stomach.
He was watching me. Waiting for my memory to return. Waiting for me to run.
I shuddered. What was he going to do when he realized it had returned?
What was I going to do when he knew?
The next morning, the car pulled up outside the library and I sighed in quiet relief. This was always one place I was fairly free. I began to walk up the steps eagerly when my bodyguard, Bob, appeared beside me.
“You need to wait for me, Mrs. James,” he stated gruffly.
I stopped, catching myself. I nodded and continued walking. I had to pretend I didn’t know where to go. Or, who anyone was. This was going to be harder than I thought.
An hour later, I was ensconced in my little office at the back of the library. I had been shown around by Kate, who informed me quietly she was sorry to hear of my ‘horrible ordeal’ and the resulting brain injury and memory problem I was left with. She quietly expressed that she hoped I would settle back in all right. Internally, I grimaced at what Brian was telling people. They were under the impression I was confused and not quite ‘with it,’ and needed to be treated accordingly. No doubt in case I suddenly accused him of something, he could point out the fact that I was acting irrationally and what I said could not be taken seriously. He was already setting the groundwork to make me look unstable in case my memory returned.