I picked up my own fork, satisfied she would eat. “You’re welcome.”
After breakfast, I took her upstairs to the huge loft, where my office was located. It was the only thing on the second floor. The walls were lined with books and my desk was at the front, overlooking the entire main floor. When I was seated, I could look out and see the surrounding woods and the large lake that spread out in front of the property. The ever-changing landscape often provided me great comfort or inspiration while I worked. Watching the trees dance in the wind or the snow swirl in the air was a welcome distraction at times. I watched as she walked around slowly, looking at all the books. On the shelves were different awards I had won, but she didn’t pay much attention to them. There was a large chair where I often sat and went through notes, or just sat and read, Bear usually asleep at my feet. I directed her to the chair and made sure she was okay before I perused the shelves. I found the medical books I kept on hand for research and handed one of them to her.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“Any information on head trauma, memory loss, that sort of thing,” I instructed as I sat down at my desk with a large volume.
Silence filled the room, except for the turning of pages, for the next few minutes. Not finding anything of help in the book I had, I stood up to go get another one and looked over towards the chair. She was asleep, the book hanging loosely from her fingers, and Bear sitting right beside her, again standing guard. She looked so vulnerable and small. She reminded me of ... something. I searched my brain, and then realized what it was. A frightened rabbit. One of the little grey ones I saw from the woods all the time. I smiled at the comparison. She had also looked at me the way they did, all frightened and confused as I threw out feed for them, not sure what I was doing. Strangely enough, she also looked so right, dressed in my too-big clothes, curled into my chair with Bear beside her. I felt a sudden rush of tenderness as I studied her. I shook my head.
Where the hell were all these feelings coming from? I didn’t know her, or what her story was or her situation.
And I certainly wasn’t in the position to feel anything towards anyone.
I made my way over and gently placed a blanket on her.
Because I didn’t want her to get cold and then be sick and require extra care.
That was the only reason.
At least, that was what I tried to convince myself was the only reason.
I made my way through a few books until I was satisfied that I understood what I thought was happening. Turning around, I saw she was still asleep and had burrowed under the blanket I had placed on her. I observed her for a moment when inspiration struck. Her car. No doubt her purse would be in the car. All of the books seem to indicate that temporary amnesia was common after a head trauma and, often, some small detail allowed the person to regain their memory quickly. No doubt if I knew her name and she saw items that belonged to her it would stir something.
I looked out at the still-falling snow. I could make it to the barn and get in the side door. I had one large snow blower right by the front porch and I could plow my way through. It would be worth it if she could remember her name. Maybe she would relax a little. She jumped a little every time I moved or spoke. I didn’t want her afraid of me. I didn’t like it.
I made my way downstairs and added a couple of logs to the fire. I left a couple more pain pills on the table in case she woke up and came downstairs. Then I dressed warmly and went outside in the storm. It took a while to even get to the snow blower and by the time I made it to the barn it had been well over an hour. I was panting as I finally opened the side door and got inside, and my leg was now throbbing painfully. I stood for a few minutes, catching my breath. I lit one of the gas lights and checked on the generators, making sure the gas level was good. I had a large supply of full gas containers, having learned the hard way how long these storms could keep me isolated.