The Second Mrs. Adams Page 5

  “Well, I know, but what about therapy?”

  “What about it?” she said with sudden heat. “I don’t see how learning to paint by numbers or weave baskets is going to help my memory.”

  David stopped and clasped her shoulders. He turned her toward him.

  “You don’t really weave baskets, do you?”

  She sighed. “No, not really.”

  “Good.” A grin twitched across his mouth. “For a minute there, I thought Nurse Diesel might be breathing down our necks.”

  Joanna’s mouth curved. “Don’t even mention that movie when you’re here,” she said in an exaggerated whisper. “They’ve got no sense of humor when it comes to things like that.”

  He laughed. “You said something?”

  “Sure. The first day, an aide came to call for me. She said she was taking me to physical therapy and we got into this old, creaky elevator and headed for the basement. ‘So,’ I said, when the doors finally wheezed open, ‘is this where you guys keep the chains and cattle prods?’” Joanna’s eyes lit with laughter. “I thought she was going to go bonkers. I got a five minute lecture on the strides that have been made in mental health, blah, blah, blah…”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They smiled at each other and then David cleared his throat, took Joanna’s elbow politely, and they began walking again.

  “What kind of therapy are you getting?”

  “Oh, this and that. You can paint or sculpt in clay, and there’s an hour of exercise in the pool and then a workout in the gym under the eye of a physical therapist—”

  “Yeah, but there’s nothing wrong with you physically.”

  “It’s just the way things are done here. There’s a routine and you follow it. Up at six, breakfast at six-thirty. An hour of painting or working with clay and then an hour in the pool before your morning appointment with your shrink.”

  “You see a psychiatrist, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She made a face. “So far, to talk about how I’m going to adapt to my loss of memory. It didn’t go over so well when I said I didn’t want to adapt, that I wanted to get my memory back.” She laughed. “Now I think the doctor’s trying to figure why I’m always so hostile.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, I said so, too, but she said—”

  “I’ll speak to the Director, Joanna. Someone must have forgotten to read your chart. You’re not here for psychiatric counseling or for physical therapy, you’re here to regain your memory.”

  “Don’t waste your breath.” Joanna stepped off the path. David watched her as she kicked off her shoes and sank down on the grass. “Mmm,” she said, leaning back on her hands, tilting her face up and closing her eyes, “doesn’t the sun feel wonderful?”

  “Wonderful,” he said, while he tried to figure out if he’d ever before seen her do anything so out of character. Did she know she was probably going to get grass stains on her yellow silk skirt? He kicked off his sneakers and sat down beside her. “What do you mean, don’t waste my breath?”

  “I already spoke to the Director. And he said since nobody knew much about amnesia and since I was here, the best thing I could do would be to put myself in their hands. I suppose it makes sense.”

  David nodded. “I suppose.”

  Joanna opened her eyes and smiled at him. “But I swear, if Nurse Diesel comes tripping into the room, I’ll brain her with a raffia basket.”

  * * *

  It stayed with him as he made the drive home.

  Nurse Diesel.

  It was a joke. He knew that. Bright Meadows was state of the art. It was about as far from a snake pit as you could get. The staff was terrific, the food was good—Joanna had joked that she’d already gained a pound though he couldn’t see where. And what was wrong with spending some quiet time talking to a psychiatrist? And for the pool and all the rest…for a woman who used to spend half her day sweating on the machines at a trendy east side gym, physical therapy was a cinch.

  His hands tightened on the wheel of the Jag.

  But what did any of that have to do with helping her recover from amnesia? And that was the bottom line because until Joanna got her memory back, his life was stuck on hold.

  Wouldn’t my memory come back faster in familiar surroundings?

  Maybe. On the other hand, maybe not. The last thing he wanted was to move his wife back into his life again, even if it was only on a temporary basis.

  Besides, what he’d said about the house in Manhattan was true. It was nothing like Bright Meadows, with its big lawn, its sun-dappled pond, its bright rooms…

  The house in Connecticut had all that, the lawns, the pond, the big, bright rooms. It had peace and quiet, birds singing in the gardens, it had everything including things that might stimulate Joanna’s memory. They’d spent the first months of their marriage there and the days had been filled with joy and laughter…

  Forget that. It was a stupid thought. He couldn’t commute to the office from there, it was too far, even if he’d wanted to give it a try, which he didn’t. He hated that damned house.

  Joanna was better off where she was.

  David stepped down harder on the gas.

  She was much better off, and if that last glimpse he’d had of her as he left stayed with him for a couple of hours, so what? It had just been a trick of the light that seemed to have put the glint of tears in her eyes as she’d waved goodbye.

  Even if it wasn’t the light, what did he care?

  He drove faster.

  What in bloody hell did he care?

  He drove faster still, until the old Jag was damned near flying, and then he muttered a couple of words he hadn’t used since his days in the Corps, swerved the car onto the grass, swung it into a hard U-turn and headed back to Bright Meadows to tell his wife to pack her things, dump them into the back of the car and climb into the seat next to him so he could take her home.

  Home to New York, because there wasn’t a way in the world he would ever again take the almost ex-Mrs. Adams to Connecticut.

  Not in this lifetime.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT STARTED raining, not long after David drove away from Bright Meadows for the second time.

  He turned on the windshield wipers and Joanna listened to them whisper into the silence. The sound of the rain on the canvas roof and the tires hissing on the wet roadway was almost enough to lull her into a false sense of security.

  Home. David was taking her home.

  It was the last thing she’d ever expected, considering his reaction each time she’d suggested it, but now it was happening.

  She was going home.

  It was hard to believe that she’d stood on the lawn at Bright Meadows only a couple of hours ago, staring after David’s car as it sped out the gate, telling herself that it was stupid to cry and stupider still to think that it wasn’t her recovery he’d been thinking about when he’d insisted she was better off at the rehab center as much as it was the desire to keep her out of his life.

  Why would her husband want to do that?

  Before she’d even thought of an answer, she’d seen his car coming back up the drive. He’d pulled over, told her in brusque tones that he’d reconsidered what she’d said and that he’d decided she was right, she might get her memory back a lot faster if she were in familiar surroundings.

  Joanna had felt almost giddy with excitement, even though he’d made it sound as if the change in plans was little more than an updated medical prescription.

  “You go and pack,” he’d said briskly, “while I do whatever needs doing to check you out of this place.”

  Before she knew it, she was sitting beside him on the worn leather seat of the aged sports car as it flew along the highway toward home.

  Whatever that might be like.

  A shudder went through her. David looked at her. Actually, he wasn’t so much looking at her
as he was glowering. Her stomach clenched. Was he already regretting his decision?

  “Are you cold, Joanna?”

  “No,” she said quickly, “not a bit.” She tried hard to sound bright and perky. “I’m just excited.”

  “Well, don’t get too excited. Corbett wouldn’t approve if your blood pressure shot up.”

  He smiled, to make it clear he was only joking. Joanna smiled back but then she locked her hands together in her lap.

  “You don’t have to worry,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to be a burden to you.”

  “I never suggested you would be.”

  “Well, no, but I want to be sure we have this straight. I’m not sick, David.”

  “I know that.”

  “And I’m not an invalid. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  He sighed and shifted his long legs beneath the dash.

  “Did I ever say you weren’t?”

  “I just want to be sure you understand that you’re not going to have to play nursemaid.”

  “I’m not concerned about it,” he said patiently. “Besides, there’ll be plenty of people to look after you.”

  “I don’t need looking after.” She heard the faint edge in her words and she took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. “You won’t have to hire a nurse or a companion or whatever.”

  “Well, we’ll try it and see how it goes.”

  “It’ll go just fine. I’m looking forward to doing things for myself.”

  “As long as you don’t push too hard,” he said. “I want you to promise to take it easy for a week or two.”

  “I will.” Joanna looked down at her folded hands. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “For what?”

  “For changing your mind and agreeing to take me…to take me home.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no need to thank me. The more I thought about it, the more sensible it seemed. Anyway, I knew it was what you wanted.”

  But not what he wanted. The unspoken words hung in the air between them. After a moment, Joanna sighed.

  “Is it much farther?”

  “Only another half hour or so.” He glanced over at her. “You look exhausted, Jo. Why don’t you put your head back, close your eyes and rest for a while?”

  “I’m not tired, I’m just…” She stopped in midsentence. How stupid she was. David’s suggestion had been meant as much for himself as for her. He might be taking her home but he didn’t have to spend an hour and a half trying to make polite conversation. “You’re right,” she said, and shot him a quick smile, “I think I will.”

  Joanna lay her head back and shut her eyes. This was better anyway, not just for him but for her. Let him think she was tired. Otherwise, she might just blurt out the truth.

  The closer they got to their destination, the more nervous she felt.

  Nervous? She almost laughed.

  Be honest, she told herself. You’re terrified.

  All her babbling about wanting to go home was just that. What good could come of returning to a house she wouldn’t recognize with a man she didn’t know?

  Mars might be a better place than “home.”

  She looked at David from beneath the sweep of her lashes. Oh, that rigid jaw. Those tightly clamped lips. The hands, white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

  She wasn’t the only one with second thoughts. It was clear that her husband regretted his spur-of-the-moment decision, too.

  Why? Had their marriage really been so awful? It must have been. There was no other way to explain the way he treated her, the careful politeness, the distant, unemotional behavior.

  The only real emotion he’d shown her had been the night in her hospital room, when he’d kissed her.

  The memory made her tingle. That kiss…that passionate, angry kiss. It had left her shaken, torn between despising his touch and the almost uncontrollable desire to go into his arms and give herself up to the heat.

  Joanna’s breath hitched. What was the matter with her? She’d been so caught up in wanting to go home that she hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what it might really mean. She and David were husband and wife. Did he expect…would he expect her to…? He hadn’t so much as touched her since that night in the hospital, not even to kiss her cheek. Surely, he didn’t think…

  She shivered.

  “Jo? What is it?”

  She sat up straight, looked at David, then fixed her eyes on the ribbon of road unwinding ahead.

  “I…I think you’re right. I am feeling a little cold.”

  “I’ll turn on the heat.” He reached for a knob on the dashboard. “You always said that the heating system in this old heap was better suited to polar bears than people.”

  “Did I?” She smiled and stroked her hand lightly over the seat. “Actually, I can’t imagine I ever said an unkind word about this beautiful old car.”

  He looked over at her. “Beautiful?”

  “Mmm. What kind is it, anyway? A Thunderbird? A Corvette?”

  “It’s a ’60 Jaguar XK 150,” he said quietly.

  “Ah,” she said, her smile broadening, “an antique. Have you had it long?”

  “Not long.” His tone was stilted. “Just a few years.”

  “It must take lots of work, keeping an old car like this.”

  “Yeah.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Yeah, it does.”

  Her fingers moved across the soft leather again. “I’ll bet you don’t trust anybody to work on it.”

  David shot her a sharp look. “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems logical. Why? Am I wrong?”

  “No.” He stared out at the road, forcing himself to concentrate on the slick asphalt. “No, you hit it right on the head. I do whatever needs doing on this car myself.”

  “Untouched by human hands, huh?” she said with a quick smile.

  A muscle knotted in his jaw. “Somebody else who worked on the car with me used to say that, a long time ago.”

  “A super-mechanic, I’ll bet.”

  “Yeah,” he said briskly, “something like that.” There was a silence and then he shifted his weight in his seat. “Will you look at that rain? It’s coming down in buckets.”

  Joanna sighed. For a minute or two, it had looked as if they were going to have a real conversation.

  “Yes,” she said, “it certainly is.”

  David nodded. “Looks like the weatherman was wrong, as usual.”

  Such banal chitchat, Joanna thought, but better by far than uncomfortable silence.

  “Still,” she said brightly, “that’s good, isn’t it? One of the nurses was saying that it had been a dry Spring.”

  David sprang on the conversational lifeline as eagerly as she had.

  “Dry isn’t the word for it. The tulips in the park barely bloomed. And you know those roses you planted three summers ago? The pink ones? They haven’t even…”

  “I planted roses? I thought you said we lived in New York.”

  “We do.” His hands tightened on the wheel. “But we have another place in…” His words trailed off in midsentence. “Hell,” he muttered, “I’m sorry, Jo. I keep putting my foot in it today. I shouldn’t have mentioned the damned roses or the house.”

  “Why not?”

  “What do you mean, why not?” He glared at her. “Because you can’t possibly remember either one, that’s why not.”

  “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk about them. If we’re going to avoid mention of anything I might not remember, what will there be left to talk about? Nothing but the weather,” Joanna said, answering her own question, “and not even we can talk about the possibility of rain all the time.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right! I don’t expect you to censor everything you say. Besides, maybe it’ll help if we—if you talk about the past.”

  “I just don’t want to put any pressure on you
, Joanna. You know what the doctors advised, that it was best to let your memory come back on its own.”

  “If it comes back at all.” She flashed him a dazzling smile, one that couldn’t quite mask the sudden tremor in her voice. “They also said there were no guarantees.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” he said with more conviction than he felt.

  Joanna turned on him in sudden fury. “Don’t placate me, David. Dropping platitudes all over the place isn’t going to…” The rush of angry words stuttered to a halt. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean…”

  A jagged streak of lightning lit the road ahead. The rain, which had been a steady gray curtain, suddenly roared against the old car. Fat drops, driven by the wind, flew through Joanna’s window. She grabbed for the crank but it wouldn’t turn. David made a face. He reached across her, grasped it and forced it to move.

  “Got to fix that thing,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

  Joanna nodded. She was sorry, he was sorry. They were so polite, like cautious acquaintances. But they weren’t acquaintances, they were husband and wife.

  Dear heaven, there was something terribly wrong in this relationship.

  Her throat tightened. Whatever had possessed her to want to go home with this man?

  She turned her face to the rain-blurred window and wished she had stayed at Bright Meadows. It hadn’t been home, but at least it had been safe.

  * * *

  David looked at his wife, then at the road.

  Well, he thought, his hand tightening on the steering wheel, wasn’t that interesting?

  His soft-spoken, demure wife had shown her temper again.

  A faint smile touched his lips.

  Four years ago, that quick, fiery display wouldn’t have surprised him. Not that the Joanna he’d married had been bad-tempered. She just hadn’t been afraid to let her emotions show. In his world, where people seemed to think that sort of thing wasn’t proper, his wife’s willingness to show her feelings had been refreshing and endearing.

  Not that it had lasted. Not that it could. David’s hands clamped more tightly on the steering wheel. It had been a pose. His beloved wife had worn a mask to win his heart and once she’d decided it was safe to let it slip, she had.