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"Would you like to know if it's serious?"
"No."
"It's not. I go to extremes to avoid anything serious. Do you
want to know how we met? She picked me up at a bar."
"In Oblivion," I said involuntarily.
Clarissa leaned forward and gave me a peculiar look. "How
did you know?"
"A guess."
"I had the strangest feeling all day, as if I would meet
someone."
"Can I ask you something, and will you answer honestly?"
"Maybe."
"The second I stop speaking, you'll reply?"
She nodded and smiled. "Sure."
I jammed myself against the arm of the couch and took a
I jammed myself against the arm of the couch and took a
deep breath. "Are you attracted to me?"
She blushed and retracted her legs. "You know I can't
answer that."
"Why?"
"Because if I do, we'll go somewhere we shouldn't."
The silence between us cradled more pain than I ever could
have imagined. Without making a sound or movement, I
began to cry. "You're right."
She reached over to touch my arm. "I'm unbelievably
attracted to you, but you know that or you wouldn't have
asked."
"I suppose," I whispered, staring straight ahead, unwilling
to let go.
"I could torment your conscience by asking the same
question, but I won't."
My heart raced. "Why?"
Clarissa leaned forward, cupped my moist cheek in her hand
and tilted her head to meet my eyes. "Because every time I'm
near you, I feel the answer."
Too aggravated to traipse after Alex, I packed up the leftovers
and folded the plastic tablecloth.
Look for a woman with a birthmark on her back. Don't look for
her. What was I supposed to do?
This was no easy task, taking instructions from a client with a
brain injury, and I had begun to agree with Stacey Wilhite, Alex's
ex-partner. Undoubtedly, Alex could remember more than she
let on, but if so, why had she hired me? Perhaps she needed help
let on, but if so, why had she hired me? Perhaps she needed help
admitting she remembered. Toward that end, what could I do
other than continue to probe all facets of her life?
I placed a call to Fran Green, who answered on the first ring.
"What's up?"
"I need you to find out everything you can about Clara
Schumann, Robert Schumann and Johannes Brahms."
"Names ring a bell."
"They were pianists and composers who lived in Germany during
the nineteenth century. Ellen Barry said Alex was fascinated by
them."
"Will do. How'd the meeting go?"
"I'll fill you in when I get back. Have you eaten lunch?"
"Couple bites of a Luna bar," Fran said, which explained her
gravelly voice. "What'd you have in mind?"
"No one touched the food I brought. I'll be back in thirty
minutes."
"Picnic in the office. Sounds good! Speed it up!"
Speed it up, I thought, exiting the grounds of Sinclair, pondering
what I could have missed in my search for Alex Madigen's
memories. I suspected the answers lay in the questions she
asked, which meant I'd need to isolate her words for study.
There was only one way to do that tape-record her.
With her permission?
No. I decided she was guarded as it was.
I'd have to capture her secretly.
How could I have survived a childhood mired in secrecy, only to
earn my living through stealth?
earn my living through stealth?
That night, I couldn't escape the irony as I lay on my bed with
my clothes on and watched through the skylight as a half moon,
shrouded in fog, traveled across the sky.
The next morning, I awoke to a light drizzle, still tormented about
my plan to covertly record Alex.
In Colorado, it was completely legal to secretly tape-record a
conversation, as long as one party to the conversation
consented. I qualified as the consenting party, but was it ethical?
Without ever fully answering that question, I tucked the Olympus
recorder into one of the pockets of my loose-fitting khakis.
I went straight from home to Sinclair and found Alex Madigen
seated at the table in her room, next to a young woman who was
extolling the virtues of aromatherapy.
Dressed in an orange floral skirt and lemon tube top, Alex's
guest modulated her voice with every feature of the healing
potions spread out before her. She'd wrangled most of her wavy
hair into a braid that rested between her shoulder blades, but
loose ends sprung out in every direction, and her hair clip bulged
to the point of breakage. She smiled frequently, in the likeness of
a five-year-old prompted to say "cheese," and from my angle,
she looked to be no older than twelve. I assumed she was one of
the volunteers who visited the rehab center on a regular basis,
and for a minute, I simply observed as she gibbered about the
properties and synergies of essential oils and Alex nodded
politely, if dazedly.
No mystery why she was dazed. The smell of rose, lemon and
lavender was enough to overpower anyone.
When I interrupted with a hearty "hello," Alex lurched forward in
relief, and her companion looked up to eye me with curiosity.
After brief introductions, Leah Stark excused herself to fetch
audiotapes from her car, and the instant she was out of earshot,
Alex whispered, "Why did you send this bizarre person to me?"
I froze in my reach for one of the tiny bottles. "I didn't. I've never
met her. Who is she?"
"I don't know, but I want her to go away."
"Why haven't you asked her to leave?"
"I refuse to give her that much power."
"You don't remember her at all?"
"She told me we shared a friend." Alex shoved everything off the
table into a grocery bag. "But that can't be true."
"How did she find you?"
"She claims to know someone in the chorus. At their rehearsal [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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