Wife Without a Past. Elizabeth Harbison

sorry you lost your wife, but I’m not her.”

      He made no move to follow her, as far as she could tell, but his voice rang clearly behind her. “Okay, you’re not her. You just have her face, her eyes, her hair, her voice, and her scar on your chin.”

      She stopped, but didn’t turn back. Her heart was banging so ferociously, she was sure he could hear it eight feet away. She did have a scar on her chin; it had always been there. She’d wondered a million times where it came from. Without really thinking, she raised her fingers.to the small bumpy spot

      He spoke again, but he hadn’t made a move toward, her. “Laura, why did you come back if you were going to hide from me?” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Never mind that, why did you leave?”

      She didn’t answer. She couldn’t

      “Okay, forget me.” She heard him take two or three steps toward her on the pavement. “Forget me altogether. How could you leave your child?”

       Child!

      Her knees went weak. It had never occurred to her that she might have children. That seemed like something a mother couldn’t forget no matter what happened to her. Her heart twisted inside out and she thought for a moment she might get sick. Then she turned, very slowly, to face him.

      “Child?” she repeated faintly.

      He gave a curt nod, his eyes mere slits. “Or had you forgotten—”

      “As a matter of fact I had.”

      “That, along with the rest of your family?” He stopped and frowned. “What did you say?”

      “I said…” She swallowed. She didn’t know who she was but she believed she never would have left a child behind with a physically abusive man. “Well, anyway, I meant that if I am this Laura you’re talking about, then I have forgotten. I’ve forgotten everything. There was…an accident.” She smiled but it felt like baring her teeth.

      His featured hardened. “And you’ve forgotten Sam as well as me?”

      Sam! The word hit her like a slap across the face. Could this be the Sam she’d been trying to recall? It had to be. Her heart raced. “Sam? Do I—do you— have a little boy?”

      “What are you talking about? Sam? Samantha is your daughter.”

      Her breath caught in her throat. Daughter. Sam was her daughter.

      “Laura? What’s going on here?”

      She returned her gaze to him, still barely able to breathe. “That name…I’ve…” She stopped, realizing how difficult it would be to explain when she herself understood so little. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you, either.”

      He lowered his chin, considering, then seemed to dismiss the thought. “What are you talking about? Amnesia?” he scoffed. Then he muttered, “That’s a hell of an excuse.”

      “It’s not an excuse” she said. Why would she need an excuse to not find her identity? Her eyes began to burn. Sam. Finally one fact in the months of confusion was starting to make sense. She wanted to spill her whole story and have him fill in all the missing pieces. She wanted to remember. But she didn’t know this man from…from any other and, without really knowing anything about him, she would have to be an idiot to tell him she was a woman, alone, with no real identity.

      “Maybe you can tell me why you’re so convinced I’m Laura,” she said. It was a pathetic attempt at detached curiosity.

      “Tell you? How about I show you?” He whipped his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and fumbled through it until he produced a small stack of photos and handed them to her.

      Some of them were wallet-size portraits, some snapshots, but all of them had one thing in common. They were unmistakably her. Her with him; her in a graduation cap and gown; her with a blond woman on the beach, in a pink swimsuit; her smiling and resting her hand on her own pregnant belly; and one of her holding hands with a small girl…

      “Oh my God,” she whispered. She ran her finger across the little girl in the picture. She had light auburn hair that gleamed in the light of the flash. Her eyes were wide and clear blue, and her uninhibited smile was pure happiness. She was a beautiful child.

      Oh, how she would have missed her if she were her child, Mary thought “How old is she?”

      He hesitated. “Sam is four.”

      So young. She needed her mother still, but was that Mary? It was difficult to fathom. “She’s lovely.”

      “I agree.”

      She met his eyes. “I’ll bet she’s sweet.”

      “She’s the greatest kid ever.” He laughed harshly. “Come on, Laura, you know that.”

      “I know that,” she echoed without recollection. After another moment, she slipped the photo to the back of the pile and removed the graduation picture of Laura. She examined it closely. The scar on her chin was clearly visible, even a little bigger than it was now. She raised her hand to her chin again, then turned to him.

      “How did I get it? The scar, I mean.”

      “You fell off a horse,” he answered slowly, studying her with a different look now.

      “I ride?”

      “No.” He was looking so deeply into her eyes that she felt naked. A tiny smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Not very well.” The smile disappeared. “You know that.”

      “No, I don’t.”

      He cocked his head to one side. “Come on.”

      “That’s fairly cynical.”

      “I’m not a fool.”

      She smiled wanly. “Then do I bring out this cynicism in you?”

      “I’m not cynical,” he protested. “I’m wary. You always did have a way of blowing things way out of proportion. Are you trying to tell me you don’t remember anything? Nothing at all? Not your name? Your first dog’s name? Zero?”

      “I remember what I had for breakfast this morning, and where I bought my shoes, but I can’t remember anything beyond the last year or so.”

      He opened his mouth, then closed it and shifted his weight. When he spoke again, his voice registered absolute bemusement. “This isn’t a put-on? You honestly have some sort of amnesia or something? Does that really happen?”

      She paused and studied him with the impartial eye she’d developed at Sisters Anonymous. “You’ve got a lot of questions, but let me ask you one.” One that might answer a lot of questions about what happened to me and why, if I’m your wife, I’ve spent the last year with no identity, hundreds of miles away. She kept her gaze steady. “Is your wife the kind of person who would lie to you?”

       Chapter Three

      He eyed her steadily without speaking at first. “My wife,” he said slowly, “is the kind of person who was so scared to trust the people who loved her that she turned away from them.”

      “From them? Or from you?”

      “From all of us. Especially from me.” He swallowed. “She was so sure that I didn’t love her that she distanced herself from me. To protect herself from the pain of…I guess of losing me.” He looked hard into her eyes. “Isn’t that crazy?”

      He was obviously expecting her to take umbrage. “Maybe so, but that sort of thing doesn’t usually happen without a good reason.”

      “A good reason,” he