The Bride with No Name. Marie Ferrarella

just had some kind of a breakthrough. The rest of her mind still felt tangled. But right now, a few fragments floated through her brain. Fragments that seemed familiar, even though she couldn’t harness them. It was all too vague. And so damn aggravating.

      She sighed, giving voice to her discovery. “I don’t think I like being beholden to anyone.”

      “Nothing wrong in asking for help once in a while.”

      “There is if asking for help places you in someone’s debt.”

      There was a long stretch between lights. He took advantage of it by stepping on the gas, careful to remain on the alert for the occasional motorcycle cop. “That sounds as if you’ve had some not overly satisfactory relationships with people.”

      He was right. It did sound that way. Was this another piece of the puzzle that contained her identity? Venus tried vainly to fit it in somewhere. She struck out.

      “I don’t know,” she admitted. But even as she said the words, something nebulous slipped over her. It was elusive and refused to take on any definite form, but came with a feeling that there was some truth in what he said.

      He hadn’t expected her to suddenly exclaim, “Eureka!” and have her memory rush back. But he had no doubt that eventually, the woman would remember things. Just not yet.

      “Maybe you were just born skeptical,” he theorized.

      “Maybe,” she mumbled under her breath. She might not have been born that way, but she felt it now.

      Pacific Coast Highway and Newport Boulevard were fairly empty at this time of night. Trevor made the trip from Kate’s Kitchen to Blair Memorial in record time.

      Luck continued to hold for them because, judging by the hospital’s emergency room parking lot, it had been a rather slow night at Blair, as well. Two minutes after they entered through the electronic doors, Venus was sitting down in a chair before the receptionist. Rather than take the chair next to her, he stood behind her.

      The woman on the other side of the desk had to be approaching retirement age and was definitely cheerful. She gave each of them a wide smile as they approached her.

      “You caught us at a good time,” the receptionist, Rebecca according to the name tag pinned to her left shoulder, told them. “So, what brings you to the emergency room tonight?”

      “He did,” Venus answered, turning her head toward the man behind her.

      “She means besides that,” Trevor interjected, then took over the narrative. “She almost drowned tonight.”

      Sympathy flared in the woman’s brown eyes as she appraised the would-be patient in front of her. “And you want us to check you out for any ill effects?”

      Again, when Venus didn’t answer quickly enough, Trevor took over. “The ill effect is that she can’t remember who she is or anything about how she got into the ocean to begin with.”

      “The ocean,” the receptionist repeated, looking surprised by the information. And then she nodded. “That would explain the damp clothes,” she surmised. The smile on her lips indicated she was a tad chagrined. “I thought you were talking about falling into a swimming pool.” Typing, she made a notation on the screen, then automatically asked, “Do you have any identification?”

      Impatience had woven through her the second she’d walked through the doors.

      “If I did, I’d know who I was, wouldn’t I?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trevor flash her a look. Everyone couldn’t be as nice as he was, she thought defensively. And she had a feeling that she wasn’t in Trevor’s league when it came to being laid-back.

      “Right.” Rebecca hit several keystrokes, then glanced up again. “No insurance cards, either, I take it.”

      “No anything,” Venus replied, doing her best not to sound impatient.

      Trevor saw the receptionist look at Venus, then raise her eyes to his. “And how would you like to—”

      Trevor anticipated her. Before the receptionist could find a comfortable way to ask the question, he had his wallet out and produced a credit card. Leaning over the desk, he handed it to her.

      “Put it on my card,” he instructed.

      After taking the card from him, the receptionist rose. “I’ll be right back,” she promised. “I just have to run this through.”

      “I don’t feel comfortable about this,” Venus told him as the receptionist went to a room behind the registration area.

      “It shouldn’t take too long,” he assured her. In his opinion, she really needed to get checked out, just in case something was wrong. “She said they weren’t busy tonight.”

      Venus waved away his words. “No, I mean having you put this on your credit card.” It was hard to believe selfless people like this man were still around. “How do you know I won’t skip out on you once my memory comes back?” she challenged.

      “I just know.” When she looked at him skeptically, he added, “Call it a hunch.”

      “I call it being foolhardy,” she retorted.

      “Why?” His mouth curved in amusement. “Are you planning on skipping out once your memory returns?”

      “No,” she answered with feeling. “But you don’t know that for sure.”

      He gazed into her eyes and her stomach went queasy. That was twice now that she’d reacted to him this way. Why?

      “I just know,” he told her softly.

      The receptionist returned with the paperwork before Venus had a chance to challenge Trevor again. He signed on the line allotted for his signature. In less time than it took to house the paperwork in a folder, they were being ushered into the rear of the emergency room where all the beds were.

      Most of them were empty.

      The attending nurse took down more information, although it, too, was sparse beyond Trevor’s recounting of the events. Venus had nothing to add because she couldn’t remember.

      X-rays and blood work were ordered.

      An orderly wheeled her away to the lab, leaving Trevor to sit and wait and wonder if he was getting in over his head. Normally, these days, the most interaction he had with women outside his family was to ask them if everything was all right with their meal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out socially.

      The thought made him smile. His father and Kate would be happy about this. Any girl in a storm.

      The physician on duty reviewed the films and glanced at the lab report. His expression indicated that he was unimpressed by either.

      “Everything looks normal,” he declared, returning the X-rays to the oversize manila envelope that protected them.

      “But I can’t remember anything,” Venus protested.

      The physician seemed fairly unconcerned. “There’s no evidence of a concussion and no tumors or lesions are indicated. Most likely, what you have is a case of hysterical amnesia.”

      “Hysterical?” she echoed with distaste. Venus didn’t care for the term’s connotation. She was fairly certain she wasn’t the hysterical type and resented being categorized that way.

      “Hysterical amnesia brought on by a trauma, either physical or emotional,” the doctor explained. “In either case, most people suffering from that recover their memories in a few days.”

      Venus zeroed in on the crucial word. “Most people, but not all.”

      “No, not all,” the doctor freely admitted. He glanced at the chart again, then placed it at the foot of her bed. He looked at Trevor as he continued, “But there’s no reason to believe that you won’t.”

      “Are