choice, at least that she could see. Besides, if Nick had wanted to harm her, he wouldn’t have taken her to a hotel. There was nothing in his words or manner to suggest evil. He was the only help on the horizon, so she had agreed to his offer.
Nick shrugged. “Hopefully, you get your memory back. Maybe there will be a news report or something to help us identify you. Somebody must know you. Maybe you have a family, a mother, a neighbor, or an employer. Sooner or later someone is going to miss you and make a report. That would be the easiest solution.”
“I don’t know if I have a family,” Lisa said sadly.
“There’s no wedding ring on your finger,” Nick observed. “I doubt you’re married.”
“Maybe I lost it, or it was stolen.”
“Perhaps, but the skin tone is uniform on your fingers. The skin shows no sign of having been hidden beneath jewelry. It’s not conclusive, of course, just interesting. Do you think you like jewelry?”
“I have no idea.”
“Check your ears.”
“What?”
“Are your ears pierced?” Nick asked.
Lisa placed her soda in the cup holder and touched her earlobes. She felt nothing. “I don’t think so.”
Nick glanced at her. “They don’t look pierced. Most women I’ve known have pierced ears, but I’ve known some who don’t. In general the ones who don’t have pierced ears don’t wear much jewelry.”
“And just how many women do you know?” Lisa asked.
“Not many,” he admitted. “I spend too much time on the road.”
“I see,” she said. She felt suspicious. It seemed odd to her that Nick was not married or at least serious about some woman. He was attractive, had a sense of humor, was concerned for others, and was well-spoken. Somehow she had thought a truck driver would be the opposite of that.
“I suppose the thing to do is let you rest up and get over your injuries. In the meantime we can keep our ears to the ground. If you were in an auto accident, then the CHP is probably looking for you. The best thing would be for you to call them.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t.” Her heart began to beat faster. The thought of the police bothered her.
Nick fell silent, and Lisa knew she was putting him in a difficult spot. Her refusal to seek help from the police made her look guilty, as if she were running. It amazed her that he would be so willing to help, given the circumstances.
As they passed through Palmdale and continued down the grade, the terrain changed from the high desert with its spotty juniper, scrub brush, and Joshua trees to rolling hills made brown by the summer heat. Highway 14 led them through Soledad Pass and into Soledad Canyon. Large tract houses sprouted out of the ground like trees, their red roof-tiles shimmering in the harsh daylight. The number of houses increased as they continued southward into Santa Clarita.
“We’re about halfway there,” Nick said. He had not spoken for the last half-hour. “In a few miles we’ll start toward the coast. The road through Fillmore and Santa Paula is narrow and always under construction, but it’s pretty. If you want, I can show you where they filmed a few movies.”
Warmth of recognition filled her. Nick noticed. “Do you like movies?” he asked.
“I think so. I mean, I feel like I do—like it is something I enjoyed doing.” She closed her eyes and tried to remember a movie she had seen, any movie. None came, just the comfortable feeling of familiarity. “I can’t remember ever seeing one, but I know that I have. Surely, I must have.”
“Don’t try to force the memories to return,” Nick advised. “Let them come back on their own. The harder you try, the more difficult it will be to recall anything. At least that’s the way it is with me when I can’t remember where I put my keys.”
“This is more important than keys,” she said harshly. She immediately felt remorse at her words. “I’m sorry. Apparently
Nick shrugged. “Hopefully, you get your memory back. Maybe there will be a news report or something to help us identify you. Somebody must know you. Maybe you have a family, a mother, a neighbor, or an employer. Sooner or later someone is going to miss you and make a report. That would be the easiest solution.”
“I don’t know if I have a family,” Lisa said sadly.
“There’s no wedding ring on your finger,” Nick observed. “I doubt you’re married.”
“Maybe I lost it, or it was stolen.”
“Perhaps, but the skin tone is uniform on your fingers. The skin shows no sign of having been hidden beneath jewelry. It’s not conclusive, of course, just interesting. Do you think you like jewelry?”
“I have no idea.”
“Check your ears.”
“What?”
“Are your ears pierced?” Nick asked.
Lisa placed her soda in the cup holder and touched her earlobes. She felt nothing. “I don’t think so.”
Nick glanced at her. “They don’t look pierced. Most women I’ve known have pierced ears, but I’ve known some who don’t. In general the ones who don’t have pierced ears don’t wear much jewelry.”
“And just how many women do you know?” Lisa asked.
“Not many,” he admitted. “I spend too much time on the road.”
“I see,” she said. She felt suspicious. It seemed odd to her that Nick was not married or at least serious about some woman. He was attractive, had a sense of humor, was concerned for others, and was well-spoken. Somehow she had thought a truck driver would be the opposite of that.
“I suppose the thing to do is let you rest up and get over your injuries. In the meantime we can keep our ears to the ground. If you were in an auto accident, then the CHP is probably looking for you. The best thing would be for you to call them.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t.” Her heart began to beat faster. The thought of the police bothered her.
Nick fell silent, and Lisa knew she was putting him in a difficult spot. Her refusal to seek help from the police made her look guilty, as if she were running. It amazed her that he would be so willing to help, given the circumstances.
As they passed through Palmdale and continued down the grade, the terrain changed from the high desert with its spotty juniper, scrub brush, and Joshua trees to rolling hills made brown by the summer heat. Highway 14 led them through Soledad Pass and into Soledad Canyon. Large tract houses sprouted out of the ground like trees, their red roof-tiles shimmering in the harsh daylight. The number of houses increased as they continued southward into Santa Clarita.
“We’re about halfway there,” Nick said. He had not spoken for the last half-hour. “In a few miles we’ll start toward the coast. The road through Fillmore and Santa Paula is narrow and always under construction, but it’s pretty. If you want, I can show you where they filmed a few movies.”
Warmth of recognition filled her. Nick noticed. “Do you like movies?” he asked.
“I think so. I mean, I feel like I do—like it is something I enjoyed doing.” She closed her eyes and tried to remember a movie she had seen, any movie. None came, just the comfortable feeling of familiarity. “I can’t remember ever seeing one, but I know that I have. Surely, I must have.”
“Don’t try to force the memories to return,” Nick advised. “Let them come back on their own. The harder you try, the more difficult it will be to recall anything. At least that’s the way it is with me when I can’t remember where I put my keys.”
“This is more important than keys,” she said harshly. She immediately felt remorse at her words. “I’m sorry. Apparently
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