Intimate Strangers by Denise Mathews Page A

you, I've had times when I've wanted to run. I guess no one knows until they've gone through it how terrible it is not to have a past. Everyone has memories and people they can relate to but… but I don't."
    "Still nothing, Sara?"
    "Oh," she sighed, "I have mental flashes occasionally of things but nothing that I can tie together and say, yes, I remember that."
    Ted sat on the couch beside her. "Sara, I've been thinking, I have this friend who's a psychiatrist. Maybe he could help you."
    Startled, she cried out, "Psychiatrist! Do you think I'm crazy?"
    Quickly Ted reassured her. "No, no, Sara. Nothing like that. But have you ever thought there might be something in your past that you're afraid to remember? Or that you just don't want to remember? There's a slight possibility your amnesia is psychosomatic."
    Sara grabbed Ted's arm, clenching it tightly. "You don't believe me either. I've had the feeling Roarke doesn't believe me and now you. This isn't a game I'm playing, you know." She winced at the word
game
.
    Ted put his hand over hers. "Sara, calm down. Of course I believe you have amnesia. I was just trying to figure out what might be the reason it's lasted this long. And Roarke believes you. Why would you say such a thing? We're both trying to help you. I'm sorry I've upset you, my dear. That's the last thing I'd ever want to do."
    Relaxing a little, Sara murmured, "I know, Ted. I'm just so… so jumpy. It seems like it's taking me forever to get well."
    Ted patted her cheek. "Sara, you're going to be fine. Try not to worry so much. I still say one of these days, like a bolt out of the blue, your memory will return and everything will fall into place for you."
    At home in her bedroom Sara timidly walked around, leaning heavily on the cane. She tried not to dwell on Ted's words, they scared her so badly. If only she could talk things over with Roarke, but she knew she couldn't. They were fine as long as they chatted casually, but she just couldn't tell him her fears.
    Slowly she made her way to the huge window leading to her balcony. The small area was a shining spot of consolation to her self-imposed isolation from the rest of the house. Breathing the fresh spring air, she drew it deeply into her lungs as she went over to the rail of the balcony. Leaning down and resting her chin in the palm of her hand, she closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of the sun on her face.
    "Oh, how I love my flowers," she murmured low, and across the back of her closed lids a picture formed, the colors at first dull and muddy but, as she watched, they became brilliant, vivid, and alive.
    It was she, kneeling down on the earth, prodding its warm firmness with a trowel, carefully digging around a bed of flowers.
    "What on earth do you think I pay a gardener for, Sara?" It was Roarke's deep voice behind her, firm but filled with the sound of indulgent love.
    She turned the upper portion of her body to face him. "Roarke, you know I love my flowers, how can I let someone else take care of them? They need my tender loving care!" She struggled to her feet and, as she leaned over to pick up the trowel, squealed in mock pain as she felt Roarke's fingers nip at the fleshy part of her buttock. "What are you doing, Roarke Alexander?"
    "Just letting you know there's someone else who needs your tender loving care." And with deep laughter low in his chest, he swept her into his arms and started walking toward the house.
    At a sound behind her, Sara turned and the vision cracked and splintered, falling away in tiny fragments to reveal Martha standing in the bedroom, her arms full of large tablets and carrying some sort of a small metal case clutched in one hand, followed by Bradley, balancing her lunch tray in his hands.
    "What on earth…?"
    "Come in here, Miss Sara. I want to show you something."
    She put the case down and opened one of the sketch pads and held it so Sara could see a drawing of a black puppy.
    Sara sat down on the edge of the bed,