Summer Shadows by Gayle Roper

reaction to her hysterical amnesia. That’s what they’d called it in the hospital. Hysterical amnesia. Given what they had told her about her condition when they dragged her from her car, hysterical seemed a good if scary adjective. Should Mom and Dad hear of it, they’d probably sedate her, bundling her back to Scranton in an ambulance before she even blinked. Their cotton batting would suffocate her once again.
    Even the thought of it made her pull at the neckline of her T-shirt for a decent breath.
    “You can’t tell my parents,” she blurted.
    He stopped, blinked, and looked at her as if he were trying to figure out who she was. “I can’t tell your parents what?”
    “That I have hysterical amnesia.”
    He gave a nod. “It’d scare them.”
    “No. It’d imprison me.”
    The bored look disappeared, but the look he gave her wasn’t much better. Clearly he thought she was several cans short of a six-pack.
    “They would coddle me and love me and make me nuts. They have ever since the accident.”
    “They care.”
    She agreed. “While I appreciate it, they go about it in a way that’s killing me. That’s why I’m here, you know. In Seaside, I mean, not here at the hospital. I had to escape or die.”
    He looked at her, eyes narrowed in thought. “Parents.”
    That was all, just the one word, but the way he said it caused her to wonder about how he got along with his parents. Given his chirpy little personality, she wouldn’t blame them if they stayed as far from him as they could. It was probably a case of the more they stayed away, the more sarcastic he got, and the more sarcastic he got, the more they stayed away, ad infinitum. When he grasped her elbow again and began towing her along at a fast clip, she couldn’t decide whom she felt sorrier for: him or his parents.
    When Marsh pulled her to a stop beside a dark green Taurus, she put out a hand to steady herself. You’d think after all the medicines she’d taken over the last three years that she’d be better able to tolerate them, but no. She still got loopy so easily. She hated it.
    “Do you like your parents?” she asked.
    Marsh looked at her, eyebrow raised.
    She frowned. “I’m fine. Tipsy on Tylenol with codeine but fine.”
    He grunted his disbelief, opened the door, and held her arm while she slid onto the seat.
    “Buckle up,” he ordered and slammed the door.
    What a charmer
.
    They drove home in silence, but she noticed that he didn’t drive down Central. He went down Bay until they reached Forty-third Street, then cut across to Central. Did he follow that route because he thought passing the accident scene would upset her or because it was quicker? She wouldn’t have thought him so perceptive, so sensitive, but maybe he was.
    As soon as they parked in the driveway, she climbed out of the car before he had a chance to come help her. Then she had to lean for a moment to get her balance. She looked past her steps to the beach, past the beach to the sea. She smiled. In spite of her recentordeal and her present company, she wouldn’t trade being here for anything. She was surprised at how much this place already seemed like home, staircase, grumpy landlord, and all.
    She walked to the stairs without a single lurch in any direction. She took a deep breath and began the upward trek, her knuckles white from grasping the banister in a death grip. If the second floor had seemed a long distance before, it looked miles away now. Her bad leg was throbbing and her sedative hangover was still making her dizzy.
    If Madame Guyon could handle all the terrible things that happened to her and still believe God was in control, so can I
. Abby pulled herself up another step.
At least I don’t have a terrible husband and mother-in-law making me miserable. I also won’t be spending a good portion of the rest of my life in prison as she did
.
    A strong hand gripped her elbow, making Abby jump in surprise. Marsh stood beside her, a look of patient