Clean Slate Page 6

Chapter 6

  Brian picked up the last local paper on the rack at the restaurant and spread it out on the table while he waited for his meal. It wasn't much of a paper. It, too, had a feature about the Canadian shopping spree, and reported on the war fatality. He decided to read every article and all the advertising, in case something jogged his memory. And there was a New York Times crossword puzzle in the entertainment section that would keep him busy after that. It could be a memory test, maybe a map of where the holes were and what remained intact in his head. It was interesting that he had knowledge of the war, but the details were fuzzy. The article on the dead Seattle soldier felt like fiction.

  By the time his food came he realized he didn't want to be away from the telephone. What if his wife had found out where he was and called, and he wasn't there?

  "Could you bring me a container to pack up my food to go? I'm sorry to make it complicated, but I just realized I need to get back to my room for a phone call." The waitress was undismayed.

  "Sure Honey, no problem." She was back in a minute with the Styrofoam container and plastic utensils, and a big pile of napkins.

  "Do you want to pay up now or charge it to your room?"

  "Let's charge it. It's room 124. Thanks." He held up the newspaper. "Don't forget to add this."

  Back in the room he checked the message light on the phone, which wasn't blinking. He was relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  He spread his meal out on the table in the corner of the room and dawdled over it with the paper. The crossword was difficult and killed an hour, and he still wasn't finished. He was stuck on the upper right hand corner, and the newsprint was wearing out from erasures. It was getting close to 9:00 p.m. and he thought he'd get into bed and watch TV until he could go to sleep.

  He'd meant to call Helen Fisher, and report on his progress. The grocery receipt with her phone number was smoothed out and anchored under the phone, but it seemed too late to call. He didn't have that many things to keep track of, and now he'd let that slip by him. He'd call tomorrow, first thing.

  Someone knocked on the door. He leaped from the bed and was standing with his hand on the knob in an instant. Then he froze.

  Another knock, louder this time. A man's voice was muffled by the door. "Mr. Edwards? Mr. Edwards, are you there?" Wrong room. He was about to open the door and thank the guy for giving him a heart attack, because he could feel it pounding.

  Then, a woman's voice. "Brian?"

  He yanked open the door. The uniformed policeman had his hand up to knock a third time. Standing behind him was a petite young woman with thick and wavy black hair, cut short with bangs brushing the top of the dark rimmed glasses that looked too big for her face. Her face was delicately formed, heart shaped, pretty. The sort of woman he felt he would be attracted to. She had on a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of blue overalls, with thick-soled black boots. Kind of a bohemian look to her. She looked intelligent. And she was a complete stranger. When she stepped out from behind the policeman he could see, under the baggy overalls, that she was pregnant.

  "Mr. Edwards, your wife has been looking for you." Brian didn't even glance at him because his eyes were on her, trying to take her in.

  "That's my name? Edwards?" He kept staring at her, looking for something familiar. "Carrie?"

  She looked surprised. And then her blue eyes narrowed. "They said you had amnesia. How do you know my name?"

  "No. I mean yes, I do. I can't remember anything. But I found your name in my ring." He held his hand up for evidence. This wasn't starting well. She didn't look like the sort of girl you wanted to be on the wrong side of.

  "How did you find me? I mean, I'm glad you found me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I worried you. I didn't know how to reach you. I didn't even know about you, except for this." And he held up the ring again. He knew was babbling.

  "Sir, do you think we could come in?" The cop was stoic and sensible.

  "Oh. Of course. Come in." His legs were shaky, and he stumbled back and sank down on the edge of the bed. Then he remembered his manners and stood up again.

  "Here, sit down." He pulled a chair out from the dressing table. She put her shoulder bag, which looked too big for her, down on the table and sat. She crossed one leg over the other with her ankle on her knee. The cop stood by the door, looking useless.

  "Thank you officer. I think you can go now. I have my car."

  "Yes, thank you for bringing her. We'll be okay now." He looked at Carrie for verification, but she was looking at her boot. "Or do I need to sign something?" The policeman wavered, as if he wasn't sure he should go, and then he stepped over and shook Brian's hand.

  "Good luck to you. Glad to be of service." He turned to Carrie. "Good luck, ma'am. I'm glad you found your husband." And he left, closing the door behind him.