Dr. Mortenson was just finishing up a counselling session, when the office door burst open to display a force of nature in the form of an energetic young woman.
"Tommy, I was just on my way home, and... Oops, you're still working! Millie wasn't at her desk, so I assumed you were finished for the day. Oops, I say again, and I'm sorry."
'It's okay, Margie. We were just finishing up. Since you're already most of the way in the room, come in the rest of the way." He turned to the man he had been talking with. "David, this whirlwind is Marjorie Evans. I've known her since she was about eight years old, and love her dearly. She isn't usually this precipitous... No, I take that back. She usually is. but she does have other redeeming features." He turned to her, "Margie, David Evans."
Margie held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, David. Again, I apologize for interrupting."
He took hold of her hand. "It's okay. As the doctor said, we were just finishing up." He paused a moment. "It's interesting we are both Evanses?" There was a question implied.
"Well, my husband is Mr. Evans. I inherited the name by marriage. I was born a Johanson." She turned back to Tom. "I didn't have anything to say, Tommy. I was just going to give you a quick hug on my way home." She did.
As she turned to go, Tom stopped her. "Are you on your way home right now?"
"Pretty much. I might stop to get something to eat, but yes, I'm on my way."
"I have a clever idea. Under normal circumstances David would be leaving here to take a long, slow, boring ride on public transportation. You, dear Margie, will be driving home, and passing within a few feet of David's front door. I bet there is room in that monster you drive to carry a passenger."
"That isn't necessary," David protested. "I ride the bus all the time. It's not bad."
"No, wait a minute," Margie interrupted. "Where do you live, David?" He told her.
"The doctor is correct, that's right on my way. If you didn't want to delay me, I wouldn't even have to stop. I could just slow down a bit, and you could jump out as we passed your house."
That got a deserved chuckle. "I'm ready to accept your ride. The bus is okay if needed, but not something I seek out for pleasure. As to the dismounting procedure, I'm going to assume that you're not really in such a hurry that you couldn't bring the car to a full stop for a couple of seconds."
"Okay, I'll consider that, but I can't make a definite decision until I see what time it is when we pass your house. Well, if you're ready, let's go. I'll call you later, Tommy."
Margie bustled them downstairs about as precipitously as she'd entered the office. Outside, she brought them to a stop before an enormous powder blue Buick, not of recent vintage.
"This is our ride, David. It's almost as big as the bus, but not so many passengers, and you can be sure to have a seat. I love it. It's entirely impractical, I can never find a parking place big enough for it, and it's a major gas guzzler. Still, I love it. My husband bought it just after we graduated from high school - well, he wasn't my husband yet, of course, but I later inherited it, along with him. He couldn't afford it - the car, not me - but he wanted it pretty badly. He paid as much as he had, and then his parents loaned him the rest. We paid it off pretty quickly, and she's been our baby ever since."
"Well, she's definitely a car to command attention," David agreed, as Margie backed and filled her way out of the parking slot, and eventually got them moving in the line of end-of-workday traffic. Margie kept talking nonstop, but David didn't mind. It was kind of refreshing, in a frenetic sort of way, and he just let the sound wash over him.
"As I think Tommy - Dr. Mortenson - said, my given name is Marjorie, but nobody calls me that except my mother, and a couple of aunts. I'm usually Margie, or just Marge."
"Those would be the logical nicknames, all right. What does your husband call you?"
Margie's face seemed to light up. "Oh, he has his own name for me. It dates all the way to when we first started to go together in high school. For no reason I can think of, and no reason he claims to remember, he started calling me 'Jory,' kind of the half of Marjorie' that nobody else uses. I don't think he's ever called me anything since. I'm Jory Evans."
David chuckled. "That's nice, and it must be nice to have a name personal to the two of you, that nobody knows about. What do you call him?
That provoked a good laugh from Margie. "Well, that's a little embarrassing - not to us, because it's just special, like 'Jory,' but he might not appreciate others knowing it. I call him 'Sweetie.'"
"Sweetie?"
"Yep. We've never used the common pet names that couples use - sweetheart, dear, honey - so, when I call him Sweetie, he knows I'm talking especially to him. Silly, but in private, I never call him anything else."
Margie seemed to be talked out, and they rode along quietly in the traffic flow for a while. She spoke up again, as they neared his neighborhood. "David, I mentioned to Tom that I might stop and get something to eat before I got home. My kitchen cupboard really is bare, so I was thinking of stopping for a hamburger, somewhere. If you don't have other plans, would you like to stop with me? I'd like the company."
He didn't have to think long. "That sounds nice. I don't have anything planned, and I'd still be on the bus if you hadn't been speeding me along in your hot rod."
"Great. There's a place up ahead a couple of blocks, where I've eaten a time or two. It's pretty good, as I recall."
Margie found a parking spot for her monster car, and they went in. After burgers, fries, and soft drinks, they found themselves to be quite content. To make conversation, David asked what her husband did for a living. "For that matter, what do you do, when you're not racing in and out of doctors' offices?"
She had expected the first question, but wasn't sure she was ready to handle it. She opted to talk about her own situation. "I don't know what we're eventually going to do. We're kind of in a holding pattern right now. I'm working retail - in a department store - just to bring in a little money while my husband is away. He was in training to be an auto and heavy truck mechanic before the war. I assume we'll continue in that after all the Vietnam business is straightened out."
"Vietnam business?" he asked.
She saw this was going to be tricky. She needed to be sure not to say too much, but she also knew that she couldn't always control her emotions when she talked about the war. "He was in Vietnam. Were you there?"
He answered in the affirmative. "Well, you'll probably understand some of this better than I do. But it's complicated, and you may have had all you want of that mess."
"No, I'll be glad to listen, if you want to talk. I'm not sure I can help, but I can listen."
"That's good enough. Well, here goes." But suddenly, she felt tears on her cheeks, and she couldn't think of anything to say. David was troubled. "Are you okay, Margie?"
"Not really," she sobbed. "I thought I could talk about this without all the emotion, but I guess I can't. My husband came back from Vietnam unscathed in body. However, he left part of his mind behind. We're not together because he can't be a husband, yet. I'm hoping, of course, but it's taking so long!"
David tried to think of something comforting to say, but couldn't come up with anything. "Is this something that happened in Vietnam?"
She tried to get herself back under control. "I'm sure it is. Every war has its men who come home changed by what they've seen or experienced. They've called it 'shell shock' or 'battle fatigue,' or some other thing. They can name it, but the only ones who could explain it are the ones who have it - and, of course, they can't.
"I think I'm okay, now, and I'd like to tell you about it, if you want to listen."
"Are you sure? Obviously, it's very painful for you."
"It is very painful, but I think I need to tell somebody else, while I tell myself."
"If you're sure..."
"Good. Well, let me start over. My guy has always been very stable, very level-headed, but he never was that way about the draft. He didn't like the idea of having to register when he turned eighteen, and he really started to worry the next year, when he was old enough to actually have to go into the Army. He really didn't want any part of that.
"Part of it was certainly very personal. We'd been a couple since high school, then married about two years, and it seemed like everything had always gone just the way we wanted it to go. We didn't have every step of our future planned out, but we certainly knew where we wanted to go. Now, Uncle Sam had taken over our lives, maybe for as much as ten years."
"Ten years?"
"Well, you know, you might have to go in the Army just as soon as you turned nineteen. But if they didn't call you right away, you might be called any time during your 'twenties. You might never be selected, but you had to be prepared at any time. We couldn’t really plan anything. He thought that long possibility was almost like being a slave.
"I know that a lot of people thought it was selfish to be thinking about our own comfort when 'our country needed us.' The Government certainly worked hard to make it all about 'patriotism.' The thing is, you couldn't ask for a group of men - boys, really - more likely to be first in line if our country ever was really in danger. But talking about 'fighting Communism' by killing people in foreign lands didn't match with our definition of 'patriotism.'
"Well, besides the hold on our life plans, my guy was truly afraid of not making it home, or - maybe worse - not making it home in one piece. I don't mean he was scared of dying. Death or serious injury were just other ways our future could be ruined - either by not having any future at all - being dead! - or being so badly injured that he could never do any of the things he'd dreamed about."
Margie paused, again. "Are you still with me?"
"I am. Keep going."
"Okay. Well, just having that much against the war looked like it was going to make the experience a pretty unhappy one for him, no matter what actually happened. Still, I got the feeling that something else was troubling him, maybe even more than what I've already said. He wouldn't talk about it, but it finally came out when - of all odd times! - we were watching a movie about young women training to be nuns."
"Nuns?"
"Yep, women who give up what most of us think of as a 'normal life' to serve God, full time. The movie claimed to be very accurate and, if so, we thought it was pretty horrible. We're talking about young women - high school girls - kids! - who are offering themselves up to a life without boys, marriage, babies, careers - before they even get a good taste of what that 'normal life' is all about. I don't understand why they do it. I sure couldn't. I liked boys and the thought of marriage and babies - and associated stuff -- too much.
"Well, we're not analyzing why nuns become nuns. We're talking about their training. So, they give up everything from their former lives, and the older nuns and priests make sure they do. The girls can't bring any personal stuff with them - no stuffed animals, no special jewelry, no favorite books - nothing to keep them tied to the past. They have to go long periods without talking, at all - and even when they can talk, they aren't allowed any 'girl talk,' the normal sharing of personal stuff with their fellow nun-trainees. They have to keep a notebook, in which they write down every 'sin' they commit - sins like being late for prayer meetings, uttering a bad work, talking to another person, even feeling a little upset about something. This all has to go in their book, and then they have to read the entries aloud to all the nuns and nun-trainees. If that isn't humiliating and embarrassing enough, the other trainees are encouraged to bring up any 'sins' you might have forgotten, or left out on purpose. Nice training in love and compassion!
"There's more and more of this kind of... well, brainwashing, is what my husband called it. It continues until the nuns-to-be will, whenever the prayer bell rings, automatically drop whatever they're doing, and go to prayer. If they make it to that point, they are given a golden wedding band, and are called 'the brides of Christ.'
"That proved to be the final straw for my movie-watching partner. He went into a full-scale rant that would have been funny if he wasn't so serious. No, it was funny! It was probably also blasphemous, sacrilegious, or some other religiously offensive term, but it was definitely funny.
"'Why would Jesus need a bride?' he asked. 'I know what I wanted a bride for, but I don't think he would have had that idea.' Having been both an observer and a participant in the first thing my husband did with his new bride, I'm sure he was correct that Jesus wouldn't have had that in mind. But he wasn't through. 'If Jesus wanted a bride for any other purpose, he certainly wouldn't have picked one of those lifeless zombies. He would have picked a girl with spunk, someone fully equal to his intelligence and vitality. He'd pick somebody who he could talk to, maybe argue with, and trade information and ideas. In other words, the direct opposite of those so-called brides being offered to him.'
"That seemed to be a perfect description of me, but I had to disagree with him. I think I'm probably a little too free-spirited for Jesus, even though I'm absolutely perfect for the other guy."
Margie looked at David, and found him open-mouthed, somewhere between laughing out loud, or being a little worried for her. She felt herself blushing. "Sorry about that. I'm getting a little silly. I must be getting tired."
Now, he did laugh. "Don't apologize. That was marvelous! The only question I have is, how does this nun story relate to Vietnam?"
"Oh, right. I'm not quite finished, am I? Thinking about the nun brainwashing finally gave him the words to tell me his fears about the Army training. Part of getting you ready for actual fighting is improving your physical condition, and teaching you to fire a gun, if you don't already know how. The rest of it is about discipline. From the very first day, it's made very clear that you do exactly what your trainer tells you to do - no thinking about it, no discussion. You just do it. By the time they send you out to actually fight, you're supposed to be just like those nuns - ready to quickly do whatever you're told, with no questions.
"He thought that the Army usually drafted the nineteen year olds first, rather an those in their middle or upper 'twenties, because the younger ones didn't have much life experience yet, so would be easier to mold. Of course, he was different than how he viewed his age group. He had done a lot of thinking about our future, and he wasn't ready to be brainwashed.
"Well, he did get drafted right away, and went off to 'boot camp.' Knowing how he felt about it all, I was worried about how he would adapt - if he could adapt! And that was all before he'd actually been in the war.
"I heard from him regularly during his first year, although he seldom had anything very significant or personal to say. Communication really slowed down the second year, and by the time he should have been discharged, I hadn't heard from him in several months. I got pretty frantic, and tried to find him in some hospital, or get word that he was dead. Nobody seemed to know anything. He had just disappeared. It was a fairly long time before the Veterans' Administration 'found' him again, and eventually got word to Tommy - Dr. Mortenson - finally heard about him, and got word to me.
"I've seen him, and I'm very glad he's alive, but he isn't in any condition to be my husband, again." She felt the tears starting, again. "We're working on it."
***
Dr. Mortenson - Tom - sat at his desk in the quiet office. He hoped he and Margie were doing the right thing, because he'd run out of all the other things he'd thought of doing. This really did seem like a last chance, and he didn't want to feel that way - about anybody, but especially not about people that he'd known and loved for a long time. As he'd said to David, he'd known Margie most of her life. He was almost ten years her senior, but their families had been close, forever. As far as he and Margie were concerned, he was her "big brother."
He hadn't known her husband until he and Margie had started dating in high school. His family were long-term residents of the town, like Tom's were; but he'd never been closely acquainted with them. In recent years, Tom had become "big brother" to him, too. Of course, Tom wanted all his cases to be successful, but this one was too close to home. He couldn't imagine failing.
He was in his office one morning when he got a phone call from an old friend in Veterans' Affairs. After they'd chatted for a while, they got to the discussion Tom was expecting.
------------------
"I assume you have a very full case load right now, with no possibility of adding anything?"
"You know that's' true, because it's always true. You only start a conversation this way when you think you have something that I might be especially interested in. What is it?"
"Tom, you take all the fun out of my pleas for help, but you're right. This one might get your attention. It involves a kid fresh from 'Nam, with some obvious mental problems. No big surprise there, right? Well, it seems like the Army kind of lost track of him after his discharge, and we had the devil of a time just figuring out who he is."
"Couldn't he just tell you?"
"That, Tom, is where the interesting part begins. He claimed not to know who he was. We finally found his lost Army records, and discovered that he lives in your little town. His name is David Evans."
"David Evans? I know him - well, I guess there could be more than one person with that name, but the David I know did serve in Vietnam. I've known his wife, Marjorie, since she was a little kid."
"Well, you may know him, but he won't know you. He won't know his wife, either. He has a pretty advanced case of amnesia."
"Amnesia? How advanced?"
"Like, he apparently remembers absolutely nothing about himself. He only knows his name because he was told it."
"Yes, I'd say that was pretty severe. I assume you haven't notified his family yet?"
"No, we just got him. Since he won't know anybody, it didn't seem right to turn him loose on loved ones - who could end up just as traumatized as him! - until he had a better evaluation. So, Tom, I'm asking."
"I'm thinking. So, what's his condition? Can he get around by himself, care for himself?"
"Well, that's the good part, if there is a 'good part' in these cases. He's perfectly healthy, and fully cognizant. He can take care of himself, although it's got to be a little odd, not having anything definite to relate to.
"If you're willing to take him on, I thought we'd get him settled in your town, and let you take it from there.
---------------------------
That's how it worked out. They found David an apartment in town, with grocery shopping and restaurants nearby. It was quite a ways from Tom's office, but the town had good bus service, which David was comfortable with.
They started out by meeting almost every day. To share the burden - and maybe make it seem a little different that a mere doctor-patient relationship - Tom went to David's apartment for about half their sessions.
He told Margie about David just as soon as he knew anything. He'd been out of touch for some time - actually, out of the country at some meetings and workshops - so he had no idea how upset Margie was about her missing husband. It was a tough discussion because, of course, she wanted to see him right away, and get on with life. Tom tried to convince her that she needed to stay away until some basic things got resolved. She didn't agree, of course, but she did "acquiesce." as long as she was kept fully informed, and could be an actual part of David's therapy, if that ever seemed desirable. Tom agreed to her terms because he knew she needed to be close, and also because she was a force he never could resist. It was all pretty awkward.
Tom and David developed a pretty good doctor-patient relationship, and they both enjoyed their sessions. The problem was that nothing seemed to be changing. Margie decided it was time for her to take an active part in the proceedings.
-------------------------
"Tom, tell me about amnesia. What causes it, and what makes it go away?"
"Well, let's see, Margie. Amnesia is the loss of memory, usually partially but can be complete. It can last an hour, a day, a month, or forever. It can be due to a physical problem, or a mental one.
"Taking the physical first, you've seen a hundred movies where the star hits her head on something, or somebody hits him over the head with something. That can cause amnesia, but probably not as often as in the movies. Another physical cause might arise from a medical problem, like a tumor in the brain, confusing all the usual brain signals. As far as we can tell, nobody hit David with anything, and he doesn't have a brain tumor. Therefore, his problem is likely a mental one."
"Mental, like how?"
"There are probably dozens of different ways amnesia could develop, but I think the basic cause is almost always the same. You experience something that affects you so severely that you never want to see it or feel it, again. Your brain just shuts down to that particular memory or experience."
"Okay, so how do you cure it? How do you bring his memories back?"
"That's the problem. Every case is different. Some of the less severe ones 'cure' themselves, if the person is in familiar surroundings that seem 'safe' to him. Others are tougher, because we usually don't know what exactly brought on the problem - what trauma we're trying to counteract. In any event, the basic procedure is pretty much the same - keep the patient in a place where he feels generally safe and secure, then introduce him to memories that might jog something loose."
Margie took a few moments to think. "Okay, Tommy, how about this? You introduce me to him..."
"Margie, as much as you want to see him and be with him, we can't just present him with a wife."
"That's not what I'm thinking, Tommy. I'm thinking that you introduce me as your friend, but as a stranger to him. I know him far better than anybody else, and we share all kinds of memories that aren't known to anyone but us. If I could just spend some time with him, I could bring those things into our conversation, and see if any of them seem to cause any particular interest."
"Margie, that's not a bad idea - maybe a really good one - but think of it realistically. You haven't seen David in over two years, and suddenly you're going to be face to face with him. You're going to want to throw your arms around him, and immediately start making up for lost time. Instead, you're going to be introduced as a total stranger, and have to start developing a relationship on far different terms than you would like. Do you really think you could do it?"
She started to cry. "I don't know, Tommy. My mind says I can't, and I won't be able to go through with it. But he's my husband, and I want him back, and I think this may be the best way to proceed. So, let's do it."
-------------------------------
So, they worked out a plan. As he sat there in his office, Part One of the plan was underway.
***
Tom called Margie that evening. She took quite a while to get to the phone. "Sorry if I woke you."
"No, Tommy, I wasn't asleep, just lying down. I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally."
"Pretty bad, huh?"
"Just a little worse than the worst thing I could ever have imagined. To be with him, and him not knowing who I was - well, I felt like my heart must have been breaking into little bits. But I made it. With every bit of the acting skill I didn't know I possessed. I made it."
She described in detail how the afternoon had gone. Tom was impressed. "Well, my darling little sister, you gave him plenty to think about. Now, I guess we're back in that all too familiar place, where we just wait to see what happens.
"I'm glad you made it home okay."
"Actually, I didn't. Somehow, I drove David to his apartment, but then it all caught up with me. I drove around the corner, parked the car, and cried for about an hour. I finally got it together enough to drive the rest of the way home."
"Well, good work, and you don't have to do that, again."
There was a brief silence. Yes, I do, Tommy. Besides the fact that I need to be near him any way I can, I really think that hearing our stories direct from me is likely to make more impact than anything else we've come up with."
It was Tom's turn to take a breath. "Okay, then. On to Part Two."
***
A week later, Margie showed up at Tom's office near quitting time. Millie was still at her desk. "He's still with a patient, but he told me to 'buzz' him when you arrived." She did. "He says go on in, Margie." She did, and noticed (as expected) someone was there with Tom.
"Tommy, you're still busy. Millie said it was okay..."
"It is okay. You remember David, I assume?"
She seemed to see him for the first time. "Sure. Hi, David. It's nice to see you again - and I guess I'm interrupting, again. Sorry about that."
He took her extended hand. "No, we're finished. I'm glad to see you, and I think the Doctor is about to recruit you as my chauffeur, again. If you're available, I gladly accept."
She laughed. "I am available. You survived the big blue bus once before, so I guess you can do it, again." She exchanged a few words with Tom, and then they were on their way.
"My situation, David, is much like the first time. I don't have anything at home to eat, so I'm going to be stopping somewhere to eat. Do you have time? I'm thinking maybe pizza."
"I'd like to eat with you. Thanks. I think it must be quite some time since I've had pizza, but I'm willing to risk it, for the sheer adventure of it."
"Good. Well, I'm not just thinking pizza. I'm thinking pizza piled high with everything they can possibly put on it. Is that okay?"
"You get what you want. I'm sure I'll like it."
She stopped at a restaurant she visited pretty regularly, but she'd never been there with David, so there wasn't any chance of an awkward meeting with anybody. She ordered the pizza "with everything," and opted for a glass of Burgundy with it. David followed suit. Once they settled down to eating, David said he needed to talk about something.
"Sure. What?"
"About Vietnam."
"Vietnam. You mean my tearful account last week?"
"Sort of. You know I'm seeing the doctor as a patient?"
"Well, I assumed so."
"I told you that I'd been in Vietnam. I assume that's true, but I only know that because my war records say I have. Actually, I don't know anything at all about me except my name, and somebody had to tell me that."
Margie waited for him to continue. "I have amnesia. That's what the Doc is seeing me about. I don't remember anything about my life. I don't know anybody but the doctor and you."
"You really don't know anything about you? That must be awful!"
"It is awful. I'm just adrift, with nothing to hold onto. The Doc says we're 'making progress,' but I don't see it yet. I've kind of latched on to you because you're something real, that is still there when I see you the next time. I hope it's okay to think of you that way."
"Sure, if that helps. I wouldn't have a clue as to what to do in your situation."
'Thanks. After you told me about the war and your husband, I got to wondering if my situation wasn't something like his. I mean, a reaction to being in the war. I mentioned it to Doctor Tom, and he thought it was an ' interesting' idea."
"It does seem possible."
"The problem is that I can't do anything more with it. I still don't remember anything. The one thing I've been thinking about is that somebody does know something more about me. The Doc has seen my war records. He hasn't wanted to share because he doesn't want me concentrating on some particular fact that won't really help with the bigger issue. I've agreed to that, but now I think I have to know whatever he knows. If we're really making progress, I don't see it."
"Have you asked Tommy about seeing your actual records? If you haven't, or if you haven't discussed it recently, I think you should bring it up, again."
***
David's sessions with Tom continued for several weeks. Tom was used to "slow and steady" in situations like this, and was confident that they were "making progress," even if no changes were yet evident. Still, he was getting impatient and - if he was - he could be sure that David was even more so. It was David who opened up the discussion.
"Tom, I know you've told me that cases like mine can take a lot of time, but I think I need to know whatever you know about me. All I have is my name, but you have my war records, so you have to know more than that. Tell me what else you know."
Tom considered. "I think you're right, and I can offer you a few more 'facts,' but I think you'll be disappointed in how little I know. I don't have your war record. That's lost (hopefully, only temporarily) in Army files. That's probably where any information occurs that would be very relevant to your situation. What I have is just your discharge papers. I haven't shared the little bits of info available there because sometimes focusing on a known fact or two keeps your brain from looking at the whole picture.
"Having said that, I think we're far enough along that telling you what I know won't hurt our progress, and may make you feel a little more like a real person, with a real identify. There isn't much.
"So, you're David Evans, aged 25, born and raised in this town - that's why we brought you here, hoping just the feel of the town might jog some memories. You don't have a wife frantic to know where her missing husband is. You lived here when you were drafted, but your parents have since moved away. They do know you're alive, and they're being kept informed of your progress.
"I think that's all we've got. The things that matter the most are apparently locked away in your brain, for the time being."
David digested that for a minute or two. "Well, I am disappointed there isn't more, but at least it does provide a little anchor. This is my home town. That's worth something."
Tom didn't comment immediately, and David went on. "To change the subject - or maybe not - I think I'm falling in love with Jory."
Tom tried not to act too surprised, although he definitely was. "I guess that's understandable - almost inevitable. She's your only close contact, and you've been with her quite a bit. She's easy to appreciate. Although I'm ten years older that her, I think I've been a little bit in love since she became a teenager.
"Still, be careful. There are a lot of 'unknowns' in your relationship now, plus one obvious 'known.'"
"Oh, I know the situation, and Jory has made it clear that she is a one-man woman. Still, she is quite a unique and amazing woman. I'm just saying what I feel."
***
Tom called Margie that evening. "David and I had quite an interesting session today. He pressed me to tell him everything I knew about him. He's getting very impatient - as one would expect - so I told him what is in his discharge papers - his age, that he grew up here, that he was living here at the time he was drafted but that his parents had since moved. It's not much, but I think it did give him a little more sense of place."
"I'm glad you told him. It doesn't seem like it could hurt, even if it isn't an obvious help."
"I also told him that he didn't have a wife frantically looking for him. I didn't say he doesn't have a wife, but I assume that's how he'll take it, at least for the time being. It became a little more relevant when he told me that he had grown fond of you."
" I've grown fond of him, too. Well, my 'fondness' was already a given, but I mean it seems likely that, in the time we spend together, an attachment would grow."
"Well, just be careful, Margie. There could be some real hidden minefields in this situation. But, before I forget to tell you why I really called, I think we've had our hoped-for breakthrough. He called you 'Jory' - twice!"
It seemed like Margie's phone had gone dead. Finally, she spoke. "Nobody knows that name except you, me and him, not even our parents. I know I only said the name with him once, the first day when I was hurling facts and reminiscences at him as fast as I could think of them. If he said it now..."
"Yes, it means his mind is beginning to remember you. I'm taking that as a very good sign."
They talked about a few details, but Margie's mind was already forging ahead. "Tommy, I think this is the time to try to break through. He knows me, and I think I have some ways to make that become very real, pretty quickly."
Tom was hesitant. "Margie, this is just one little opening..."
"No, it isn't, Tommy. This is what we've been waiting for. If I can cause him to remember who I really am, I think the rest is going to follow -- maybe not quickly, but he'll have a pathway, and I'll have a husband."
Tom wasn't convinced but, as Margie explained what she planned, he did begin to see possibilities.
***
Before she left for work on the next day she was to see David, Margie did a little arranging in their bedroom. She located a nightgown of hers that David particularly admired, and draped it over the chair by her dressing table. She turned down the covers on the bed, and placed a certain stuffed animal in the space between their pillows. (From that vantage point, the creature had witnessed quite a variety of memorable events. If he had made notes over the years, he could have written a best seller.) Last, she made sure that two framed photographs were in clear view on her dressing table.
Margie arriving unannounced at Tom's office to drive David home had become common practice, so her appearance at David's next session wasn't unusual. What happened next was unexpected.
"David, I'd like to talk about something today that's a little personal. Could we go for a walk, or something, before we eat, or before I take you home?"
That fit his plans well, because he had something personal he wanted to talk to her about. He agreed to a walk.
They drove mostly in silence, but doing a little mental planning. As they approached his apartment, Margie asked if he needed to stop for anything. He didn't. When they reached her house, she pulled the Buick over to the curb.
"I thought of something I want to do," she said, as she started to get out of the car. "It won't take long."
"I'll just wait here," he said.
She stopped by his door. "David, when a woman says she won't be long, it's a relative thing. 'Not too long' still means there's plenty of time for you to come in out of the sun and the traffic noise." She opened his door. He followed him into the house.
"Have a seat," she said, as she started out of the room. "There are soft drinks, and maybe beer, in the frig." She went just far enough into the hall that he couldn't see her, then waited to see what he would do. He went straight to the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open, then he came back and sat on the couch. Interesting, she thought. He certainly feels at home. Still, everybody's refrigerator is located about the same place, so that didn't prove any particular familiarity with her kitchen.
She let him relax for about five minutes, then called to him. "David, I think my light jacket is on the back of the chair by my dressing table. Could you go in the bedroom, and rescue it for me?"
She heard him get up off the couch, then open and close the bedroom door, then... Nothing. When he had been in the bedroom a long time, Margie went to the door, and looked in. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the two framed photographs she had put on her dressing table that morning.
"Everything okay in here, Sweetie?"
He glanced over at her. "I'm a little confused at the moment, but I think I'm seeing some clarity developing. The first thing I saw when I came in here was Moko, the honeymoon monkey, on the bed between the pillows, where he is supposed to be Your jacket wasn't on the chair, but there was a rather sexy nightgown that looked quite familiar. Then, I saw these two photos - one of a man in uniform who looks a lot like me, and the other of two people who bear an amazing resemblance to you and me. Then, you called me 'Sweetie.' I'm beginning to get the idea that your last name is the same as mine because it is mine - I mean, one you acquired along with a blue Buick and a husband."
She came into the room, and sat on the bed next to him. "You are definitely on the right track. Welcome home!"
"How long have you known I was in town?" he asked, as he took her hand in his.
"Tom told me as soon as he knew. It was wonderful to find out I had a living husband, but they didn't want me to see you until they'd made a few more attempts at restoring your memory. I'd been a basket case not knowing anything, and then I was a worse basket case not being able to see you and be with you.
"Finally, Tom admitted that they weren't making any obvious progress, and we came up with the plan to have me inundate you with memories that only you and I shared. I hope someday you can forgive me for manipulating you so severely. There must have been times you wanted to yell at me, 'Shut up, Margie, about your husband and your fairy tale marriage.' I'm sorry about that."
He squeezed her hand. "It hadn't got quite that awful, yet."
"Well, the sad part was that it didn't seem to be working. Then, Tommy called, and told me that you had told him how much you admired 'Jory.'"
"I called you 'Jory'? I didn't catch that."
"Well, Tom did, and I was sure I hadn't said that name around you since our first day together. That looked like our breakthrough. By the way, I'm glad you admire me."
"Well, the doctor changed my wording a little bit. I actually said that I had fallen in love with you."
"Oh! That is a little different, isn't it? Well, nothing wrong with a husband falling in love with his wife for a second time."
"Except..."
"Yes, except... Well, anyway, that one word gave me the idea for this blitz that you are currently a part of. Tommy was a little hesitant to go too quickly, but I said 'Caution be damned. Full speed ahead!' It looks like it worked."
"Let's say that it's working. I suspect we have a long road ahead of us before I put all the pieces back together again."
"Oh, I know that, Sweetie. But just having a husband with me, who knows who I am, seems like heaven."
David went quiet, obviously thinking about something in particular. "Jory, about me telling Dr. Tom that I'd fallen in love with you, this little performance today has just barely saved me from leaping into a moral quicksand. I've wanted you so badly that, when I saw you today, I was on the verge of asking you to be unfaithful to your husband."
She didn't say anything for a moment. "Sweetie, I've been going crazy, being with you, and not being able to really be with you - to make love with you. If this hadn't worked today, I would have said yes, no matter who you thought you were."
"We really dodged a bullet, didn't we?"
Margie happened to glance over her shoulder just then. It must have been some trick of the light, but she could have sworn that Moko winked at her.
"Sweetie, do you mind if we don't go for a walk, atter all?"
"No, that's fine."
"And I'm not really very hungry yet, are you?"
"No, I could wait a little while."
"I have an idea.”
***
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