Jacob’s gentle touch erased a renegade tear from my cheek. “I’m going to take you home, Sara. We’ll get through this, together.” His mellowed tone, as well as his vow, broke through my inner turmoil, endearing this man I couldn’t recall to me. As I took in his promise, warm lips brushed my forehead.
A cloud of leather and musk enveloped me—his scent. I again searched for recognition but found none. Any memories I’d had of Jacob or of my past were gone. He obviously knew me—not only knew me, but expected me to know him, to trust him. To obey him.
I’m not a dog.
One moment he’d reprimand me like a child and the next offer kindness and support. His tone when he’d reminded me to be silent scared me, yet the fleeting kiss upon my forehead left me wanting. The pendulum swing was too much and too new. Releasing the breath I’d held, I smiled toward his warmth.
Then I heard his footsteps walk away, and my panic returned.
From farther away he said, “Sara, I’ll be right back. They need to know you’re finally awake. Do not speak to anyone.” With a sigh he added, “We don’t want you hurting your vocal cords.”
They? Who needs to know? Doctors and nurses?
I was obviously in a hospital bed. Once I heard the click of the closing door, I sat and listened to the room around me. Confident that I was indeed alone, I reached again for the soft bandage securely covering my eyes. Following it with my fingers, I found that the softness went all the way around my head and that under the material were hard domes covering both eyes.
My eyes could already be healed. How could someone else know if I could see? As the instinct to remove the bandages grew stronger, the word obey sounded in my head and I lowered my hands. Jacob had said my vocal cords and eyes had been injured in an accident. As I shifted, the pain told me he was right about the accident. I was probably more injured than he’d said. I took a mental inventory: my side hurt the worst, but my left leg came second. Reaching below the blanket, I found the edge of something hard, a cast.
I sighed and allowed my head to sink into the pillow. Each discovery was too much. Nothing seemed familiar. Nothing seemed right.
My cracked lips as well as the stale, dry taste in my mouth reminded me of the damp washcloth Jacob had offered me earlier. Fumbling for what I couldn’t see, I reached beyond the bed rails. When I did, I realized there was something attached to my right arm. An IV? Beyond that I found only air. My shoulders slumped, and I tucked my suddenly cold hands under the warm blanket and rubbed my still-sore fingertips.
Beneath the blanket I reached for the fourth finger of my left hand and found a ring. As I slowly turned it, the smooth surface remained the same. I was wearing a wedding band. I was married. How could I be married and not remember? Was I married to Jacob?
Questions continued to come fast and furious, each one without an answer, each one more unsettling than the one before.
While I searched for memories, the sound of the opening door brought me back to the present. Footsteps shuffled about the room while multiple people spoke at once. Though none of them spoke directly to me, I seemed to be the topic of conversation. Struggling to understand the ongoing discussions, I listened for Jacob’s deep voice. Finally the roar faded to a low murmur and then to silence as anticipation filled the room.
“Sara,” Jacob said, breaking the tension.
With a sense of relief, I inclined my face ever so slightly toward his familiar voice. His warm breath grazed my skin.
“The Commission,” he continued, “confirmed that you can’t speak, not yet, but they have questions. Right now they need to know that you’re hearing and understanding. So”—he picked up my hand—“I want you to respond by squeezing my hand.”
I tried to keep up, but I had no point of reference. Who or what was the Commission? Why did it have a say in my care? Unable to voice my concerns, I waited as Jacob’s fingers intertwined with mine.
“When a question is asked,” Jacob directed, “squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?”
I squeezed my answer, ignoring my tender fingertips.
“Brother Timothy is here to ask you some questions.”
Brother? Is he my brother? Do I have a brother?
I’d expected to see my doctor, or rather expected that he or she would see me. My mind spun. Brother Timothy was perhaps a part of the Commission. As Jacob’s grip tightened, I sensed that he was genuinely worried about what was about to happen. This must be the situation he’d been thinking of when he warned me not to embarrass him. I wanted to comply, but I also wished he’d given me more prompting, more background. Then again, I hadn’t spoken. There was no way he could know that I didn’t remember anything.