Love Lies Bleeding (21 page)

She stopped and gripped the doorjamb, leaning against it. The party. She couldn’t remember the party. She glanced down at her wet nightgown. She couldn’t recall putting it on. Staggering back to the bed, she dropped down and buried her head in her hands.

Think, Samantha, think.
What happened last night? Her mem-ory spun in circles and all she could recall clearly was the dream.
No, you went shopping, you got ready, you and Jackson picked up Anne, you
— Muted voices from the kitchen caught her attention and stopped the litany of her thoughts. Slowly she stood and crossed the room to the door. Opening it a crack, she pressed her ear against it.

Jackson and Anne.

“Are you sure she didn’t have any alcohol?” Jackson was saying in a curt tone.

“Yes,” Anne declared. “Lemonade and that’s it.”

A long pause followed.

Jackson broke the silence. “Did you know that she hasn’t been taking her medication?”

“I knew she’d missed a couple of times, but I made sure she took the pills when I was here.”

A small smile cracked Sam’s face, causing her to wince. Anne didn’t know that she’d palmed them and then flushed them down the toilet.

“Was she suffering from withdrawal last night?” Anne continued.

“Possibly.” Sam heard the exasperation in Jackson’s voice. He sighed. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain her behavior to Fritz.”

“Aren’t you more concerned about why Sam acted that way?” Anne blurted.

Another long pause followed, punctuated by footsteps pacing the kitchen floor. “Of course I am,” Jackson replied irritably, “but did you see Irene Brighton’s reaction?” The footsteps stopped. “The Brightons are an influential family and Irene is on the board of several hospitals. I don’t need her carrying tales about Sam back to any of the boards’ members. I don’t need my colleagues—”

“Have you checked on her this morning?”

The pacing resumed. “She was curled up in bed with her dog,” he answered, spitting out the words.

Anne’s response was too low for Sam to hear, but she did hear her quick steps crossing the kitchen. Shutting the door, she crossed to the bed and crawled in. As she pulled the sheet up around her neck, she concentrated on feigning sleep. A moment later, she felt more than heard the door open softly. It stayed that way for what felt like several minutes, but finally she heard it snick quietly shut.

Rolling over on her back, she stared at the ceiling while she absentmindedly stroked Roxy’s head. Searching her mind, she tried to recall last night moment by moment. She remembered walking into the party, remembered how strangely everyone was dressed—no, that was the dream. She tucked that thought away. What happened next? Meeting the Brightons and the anxiety Teddy had caused. Then she’d gone out onto the deck with Anne. The next clear memory was the dream. But there had to be more. How long had they stayed at the party? She couldn’t remember. Her mind was like a defective long-playing record—it played up to a certain spot and then the needle skipped. She heard the beginning and the end, but missed the middle.

Frustrated, she climbed out of bed and moved restlessly around the room.
Admit it, Samantha, you had some kind of a blackout.
That had never happened to her before and the thought of it terrified her. And what was worse, both Jackson and Anne had known something was wrong with her. She gave one of her shoes an angry kick and sent it flying across the room. She’d been so sure she was getting better. She’d felt she was finally conquering the emotional aftermath of her attack. Stopping at the window, she pulled back the curtain and stared out over the lake. What if she had another one? No. She dropped the curtain. She was getting stronger and she wasn’t going to let what happened undermine her confidence. So what if she couldn’t remember a portion of the evening right now? It might eventually come back to her. And as far as Jackson and Anne’s concerns? She’d find a way to dance around them.

A soft whining at the bedroom door caught her attention.

“You need to go out, don’t you?” Reluctantly, Sam shoved her arms into her robe and belted it tightly. When she opened the door, the dog shot out and took off down the hallway. Sam followed and, after rounding the corner, saw Jackson and Anne seated at the kitchen table. Simultaneously their heads turned. Neither spoke, and by the shuttered looks on their faces, Sam knew that their conversation had continued to be about her.

Anne broke the silence. “How are you feeling?” she asked, rising to her feet. “Would you like some coffee?”

Sam shook her head and grabbed Roxy’s leash off the counter. “I think I might be coming down with the flu, so I’d rather have orange juice.”

“Here, I’ll trade you,” Anne said, filling a glass from the pitcher on the table and handing it to her. She took the leash from Sam’s hand. “I’ll take the dog out.”

Accepting the glass, Sam joined Jackson at the table. She drank the juice while he silently studied her. Placing the glass on the table, she licked her lips and tried to smile. “Did you enjoy the party?”

“Are you being sarcastic?” he sputtered, jerking back in his chair.

“No—no—but—”

“After the way you acted last night? I certainly hope you’re going to apologize to Fritz.”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured, lowering her head. She bit the inside of her lip. That might be tough since she didn’t know what she’d be apologizing for. She’d either have to wing it or confess that she couldn’t remember. She stole a glance at Jackson. Did she dare tell him about her lack of memory? If she did, how long would it take him to call her father and share the story with him? A strong sense of self-preservation cautioned her to keep her mouth shut.

Jackson leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. “What were you trying to prove?” he asked in a low voice. “I know you’ve felt unattractive since the accident, but haven’t I tried to reassure you that it didn’t matter?” He shook his head. “Wasn’t that enough? Did you have to flirt with Ted Brighton last night?”

Her cheeks grew hot. “I didn’t flirt with Ted Brighton,” she declared.

“I don’t know what else you’d call it,” he answered with a snort.

She stared at him blindly as the fear she’d felt earlier returned. No, Jackson had to be wrong. It was one thing to have a memory lapse, but to act out of character? Impossible. Even before the attack, she’d never been the type of woman to come on to men. It wasn’t her style. Jackson had to have misconstrued her behavior.

“I don’t know how you could put me through something so shameful. You reminded me of
her,
” he spit out. “How many times have I told you how her behavior embarrassed me?”

“Jackson—I know your relationship with your mother—”

Jerking back, Jackson crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “If you don’t want to acknowledge the flirting, will you at least explain whatever possessed you to sing?”

Sam’s jaw dropped and she quickly snapped it shut. “S-s-sing?” she stuttered.

His eyes narrowed and he looked her over carefully. “You don’t remember, do you?” His voice rang with suspicion.

Hanging her head, she considered trying to bluff her way out, but it wouldn’t do any good. He’d know she was lying. “No,” she whispered.

He stood suddenly and came to her, kneeling beside her chair. With a sigh, he took her hand in his and softly stroked his thumb across her knuckles. “Samantha, darling,” he said gently, “I was afraid something like this would happen when I learned you’d stopped taking your medication.” His other hand lifted her chin and he stared into her eyes. “You have to trust that I know what’s best for you.”

Her head turned away. “I do.”

“Do you?” he asked, placing a palm on her cheek and forcing her to look at him. “I hope so. I am a doctor, you know,” he finished with a trace of humor in his voice.

Sam tried to smile, but her lips trembled. If she did as Jackson said, she’d spend her time drifting through the days in a haze. “But the pills make me feel so sluggish.”

Noticing the strain on her face, Jackson sobered and placed both hands on her shoulders. “You need them,” he insisted. “Now, no more arguments.” Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. “And don’t worry, my darling,” he said in a whisper. “I’ll take care of you.”

Later that afternoon, still shaken by her promise to continue her medications, she said a muted good-bye to Jackson while Anne stood on the sidelines and watched. Once he’d left, Anne turned to her.

“Are you hungry?” she asked with false cheerfulness.

“Not really.” Sam stole a glance at the other woman as they crossed the yard. “Did Jackson tell you that I don’t remember the party?”

Stopping at the edge of the porch, Anne plucked one of the leaves off the dying shrub. “Yes, and I’m glad he did. If I’m to help you, I need to know what’s going on.”

“Do you think I’m losing it?” Sam asked in a small voice.

“No,” Anne replied with a confident shake of her head. “Dr. Van Horn said it was the effects of withdrawal. We’ll just make sure you take your meds.”

“But I hate the way they make me feel,” Sam argued.

“Would you rather have blackouts?” Anne asked, crumbling the leaf in her hand.

“No.”

“Then I think you’d better do as he says.”

Reluctantly, Sam nodded as she followed Anne into the cabin. Once inside, she leaned against the counter and studied the other woman for a moment. “I made quite a spectacle of myself last night, didn’t I?”

Anne shrugged. “I don’t know—I’ve seen worse.” She gave her a quick smile. “You did surprise me, though. I didn’t know you could sing. You have a lovely alto voice.”

“No, I don’t. I’m a soprano.”

Anne snickered. “Not last night you weren’t. You were an alto.”

Sam looked confused, and her gaze traveled to the floor. “That’s odd,” she muttered.

“Well,” Anne said, placing her hands on her hips. “Are you up for some exercises?”

“Could we go for a walk?” Sam asked, looking up at Anne.

Surprise showed on Anne’s face. “You want to go outside?”

“Yeah. We can take Roxy with us. She needs a walk, too.”

“You won’t feel uncomfortable?”

Glancing to where the dog lay stretched out in the sunshine pouring through the French doors, Sam smiled fondly. “I don’t know what it is, but when I’m with her, I feel safe.”

“Good, let’s get going before the bugs come out.”

A few minutes later, the three of them headed out the door and up the road. They’d gone a short distance when they heard the sound of a rousing march coming from Greg’s cabin.

“The quartet for the Fourth,” Anne offered in way of explanation. “Do you want to stop by and listen?”

“I guess.”

The music became louder as they approached Greg’s, but stopped when Anne knocked loudly on the screen door. Seconds later, Greg appeared in the doorway.

“Hi,” he said, swinging the door open. “Come on in. We’re practicing.”

“We heard,” Anne replied, arching an eyebrow.

“Hey, what good is a march if it isn’t loud?” Greg joked.

Anne and Sam followed Greg into the living room, where he quickly introduced Sam to Caleb and George Roberts, the flutist for the group. Meeting Caleb for the first time, she remembered Jackson’s warning and eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t look like a gang member or a druggie. He looked like an average, normal teenage boy—all angles and loose limbs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anne watch him with pride and love written on her face. Roxy’s reaction was the one that surprised her. After giving Caleb’s leg a good sniff, she plopped down at his feet and rolled over onto her back.

Noticing her, Caleb laughed and squatted beside her. “Ah, so you want a belly rub, do you?” Scratching her stomach, he laughed again when her back leg pawed at the air. “She must be ticklish,” he said, smiling up at Sam.

“Must be,” Sam answered, returning his smile. Looking away from Caleb as he played with Roxy, she noticed Fritz eyeing her with speculation.
Oh, great,
she thought,
he’s thinking about last night. Well, now is as good a time as any.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked over to him.

“May I speak with you privately?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“My pleasure,” he replied easily. “Greg, let’s take five, shall we?” With a wave of his hand, he motioned Sam toward the door. Walking across Greg’s deck, he leaned against the railing and waited.

Sam shifted uncomfortably as she struggled for the right words. Finally she gave up. “I’m sorry,” she blurted.

Fritz jerked in surprise. “For what?”

“My behavior last night at your party. I’m sorry if I caused a scene.”

“Nonsense,” he said with a smile. “You didn’t cause a scene. If Jackson would’ve simply let you finish your song, no one would’ve thought a thing about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, most of my guests were enjoying your performance,” he assured her. “You have a lovely voice. I’ve always enjoyed a strong alto.”

“Soprano,” she mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” she said with a brush of her hand. “I appreciate your graciousness, Fritz, and all I can say is that I wasn’t myself last night.”

Fritz chuckled. “No, you weren’t. In our short acquaintance, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that relaxed. And isn’t that what a party is supposed to be about? Letting loose and having a good time?” He arched an eyebrow. “And I will say that whatever you imbibed certainly made you let loose.”

“Lemonade.”

Fritz pressed his hand against one ear. “George’s playing must be affecting my hearing. I could’ve sworn you said ‘lemonade.’ ”

“I did,” she replied tersely.

“Hmm,” he said, brushing his fingers across his chin. “Did it taste odd?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time someone spiked the punch, so to speak.”

“It wasn’t spiked. I would’ve tasted the liquor.”

“Did you feel well this morning?”

“You mean did I have a hangover? No.” Sam thought about the muscle aches and her pounding head. “I did feel like I was coming down with the flu, but that feeling is gone now.”

Fritz pursed his lips and looked at her thoughtfully. “Just out of curiosity, did one of the girls serve you?”