Sunny - Mona Lisa Eclipsing

“You hardly know me,” I said, flustered.

“Enough to know that you are very important to me,” Roberto responded warmly.

I found myself blushing, remembering our brief kiss.

“Dr. Torres here has come to examine you,” Roberto said, introducing the other man.

The doctor took my blood pressure, pulse, and respiratory rate, listened to heart and lungs, palpated my abdomen, and did a full neurological exam. Roberto stayed the entire time. It should have been embarrassing, but it wasn’t. Medical stuff I was familiar with, and his presence in the room was reassuring more than uncomfortable. It proved the truth of his words, that I was indeed important to him.

I passed with flying colors: both pupils equal and reactive to light, all reflexes normal. My lack of memory, however, specifically the long months of loss, seemed to stump the good doctor.

“What you have is post traumatic amnesia,” Dr. Torres said in surprisingly good English. “Retrograde amnesia, to be precise, loss of memories formed shortly before the injury.”

“Usually it is only a day or two of lost memory, not half a year of it,” I said.

“You seem familiar with the diagnosis.”

“I’m a nurse. I’ve seen it in the ER, usually high school or college football players knocked out during a game.”

“Then you know as much as I,” Dr. Torres announced, closing his bag. “Medicine and the human body is not an exact science unfortunately. I called the hospital and spoke to the doctor who examined you. You suffered a traumatic brain injury, enough that they initially feared a skull fracture and hemorrhaging inside the brain.”

“A fracture? Bleeding? Just from tripping and hitting my head on the ground?”

“You hit your head on a rock very hard, according to Senor Carderas. The doctor swore you had a positive Babinski when he first examined you.” He gazed at me as if that should have some meaning, and it did. A positive Babinski reflex, fanning of the big toe upon stimulation of the sole of the foot, indicated a significant problem in the central nervous system . . . like cerebral hemorrhaging.

“But your CAT scan was negative, and you proved only to have a concussion,” he concluded.

“And amnesia,” I added. “Mustn’t forget that. Will I regain my memory?”

“What would you tell your own patients?” Dr. Torres asked.

“That I may or may not. That no one really knows. Only time will tell.”

“Precisely. I am a general practitioner, not a specialist, however. I will be happy to refer you to a neurologist.”

“No need,” I said. “He’ll probably run a bunch of tests, charge a lot of money, and then tell me the same thing you just did.”

Dr. Torres gave me a sympathetic smile. “Look at it this way, Miss Hamilton. You lost only a small part of your memory, and have kept the most important parts: you still know who you are. Your injury could have been much worse.”

The doctor’s words stayed with me after Roberto saw the doctor out.

Your injury could have been much worse.

I wondered for a moment if it had been.

A positive Babinski . . . Could my skull really have been fractured? Could I have been bleeding into my brain and my body’s unusually rapid healing ability repaired the damage in the few hours it had taken to travel here and have the CAT scan done? Most likely I just had a simple concussion, but the long length of time I must have been unconscious—several hours—bothered me.

“Darn it,” I said when Roberto returned. “I forgot to ask him about this.” Turning around, I unzipped the back of the dress enough to reveal the tiny red mark between my shoulder blades, wondering why the more severe injuries had been healed while the lesser injuries still remained. “I noticed this while showering. It looks like a puncture wound.”

“A puncture wound?” Roberto said. “Where . . . here?”

I shivered as I felt his finger lightly brush over the spot. Awareness flared up bright and hot between us but controllable, or more accurate to say, controlled.

“Do you know what it is, what caused it?”

“Perhaps you fell on something sharp when you hit the ground,” he said.

“Like a sharp stick that happened to be shaped exactly like a needle?” I asked a little dryly.

“Why do you say that?” He gently turned me around to face him. “Do you remember anything?”

“No, it was just that it was my first thought also, that I had fallen against something sharp on the ground. Only it looks more like a needle mark to me. Did the doctors give me a shot or something?”

“In your back? Not that I know of.”

“Maybe they did, and you just don’t know about it.”

He took my hands in his, making me shiver slightly with awareness. “I was with you the entire time, querida . It does not look like a needle mark to me.” He looked a bit concerned over why I was pressing the matter.

I couldn’t explain my certainty to him without revealing my ability, and despite the sense of intimacy that was quickly flaring up between us, I wasn’t ready yet to do that. Hiding my differences from other people was a lifelong habit, deeply ingrained.

“I’m sorry. You’re probably right. It was likely from just a sharp twig on the ground.”

He smiled, releasing my hands. “I shall have Maria bring you up a salve.”

“No, no. I’m fine, really. I feel much better after taking a shower and getting cleaned up. Dr. Torres mentioned a CAT scan. That’s much more expensive than an X-ray.”

“Please, no more mention of money,” he said, laying a kiss on my hand. The sizzling sensation of his lips brushing my skin and the bright flare-up of that tightly contained attraction between us snatched my breath, and any further words, away from me. “Just rest and recover for now. We shall talk more later.”

Wow. Talking later wasn’t what came to my mind. More like seeing if his lips running over other parts of my body would be as staggering as that light brush against my hand. His touch left me in a mute sensual daze; it was almost a relief when he closed the door behind him.

Lying down on the clean bed, which had been freshly changed, and remembering the extremely dirty state of my clothing when I had first awakened, I mentally added a new bedspread as well as the CAT scan to the growing tally of what I owed my gracious host.

IRESTED, NOT for the brief fifteen or twenty minutes that I had expected, but for several long hours during which time I slept deeply. When I awoke, I found my hand reaching for something that was not there.

I sat up and thought, Where is my necklace?

A panicked rush out of the bedroom brought me my first glimpse of the main house. It shouted of a degree of wealth that was far beyond anything I’d ever seen before. Roberto’s home was styled like a grand palazzo, with marble floors, fluted columns, massive windows, and ceilings that were impressively high—classical elegance blended with modern sophistication. The dress Maria had provided me, that had felt too formal and overdressed before, now seemed perfectly fitting in the graceful splendor of the residence. I ventured down the wide staircase feeling a bit like Alice dropped down the rabbit hole.

Heartbeats sounded toward the back of the house. I was about to head over there when Maria came through a door bearing a tray. On it was a plate of some sliced exotic fruit and a glass of orange juice, freshly squeezed, if the juicy pulp was anything to go by.

“Miss Lisa, you up. Good, I tell Senor Carderas. Come.” Leading me to another room, she set the tray down on a small table overlooking the gardens outside, and gestured for me to sit. “This for you. You eat and drink now. You want medicina for head?”