Who Is Deborah?. Elise Title
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as it was, the similarities were undeniable. Not just that our eye color and hair shade matched, but it was there in the shape of the eyes. And in the mouth. Even our noses weren’t all that different. The jawlines…Well, they weren’t the same. Hers seemed to jut out more, giving her an air of defiance. It went with the seductive glint in her eyes. She seemed so sure of herself. And maybe a little full of herself, as well. That was the heart of the difference between us. I was certain that was what Dr. Royce saw, too, when he examined the photograph.
“You just need to put on a bit of weight, get out in the sun again, and—”
“Tell me about her,” I said, cutting him off.
He looked slightly startled. Then he smiled. “Well, she’s beautiful, vivacious, fun loving…”
But those were all qualities I could see myself in the photo. I wanted to know about the parts of her—of me?—that I couldn’t see.
My disappointment must have shown on my face, because he gave me a tender smile. “You always looked very sure of yourself, but you didn’t always feel that way. Not by half. We were good friends, Deborah. You…confided in me. You told me how important painting was for you. You talked about how lonely you were as a child.”
“My family…?”
A flicker in his hazel eyes told me it was a sad story. “Your father walked out on you when you were a small child. You always wished you could at least picture him in your mind, but you couldn’t. Your only memory of him was of a red plaid shirt he’d worn. You used to…tear up a little and say, ‘Can you imagine remembering nothing at all about your father but a dumb old shirt?”’
I hung on every word Greg spoke, struggling to make them mean something to me. I could feel for this sad child, but I couldn’t identify with her as being a part of myself.
“And my mother?”
He sighed. “She died when you were nine. You went to live with a maiden aunt in Omaha. I always used to tease you that no one really lived in Omaha.”
“And…and what would I say?”
“You’d say, ‘I didn’t live there, Greg. I existed there. Just barely, at that.”’
I sat very still, tears slipping down my cheeks. It sounded so much like the feeling I had here in the hospital. This was the first real connection I felt to Deborah.
“I honestly think that once you’re with Nick at Raven’s Cove, it will all come back to you,” he said in a soft murmur.
“Raven’s Cove?”
Greg grinned. “From Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Raven.’ An appropriate name for the abode of a renowned spook writer. Not that Nick takes any of that nonsense seriously. I think it was his cousin who named the place.”
“His cousin?”
“Second cousin once removed, or something like that. Lillian. She sort of looks after things. Very quietly and unobtrusively. You needn’t worry about old Lill.”
“I’m worried about everything,” I confessed readily. “I don’t think I’m really able to take it all in.”
He went to reach for my hand, but instinctively I jerked it away. Even though I remembered nothing about the assault, it had left me with an uneasiness about being touched. I started to apologize, knowing Greg meant only to comfort me, but he waved off my apology.
“Deborah, listen to me. You don’t belong here. You won’t get well here. And that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Of course, he had to know I wanted that more than anything.
I asked shakily, “Have you…spoken with him already?” I couldn’t say his name yet. Nicholas? Nick? Darling? I felt my cheeks redden.
“Yes.”
“He’s…expecting me?”
“Yes.”
“Were you so certain I’d come?”
“As certain as I was that you were Deborah. And now I’m more certain than ever. I’ll say it again. Deborah Steele is one of a kind. Since you can’t know that, take it from someone who does.” It was a warm compliment and I sensed no seductiveness in it. Here, I started to think, was someone whom I might be able to trust. Trust wasn’t something that had been coming easily to me. I got the feeling from the little Greg had told me, it never had. But I must have trusted him in the past. He’d said I’d confided in him.
“It’s going to be all right, Deborah. I promise.”
I managed a small smile. “I have to confess, Mr. Eastman—”
“Greg. I’ve been Greg ever since we first met, two years ago. What do you confess, Deborah?”
Her smile deepened a little. “I confess, Greg, that your confidence is a bit contagious.”
He smiled back—a smile at once charming and ingenuous. “Progress already. Won’t Dr. Royce be pleased.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll phone up to Nick and let him know we’ll be on our way.” Then, realizing I might feel he was moving too fast, he hastened to add, “As soon as you’re ready.”
Having all but sealed my fate, I felt a flurry of nervous anticipation. No amount of sitting around the hospital would make me any more ready than I was. Not that I was the least bit ready psychologically, mind you.
“I just need to pack and tell Dr. Royce—”
“Good,” Greg said cheerily. “Then we’ll make it up to Raven’s Cove in time for dinner.”
The rain started as Greg guided his sunny yellow Miata sports car onto the New York State Thruway. Flicking on his windshield wipers, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“It’s just…the rain,” I replied, not knowing whether Dr. Royce had told him anything about that.
“It should clear up,” he said with an overabundance of confidence that the cloud-laden skies didn’t support.
But it wasn’t only the rain. It was my growing sense of unease. All I could think, now that I was actually on my way, was that I shouldn’t have jumped into this so impulsively. Dr. Royce had tried to talk some sense into me. He’d even suggested phoning Nicholas and having him come down to the hospital to meet with me a few times…
“Why didn’t he come?”
Greg gave me a blank look.
“Nick.” I felt somehow foolish speaking his name.
“I only just told him about finding you a few hours ago. And his editor was up there. He would have come…Would you rather he’d have…?”
“No. I don’t know,” I answered shakily. Saying that, I was struck by how little I knew about Nicholas Steele. It was beyond me at that point to think of that stranger, a writer of macabre stories, as my husband. In my rush to begin my real life again, I’d pushed this rather crucial but certainly troubling part of it aside.
Greg must have picked up on my distress, because he started to tell me about him. “I should have brought along a picture of Nick. I could have pulled off a jacket cover from one of his books lying around my office.” He winked at me. “I’m not only a close friend, but an avid fan. Well, let me ease your worries. He’s real easy on the eyes. Tall, dark and Hollywood handsome. Although I’m always teasing him about getting a haircut. He keeps it long and pulled back in a ponytail. A real rogue pirate. Women find him witty, charming and incredibly sexy, and most men are envious as hell of him.”
“Are you?” I turned scarlet. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid, inappropriate question. Please forgive me.”
Greg merely laughed. “It wasn’t stupid or inappropriate. You always did have a habit of speaking your mind, Deb. Loss of memory notwithstanding,