Intimate Strangers by Denise Mathews Page A

down beside Sara. "I'm glad you finally decided to leave that room."
    "Well, I've had a couple days to practice walking around my room without the cast. I've walked with and without the cane and my ankle feels almost as good as new. I decided to venture out today and see what the rest of the house looks like."
    "Mr. Roarke will be so glad to hear this when he comes home today. Before he left for California the other day, he asked me to try and coax you out of your room."
    "Yes, I guess he will be pleased," Sara murmured, wondering if this three-day separation had given Roarke time to think over and regret his decision for them to try again. She had had second and third thoughts about their evening and everything they had said to each other, but she hadn't changed her mind. She loved him and something inside her was obsessed with trying to win him back. When he had come to her room the morning after her nightmare and told her that he had to leave immediately for California, he had seemed pensive and frustrated at having to go. He had even told her he'd miss her and she hoped he would because she missed him.
    "Miss Sara, what's wrong?"
    Flustered, not wanting to tell Martha what she was thinking, she glanced down at the sketch pad on her lap. She handed the sketch to Martha. "Martha, who is she?"
    Martha looked at the sketch, then at Sara, a sad expression passing quickly across her face. "It's your grandmother. Did you just draw this?"
    Sara nodded absently, trying to fit this new piece into her puzzle.
    "What brought this face to your mind? Did you remember something?"
    "No, I didn't really remember. I had a dream last night, or rather early this morning."
    "Do you want to tell me about it?" the older woman asked quietly.
    "Well, in my dream, I was somewhere that was foggy and the air was damp. The ground felt spongy and tried to clutch at my shoes when I walked on it. There were huge marble stones, and they seemed to surround me on all sides." Sara shuddered. "It wasn't until I saw two coffins that I realized I was in a cemetery. The coffins were sitting on the misty ground, covered with flowers and lots of people were standing around, some of them crying. I—I didn't recognize any of the faces except an old lady who was holding my hand tightly. I felt as though I knew her. We were dressed in black and crying. When I jolted awake, I imagined I could still feel the woman's hand holding mine."
    Martha remained silent throughout Sara's recollection, but the expression on her face alarmed Sara. "What's the matter, Martha, why do you look so disturbed? Have I said something to upset you? What is it?" Sara touched Martha's cheek with the palm of her hand.
    Martha took Sara's hand and pressed it warmly between hers. "I'm upset because it makes my heart break that in order for you to become a whole person again, you have to remember the tragedies of your life along with the happy things. What a shame that you can't be allowed to remember only the good."
    Sara smiled poignantly and her heart lurched. She realized how much Martha did love her. It was as though she were Martha's own daughter.
    Martha sighed. "The dream you had really happened. The older woman who held your hand so lovingly was your grandmother. Your parents were both killed in a horrible head-on collision one night on their way home from a party. A drunk driver who was passing a truck… they were killed instantly." Martha broke off with a shake of her head.
    Sara was trembling, partly from the horror of her parents' untimely and horrible deaths and partly from the excitement of her remembering something of the past, even if it were in a dream. "Do we have any photographs of my parents or grandmother?" she asked breathlessly, hoping against hope that the answer would be yes. She was elated when Martha told her there was an album upstairs and could hardly contain herself until they got to her room and Martha brought the album to her.
    The woman in her dream and in her