Why?”
“Some civilians just think: army. Shoot ’em up. Camouflage and yessir , nosir . There are dozens of specialties within the armed forces. Ian was in reconnaissance.”
Tang wrote it down. In the quiet of the house, her pen strokes were audible.
Jo glanced at a framed photo on a bookshelf. “Is that your son?”
“Seth,” Misty said.
The boy in the photo had Kanan’s coppery hair and frosty blue eyes behind his glasses. His smile had a cocky edge chipped into it. The joke’s on them . The smile reeked of adolescence but seemed impish rather than sarcastic. Seth was sitting cross-legged on the lawn, playing a guitar. A big dog, with an Irish setter’s coloring and a Labrador’s goofy hopefulness, was poking his nose against his shoulder.
“Nice-looking boy. How old is he?”
“Fourteen.”
Jo waited for her to say more. In this situation some people would ask her questions or blurt emotional revelations. Others clenched everything in, defending their preconceptions, their hopes or myths about their loved ones. She waited to see whether Misty would say anything about her son. She didn’t.
“Have you told him?” Jo said.
“Not yet.” Misty’s foot continued jittering.
Jo wanted to ask, Everything all right with the family? But tough cookie was turning out to mean stubborn, defiant, defensive. So she played it in a lower key.
“The psychological evaluation requires me to map the victim’s life. I investigate the victim’s entire history, meaning medical, psychological, and emotional—family, relationships, marriage . . .”
The blush started at the base of Misty’s neck and rose up her cheeks. “You want me to talk about our sex life?”
Jo put up a hand. “I’m just saying, relationships are something I ask about.”
Misty licked her lips. “No, it’s fine. Ian and I are close. We always have been. It was chemistry at first sight.”
The blush was so hot it was practically pulsing. Jo thought that if they turned off the lights, it might bathe the room in a scarlet glow.
“He’s my soul mate. I could forget myself in him. I could . . .” She stopped, realizing she’d used the word forget . Her eyes looked flash-bulb hot. “Great, a Freudian slip.”
Maybe so.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Psychiatrists note things like that, Misty. But we don’t judge.”
Misty worked her jaw back and forth, as though saying, Sure . “We’re happy in bed. How’s that?”
“That’s fine.”
Misty’s foot continued jittering. She looked at the floor. When she looked up again, her eyes were bright with tears.
“What’s he going to be like from now on? Is he going to forget me?”
Jo paused, working out how much she could say and with what certainty.
“I’m his wife. And I’m a school nurse. You can tell me anything.”
“His memories before the injury should remain intact,” Jo said.
“So there’s no way he’s going to forget his own name, where he grew up, what he does for a living, that kind of thing.”
“No.”
“How about our marriage?”
“He’ll remember. His amnesia isn’t the kind you see portrayed in most movies. Anterograde amnesia means he can’t form new memories.”
“So when he sees me, he’ll know who I am. He’ll come home and know this is our house.”
“Yes.”
Misty’s knuckles, clutching her knee, were white. “And over time, he’ll improve?”
“We don’t know for certain, but it’s unlikely.”
Misty’s eyes flashed like a strobe, white and cold. Just as quick, the look was gone. “You don’t really know what happens to the brain, do you? You’re a shrink. You deal with emotions, not medicine. Breakthroughs happen every week.”
And she was a nurse ? “Not with this, I’m afraid.”
Misty looked at Jo as though taking her photo with a crime scene camera. “Let me tell you one thing for certain. This is a lock. Ian and I love each other. From the day I first set eyes on him I knew he was the man I
“Some civilians just think: army. Shoot ’em up. Camouflage and yessir , nosir . There are dozens of specialties within the armed forces. Ian was in reconnaissance.”
Tang wrote it down. In the quiet of the house, her pen strokes were audible.
Jo glanced at a framed photo on a bookshelf. “Is that your son?”
“Seth,” Misty said.
The boy in the photo had Kanan’s coppery hair and frosty blue eyes behind his glasses. His smile had a cocky edge chipped into it. The joke’s on them . The smile reeked of adolescence but seemed impish rather than sarcastic. Seth was sitting cross-legged on the lawn, playing a guitar. A big dog, with an Irish setter’s coloring and a Labrador’s goofy hopefulness, was poking his nose against his shoulder.
“Nice-looking boy. How old is he?”
“Fourteen.”
Jo waited for her to say more. In this situation some people would ask her questions or blurt emotional revelations. Others clenched everything in, defending their preconceptions, their hopes or myths about their loved ones. She waited to see whether Misty would say anything about her son. She didn’t.
“Have you told him?” Jo said.
“Not yet.” Misty’s foot continued jittering.
Jo wanted to ask, Everything all right with the family? But tough cookie was turning out to mean stubborn, defiant, defensive. So she played it in a lower key.
“The psychological evaluation requires me to map the victim’s life. I investigate the victim’s entire history, meaning medical, psychological, and emotional—family, relationships, marriage . . .”
The blush started at the base of Misty’s neck and rose up her cheeks. “You want me to talk about our sex life?”
Jo put up a hand. “I’m just saying, relationships are something I ask about.”
Misty licked her lips. “No, it’s fine. Ian and I are close. We always have been. It was chemistry at first sight.”
The blush was so hot it was practically pulsing. Jo thought that if they turned off the lights, it might bathe the room in a scarlet glow.
“He’s my soul mate. I could forget myself in him. I could . . .” She stopped, realizing she’d used the word forget . Her eyes looked flash-bulb hot. “Great, a Freudian slip.”
Maybe so.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Psychiatrists note things like that, Misty. But we don’t judge.”
Misty worked her jaw back and forth, as though saying, Sure . “We’re happy in bed. How’s that?”
“That’s fine.”
Misty’s foot continued jittering. She looked at the floor. When she looked up again, her eyes were bright with tears.
“What’s he going to be like from now on? Is he going to forget me?”
Jo paused, working out how much she could say and with what certainty.
“I’m his wife. And I’m a school nurse. You can tell me anything.”
“His memories before the injury should remain intact,” Jo said.
“So there’s no way he’s going to forget his own name, where he grew up, what he does for a living, that kind of thing.”
“No.”
“How about our marriage?”
“He’ll remember. His amnesia isn’t the kind you see portrayed in most movies. Anterograde amnesia means he can’t form new memories.”
“So when he sees me, he’ll know who I am. He’ll come home and know this is our house.”
“Yes.”
Misty’s knuckles, clutching her knee, were white. “And over time, he’ll improve?”
“We don’t know for certain, but it’s unlikely.”
Misty’s eyes flashed like a strobe, white and cold. Just as quick, the look was gone. “You don’t really know what happens to the brain, do you? You’re a shrink. You deal with emotions, not medicine. Breakthroughs happen every week.”
And she was a nurse ? “Not with this, I’m afraid.”
Misty looked at Jo as though taking her photo with a crime scene camera. “Let me tell you one thing for certain. This is a lock. Ian and I love each other. From the day I first set eyes on him I knew he was the man I
Similar Books
