ʺWhat have they told you about your condition?ʺ she asked. He shrugged her off. ʺIt doesnʹt matter.ʺ
ʺAnswer my question.ʺ Sighing, he complied. ʺThere was water in my lungs.
Obviously Iʹve been beaten up. I have a head injury. The brain scans indicate that the memory loss isnʹt physical.ʺ He glanced away. ʺThey had me talk with a psychiatrist — if itʹs not physical, it must be mental, right?ʺ
ʺPossibly,ʺ Ivy said, feeling for him, remembering how she blocked out Tristanʹs death and how the ʺaccidentʺ had come back to her bit by bit in horrifying nightmares. His eyes met hers. ʺIf s happened to you. That’ s what you meant the other day, when you said mat remembering was as painful as not.ʺ
She nodded, wishing she could assure him that things would get better, but her situation was different from his. Sheʹd had Will, Beth, her mom, and Philipʹs care, and the enduring love of Tristan to get her through. What did he have?
ʺWhatʹs your name?ʺ she asked. ʺMy memory problem must be contagious/ʹ he replied. ʺHow would I know?ʺ
ʺYou said you didnʹt remember how you ended up hurt. You didnʹt tell me what you do remember.ʺ His smile was more of a smirk. ʺThe hospital staff calls me ʹGuy.ʹ ʹGuy Unknownʹ is what theyʹve entered in the computer, which, I guess, is one step better than John Doe.ʺ
ʺWhat should I call you?ʺ
ʺWhat would you normally call someone who pushes you against the wall and demands your keys? Something stronger than jerk, I think.ʺ Then he stood up and descended the steps, stopping one step lower than hers, as if he had remembered that she had wanted to look him straight in the eye. ʺI have to get out of here. If s the one thing I know, the only thing Iʹm sure of.ʺ
His dark blue eyes pleaded with her, and Ivy had to pull her eyes away to think clearly. ʺYouʹre going to have a hard time getting past a security guard in that bathrobe.ʺ
He tugged at the hem. ʺAndy lent it to me so I wouldnʹt walk the halls and moon people.ʺ Ivy laughed. ʺOkay,ʺ she said, making up her mind. ʺTake it off.ʺ
ʺWhat?ʺ
ʺTake off the robe,ʺ she told him, then tried not to stare at the power in his upper body or the bruises that colored it. ʺNow turn around. Face away from me.ʺ
ʺWhy?ʺ
ʺWeʹre trading.ʺ When he had turned, she removed her oversize shirt and draped it over his shoulder. ʺReady,ʺ she said, after putting on the robe.
He turned back, wearing her shirt, grinning at her. She had been right: lit with a smile, his face was the kind to break a girlʹs heart.
ʺIt’ll do,ʺ she said. The words Stonehill High stretched across his chest and the shoulder seams were pulled tight, but he was less conspicuous in that than in the short robe.
ʺIf thereʹs no security guard, weʹll just walk across the lobby like weʹre doing nothing wrong,ʺ Ivy instructed him. ʺIf we get stopped, Iʹm the patient and youʹre the person who has come to pick me up. We tell them that we got tired of waiting for Transportation to bring us a wheelchair — they make you leave in one.ʺ ʺRight.ʺ
Ivy reached in her purse for the rental key. She wondered what Beth and Will would say if she told them about this. Then she wondered if her auto insurance covered carjacking.
ʺSo if someone asks, am I your boyfriend?ʺ
ʺBrother,ʺ Ivy answered quickly. Guy smiled, as if amused by her answer, then started down the steps. He pushed open the door on the ground level and strode confidently into the lobby. He seemed so at ease. Ivy wondered how much experience heʹd had at faking it.
They were halfway across the lobby when someone stopped them.
ʺMiss, do you need assistance?ʺ As friendly as the voice had sounded, when Ivy turned around, she saw that the security guard was carefully assessing her and Guy. ʺNo, not at all.ʺ "Are you a patient?ʺ ʺI was.ʺ Ivy answered truthfully. ʺDo you have discharge papers?ʺ ʺOf course.ʺ She opened her purse and pulled them out, glad that she had written the hospital directions and her appointment time on her discharge papers. She hoped the guard wouldnʹt notice the date.
Recognizing the forms, the guard waved aside the papers. To Guy he said, ʺShe should have a wheelchair, and you need to bring the car to the curb to pick her up. Hospital policy.ʺ
ʺOkay,ʺ Guy replied. ʺStay here, Isabel.ʺ Isabel? She tried not to laugh. He fetched a wheelchair that had been left by the elevator. As Ivy sat down, the guard received a call on his radio. ʺWhatʹs the patientʹs description?ʺ the guard asked. ʺTall, sandy‐colored hair—“
ʺHang on, Izzy!ʺ
Guy pushed the chair toward the front door so fast Ivy thought they were going to crash into the plate glass. ʺWhoa!ʺ she cried as the glass slid back just in time and they shot through the opening. They flew past another occupied chair, across the concrete plaza, and onto the asphalt. ʺWait, wait!ʺ Ivy cried.
ʺCanʹt wait. Which way?ʺ Guy shouted back. She pointed. He ran and pushed like a madman, dodging between two pars, then hanging a left, making her shut her eyes and cling to the chair arms.
ʺSlow down, you crazy thing!ʺ But she was laughing now and he was, too, as they flew past a long row of cars to the end of the lot.
ʺThe white cap she yelled. ʺBrake! Brake!ʺ He did — and nearly dumped her onto the trunk of the VW. Breathless, leaping from the chair. Ivy unlocked the car with two clicks. Slipping into the driverʹs seat, she tossed her release papers and purse in the back. Guy left the wheelchair on a patch of grass and hopped into the car.
They drove away, laughing, the windows down and the wind in their hair.
ʺISABEL?ʺ IVY SAID WHEN THEY HAD STOPPED FOR A traffic light. ʺIs that what I look like to you?ʺ
Guy peeked sideways at her. ʺIt seemed like a good name for a sister.ʺ
Ivy drove on. Common sense would dictate that she take Route 28, a road with lots of beach traffic and people around, in case he wasnʹt trustworthy. Instead, succumbing to instinct — or insanity — she chose Route 6, a highway that ran the spine of Cape Cod and would quickly put distance between them and the hospital.
ʺSo, whatʹs your name?ʺ he asked. ʺIvy.ʺ
ʺIvy. Izzy — I wasnʹt too far off. But Ivy is better for a girlfriend.ʺ
She didnʹt reply, telling herself that he wasnʹt flirting, and more important, that she didnʹt want him to. ʺWhere are we going. Ivy?ʺ ʺI havenʹt decided. It looks as if Andy cleaned you up pretty well.ʺ
ʺAre you saying I looked raunchy?ʺ he replied, then his demeanor softened. ʺI donʹt know what I would have done without Andy.ʺ Ivy sighed. ʺI feel so guilty!
“I hope we donʹt get him in trouble.”
There was a long silence. ʺWell, nothing we can do about it now,ʺ she said, glancing toward Guy. ʺThose Nikes have seen better days.ʺ
He lifted one foot and pulled back the shoe’s rubber sole, grinning at her.
ʺIʹm taking the Dennis exit. Weʹre getting you new shoes and a shirt.ʺ
ʺWe are? Are you any good at shoplifting?ʺ he asked. ʺIʹm buying,ʺ she replied.
ʺNo,ʺ he said quickly. ʺYes,ʺ she insisted. ʺIvy, no. I donʹt want you to do anything more for me.ʺ Was this some kind of pride thing? she wondered. ʺWhat are you going to do about it?ʺ she asked aloud. ʺOpen the car door and get out? Iʹm going sixty.ʺ
ʺSeventy,ʺ he corrected. She glanced at the speedometer and slowed down.