Their Special-Care Baby

That was the rub. ‘In the majority of amnesia cases, most of the patient’s memory does come back in time.’

‘So reassuring,’ she murmured ironically, and turned her head away from him on the pillow. Strangely, she left her fingers curled safe in his, though. Stewart found himself absurdly touched by her trust.

He left the silence between them and it built until she turned back to face him. There was resolution on her face that he could only admire and the urge to comfort her returned with force. What was it about this woman that made it so easy to read her thoughts? What was it about her that made him want to read them? The concept elbowed for room in his own crowded mind.

She cleared her throat. ‘So you can tell me anything you like and I have to believe you until my memory returns?’ she said.

He had to applaud her dry sense of humour because he doubted he’d be up to jokes in Desiree’s position.

He glanced at Leanore and his mother stared vaguely out the window, sidetracked in confusion caused by her tumour. He did it for Leanore every day.

At least he was practised at orientating lost people. ‘So it appears. You will just have to sue me for any incorrect answers.’

Desiree had no choice but to trust him for the moment. She steeled herself for the question she dreaded the answer to. ‘Who is Desiree?’

Obviously this was not the question he’d expected, by the lift of his dark brows. Well, it was the one she needed an answer to the most, and she held her breath as she waited.

‘You.’ He’d said it gently but the answer still slammed into her. ‘Your name is Desiree Kramer.’ She winced as she exhaled.

She’d been afraid of that. Desiree Kramer? No bells rang, no recognition sparked. So it was true. She couldn’t even remember her own name.

He enunciated slowly, as if she were a slow learner. ‘Desiree Kramer, lately of Queensland, and newly arrived in Sydney.’

Desiree screwed her nose up and shook her head. ‘And you are sure my name is Desiree? Not something simpler or plainer?’

‘Desiree, I’m afraid, but we could call you anything you like if that would make you more comfortable.’

‘Don’t patronise me.’ She sighed and accepted what she had been afraid of. It was incredibly hard, not having a past to call on.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That was not my intention.’

She gathered her frayed composure around her. ‘I’m sorry for snapping. Do I know you?’ Her voice had wearied, and she’d closed her eyes again.

‘I’m your brother-in-law. Stewart Kramer.’

Startled, her eyes flew open. ‘I have a sister?’ She didn’t remember that!

‘You married my brother. I don’t know your family.’

She shook her head at this new information and her whole body stiffened in the bed. No way. ‘I’m not married.’

‘No.’ Stewart agreed. ‘You are a widow with a twelve-month-old child.’

She barely heard his second pronouncement because the first one had blown her away. ‘I mean,’ Desiree enunciated slowly and clearly, ‘I have never been married.’

Stewart shrugged slightly. For some reason his voice had cooled and she wondered if it had been her or his brother that had annoyed him. This was all too much but he had more to share and he was her only link to reality.

She tried to concentrate as he went on when all she wanted to do was sleep.

‘You married last April. Your husband, my brother, died in a car accident on New Year’s Day, eight weeks ago.’

Now she was a widow? Her heart was turning somersaults in her chest and she felt sick. ‘There’s no memory of anything beyond waking up a short time ago.’ She fought against rising panic and stared around the walls of the room, as if the secret of her lost life could be found there.

She felt abandoned, confused, and at the mercy of these people she didn’t recognise. She heard the shake in her voice but there was nothing she could do about it because she was doing well to avoid lapsing into hysterics.

She shook her head and then grimaced at the discomfort. Maybe she should worry about all this later. She didn’t think she could do it now. ‘Whatever. I can’t remember anything. My head hurts.’

She shut her eyes and then opened them again. This had to be a big mistake. ‘Do I know you well? Are you sure you’re right?’

She hadn’t fazed him. How could he be so calm when her whole past life had disappeared? His voice was even and unruffled as he went on. ‘Except for the accident, we’ve never met. Your identification was in the backpack.’

She glanced at the bag on the shelf again. ‘How do you know it’s my backpack?’

‘It was on your back when I found you.’

‘You were there?’

She nodded and then stared at him. His kind blue eyes kindled a flame of recognition and a strange feeling of comfort and safety finally seeped into her.

He was a good man. She felt it, so she supposed she’d have to believe him and trust in his word. As she looked into his eyes, a strange, deeper recognition began to shimmer between them, and she couldn’t look away.

She remembered. He had been there in the wreckage. ‘So it was you and not a dream.’

He cleared his throat and his hand tightened on hers. ‘It’s a miracle you can remember anything. The scene was chaotic.’

‘I don’t remember much, but I remember…’ Her eyes widened and she remembered the pain in her stomach. Her voice dropped to a whisper as the ache of realisation hit her. Her baby. ‘I was pregnant!’

She pulled her hand out of his hold and slid her fingers slowly under the covers to her flat stomach. It was then she felt the loss of her baby within. Her rounded stomach had gone, replaced by emptiness, and she hadn’t been awake to know.

Her hand returned above the sheets and searched for his. ‘Did I lose my baby?’

‘No.’ He let that answer seep in slowly.

Desiree didn’t understand. ‘What month is this?’ She swallowed the ball of fear and grief in her throat and prepared herself for the worst. Tears pricked her eyes as she sucked in her flat stomach. My poor baby.

With her fingers clutched around his, a small measure of comfort warmed the sudden coldness of her soul.

‘No, your baby is alive but it is the twenty-sixth of February, so she has some growing to do,’ he said.

She paused before she looked at him again, afraid that if she saw his face he would retract that tiny hope she’d heard him correctly.

His fingers tightened their grip on her hand. ‘After the accident you went into premature labour. We didn’t know you were in labour until just before she was born.’

Desiree remembered the pain in stomach. ‘You said she. I had a girl?’

‘We estimate your daughter was born eleven weeks early but she is stable at the moment. She will need to stay in a large hospital like this one, if all goes well, for the next few months. She’s in our neonatal intensive care two floors down.’

Her daughter was alive. There was hope. ‘Eleven weeks is very early. I’m sure of that.’

‘Your daughter is breathing for herself and seems to be adapting to the outside world well, considering she wasn’t ready for us—and you had lost a lot of blood. She weighed just over a kilogram and is a fighter.’

He smiled and Desiree remembered his eyes again from the train crash. How could she remember that and not her own name? But there was something infinitely reassuring about sharing that one memory at least.

‘Your daughter has already shown she has the will to survive, like her mother.’ There was no mistaking he admired her baby for that. ‘And she is in the next best place to grow.’

Desiree’s heart pounded. She had a baby daughter. ‘When can I see her?’

He produced a digital print of a tiny baby in a humidicrib and passed it over to her. A thin red-faced skinned rabbit looked back at her.

A lost baby, a lost pregnancy, a baby she would have dreamed of meeting in a wondrous birth surrounded by people who loved her. Too many losses to cope with. Tears welled as she thought of her daughter alone, in a crib, and she couldn’t be with her. ‘When…?’

‘Perhaps you can see her this evening. You’ve only just regained consciousness. I’m not your doctor, but he’d agree it’s too soon to go riding around the hospital, even in a wheelchair.’

She sagged back. Even that small exertion had tired her.

‘We are taking good care of your daughter and she is stable at the moment.’

She could hardly believe her pregnancy was over before it had even been remembered.

Then he said something even more frightening. ‘It worries me you haven’t asked about your other child.’

Desiree watched his lips move but the words seem to come from a long way off as she wondered what her tiny daughter looked like.

He spoke again. ‘Do you remember I said you were a widow with another child? You have a twelve-month-old. Shall we bring Sophie to you? They have her down in the children’s ward for observation.’

She tore her thoughts away from the picture of her tiny baby and looked at him blankly.

He explained again. ‘Your other daughter? You told me to keep her safe when we first met.’

The other baby? What else had she forgotten? Had another child been mentioned? Perhaps. ‘You may have said that before but I don’t remember.’

Desiree frowned as she tried to remember. She had heard a baby crying in the wreckage. Had that baby been hers? ‘I heard her cry.’

How could she not recall her own flesh and blood? Was that possible? It didn’t make senses. What if it was a mistake, or a conspiracy, or a bad dream? ‘I wish I remembered.’

The first of his revelations rose to stun her again. ‘I can’t believe I was married and don’t remember.’

Stewart grimaced at what a marriage it would have been, unless Sean had changed a lot. He watched her struggle with all the information and worried that he’d burdened her with too much, too soon.

She tilted her head towards him and her grey eyes seemed to peer inside his soul as she sought answers.

He blinked and looked away, not sure what had just passed between them and not willing to pursue the thought. This was fanciful imagining and unlike him.

He fought against a sudden stirring of emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for many years. Especially when he looked down at her fingers as they disappeared inside his bigger hand. He wondered why she had decided not to wear her wedding ring.

Something had shifted, something that shouldn’t have shifted with this woman who was related by law, and who was the last woman he wanted to be attracted to. There was nothing he could do about that now except ignore any such emotion and help her as much as he could.

Stewart glanced across at his mother, sitting patiently against the wall as she knitted. She had the glazed look of sudden tiredness she seemed to feel more often. He’d been a fool to bring her but she’d so wanted to be here when Desiree woke up.

He never knew when Leanore would lapse into one of those turns that kept her in bed for days and she deserved to at least meet her daughter-in-law.

There were so many ways his mind wanted to go but he could only do one thing at a time. ‘We’ll go now, Mother.’

Leanore blinked and looked at him brightly, and he knew she had lost her space in time for the moment. ‘Where will we go?’

‘Home, darling. Desiree is tired.’

Leanore creased her brow. ‘Desiree who?’

Stewart sighed and squeezed his mother’s shoulder gently. ‘We’ll leave Desiree to rest for a while and see Children’s Ward about bringing your granddaughter up here after she wakes up.’ He saw the moment her memory returned and he smiled as his mother nodded.

He looked at Desiree, her eyes now drooping with fatigue. ‘Sleep now. We’ll bring Sophie to you later this afternoon. After tea I’ll take you to the neonatal intensive care, or NICU as they call it, to see your new daughter, if it is all right with your doctor.’

Desiree nodded tiredly but there was one thing she had to do. ‘Before you leave, would you pass the backpack, please?’

‘We’ll see you later, Desiree.’ Stewart laid the backpack gently in her lap and then turned his mother’s wheelchair towards the door.

‘Later,’ he said, and she closed her eyes as they left the room.

Desiree’s head ached quietly but the pain was overshadowed by the enormity of losing who she was and what was in her past.

Lost memories of a twelve-month-old baby and dead husband and now the reality that she risked losing a baby she only fuzzily remembered being pregnant with. It was all too much.

It was a nightmare and surely she would wake up soon.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE didn’t feel like a Desiree. She felt like a Jane or a Mary. They were safe, kind, reassuring names. You’d have to be exotic to be called Desiree and she didn’t feel exotic. But maybe that was the knock on the head too. Maybe she’d shortened her name to something easy or used her middle name?

She must ask Stewart if she had a middle name.

Desiree looked around the sterile hospital room. The walls were pale green, a soothing colour, but she didn’t feel soothed. The bed was electric and the furniture wooden, not metal, but there was nothing homey or reassuring to help her state of mind, except the flowers from a woman she didn’t know.

Her hand fell to the soft kid of the backpack on her lap and she frowned at the chic but drab leather.

She couldn’t imagine choosing it. Maybe the bag had been a gift from her husband. A man she couldn’t remember, and therefore couldn’t mourn.

A man living estranged from his family if some of Stewart’s comments were anything to go by.

Inside, an eye-make-up pack revealed a mirror and she flicked it open to stare into the tiny frame to see her face.

A stranger looked back. A very pale stranger who looked more like a plain Jane then a Desiree! Grey eyes, ordinary-looking mouth and nose, with an extraordinary bruise on one cheek. Dark mop of hair with blood congealed in the fringe. Not a good look and hardly reassuring. She snapped the mirror shut and pushed it down to the bottom of the bag as if to erase what she’d just seen.

Desiree pulled a soft leather wallet from the satchel and unclipped it.

Loose change and no paper money at all? That seemed strange. No driver’s licence—maybe she didn’t drive. A collection of gold and platinum credit cards all in the name of Mrs Desiree Kramer, a health card and a private health insurance card. A train ticket to Sydney—lot of good that had done her.

One sleeve of the wallet held a photo of a baby, obviously her unremembered daughter, Sophie. Tears welled. How could she have forgetten her own baby?

‘I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Sophie,’ she said to the photo.

She ran her fingers over her stomach and desolation hit her again. Except for the slight softness that could have been recently stretched skin, she couldn’t tell she’d been pregnant.

Perhaps she hadn’t shown much at nearly seven months. What sort of pregnancy had it been? Had she been sick or well? Excited to be having another baby or too sad after the loss of her husband to be in tune with her foetus?

Instinctively she touched her breasts and both felt tender. She guessed she’d figure out the breastfeeding as she went along, even though there would be no poster-perfect pictures of her new babe at the breast for a long time to come. Hopefully she’d breastfed Sophie and it would come back to her.

She guessed there might be many weeks before her baby would be strong enough to feed normally.

Desiree shook her head in despair. How did she accept that she was a widow of a man she couldn’t remember? Or the mother of a child in the paediatric ward? Plus the dreadful knowledge that her premature baby was fighting for her life on another floor?

All this when she hadn’t even recognised her own name—it was too much. She dragged her hands over her eyes and squeezed her fingers into her eye sockets, as though the pressure would bring back visions from her past life.

All it did was increase her headache and circulate stars.

Her fingers fell to pluck at the bag again. ‘I don’t feel like Desiree Kramer,’ she said, out loud this time, and the horror of having no memories to anchor in reality burst in her chest like a cave full of bats exploding from their perches.

Panic fluttered with larger and larger wings until she thought her throat would close.

Desiree fought the emotion as she clutched the bag tightly between her fingers. She breathed in and out grimly until she’d fought down the panic.

You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine, she told herself. Everything would work out—and whether it was the white coat or the kind eyes, she did trust Stewart, her new brother-in-law.

She trusted the sweetness in the face of the obviously forgetful Leanore.

Most importantly, she and both her daughters had survived.

Four hours later, Desiree’s new mother-in-law, pushed in her wheelchair by Stewart, returned with a nurse who steered a portable cot into the room.

A little girl stood clutching the rails with her tiny feet planted determinedly into the mattress as she swayed with the movement. Enormous blue eyes stared tremulously at the grown-ups.

Desiree’s eldest daughter looked chubby and alert but decidedly lost. Why wouldn’t she feel lost? Her own mother couldn’t remember her!

When the nurse lifted Sophie and placed her on the bed beside her, Desiree had to admit she felt better with the weight and feel of the little body against her. She gathered Sophie into her arms and hugged her.

Sophie had eyes like her uncle’s and grandmother’s. She stared up at Desiree, and then her little face dimpled and she grinned toothily. Unconsciously, Desiree hugged her close again.

‘Well, that’s the first smile we’ve seen the wee thing give since she came in.’ The nurse nodded complacently at the picture in front of her.

Leanore smiled mistily and Stewart lifted one sardonic eyebrow. ‘Well, Sophie remembers you.’

‘I wish I remembered her.’ Desiree spoke softly and brushed the baby’s cheek with wondering fingers. Her daughter’s skin was downy soft and far too pale.

The children’s ward nurse bustled forward. ‘She won’t drink for us. I’ve brought a bottle up with me. Maybe she’ll take some milk from you.’

Desiree stared down into the bright little eyes. Sophie? She tried the name out. No bells rang, nothing about the little face or her name was familiar, but Desiree couldn’t doubt that she was at ease with the toddler.

Sophie latched onto the teat immediately and Desiree smiled as she looked down into the trusting face below her as the level of milk in the bottle rapidly receded towards the teat. At least she could do something right for her daughter. ‘I’m sorry, Sophie. I have forgotten you for the moment, but I’ll look after you.’

‘And we’ll look after you.’ Leanore rubbed her hands with delight at the picture in front of her. She turned to her son. ‘They will come home to us? Won’t they, Stewart?’

‘Of course.’ There were unexpected misgivings in his tone and Desiree shot him a glance.

Something was bothering him and Desiree didn’t welcome the added stress of wondering what his problem was. The last thing she needed was another undercurrent she didn’t understand.

‘I’m sure I will be able to look after my daughters and myself quite well without your help.’ She hoped the pure bravado didn’t show.

He shook his head decisively. ‘You’ll have enough on your plate, travelling to Neonatal each day. You’ll need help and we’ll give it to you.’

His voice was flat. ‘You moved here to live with us. I’m sure even Sean would agree to you accepting our help especially now.’ He included his mother in a glance. ‘We’re glad to finally have the opportunity to meet you and Sophie.’

‘We live quite close to the hospital and have plenty of room. Stay at least until we’re sure you won’t suffer any other health setbacks. You could stay longer, of course.’

He produced a final inducement. ‘It would be easier for Sophie if she didn’t have to come to the NICU all the time with you.’

She couldn’t dispute any of his rationales, or an identity she couldn’t remember. It just didn’t feel right to lean on them so heavily.

Stewart went on. ‘Remember that Leanore is Sophie’s grandmother and she has been denied access since her granddaughter’s birth.’

‘What do you mean, denied?’ Desiree frowned at the censure in his voice. Had she prevented Leanore seeing her granddaughter? Had her husband—and she had let him? She didn’t like Stewart’s tone or the inference she had hurt his mother.

He avoided a direct answer and softened his tone. ‘My mother wants to get to know her grandchild.’ Suddenly it was Leanore who wanted to look after them, which was at odds with his caring eyes. Desiree wondered if he had reservations for another reason.

Why had he changed?

She removed the empty bottle from her daughter’s mouth and sat her up to burp her again. Sophie blew a bubble at her and Desiree kissed her cheek. Thank goodness her daughter was too young to know she had been forgotten by her own mother.

Desiree’s eyes narrowed with the effort of pinpointing her greatest concern, but she was interrupted by Sophie’s wind.

They all smiled at the third loud burp but despite the surface amusement something wasn’t right. Not just in this room but with her whole world.

So many things were out of kilter she had no way of diagnosing the most worrying feature.

It was too exhausting to worry about things she couldn’t change for the moment, so she rested back and just savoured the weight of Sophie in her arms. Her head ached.

Later that evening Stewart pushed Desiree’s wheelchair into the neonatal intensive care unit, and strangely Desiree felt less adrift than she had since she’d woken up.

She was so terrified for her baby but not overwhelmed by Neonatal Intensive Care, which was strange.

The beep and hum of the equipment, the bustle of medical and nursing staff, the parents beside most cribs and the tiny patients in their plastic cocoons and open cots all seemed to make sense. Maybe she’d been in one of these places before.

Then again it could have been because Stewart was there. He was so solid and concerned, uncomfortably attractive, but she was trying to ignore that with all she had on her plate, but most of all he seemed so patiently kind.

‘It’s a pretty daunting place,’ said Stewart as he nodded to a nurse, ‘but, believe me, you will get used to it.’

Desiree allowed his words to wash over her as she glanced around. She wasn’t daunted by the place, just that her daughter was here, and she wondered about that. Was it because she’d just been in a train crash? Had her senses been so overloaded by new situations that she was immune for the moment?

At least in this unit there was ordered chaos and Stewart was the boss. She had some control with her access to him.

She obeyed the sign and washed her hands. Almost as if she knew where her daughter was, she looked ahead to the furthermost cribs, home to the most critical patients. Stewart pushed the wheelchair forward.

‘She’s up this way,’ Stewart said, as they passed alcoves of four cribs at a time, each bay seeming to utilise more equipment than the last. Some babies were tiny, some less so, and some were in ordinary Perspex cots.

Desiree’s daughter lay tiny and exposed, her red shiny skin translucent, her miniature hands smaller than the top of her mother’s finger and her bald head smaller than Desiree’s palm.

The reality of her daughter’s struggle hit her. Her baby should be safe within her uterus, not exposed to pain and fear in the bright lights, fluctuating temperatures and noise of a neonatal nursery.

Desiree felt tears well into her eyes and she swallowed to clear the lump from her throat. ‘She’s so fragile. So beautiful,’ she said in a whisper.