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set it in his lap. He couldn’t help his reaction, but he could keep it out of sight.
    “I didn’t know who I was for three years. They called me Ria.” She picked up something from the topmost shelf and brought it back to him. A bracelet dangled from her fingers. The gold sparkled brightly, the gem stones swung and he heard a tinkle. Reaching up, she let it drop in his hand.
    Three bells, four charms and a center placard with three initials, R.I.A. He examined the charms as she sat down again. The Statue of Liberty, from before the damage done by the bombing. A guitar, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Seattle Space Needle. “What do they represent?”
    “The cities where I won the KATHY awards. The stones are all varieties of topaz. They found it on my wrist and made the assumption that the initials were my name. By the time I remembered it didn’t matter. I’d become Ria.”
    He recalled this bracelet dangling from the wrist of the author on the video. He imagined it was a well-known element to her fans and easily reproduced. He handed it back. “When did you remember? And why didn’t you know immediately?”
    “Shock, I imagine. Milaar made certain I stayed calm, gradually loosening the mental wrapping she kept on my emotional centers. At least, that is how she explained it to me. For years, pictures and bits and pieces of memories danced around my head. Nothing concrete and no sound.” She looked up from the jewelry, which she’d been pouring from one hand to another. “It’s a very quiet ship.”
    “I noticed.” A ship? Doubt that.
    “They have a room filled with books. When they find sunken ships, or lost containers, they harvest what they can. It’s amazing, what they can restore. I could read, though not very fast and a lot I didn’t understand. But I still liked to touch them and examine them.” She gestured at the bookshelf. “One day, I found a book that changed everything.”
    Abruptly, she stood again and strode to the shelf. This time he followed her, keeping the pillow with him. Eyes on the shelf, not on her body. She pointed to one of the books and he slid it free to examine it. Secret Passions by Rachel I. Aster.
    “You recognized the name?”
    “No, the photo on the inside back cover.”
    He flipped it open and stared at one of the photos from the memorial video. It caught her laughing, eyes sparkling and totally at ease.
    “After I saw that, the memories started to cascade into me. Still not terribly coherent or in order, but they were there. I struggled for over a year as they settled. But even now, after fifteen years, there are elements of who I was and what I knew that escape me. Day to day things that most people take for granted remain distant.” She didn’t touch the book, as if uncertain of its place.
    “Did you read this and remember writing it?”
    “I tried, but it felt like trying to read Sanskrit…” She paused as if uncertain of her phrase. “Did I say that correctly?”
    “If you meant it made little sense to you, then yes. Unless you speak Sanskrit.” He lifted an eyebrow.
    “Oh, no. I don’t. I think.” She stared into the mirror on the wall above the shelf, blinking several times before focusing on her face. “I did read the acknowledgements and I saw the faces that went with the names. The Aleena search for more of my former self’s books, but it’s been the only one found. I remember reading the book titles listed and knowing there were more. Better books.” She set the bracelet back in the polished half shell, directly below the mirror.
    He watched her reflection. She didn’t seem connected to anything in this room, not even the bracelet or the book. Her speech patterns made him think English wasn’t her first language, until she let something like the Sanskrit phrase drop so casually. But she took his reply so literally. There were no smile lines around her lips, nor frown lines. If he’d been asked to use one word to describe her face, he’d