Intimate Strangers Read Online Free PDF

entire house torn apart, getting it ready for your homecoming. It's going to be so wonderful to have you there, close by me again." He paused, cleared his throat, then continued. "It's so beautiful at home, the spring weather has been perfect and all the flowers are in bloom. Wait till you see it, the tulips you planted are gorgeous and the magnolia trees are ready to burst open." He kneeled beside her. "Are you eager to go home, darling?"
    Sara looked into the clear blue eyes and mixed with the awe she felt over the fact that this man was her husband, she experienced a twinge of her now familiar companion, the fear that was with her constantly. "It sounds so beautiful, Roarke, but I don't think eager is quite the word. It's terrible not to remember people and things that have been so important in your life. Do Martha and Bradley know I don't remember them?"
    Ignoring her plaintive question, he continued. "Your room is bright and beautiful, just waiting for your presence to complete the decor."
    "What a nice thing to say, Roarke." Wistfully she turned her face away from him. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember anything about our home or our room."
    Roarke slowly straightened up, dropped her hands, and gazed out the window. "It's… it's your room, Sara, not ours. I… ah… we… Ted Maxwell and I thought it would be better if you had your own room. You'll… you'll rest better." Glancing over his shoulder, he said in a low voice, "I'll be just across the hall from you."
    Sara dropped her eyes and a small "oh" escaped her lips.
    Roarke continued to stare outside and the silence between them lengthened oppressively. Sara felt almost compulsive in her need to fill the void. She struggled to think of something to say then recalled an incident from earlier in the day. "Roarke, I'd like to ask you something. This afternoon when the nurse mentioned about packing to go home, I had one of those crazy flashes of memory." She stopped abruptly when he pivoted around. A grim expression distorted his features.
    His back stiffened and he asked tautly, "Just what is it you think you remember?"
    Confused by his tone of voice and his threatening posture, Sara answered quietly, "I saw myself walking out of a house with suitcases. I was crying as I put them in the trunk of a car."
    His brows lowered over his darkened eyes. "You were going on a trip." The words were clipped short.
    "On a trip? Why was I crying so hard?"
    Roarke looked out the window again and mumbled, "You hate good-byes."
    Sara shook her head with disbelief. "Roarke, please look at me. No one cries that way just because they hate to say good-bye. I can hardly believe that."
    His eyes seemed to pierce her heart. "Believe what you want, Sara, you always did. I have to leave now. I'll see you tomorrow."
    Sara stared at the empty doorway for several minutes after he disappeared through it. Finally she began to weep from sheer tension and confoundment. Was there no way to keep their relationship on an even keel? How could a man be so thoughtful and sensitive about some things and yet at the same time be insensitive to her predicament? It had to be all her fault somehow. She always seemed to ask him the wrong question or say the wrong thing. But what, she anguished, was wrong with what she said or asked?
    The chatter of a group of nurses walking past her door caught her attention and brought her mind back to the present. Her arms were aching and she realized she had been frantically limping around the small room as though really trying to run away.
    How could she leave the hospital to go home with Roarke? The hospital and especially Ted had come to represent a safe haven for her. She quivered at the thought of Ted abandoning her to Roarke. Ted was compassionate and understanding but Roarke—every time she mentioned the past, he shut her out. It was as though he were hiding something from her. She almost believed he didn't want her to remember. The thought of not remembering and spending